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Anakin is a very smart young boy. He knows this because lots of people have told him so.
His mother had always told him that he was smart, that he was her clever boy, whenever he’d helped her fit some rusted old parts together, or when she’d seen how he’d constructed C-3P0 from scraps, or even when he’d help her scrape the last of a meal off of their dishes, even though Anakin didn’t think that last one required a lot of brains.
Old Jira used to say Anakin had the sharpest brain on Tatooine. Anakin thinks that was only because Jira was very old and was always forgetting lots of things, but he decides that it still counts.
Anakin thinks maybe his old friends thought he was smart, too—Kitster most of all, because Kitster was his best friend and knew him better than anyone, and Kitster always called Ani wizard when he saw his projects, or when he taught Kitster all the best tricks and strategies to win the games of Banthas-and-Mynocks and Question the Quarren they played with their friends.
(Sometimes Watto also called Anakin smart, or brilliant, or the brainiest slave in the galaxy, but that was always either when Watto was just happy he’d fixed something, or when he was bragging to the other slave owners. Anakin remembers that Watto called him stupid just as often, but that doesn’t bother him because he knows Watto was wrong, and that he is smart, because his mother told him so, and Watto’s just a sleemo, though Anakin’s not supposed to use that word.)
In his first few days living in the Jedi Temple on Coruscant, Anakin doesn’t feel very smart, even though so many people he trusts have told him that he is. He doesn’t understand how to use the fancy datapad he gets given, or how to put on his robes without getting them all wrinkly. There’s so many Jedi to learn the names of that it’s hard to keep track of them all, and half of them are of species Anakin’s never seen before, but he can’t stare because that’s not polite, even though he really wants to. The Temple has so many different places—gardens, refectories, the Archives, the Room of a Thousand Fountains, the quarters he shares with Obi-Wan—and there’s so many hallways that it’s hard to remember his way around. Most of the time, he ends up following Obi-Wan around, and trying not to sulk about how not-smart he suddenly feels.
There is one good thing about Coruscant, though, and that’s Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan is Anakin’s favorite part of living at the Temple. Obi-Wan tells Anakin ‘good job,’ even when Anakin begins to see that the other Padawans are far ahead of him, are better at so many things than he is. When Anakin sounds out a difficult word, Obi-Wan smiles like he really is proud, and it’s a reminder to Anakin that he is smart, even though he doesn’t feel like it sometimes.
Obi-Wan makes Anakin feel as bright as he knows he is, and Anakin is very bright—bright enough to know that something is wrong on the days when Obi-Wan disappears, the days he spends with the other Jedi, without Obi-Wan. But the other Jedi are nice, and Anakin has grown up a slave, and knows that sometimes, even though he is curious, it’s better not to ask questions, even if he wonders where his Master goes off to. Anakin is bright enough to know that something is wrong, and also bright enough to know better than to ask what that something is--
And, of course, it helps that Anakin gets to have fun.
The first morning it happens starts like any other. Anakin rolls out of his bed, which is still a little too soft for him to be totally comfortable. He goes to the ‘fresher and gets dressed in his complicated tunics and robes and goes to the living area to eat breakfast with Master Obi-Wan, like he does every morning—only Obi-Wan isn’t there, and a very wrinkly alien with a black mask on his face is.
Actually, it’s a very wrinkly alien with a black mask on his face whom Anakin recognizes, and his casually slouched posture straightens up in a flash as the wrinkly alien looks at him.
“Hi,” Anakin says, because he can’t think to say anything else, even though he’s suddenly very nervous, wracking his mind to think of what he might’ve done wrong, and where is Master Obi-Wan?
“Good morning, young Skywalker,” the Jedi says back, and Anakin tenses. He likes it better when people use his first name, but this Jedi—why can’t Anakin just remember his name, he knows Obi-Wan mentioned it to him—is important. He’s part of the Council, one of the twelve Jedi who had stared at Anakin and argued with Qui-Gon that he shouldn’t be trained, the ones who called him Skywalker and the boy. They never called him Anakin. Honestly, Anakin isn’t even sure if this Jedi knows his first name.
Anakin shifts on his feet, glances to the door at the side of the room, and asks, “is Master Obi-Wan sleeping?” Usually Obi-Wan is up before him, meditating or making breakfast or just sitting quietly, and to not have his Master around, especially when this important Jedi is, puts Anakin just slightly on edge.
The Jedi doesn’t smile—not that Anakin would be able to see if he actually did, because of the mask, and all—but something about his voice is warm when he responds. “Your Master has some business to attend to today, Padawan.”
Immediately, Anakin thinks—business? What kind of business? Maybe if he wasn’t so nervous around this Jedi, this Council member, he might’ve asked. Instead, he says, “Oh,” and then, hesitantly— “I can’t go with him?”
The Jedi makes a soft noise that sounds a little bit like a chuckle. Anakin frowns, because he hasn’t said anything funny. “I am afraid not.”
It’s not the answer Anakin was hoping for. “Oh,” he says again, and wishes there was anything else to say, but he still doesn’t feel at ease around this Jedi, this important Jedi, this Jedi who sits on the Council and is now sitting in his and Obi-Wan’s quarters.
