#master obi-wan

[anki-wan]

There is no place more comfortable and safe for little Anakin than in his master's arms.

[mandoriana]

Dialogues that I know Anakin has said or would say to Obi-Wan during his Padawan days:

Obi-Wan (26 years old): *meditating*

Anakin (12 years old): Master, master, master, master...

Obi-Wan: *sigh* What do you want, Anakin?

Anakin: Did you know that the restaurant on the SS Galactic Titan still serves kolto fishs?

Obi-Wan: ...

Anakin: You know, because the ship sank on Naboo and...

Obi-Wan: I get it, Anakin. Don't you think it's too soon to joke about that tragedy?

Anakin: I don't think so, master 😁

Obi-Wan: Oh dear 🙄

[burnwater13]

Grogu sometimes wondered whether or not the Armorer actually liked Din Djarin. Sure, he was grateful at getting a protector and a dad out of their deal, but with time and distance came objectivity. It sure seemed like she was sending him on a wild tauntaun chase. 

Grogu didn’t even know what ‘kind’ he was. Being a former Jedi youngling wasn’t a ‘kind’. It was more like a status. You start as a youngling, full of ideas and energy. Then you are selected as a padawan, which honestly meant you were now full of fear, second hand embarrassment, and still a lot of energy. 

After that, with hard work and the ability to put up with your Master, you become a Knight. If you’re lucky, which meant having good timing and better than average skills, you became a Master, so you could be annoyed by a youngster who thought you were old and out of touch while you tried to teach them the skills that would help keep them alive in a fairly chaotic galaxy.  

At least, that’s how Master Kenobi explained it once when he was talking to Master Beq in the Arboretum at the Jedi Temple. They weren’t alone of course. Grogu was there. Hiding. 

A trick that he and Ian had cooked up had literally boiled over and he was hoping that the Master in charge of provisions didn’t come to the Arboretum looking for them. Grogu was pretty sure that Ian had climbed the Life tree and he wished he’d been quick enough to do that. 

Instead he was stuck right there, under the bench, listening to the two Jedi masters natter on about how hard it was raising young people to be old people. Of course, that was the problem. Young people didn’t want to be old people. At least not yet. They wanted to take some time and get there when they got there. It was one thing no youngling was impatient about. 

It took all of Grogu’s self control not to laugh at them when they complained about their padawans complaining about carrying their cloaks everywhere. 

“Anakin just refuses to do it. I’ve lost so many cloaks that way.” Master Kenobi has been more sad than irritated. 

“At least Anakin knows his way around a lightsaber. My last padawan practically skewered me with his when I simply asked him to hand it to me. I’ve asked Master Yoda if I might switch to managing the younglings. At least they don’t have access to weapons.”

Master Beq had not met Ian by then, but then how were any of them to know that Ian could find a weapon literally anywhere and they should have thought twice about assigning him kitchen duty.

“If he does, just be careful around Grogu. Everyone thinks he’s a baby, but he’s not. He sees everything and then he tests it out with that friend of his, Ian. I don’t even know who brought the two of them here. I can’t be blamed for that.”

Grogu was about to protest that Obi-Wan was being unfair, when a very aggravated Jedi stomped into the quiet space and stormed right up to them. 

“Have either of you seen that pair of menaces? They’ve made a huge mess in my stockroom and I want them both to sort it out.” 

“Menaces? I suppose you mean Anakin and ?” Obi-Wan asked.

“Anakin? No. He’s fine. He never goes near the place. I mean Ian and his little green friend.” The other Jedi grumbled as if Obi-Wan was being deliberately obtuse.

“Ah, I believe they were assigned to collect trash in the central park as part of a new ‘Give back to Coruscant’ initiative that the Council has undertaken. Perhaps if you go there, you’ll find them.”  Obi-Wan’s voice was kind and consoling and Grogu wondered at the time if he would ever learn to lie like that. 

When the irate Jedi left the Arboretum, Grogu heard Master Obi-Wan chuckle.

“Alright Grogu. You can come out now. I can hear your stomach growling.”

Grogu had trudged out of hiding and smiled a little sadly at the two Jedi who were now looking at him so intently. 