“I will be watching you for a while, until your Master returns,” the Jedi says, and then pauses, and then speaks again. “Do you know my name?”
Anakin thinks, maybe this is a test. He wants to guess, but he’s learned so many names in the past few days, and none of them seem like the right one, so if this is a test, he hopes Obi-Wan won’t be too disappointed in him for failing. He shakes his head. “No, Master.”
If the Jedi across from him is disappointed, he doesn’t show it, but again, Anakin worries that his biology might just be getting in the way of Anakin’s ability to read him. “I am Master Plo Koon,” the Jedi—Plo Koon, and Anakin remembers the name, now—says, and it doesn’t sound like a reprimand. “It is an honor to get to spend time with you, Anakin Skywalker.”
So he does know Anakin’s name.
Somehow, suddenly, Anakin thinks he likes Plo Koon. There’s still the nervousness, of course—even if he doesn’t sound angry, or disappointed, or disapproving, Master Koon is still on the Council, and Anakin doesn’t think the Council likes him very much—but something about the way the alien says his name, Anakin Skywalker, makes Anakin feel important. That, with Master Plo’s quiet statement of it is an honor—how is it an honor, Anakin wants to ask, because he’s just a Padawan and this Jedi is on the Council, which means he’s one of the most important Jedi, but he doesn’t ask because the people on Coruscant have a funny system of manners and talking that he still doesn’t fully understand, and he doesn’t want to embarrass himself—makes him feel a bit more at ease.
“Thanks,” Anakin says, when he realizes that the quiet has gone on for too long, has grown awkward—and then, unable to help himself, he blurts out what he’s been thinking since he first saw Master Plo in the Council chambers, when he wasn’t even officially a Padawan yet. “Why do you wear that mask?”
“The atmosphere on Coruscant, and on many other planets, is rich in oxygen, which beings like you breathe,” Master Plo explains, and his hand, with four fingers and long, funny-looking nails, gestures towards Anakin. “To my species, however, oxygen is poisonous. My mask filters it out.”
“Oh.” Anakin turns that over in his mind before his next question emerges—this time with a little more confidence, mostly because Master Plo doesn’t seem annoyed by his curiosity. “What’s your species called?”
Anakin gets a funny feeling that Master Plo is smiling, even though he doesn’t even know if it’s possible for someone of Plo’s species to smile, even under the mask. Anakin wonders if he even has a mouth.
“I am a Kel Dor,” Master Plo says, and his voice is warm again.
Anakin wrinkles his nose in thought. “I don’t think there were any Kel Dor on Tatooine.”
“I cannot imagine that there were,” Plo Koon says, still with that nice tone to his voice, and Anakin is starting to feel more and more comfortable. Plo Koon pauses, only for a moment. “You must not know very much about my species, then.”
It’s not a question, or at least it doesn’t sound like one, but Anakin shakes his head anyways, resisting the temptation to pretend to be more worldly than he is. He’s used to being embarrassed over his lack of knowledge by now, even after only a few days on Coruscant, and it’s probably not a good idea to lie to a Council member.
“Would you like to learn?”
Anakin isn’t expecting the offer, and he blinks in surprise—but the Jedi sitting before him seems genuine enough, even if Anakin can’t read his face through all of those wrinkles, can’t see his intentions through his mask. Anakin is grateful to have learned why Plo Koon wears the mask, but he still wants to ask about the wrinkles, and why his skin is orange, and why his nails are so long. He knows that learning about Plo’s species is probably the best way to get the answers to his questions, and so after one more moment of thought, Anakin nods, fiddling with his hands to wring out the last of his nerves.
Plo Koon seems pleased, and he gestures to the chair at the table beside him. “Come here, then, and I will tell you.”
Anakin goes, and listens.
Obi-Wan doesn’t come back until after dinner. By then, Anakin has learned many, many things, interesting things, like the difference between oxygen and helium and Dorin gas—which, after a week or so, he realizes wasn’t actually that interesting, but Plo Koon made it seem that way.
Obi-Wan returns an hour after Anakin and Plo Koon have come back from the refectory, and he looks different, and the air around him feels different—not the air, Anakin reminds himself, the Force, because now that funny sensation has a name—but it’s not a bad kind of different. Anakin still isn’t sure how to feel about it, but Plo Koon says goodbye, Anakin Skywalker and puts his weird, big, ugly hand on Anakin’s shoulder before he leaves, and Obi-Wan smiles a little more when Anakin tells him all the things Plo Koon told him, about so many different worlds and species, and Anakin decides that whatever’s different, he doesn’t mind it.
It isn’t even a full week before another Jedi comes to visit, only this time, Obi-Wan is there in the morning to tell him that he won’t be around for a while.
He’s in a hurry, like he has somewhere to be—Anakin thinks of what Plo Koon said about business, and considers asking what business Obi-Wan has to go deal with, but decides not to, because his Master is pulling on his robes and cleaning out the kettle and talking to him all at once, and Anakin doesn’t want to overwhelm him completely.
“I won’t be long,” Obi-Wan promises. Anakin wants to tell him that he won’t mind, really, as long as he gets to talk to Plo Koon again and ask him more questions, but before he gets the chance Obi-Wan is turning and looking at him in a way that makes Anakin go quiet, like it’s really important that Anakin listens to him. “I’ll be back just after lunch. I promise.”
Anakin nods, and tries not to frown about how stressed Obi-Wan seems. “Okay, Master.”
Obi-Wan doesn’t relax at all at his response, though Anakin was hoping he might. Instead, his Master glances to the chrono on the wall and says something very quickly and very quietly under his breath. Then the door opens, and whatever Obi-Wan said before, he says it again, only this time it does sound relieved, even though he still doesn’t smile as he looks up at the figure standing in the doorway.
“Bant,” he breathes out, like he’s been in open space without oxygen for an hour and just got his first breath of it. Anakin’s gaze follows Obi-Wan’s to the open door, to the Jedi standing there—a Jedi who is not Plo Koon—and he frowns.
“Hello, Obi,” the Jedi at the door greets, smiling. Anakin recognizes her species—Mon Calamari, an aquatic species, and that explains why her skin looks weirdly moist. It’s a pretty color, though, and the way that she looks at Obi-Wan, far more warmly than most of the other Jedi Anakin has observed, makes him want to trust her. “Sorry I’m late.”
Obi-Wan tries to smile, Anakin can tell, but he’s still rushing. “That’s alright,” he says, but Anakin thinks maybe it isn’t alright, because Obi-Wan likes things to be on time—it’s one of the things he’s learned about his Master, and unfortunately, one of the areas in which they differ. Anakin doesn’t care much for keeping time, not like Obi-Wan does.
Obi-Wan turns to him, quickly, and so does the Mon Calamari at the door. Anakin tries not to shift uncomfortably under their respective gazes. “Anakin, this is Master Bant Eerin. She’s a very close friend of mine,” he says, and Anakin turns towards the Jedi in the doorway, ready to say pleased to meet you or any of the other polite things he’s supposed to say when meeting someone new, but she beats him to it.
“Hello, Anakin!” She sounds very happy, despite the fact that it’s early in the morning still, and Anakin blinks as she steps closer. He thinks she’s smiling. It looks like a smile, but it’s hard to tell, because her mouth is very different from any Anakin has seen, on any species, and he doesn’t know very much about Mon Calamari. “It’s so nice to finally meet you. Obi’s told me so much—”
“Bant,” Obi-Wan says quietly, his eyes glancing anxiously to the door, and after seeing the look on his face, she collects herself, falling quiet. Obi-Wan steps forward again, resting a hand on Anakin’s shoulder and crouching like Qui-Gon would when he said something important to him.
“I’ll be back after lunch, like I said,” Obi-Wan says, his voice serious like he’s making a promise, and Anakin nods again, even though he wants to say you told me already. “Master Eerin will watch you, okay? Just—” He glances to Anakin, and then to Bant, and Anakin isn’t sure which one of them he’s talking to as his voice turns just a little bit pleading. “Please don’t get into any trouble.”
“We won’t,” Bant smiles back, before Anakin can promise that he’ll be on his best behavior, and she waves a hand at Obi-Wan. “Now come on, get going, you.”
Obi-Wan gives them each one last look, and Anakin one last, small smile, even though his eyes still look worried—and then he slips out the same door Bant came in moments before, and Anakin looks up towards the Mon Calamari, hoping she might be as nice as Plo Koon was.
Bant is already looking at him by the time his gaze focuses on her. When she smiles again, Anakin feels more confident that it is, in fact, a smile. “Don’t worry,” she says, her voice light and hushed, like she’s sharing a secret. “He always gets like that when he’s running late.”
Anakin still isn’t sure where he stands with this friend of Obi-Wan’s—it seems like she and his Master are friends, at least, and Anakin can’t help but be reminded of Kitster, back on Tatooine—but Obi-Wan trusts her, so Anakin decides that maybe he will, too, and allows a small smile to pass onto his lips as he looks up at Bant. “I know,” he shares honestly, and maybe with a little mischievousness, too.
Bant suddenly seems even happier, and she smiles brighter. “I can already tell we’re going to get along, Anakin.” Something in her voice—the confidence, maybe—makes Anakin smile a little more, too, and he thinks he likes Master Eerin already. She sits at the table, and gestures for him to come sit, too, something twinkling in her silver eyes. He follows after her, settling into his usual seat and wondering what she has in store, if she’ll tell him things about other worlds and all the beings of the galaxy like Plo Koon did. In the end, she tells him something much, much more entertaining.
“Do you want to hear some stories about your silly old Master?”
Obi-Wan is true to his word. He comes back just after lunch, while Bant is explaining to Anakin how her quarters are kept moist, how it’s like that for all the aquatic species, how there’s tunnels of water throughout the Temple and a whole underwater level. Anakin tells her that there must be more water in that one level than on the whole planet of Tatooine. They come from two very different places, Anakin thinks, but they get along very well. Bant ruffles his hair just before she leaves, the salty smell of her skin lingering with Anakin for a while after.