“This is half of our most dynamic duo, Master Beq. If you start to manage the younglings, this is who you will need to keep an eye on. All the time.”

Obi-Wan’s voice hadn’t changed in tone and Grogu wondered if he was trying to trick the younger Master. 

Years later, he’d been able to ask the Jedi Master that question and Obi-Wan had replied that everyone needed a break once in a while. Even a Jedi Master. 

Perhaps that’s what the Armorer needed. A break. Grogu expected that Mandalorians were a lot like he and Ian had been at the Jedi Temple. Always up to something and eager to find the next problem, even if they couldn’t solve it. 

Now that was a funny thought. Grogu hadn’t found a problem yet that his Mandalorian couldn’t solve, but maybe someday he wouldn’t have his weapons handy and would have to do solve them a different way.  

[ircn-mvn]

They were surrounded. 

Qui-Gon, Mace and he. They had reached the old temple’s core only to be cornered by troops of battle droids. Standing backs to backs, the three of them lifted their lightsabers, waiting. 

They had come to xxx following a lead on a sith holocron. A powerful artifact which had made itself known in the Force a few days prior. Yoda had felt it. Mace had noticed new shatterpoints. And more surprisingly, Obi-Wan had dreamed about it. 

He wasn’t prone to Force Visions, and yet. He was shown the strange arcade, and also he couldn’t remember it despite his best efforts, a face. 

Now Obi-Wan felt both incredibly stupid and slightly betrayed. Clearly the dream hadn’t been a vision but part of their enemies’ plan.

“You’ve lost, Padawan,” said Dooku.

His Master’s master stood amongst the Seppies army as prime as ever. Qui-Gon answered him but Obi-Wan couldn’t focus on their exchange. His ears were ringing and his vision was whiting out. 

“What?”

Dooku moved forward and the three of them turned while staying in position. That was when Obi-Wan’s gaze fell on the young man standing in front of the arcade. Their eyes met and the stranger took a step towards them:

“Master?” he breathed.

“Darth?” Dooku called.

And multiple things happened at once. The Force darkened around them, and as did the stranger's beautiful face. He moved swiftly to stand between the count and Obi-Wan, pushing him away from the fight with a single hand gesture, while he lit a blue lightsaber with the other.

“You,” he seethed.

[generalobi]

Cute baby ani and obiwan fluff!

Obi-Wan stares forlornly at what was once a pancake but is now nothing more than a burnt crisp. It’s not that he’s a bad cook, it’s just that he’s easily distracted. And that’s not even his fault! Anakin is very distracting.

“I don’t think we can eat that,” Anakin observes, standing on the tips of his toes to stare into the pan.

You don’t say, Obi-Wan thinks wryly. He chucks the burnt lump out and pours fresh batter into the pan.

“Now,” he turns to Anakin, “I have to watch this and not play pirates.”

He pouts, “Aww, but we were just getting into it! You were about to be captured by the evil pirate king Bluer and I was going to rescue you and then we were going take over the whole ship and throw him out the airlock because he was a bad man. And then we would’ve gone and fought the rest of the evil pirate empire and make our own good pirate empire.”

“Oh?” Obi-Wan says.

“Yeah! And then we would go back to the Outer Rim and find and destroy all the Hutts! And we’d take over Jabba’s palace and make it all pretty and cosy and lovely. And it would be our base of operations for all the good pirate empire things we would do!”

Anakin puts his skinny arms around Obi-Wan’s waist and says quietly, “And we’d rescue my mom and she’d help us defeat the last of the evil pirates.”

Obi-Wan pauses, looking down at his new favourite limpet. Anakin’s mother is still a bit of a sore point. He doesn’t know how to deal with this. He still feels like a child too. They’re both just floundering around in the dark, hanging onto each other and hoping that they’re heading towards the light on the other side.

“Why couldn’t she come too?” Anakin asks into Obi-Wan’s hip.

“Only Master Qui-Gon can really answer that question,” he says carefully, “but I imagine Watto would only free one of you and your mother insisted it was you.”

“Then why haven’t we gone back for her?”

“Well,” Obi-Wan flips the pancake, “that’s more complicated. As an institution the Jedi have no authority in the Outer Rim, and we can only go where the Senate sends us. Though I want nothing more than to free your mother, to free every slave in the galaxy, it isn’t within my power to do so. Do you understand?”

Anakin is silent for a moment before nodding, “Yeah. Is that ready? Obi you’re gonna burn it!”

He quickly flips the pancake onto the plate. It’s browner than he would’ve liked but not a burnt hunk. Improvements. Maybe he’s getting the hang of this cooking while distracted thing. He hands the plate to Anakin with a bowl of berries.

“Don’t put too much syrup on that!” Obi-Wan calls after him.

“Yeah yeah.” He knows Anakin is rolling his eyes.

Such a sassy child. How did Obi-Wan end up with the sassiest nine-year-old in the galaxy? And the most berry obsessed? They keep running out of berries. Anakin eats more berries than he does chocolate. Which is criminal in Obi-Wan’s opinion. Imagine liking anything more than chocolate? Couldn’t be him. Should he put chocolate in the pancakes next time?

“You’re gonna burn it again,” Anakin says, making Obi-Wan jump.

“Right,” he mumbles, dumping the pancake onto the pile.

Obi-Wan grabs the plate and another bowl of berries to take to the table. Breakfast after a morning game of pirates, at least two hours before lunch time. He really must be getting the hang of this.

“That’s a lot of syrup,” Anakin observes.

“I am much larger than you,” Obi-Wan says, “Therefore I can have more syrup.”

Anakin sighs, sounding thoroughly put upon, “Did Healer Che tell you to eat more calorie rich foods again?”

“No,” Obi-Wan reaches over to flick his braid, “I just like syrup.”

“Liar,” Anakin says, grinning, “You’re a really bad liar Obi.”

“Shut up and eat your pancakes.”

¬

Anakin wakes with a start, the sounds of his mother’s tears still echoing in his ears. He clutches the stuffed bantha Obi gave him tightly. Nightmares suck. He pushes his bedding to the side and tiptoes towards his door.

The door to Obi-Wan’s room is slightly open like it is every night. Anakin slips inside and creeps towards his bed. Obi is lying pressed against the wall, arm flung out across the bed.

Carefully, Anakin lifts the arms so he can slip underneath it. He pulls the covers back up and replaces Obi’s arm over his chest. He wiggles until his back is pressed to Obi’s. This is good. This is the best way to sleep.

[swbumblebee]

To say this was not Mace Windu’s scene, would be the understatement of the century. The Master of the Order had made the perilous journey across the sparkly dance floor, dodging gyrating young people and puddles of bright sticky liquid sloshing out of martini glasses, to the relative safety of the far end of the bar thanks mainly to his years of Jedi training.

Trying hard to keep his distaste from his face he cast an eye over the corner of the establishment that had been commandeered by the Jedi contingent to celebrate Skywalkers big day. The brand-new Knight in question was among a small crowd of senior Padawans and junior Knights in the middle, grinning broadly at his friends as they shouted at each other over the aggressively upbeat pop music.

Despite the headache inducing neon lights making it hard to see anything, Mace was pleased to see Skywalker had gotten a decent turn out; Jedi from all over the Temple were milling about happily over drinks and noise.

He soon spotted Kenobi and Healer Eerin, sitting at one of the tables on the outskirts of the group laughing over their pints of beer.

If there was anything that made him feel slightly better, it was that if the trendy bar wasn’t Mace’s establishment of choice, it certainly wasn’t Kenobi’s. It was common knowledge that the sophisticated man preferred drinking in the grubbiest of watering holes.

The things one did for one’s apprentice. Or, former apprentice.

“Master Kenobi” Mace greeted with a bow as both Knights waved and gestured to the empty chair at their table.

He was amused, but not surprised, to watch Obi-Wan’s face go through a very complicated series of emotions, ending up on decidedly startled, and knew Bant Eerin felt the same when she snorted.

The younger man smiled wryly at him.

“That doesn’t sound right” he answered, before taking a long sip of his drink

Mace leaned back and summoned a serving droid.

“You have officially raised a Padawan to Knighthood. Got a problem? Take it up with the Ruusan Reformation” Mace said smartly. “And I’d say it suits you. Has for a while now” He ordered his drink and regarded the man before him, politely not noticing the flush creeping down the pale Jedi’s ears.