After Bant is gone, Obi-Wan tells him that they’re going to meditate, and despite the fact that meditation is by far Anakin’s least favorite part of being a Jedi, he finds it easier than ever to sit down and be still now that he has the memories of Bant’s stories to occupy his imagination. It works for a while, before he can feel Obi-Wan’s quiet disapproval in the Force. Anakin opens his eyes to see his Master frowning thoughtfully at him.
“I can feel you thinking, Anakin,” he chides gently, but there’s something soft and open in his expression, too. Something like concern, maybe. “What’s on your mind?”
Anakin can’t help it. He smiles, and he matter-of-factly repeats the focus of his thoughts to Obi-Wan just the same way that Bant had introduced the story to him. “The hoi-broth incident.”
Obi-Wan watches him, and blinks, his eyes wide as though Anakin has just grown another head—and then he smiles, and Anakin grins, too, and he’s laughing, and Obi-Wan is laughing, and it feels so, so good to laugh with his Master.
The next time isn’t for a while.
Anakin is glad, because he’s been enjoying his time with his Master more and more, and Obi-Wan is smiling more often, now—but one day after lunch, Obi-Wan tells him that he has to go again, that he’ll be back before bedtime, and though Anakin wishes he didn’t have to go, he doesn’t say so, because Obi-Wan has that worried, serious look again. He just nods and tells Obi-Wan it’s alright, he’ll be alright, and hopes to himself that he’ll get to talk to Bant or Plo Koon again.
Neither Bant nor Plo Koon are the Jedi that comes to Obi-Wan and Anakin’s quarters, though. Instead, Anakin is staring at a green-skinned Jedi with funny-looking tendrils on his head. Kit Fisto, Anakin remembers from Obi-Wan’s brief explanation before he’d slipped off down the hallways, and he shifts on his feet as he looks up at the Jedi, once again uncertain of where he stands with this new acquaintance of his.
In the end, he decides to be cautious and reserved in his greeting. “Hi, Master Fisto,” he says, and watches for his reaction.
Kit Fisto smiles bigger than Anakin thinks is possible. “Hello, Padawan Skywalker,” he greets in turn, still smiling, and Anakin doesn’t think he’s ever met anyone who could smile that wide. Probably even a Nexu couldn’t smile that wide, he thinks, and Nexu have giant mouths and so many teeth—or at least, that was what Kitster had said, but Kitster exaggerated sometimes.
There’s a beat of silence, which Anakin still thinks might be a test, even though Obi-Wan is really the only one who tests him like that. He’s working hard to think of something to say to fill the quiet when he takes in a deep breath, and notices that subtle, salty smell again—just like Bant.
“Are you an aquatic species?” He asks, curiosity once more triumphing over his manners—but Kit Fisto is still smiling, and Anakin doesn’t think he’s going to mind.
“I am a Nautolan,” Kit Fisto answers, and Anakin frowns in consideration. Gears start to turn in his head.
“Does that mean you’re a good swimmer?”
Anakin had thought Master Fisto was already smiling as wide as he could, but he’s proven wrong quickly. The Nautolan Jedi smiles even wider.
“It means I am the best swimmer.”
That makes Anakin smile—Kit Fisto sounds like one of his friends back on Tatooine, not some stuffy, reserved Jedi, and it makes him all the more hopeful that the idea slowly forming in his mind might actually work out. He’s supposed to be spending the rest of the day studying for his Galactic History course, but…
“Do you think you could help me with something?” He asks, feeling an odd swelling of hope in his chest.
Kit Fisto keeps smiling. “I know I can, Padawan Skywalker.”
Anakin isn’t sure if Obi-Wan comes back on time, because he’s not in his quarters waiting for him to return.
Instead, he’s with Kit Fisto, in his Temple-issue swim trunks, immersed underwater in the deep end of one of the Temple’s pools for the first time, his focus only on the instructions Master Fisto had given him—kick, kick, arms, keep kicking—and then he breaks the surface of the water, feet still kicking to keep him afloat while one hand wipes the water from his eyes, and then opens his eyes, ready to see Master Fisto, to take the next pointers on how his technique is, what he can do better—and instead, he sees Obi-Wan, standing at the edge of the pool and watching him.
He’s surprised enough at the sight that he forgets to kick, and his head suddenly bobs underwater, and his eyes and nose burn something awful as water forces its way in—but he remembers, again, what Master Fisto had said, and kicks his way back to the surface, sucking in a deep breath once he’s back in the wonderful, wonderful air, which he never wants to take for granted again—and this time, he keeps kicking enough to float steadily as he looks with wide eyes up at his Master, feeling at once proud that Obi-Wan has seen him in the deep end, embarrassed that he’d so easily lost his concentration, and sorely, sorely disappointed.
Disappointment wins out, in the end, as the emotion that claws the worst at his heart, and Anakin kicks his way to the edge of the pool, holding onto the ledge with his arms so that he can give his tired legs a break, looking at Obi-Wan’s tunic rather than meeting his eyes. “I was gonna surprise you,” Anakin says quietly, too quietly, and tries not to think about how his eyes suddenly feel wet from more than just the pool.