He wasn’t being kind; the title fit Kenobi well in temperament, wisdom, in the Force and in appearance.

Not least because of the new hair. Privately, (very privately) Mace had been exceedingly glad to see the back of The Mullet. Only a couple of years ago Obi-Wan looked like some kind of dandy; flitting about the place with sparkling eyes and fancy footwork.

A deception, of course, but a convincing one.

The man before him now was sharper, dangerous and hard. Another deception, but one more suited to the times.

Mace took a sip of his wine.

“Congratulations, by the way. You’ve done a fine job with him” he offered as Bant excused herself with a nod and headed to the bar. Kenobi smiled rather shily at him and waved a dismissive hand.

“I think, in this instance, the phrase ‘it takes a village’ has never been more appropriate” he deflected with another wry look.

Mace shook his head and managed not to role his eyes. The return of Healer Eerin with a cheerful joke stopped him from delivering his rebuke.

He sat back and let the two friends bounce off each other, interjecting only rarely as they drank, allowing himself to relax a little. They’d all clearly been going for some time, sensible reserved Jedi all around him shouting at each other and laughing. The Force was buzzing with excitement and cheer as it hadn’t since Geonosis and he basked in it. It wasn’t often he got to do the fun parts of his job.

Still only half listening to the conversation around him he looked over at Skywalker, doing shots of something pink at the bar with the other Young People, and shook his head.

"You taught him everything he knows. You couldn't have taught him how to drink?" he remarked, interrupting Obi-Wan and Bant’s conversation.

Bant snorted and Obi-Wan quirked an eyebrow.

“The art of teaching is assisting discovery” he replied smugly. “This is my final act as his teacher” he added, tipping his pint in a small salute.

Mace rolled his eyes.

“Smartarse” Bant groaned.

All three watched the young man at the bar was handed something in a martini glass and nearly dropped it.

“Hmmm” Obi-Wan put down his pint thoughtfully and Mace had a very vivid flashback to an anxious young master who couldn’t decide when to let go.

But that wasn’t Master Kenobi.

“I think it’s time we left the youngsters to it” The new Master said decisively. Bant looked up at him in surprise before following suit, collecting their glasses and heading off to the bar with a shrug. Mace finished his wine and stood, obediently following curiously.

He observed the younger man summon his former Padawan, who danced over with a huge smile on his face.

“Master!!! Have a shot with us!” Skywalker all but screamed at his amused mentor, seemingly unaware of Mace just behind him.

“Oh no no, I’m far too old and dignified for that” Obi-Wan laughed, before placing both hands on the other man’s shoulders and looking at him with sudden seriousness.

“Stay with the others, keep your commlink on” Skywalker rolled his eyes but Kenobi cupped his face and continued looking him in the eye “Make sure you get a burger on the way home, and have three pints of water-“

“-before bed, I know.” Skywalker interrupted frustratedly.

Mace raised an eyebrow and smiled slightly at the age old exchange, bracing himself for the standard Kenobi/Skywalker bickering that had defined their training years.

But Obi-Wan simply stood back and smiled, bowing his head in acquiescence.

---

“You’re sure leaving is the best idea?” Bant asked dubiously as the three of them left the noisy hellhole of a bar.

Kenobi smirked and nodded.

“He will not want his former Master, his Healer and the Master of the Order around when he’s throwing up everything he’s ever looked at in a drain somewhere.” He advised sagely.

“He and his friends can get themselves home. He’s a Jedi Knight.” He finished with quiet confidence.

Mace looked at Obi-Wan.

‘And you’re a Jedi Master’ he thought.

[xxlittle0birdxx]

Every Story Has a Beginning

Read on AO3

'Erp!' The training droid's lightsaber slipped past Obi-wan's defenses and tapped the back of his calf. The jolt of energy temporarily seized his muscles in the grip of a painful cramp, and he fell to his knees. He waved a hand at the droid, shutting it down, then collapsed onto his back, panting for air, and lay gazing up at the dojo’s high ceiling, criss-crossed with several rafters. Karking stupid mistake, he moaned to himself. It was the sort of error a youngling would make. He’d allowed his concentration to slip for a tiny fraction of a second. He swiped his face with an already-sodden sleeve and sighed, acknowledging the source of his lapse of concentration.

Anakin.

Obi-wan sat up and rested his forearms on his bent knees, letting his hands dangle between them. What had the Council been thinking to let him take Anakin as an apprentice? True, he’d done his share of baby-tending in the crèche, but infants weren’t nine year old Padawans. And Obi-wan had little experience with being solely responsible for the well-being of a child.

And Anakin wasn't a mere child.

It had nothing to do with any of the Chosen One prophecies. Anakin's life experience made him far more jaded than his age would suggest. He was, what Rael would call, street-smart. The years of toiling for that Toydarian on Tatooine made him more proficient that most adult Jedi with machinery, and he was forever neglecting his studies to tinker with something. The few times he’d casually offered his perspective as a child slave in one of his classes resulted in shocked, horrified silence, so heavy with disapproval, that it took Obi-wan days to reassure Anakin that no, he had done nothing wrong, and the disapproval wasn’t aimed at him. The concept of play was an alien concept to Anakin. For all their supposed solemnity, Padawans played hard in their leisure time, with their chosen pursuits ranging from dejarik to the rather odd game from Chandrila that involved a stick and a ball, with a great deal of running, throwing, and catching. For a child who'd spent most of his days working, idleness of any sort was anathema. He struggled to find the stillness within him to meditate. He struggled in his classes. Not with the material. He soaked up everything like a sponge, analyzed it, and applied it to the next lesson before it even started. He chafed against the expected behavior of the more typical Padawans. 'He's fidgety!' one of the instructors had sniffed to Obi-wan, like it was a disease. His flight instructors, though… One of them had already quietly informed Obi-wan — with no small sense of awe — that Anakin had already passed the qualifications to fly starfighters and small shuttles, and was well on his way to the larger vessels. The flight simulators were one of the few places where Anakin felt truly comfortable. That, and the dojo.

Obi-wan shivered as the sweat on his body evaporated, but he didn't move.

He felt he was always chastising the boy. Eat your vegetables. Fold your tunics, don't just wad them up in the drawer. Have you finished your homework? You must calm your thoughts. For Ashla's sake, Anakin, where the hell are your socks? Slow down; no one's going to take your food away. Anakin, you must go back to your classroom.

Obi-wan was completely over his head, and he didn't dare ask for help. It would have just reinforced Yoda's doubts about Anakin’s suitability as a Padawan and Obi-wan’s as a master. Obi-wan had initially thought the Council would let Anakin ease into the Order with the rest of the younglings, but they’d plopped Anakin the Apprentice into his unprepared and gobsmacked lap. He heaved a pitiful sigh. 'Be mindful of the past and future, Obi-wan, but not at the expense of the present,' he reminded himself, imitating Qui-gon's burr.

'That wasn't half-bad.' Obi-wan's head swung up. Rael Averross leaned against the doorframe. He still looked as scruffy and rumpled as he did when Obi-wan first met him on Pijal nearly seven years ago. Perhaps his robes were slightly less shabby. 'Time honored tradition to mock your master's voice,' Rael laughed. He took in the glowing holocron, the training droid, and Obi-wan's disheveled form, then pointed to the holocron. 'Form III?'

'I… Yes.'

‘Suits you.’

‘I suppose.’ He picked up his fallen lightsaber. Three months ago, he would have argued that he could master Ataru. Even two months ago, he would have still said as much, and used its aggressive style to defeat the Sith on Naboo. And then he started replaying the final moments of the duel at odd moments, thinking of all the ways it could have gone so horribly wrong, had the Sith used a good defense. But now… He'd started to wonder if the best offense was indeed a tightly-woven defense.

Real merely grunted and walked into the dojo. ‘You know what time it is?’

Obi-wan waved a hand at the holocron to close it, then sent the droid back to its charging dock. 'I honestly don't know.'

‘After twenty-three hundred.’

Obi-wan’s stomach chose that moment to rumble loudly in the otherwise quiet room.

‘Sounds like you missed dinner, too,’ Rael observed.