He was going to surprise Obi-Wan, really. The last time they’d tried this whole swimming business, Anakin had been too afraid to even go under. The feeling of being in the water had been strange and unfamiliar and frightening, and he’d wanted nothing to do with it at first—but that fear had been beaten out, eventually, by the desire to make Obi-Wan proud, to make him smile, and if he’d gotten the chance to surprise his Master like he’d planned, that’s what Anakin would’ve done. He would’ve asked Obi-Wan if they could’ve practiced swimming again, and then he would’ve surprised him with how much he’d learned, showing him how he could swim in the deep end, underwater, all on his own, and Obi-Wan would’ve been proud and would’ve laughed and would’ve smiled, and the smile would’ve reached his eyes—only now, Obi-Wan’s ruined the surprise, however unintentionally, and Anakin feels the hope he’d had before deflating, because now he has to think of a whole new way to get Obi-Wan to smile—
Except when he looks up, vision only blurred a little, Obi-Wan is smiling, with that funny look on his face like he can’t believe what he’s seeing.
“You did surprise me, Anakin,” Obi-Wan says, watching him for a moment with that shine to his eyes, and then—“How in the galaxy did you just learn all this?”
Anakin still feels a little dismayed that everything didn’t go according to his plan, but there’s something in Obi-Wan’s voice that makes him look up, his gaze anxious still, but with an undeniable glimmer of hope that maybe not all was lost. “Master Fisto helped me.”
Like he’s been given a cue, Kit Fisto rises from the depths of the water beside Anakin, wearing that same grin as before, and Obi-Wan blinks again.
“Right,” he says, pausing for a moment, and then looks to Anakin, shaking his head a little, his smile only growing. “You did very, very well, Padawan. I’m proud of you.”
Just like that, with Obi-Wan smiling, really smiling, with that firm statement that he’s proud of Anakin, everything in the galaxy seems okay. No, better than okay—perfect, Anakin thinks, and he’s grinning, his earlier disappointment at once forgotten. He’s caught up in the warmth that comes with seeing Obi-Wan happy again, with having earned his master’s praise—so caught up that when Obi-Wan turns, presumably to reach for Anakin’s towel, Anakin speaks up without thinking about being polite or responsible.
“Master,” he begins, seizing this hope, this happiness, while he feels it—“Do you wanna come swimming?”
He expects Obi-Wan to say no, and he knows that there will be a million reasons why. It’s late—after dinnertime, and Anakin still hasn’t even eaten, nor has he studied for Galactic History like he was supposed to. Obi-Wan turns, and looks at him again, and Anakin braces himself to be let down—
And instead, his Master nods just once, and smiles. “Let me go and get my swim trunks. I won’t be long.”
There are times in between. Anakin has grown used to his new cast of caretakers, by now. Their visits are more frequent some weeks than others, and Anakin rarely has warning for when Obi-Wan will disappear and one of them will stand in his stead. He likes spending time with them—with Master Plo, and Master Eerin, and Master Fisto—but he still wishes, though he’d never say as much, that Obi-Wan could stay, that he wouldn’t have to go away so often, because he likes spending time with Obi-Wan best of all.
There is one time that is more sudden than the others.
Anakin gets better at meditation. He practices and practices and practices until he can’t bear to focus on something as silly as breathing anymore, until he thinks he’s as far into the Force as he can go, but Obi-Wan still tells him to focus more, to go deeper, to clear his mind. Some days he meditates better than others. The times he mediates the easiest are when Obi-Wan is sitting across from him, sunken into the Force just as Anakin is supposed to be, and he doesn’t feel so alone, or so silly.
When Obi-Wan takes him to the Room of a Thousand Fountains to meditate, Anakin agrees easily enough. He likes it there, and he likes how the sound of the water makes it easier for the noise in his mind to quiet down, how he can hear others talking, Masters and Padawans and Initiates all walking around, training, talking, the sounds loud enough for him to hear, but not loud enough that he’s tempted to listen. The noise helps him meditate It’s helped him many times before, and it helps him today, when he gets further in his meditation than he ever has, feeling peaceful in that way Obi-Wan always talks about, but he’s never achieved, and Obi-Wan is going to be so proud of him—
But then something feels bad—bad, and wrong—and after trying to fight it for a while, to cling to the peace he’s only just grasped, Anakin opens his eyes, and Obi-Wan isn’t sitting in front of him anymore, meditating like he was when Anakin closed his eyes so long ago. Obi-Wan isn’t anywhere to be seen. Instead, a woman is sitting where Anakin’s Master once was—a Mirialan woman, Anakin recognizes, because he’s learned about so many other species in his classes—and as though she’s anticipating the questions that rise to Anakin’s tongue, she holds up a hand.
“Your Master is alright,” she reassures, and her expression is so gentle, framed by a veil of black, her voice so soft and calming, that Anakin almost believes her. “He had some business to attend to, and asked if I could watch you for him.”