‘I’ve got some ration bars stashed somewhere.’ Obi-wan pushed himself to his feet and ran his hand through his shaggy, sweat-soaked hair with a grimace. 'After I've had a shower.' Preferably a long one with water as scalding as he could stand it.

‘Might want to find your Padawan first. It's why I came looking for you.’

Obi-wan’s shoulders slumped. Not again...

‘He wasn’t at dinner with the rest of the Padawans,’ Rael continued. ‘Thought he might be eatin’ with you, but he never made it back before curfew.’

Obi-wan bit back a curse. It wasn't the first time Anakin had disappeared between his last class of the day and the Padawans' dinner. The first few times, Obi-wan had found him in one of the rooftop gardens or in a hidden corner of the Temple, his round cheeks wet with tears, feeling the press of resentment and antipathy from the other Padawans, their disdain for his lack of knowledge about the finer points of the Jedi or the Force. Or he'd crossed paths with Mace Windu, who seemed to have a special glower reserved just for Anakin. There were thousands of nooks and crannies where he could hide. And Anakin was very good at making himself small when he didn’t want to be found. He hooked his lightsaber to his belt and glanced at Rael. 'Does it get easier?'

'What? Havin' an apprentice?'

'Taking care of a child,' Obi-wan retorted, letting the weariness creep into his voice.

'Honestly?' Rael scratched his scraggly beard with both hands. 'No.' He sighed. 'Be a damn sight easier if they came with instruction manuals.' He squinted at Obi-wan. 'The Code doesn't help, either. No attachments, it says, like we don't get attached to them or them to us.'

Obi-wan closed his eyes, and massaged his temples. 'Brilliant,' he muttered. He let his hands fall to his sides, and breathed deeply, letting his consciousness fly through the Temple on the swift wings of the Force. Anakin wasn't in the gardens, or in one of the pools. He was endlessly fascinated by so much green, even limited as it was to the gardens, and with the sight of all that water contained in one place, just so the Jedi could swim. He wasn't in the kitchens sneaking food, nor was he in the flight simulators or the Padawans' dojo. Obi-wan didn't bother with the archive. Anakin disliked Jocasta Nu on sight. Where are you, Anakin? He despaired that the boy had left the Temple and was somewhere in Coruscant, boasting about his podracing or piloting skills in some flea-bitten hive of scum and villainy that didn't care that a nine year old boy's life was in danger. Something flickered in the corner of Obi-wan's mind, and he took a sharp turn toward it.

There.

Anakin was in his quarters. Just as Rael had suspected.

Obi-wan blinked. Then broke into a dead run. Something was terribly wrong.

The thick carpeting that lined the corridors muffled his footfalls as he pelted through them, panic making his heart pound in his chest. Why were his quarters so far from the dojo? He smacked the control panel of the door to his quarters with the Force and skidded to a stop just inside.

Anakin lay on one of the meditation platforms, bundled into the duvet that he'd apparently dragged from Obi-wan's bed. Despite the warmth of the duvet, and Anakin's tinkering with the climate controls to make the room as warm as possible, the boy shivered. Obi-wan laid a hand over Anakin's forehead. Kriff me… Anakin burned with fever. He scooped the sleeping child into his arms. Anakin mewled a weak protest, but wrapped his arms around Obi-wan's neck. Obi-wan balanced Anakin’s bottom on his crossed forearms. 'I'm going to take you to the infirmary,' he murmured. 'You'll feel better soon.'

Anakin's head lolled on his shoulder. 'You stink,' he rasped.

'My apologies.' Obi-wan rolled his eyes. If Anakin could comment on his current lack of personal hygiene, he must not be terribly ill. Then Anakin spoke again.

'Hurts,' Anakin complained.

Obi-wan peered at him. One thing Anakin never complained about so far was physical discomfort. 'What does?'

'Head. Throat. And I'm cold…' He burrowed into Obi-wan's chest, who grew more alarmed. He was most definitely not cold to the touch. Obi-wan could feel the heat radiating from him and walked faster.

The infirmary was just ahead. Obi-wan's strides lengthened, and he burst into the dimly lit space. The medical droid rolled up to them, and scanned Anakin before Obi-wan could so much as speak. The droid returned to a workstation, and retrieved a small bottle that it shoved into one of Obi-wan's hands. 'Give him these. Two pills every six hours until the fever breaks.'

'When will that be?'

The droid didn't shrug, but the pattern of blinking lights suggested one. 'As long as it takes. Could be as few as two or three days. Could be six.'

'What's the matter with him?'

'Nerf-pox.' The droid turned away. 'Nothing to do but ride it out.'

Obi-wan felt outraged on behalf of his apprentice. Surely there was more to be done then ride it out. 'Are you joking?'

'It's not in my programming to make japes about illnesses,' the droid retorted sharply. 'Pills every six hours to help with the fever. Put him to bed, and let him rest. Keep him hydrated.'

Obi-wan refrained from sticking his tongue out at the droid, even though he dearly wanted to, then left the infirmary. He stopped and let the relief course through him. Nerf-pox was a common childhood illness. He took a few steps toward the Padawans' dormitories, but stopped and pivoted toward the Knights' barracks, returning to his quarters at a much slower pace than he'd left them. The Padawans' sleeping cells were barely large enough for one person. He couldn't imagine trying to care for a sick child in one. His own quarters were quite modest, but he did have his own 'fresher and a minuscule kitchen area.

Rael waited on one of the meditation platforms. He stood when Obi-wan entered, and lifted a bundle of clothing. 'Nerf-pox?' At Obi-wan's nod, he sighed. 'Figures. Most of 'em have it when they're in the crèche, where he should be.' He motioned to Obi-wan to follow him, and went into the small bedroom and laid out a set of small pajamas. 'Musta had chores in the crèche this week. It's runnin' through the three year olds…'

Obi-wan set Anakin on the edge of the bed and began to peel off the layers of his clothing. The boy was barely conscious, limbs heavy and limp. 'How did you of all people end up in the crèche?'

Rael sighed and handed him the pajama top. 'Fanry. To make up for what I didn't do with her.' Obi-wan glanced up at him with an upraised eyebrow. 'See her as a person. I only ever saw what I wanted to see. I kriffed it up on Pijal.' He shrugged and passed the pajama bottoms to Obi-wan. 'So when I came back… I asked the Council if I could work with the crèche masters.'

Obi-wan tucked Anakin into the bed and stood. 'And now you're one of the resident advisors for the Padawans.'

Rael snorted, gathering Anakin's clothing and folding it. 'Not sure how well I advise, but I do look out for the Padawans whose masters have to leave 'em behind.' He cuffed Obi-wan on the back of the head with a muttered, 'See ya 'round.'

'Rael?' Obi-wan's head ducked. 'Thank you.'

''M not the best one to ask, but if ya need help with your Padawan… Y'know where to find me.' He left with a wave.

Obi-wan found the small bottle of pills and scanned the label. 'May be administered sublingually,' he read aloud. He glanced at Anakin, sprawled on his back. 'There's a relief. I won't have to try and wake you.' He shook two tiny pills into his palm, then poked them into Anakin's mouth, belatedly thinking he should have washed his hands first. Too late to bother now. He grabbed a clean set of clothes and headed for the 'fresher, trading his much-desired hot water shower for a sonic one. He intended to spend the night in the single armchair in the other room, but a scratchy whisper halted his steps.

'Don't go.'

He turned. Anakin was awake, his blue eyes glassy and bloodshot with fever, silently pleading for Obi-wan to stay. Obi-wan hesitated. The others would insist he must be firm with Anakin, teach him true Jedi detachment. But he couldn't say no. Just as he couldn't say no when he woke up in the middle of the night, and nearly tripped over Anakin, sleeping on the floor next to his bed. 'All right.' Obi-wan slid onto the bed, bracing his back against the wall. He lifted Anakin's head and pillowed it on his thigh, just above his knees. He wasn't going to sleep anyway. He could meditate in here just as well as the other room.

Anakin sighed and coughed, his breath rattling in his lungs. 'I miss my mom,' he murmured.

'I know.'

Anakin turned on his side and curled into a ball. 'Why is it bad to miss my mom?'