Anakin is suddenly very tired of hearing about his Master’s business. He wants to know what Obi-Wan’s stupid business is. He wants to see his Master for himself, to talk to him himself, to ask him why he keeps leaving Anakin with all these Jedi, because yes, they’re fun, but not as fun as him—
He wants to be angry, but for some reason, another, messier feeling wins the struggle for dominance in his heart, and Anakin can’t bring himself to ask anything, to say anything. Whatever he’s feeling, it feels heavy, and suddenly, he wishes Obi-Wan was here not so that Anakin could demand answers, or so that he could beg him to stay, but just so that he could give him a hug.
“You’re worried for him,” a soft voice says—the woman’s voice, and Anakin swallows, knowing by now that to lie around a Jedi is a difficult task indeed. He isn’t sure why, but he wants to cry.
He nods, instead.
“Your Master will be alright, Padawan.” Anakin isn’t a youngling. Anakin is smart, and he knows that intentionally or not, the Mirialan before him has just offered him something more truthful than the explanations he’s gotten before. Will be, she’d said, not is, and Anakin tries again to untangle the knot in his chest, this time succeeding enough to get a few words out, though his voice is strained and distant and not like himself.
“Can I help him?” Surely he can. He’s Obi-Wan’s Padawan. Obi-Wan has helped him with so much—with reading, and meditating, and his nightmares, and the days when he misses his mother so much that it hurts. Obi-Wan has helped him when he wasn’t alright, and Anakin wants so badly to help his Master in return.
There is a sad smile on the woman’s face, and Anakin knows enough to know what that means, what the answer is. No.
The woman doesn’t say that, though. She doesn’t say anything, for a moment, reaching her hand up instead to rest gently on Anakin’s shoulder, and it feels so much like something that his mother would’ve done that Anakin wants to cry for an entirely different reason now.
“You already have, Padawan,” the woman says softly, and Anakin knows that that’s something adults say to make kids stop talking, stop worrying, stop asking questions—but her eyes never leave his, not even for a moment, and her hand feels so steady on his shoulder, just like his mother’s, and somehow, Anakin thinks he might believe her.
Anakin sits in the Room of a Thousand Fountains with Master Unduli for a very long time. He tries, several times at her coaxing, to meditate again, but every time he’s thinking too much about Obi-Wan to get very far.
When they go to the refectory to eat dinner, Master Unduli asks Anakin about his classes, which of them is his favorite, what he is learning. He answers her, but his thoughts remain with his Master, and though he thinks maybe it’s silly, he hopes that Obi-Wan has eaten dinner, because there’s blumfruit today and that’s Obi-Wan’s favorite.
Anakin doesn’t feel hungry, but he eats anyways, half because that’s what Obi-Wan would want him to do, and half because he still cannot stand for any food to go to waste, even though Obi-Wan promises that it’s not simply thrown out—but it’s an echo of his life before, of his existence on Tatooine, that isn’t easily erased, even at his Master’s reassurance.
When he’s mostly done swallowing down his food, a blur of pink rushes to him and Master Unduli. Anakin realizes only when she comes closer that it’s Bant, and then, for the first time in hours, he feels a little bit of hope—Bant is Obi-Wan’s friend, and if there’s any news to be had, there’s a good chance it’ll come from her.
Only Bant looks a little nervous, not happy, and just as quickly as hope sparked in Anakin’s chest, he abandons it. If Bant has come with news, it’s not good news.
Actually, Anakin determines Bant has come with no news at all—or at least, not any news for Anakin’s ears—as she ruffles his hair like she always does, and moves to sit beside him at the table, giving a small nod towards Luminara in greeting. “Master Unduli,” Bant says, but she doesn’t sound like her normal, joking self, not like the Bant that Anakin has come to know as Obi-Wan’s best friend, the one who grew up side by side with him. She sounds like she’s further away than she is.
Luminara smiles at Bant, that same sad smile that she keeps giving to Anakin. “Master Eerin. It is good to see you,” she says, still so quiet and soft.
Anakin doesn’t greet Bant with anything other than his own weak attempt at a smile. He doesn’t look up from his tray long enough to see how Bant’s expression falls.
“Master Unduli,” Bant says again, but this time it’s cautious, like a question she’s uncertain of the answer to. “Would it be alright if Anakin and I went on a walk? I promised to show him around the Halls of Healing a while ago, and I’m afraid I never got the chance.”
Anakin glances up, because a walk is the last thing he’d been expecting right now, let alone a tour of the Halls of Healing—but Bant told the truth, she had promised him, and even if Anakin couldn’t stir up his usual level of interest, he knew it would be a lot easier to walk than to keep sitting still like this.
“Of course, Master Eerin.” Luminara’s approval makes Anakin deflate a little in relief, so welcome that he doesn’t even try to interpret the knowing glance she sends Bant’s way. Instead, when Luminara turns to him, he tries to be brave and meet her gaze, only to find it more difficult than he ever could’ve imagined.
“Take heart, Skywalker,” Luminara says, her voice quiet but firm in a way that feels like it goes right to Anakin’s chest, and he swallows hard before he nods. He can do that. He can take heart.
“Yes, Master,” he says quietly, when he trusts himself enough to speak without crying, and Bant rests a hand on his head again.
“Come on, Anakin,” she says, and it sounds like she’s trying very hard to smile. “Let’s go for a walk.”