Obi-wan felt this was a serious philosophical question from Anakin, and not a querulous complaint. He was silent for several minutes, trying to think of an answer, and not just quote dogma at him. 'I'm not certain I'm the best person to ask,' he finally said. Anakin's only reply was a soft snore, for which Obi-wan was grateful. He was still grieving Qui-gon's death. It had left a gaping hole in Obi-wan's life. Rael was right. For all the Code's admonishments against attachments, masters and apprentices did form emotional attachments to one another. How could he not, when he'd spent the past twelve years following in the formidable footsteps of Qui-gon Jinn? Two months on, and the memory of Force leaving Qui-gon's body still made his hands twitch. He leaned his head against the wall and slowly exhaled. Satine Kryze likewise occupied a corner of his heart and soul, even more than seven years after he'd left her on Mandalore. Leaving had been the correct decision — and a mutual one — but he often wondered if they'd been in the right to close the door their friendship as well. He could do with her counsel right now. He called his datapad to his hand and entered the codes for his personal data archive, then pressed his thumb to the indicted location to read his thumbprint. Then an iris scan. One can never be too careful, he mused, tapping on the message from Satine for what was probably the hundredth time. She hadn't sent it directly to him, but to the Council. Master Plo Koon then passed it along to him.

Please offer my deepest condolences to Obi-wan. Nu kyr'adyc, shin taab'echaaj'la.

'Not gone, merely marching far away,' Obi-wan muttered. For a Mandalorian saying, it hewed rather close to the Jedi way of viewing death. He glanced down at Anakin to assure himself he was still asleep, then switched to the HoloNet, and searched for a tidbit about Satine. It was never a regular habit of his. Just when he needed to feel good about something he'd done. Truth be told, he seemed to look her up nearly every night lately. He felt like he was failing Anakin, and by extension, Qui-gon. Seeing Satine flourish made him feel as though he had done one thing right with his life so far. A holovid appeared of her touring a new hospital on Kalevala. Mandalore seemed to be thriving under her leadership.

Time unspooled around him, while the miniature image of Satine moved through the sun-drenched room, over and over.

Anakin stirred and squinted at the blue-tinged hologram over his head. 'Who's that?' His breath whistled through his clogged sinuses.

'Duchess Satine Kryze of Mandalore,' Obi-wan told him. 'An old friend.'

Anakin watched her for a few moments, the blue light from the holo making his pale face even more pallid. 'She's pretty.'

‘She is,’ Obi-wan agreed, although he felt he was terribly biased. He switched off the datapad.

Anakin yawned and blinked a few times, eyelids growing heavy. 'Not as pretty as Padmé,' he sighed before falling asleep once more.

The corner of Obi-wan's mouth tipped up with a rueful grin. Anakin was rather taken with the young queen of Naboo. The Naboo penchant for pomp, and the queen's correspondingly elaborate wardrobe did little to dispel the notion that they were in some sort of fairy tale. Obi-wan had little doubt that Anakin dreamed of defending Padmé Amidala against Star Dragons, the bold and fearless Jedi Knight wielding his trusty lightsaber.

Hours passed before Anakin stirred again in the peculiar light before dawn that leeched the color from the room. 'They think we're gonna fail,' Anakin remarked, pushing the duvet away. 'Hot,' he mumbled.

With a few gestures, Obi-wan brought a cool, damp cloth to his waiting hand, and draped it over Anakin's forehead. 'Oh?'

'Mmm-hmmmm.' Anakin gazed up at him. ''M too old to be a youngling an' too young to be a Padawan. An' you're too young an'…' His brows drew together as he groped for the word. 'Inexperienced.'

Obi-wan wiped Anakin's cheeks with the cloth. 'Who told you that?'

'No one. But they all think it. All the other Padawans… Master Windu…'

Obi-wan smiled grimly. Why am I not surprised? He ran his hand over Anakin's hair. 'Well, I suppose we'll have to succeed beyond everyone's wildest dreams.' Anakin started to shiver again, and Obi-wan tucked the duvet around his skinny shoulders, struck anew by how small and frail he felt. You will be a Jedi, even if it kills me, he thought.

[geekinoutoverhere]

This is straight up turning into an Obi-Wan Kenobi fangirl blog