Bant shows him all around the Halls of Healing. They stay out of the way of any Healers trying to do their work, of course, but they make their way down the hallways all the same, and Anakin gets to see all the bacta tanks, and med-droids. When he sees one of the machines he remembers from having his deactivated slave chip taken out, he tells Bant the whole story, because even that is easier than thinking about Obi-Wan.
Even after they’ve seen so much, after Anakin is certain that there can’t possibly be any more parts of the Halls of Healing that he hasn’t seen, they end up outside a small hallway, populated not with droids but with sentient Jedi Healers, calmly passing between doors, and something about this place in particular makes Anakin pause as he looks down the hall.
“What’s down there?”
Bant pauses as though the question has caught her off guard, even though Anakin thinks she should know by now that he likes to ask questions. Then she softens, and her hand rests on Anakin’s head again, even though he’s told her a lot of times that she makes him smell all salty when she does that so much.
“That’s where the Mind Healers work,” Bant says softly, and now it’s Anakin’s turn to stand in silence, watching. He doesn’t ask any more questions, because he doesn’t have to. At once, everything makes sense.
Mind Healers.
It’s silent for a long time. Anakin watches doors open and close, watches Healers go from room to room. He tries not to let himself think too long about Obi-Wan, somewhere behind those doors, in the maze of hallways.
Anakin wants to hug his Master so, so badly.
“Is he gonna be okay?” His voice is so quiet that Anakin doesn’t realize it’s him who has spoken, at first—and once he has, he doesn’t know why he even asked the question in the first place. Master Unduli already said Obi-Wan would be alright. Bant will probably say the same thing.
Bant doesn’t speak right away. Instead, she crouches down, puts a hand on Anakin’s shoulder until he finally tears his eyes away from those doors to look at her—and then she pulls him into a hug, and Anakin closes his eyes tight.
“Obi—your Master—went through a lot,” Bant says gently, her voice muffled a little by the time it reaches Anakin’s ears, given the way his face is buried into her shoulder with no concern for the funny moistness of her Mon Calamari skin, or how the scent of salt might cling to his robes long after the hug is over.
Anakin thinks, you don’t have to tell me that. He knows. He thinks of how hard it is sometimes to get Obi-Wan to smile, and remembers, too, how some nights, Anakin wakes to the sound of a scream that isn’t his own, isn’t the product of his own nightmares.
It’s always the day after those nights that Obi-Wan goes off to attend to business. Anakin feels a little foolish that he hadn’t put the pieces together sooner, but he’s smart, and he’s put them together now.
“He misses Master Qui-Gon,” Anakin supplies after a moment, when the silence drags too long. I understand, he wants to say. I’m smart. I know what’s happening. “… I miss him, too.”
Bant’s pulled away just enough to get a good look at Anakin’s face, now, and she smiles sadly. “Of course you do,” she says, and hugs him again.
The hug feels good, but Anakin’s frown doesn’t leave his lips, and a moment later, with his face still pressed into Bant’s tunic, he repeats his earlier question, this time wanting, needing, an answer even more desperately than before. “… is he gonna be okay?”
Bant doesn’t pull away to answer, this time. Anakin can’t look her in the eyes, can’t judge her honesty the way he learned to do back on Tatooine, when that skill was the only way to keep from getting swindled by junk traders, when getting swindled meant Watto yelling, and getting in trouble, and no more going home early, and his mother looking at him so sadly. He can’t look at Bant to judge her honesty, but he can feel what he thinks is her resolve, and Anakin thinks he’s starting to get the hang of this Force thing.
“He’s going to be okay,” Bant says softly, but firmly, confidently—and Anakin nods, reassured again, and closes his eyes, believing her and repeating that promise over and over again to himself. Obi-Wan will be okay.
Bant holds him for a long time. Anakin is a little embarrassed to be hugged like a youngling, but Bant is nice, and he has a feeling that she won’t think less of him for it. When she pulls away, he wishes she was still hugging him, but he manages to stand tall and meet her gaze all the same, his strength restored.
“Nothing can keep your Master down, Anakin,” Bant promises again, meeting his eyes in that serious way that lets Anakin know she really, really means it—and then, she does the thing Anakin expects the very least, and smiles, though he can see that her eyes still have a shine to them.
“Nothing except hoi-broth, that is,” she corrects, and Anakin smiles even though his eyes feel wet, too, as Bant hugs him again.
They go back to the refectory once they’re all finished hugging, and once Anakin has wiped away his tears on the sleeve of his tunic. Bant tells him that they’re going to get some snacks and talk, and that’s what they do, sitting at one of the tables long after most of the other Jedi have retired for the night, long after Anakin is supposed to have gone to bed. Only a few nocturnal species keep them company, spread out across the many tables that the refectory boasts, and their quiet conversations are just a hum in the background of that which Anakin and Bant share, speaking of anything that comes to mind—except, of course, the one thing that is on both of their minds still. Obi-Wan.
Time ticks on, and they keep talking—Bant tells Anakin about her homeworld, Mon Cala, how it’s all water, everywhere, and Anakin tells her that she probably would’ve shriveled up in the suns of Tatooine within minutes, unless maybe Anakin and his mom found her, because they would’ve helped her even though they never had a lot of water themselves, but Mom always told him that they had to help however they could. He tries to keep talking even as it gets harder to stifle his yawns, even as the hour grows later and later.
Despite his mounting exhaustion, Anakin doesn’t ask to go back to his quarters so that he can sleep. If he goes back, he’ll think about Obi-Wan again, and he’s trying very hard not to do that right now.
On their next pass through the food line of the refectory, he takes more of the sugary juice on offer while Bant replenishes their supply of snacks. The juice helps with his tiredness for a little bit, and it tastes good, too. Even after the few weeks he’s spent on Coruscant, eating and drinking what the Temple has to offer, stuff that tastes as good as this still feels like a treat, like the sweetened breads Mom used to save for special days, and treats always make Anakin smile.
The only issue is that even the sugar in the juice can’t keep Anakin awake and alert forever, and eventually, his eyelids are growing heavy, each blink lasting longer and longer, tempting him all the more to just close his eyes and sleep right here.
Bant notices, which Anakin should’ve expected, because he’s learning that Jedi notice almost everything—but even when she gives him a knowing half-smile, it doesn’t look too pitying, which Anakin is grateful for. “Tired?”
Anakin could try and lie, but he figures that’s probably pointless against a Jedi, and he’s too exhausted to even attempt it, anyways. Instead, he nods, arms drawing tighter around himself as though they might serve as a blanket, and before Bant can get a chance to ask what he assumes will be her next question, Anakin forces himself to speak up.
“I don’t wanna go back to my quarters,” he says, surprising himself with how quiet he sounds. He wishes he’d been louder, firmer, so that Bant might not try and argue with him—but when he looks up, Bant doesn’t look like she’s going to try and convince him to go back. She almost looks like she was expecting him to say what he had.
“I know,” she says softly, and though part of Anakin wants to ask how, he saves that question for when he’s less tired. Bant stands up, and Anakin fights another yawn as she moves to the side of the table, watching as she holds out a hand towards him. “There’s somewhere else you can stay tonight.”
Anakin’s eyes widen a little, and doesn’t have the energy to bite his tongue, to remind himself not to look too hopeful. “With you?”
Bant smiles more, and even breathes out a soft laugh, but shakes her head, and Anakin feels his heart fall a little bit. “No, not with me. I’m needed in the Halls of Healing tonight, for a late shift.” She must sense Anakin’s dismay, because her hand reaches up to tug at his braid a little, trying to draw a smile from him—and she does, though even Anakin’s smile betrays his weariness. “With one of my best friends—one of your Master’s best friends, really—and his Padawan.”
Even through the haze of his exhaustion, Anakin feels an undeniable spark of interest. While Anakin has met so many of Obi-Wan’s friends, he hasn’t met one with a Padawan yet. He’s met Padawans, of course, takes his classes with them, but making friends hasn’t been the easiest thing to do—after all, they’ve all known each other for so long, and worst of all, they all know that he’s new. Anakin hadn’t known what it was like to be the odd one out until he’d attended his first-ever Temple course, Meditative Methods, and had felt the stares of his classmates the entire time. The only other time in his life Anakin could remember feeling that way was when he’d been prepping his pod for a race back on Tatooine, a small, human child in a sea of tough, burly aliens, who’d all stared at him like he was a piece of meat—but even those stares hadn’t bothered him the way that those of the other Padawans did, despite the fact that the other podracers were all probably thinking of ways to smash him into bits.
But if this Padawan’s Master is one of Obi-Wan’s friends… maybe they’ll be nicer, or easier to talk to. Anakin hopes so, even if the logical part of his mind told him it’s probably smarter for him not to get his hopes up.
He doesn’t realize he’s forgotten to respond to Bant until she’s reaching a hand to his shoulder, crouching down to his level. “They’re both very nice, Anakin,” she encourages, her smile soft and worried. “And Obi-Wan trusts Master Vos.” Bant knows what she’s doing, because Anakin knows that anyone Obi-Wan trusts is someone he can trust, too.
Anakin’s so tired that he doesn’t need much convincing. He nods and takes Bant’s hand as he shuffles out of his seat and to his feet again. “Okay,” he agrees quietly, ready to go to bed and not quite caring where that happens.
“There we are,” Bant grins, and Anakin stirs up what energy he has left to match it as they head off towards the quarters of Master Vos and his Padawan.
The first thing that Anakin thinks upon stepping into the living area is that Master Vos’s quarters are not, in any way, shape, or form, anything like the ones he and Obi-Wan share. The second thing he thinks, half-guiltily, is that he might just prefer Master Vos’s quarters over his own.
It’s not that the rooms he shares with Obi-Wan aren’t nice, because they are, and Anakin is grateful for them. They’re comfortable, and they have everything he could ever want—his own bedroom, and a ‘fresher with a really nice shower and real water, and a kitchen that always has food in it.
But Master Vos’s quarters have things in them, everywhere. It reminds him of his workbench, back at home on Tatooine, littered with parts, though the stuff populating the floor of Master Vos’s living area doesn’t look like anything particularly useful. It’s just a mess, one that Anakin knows would make his own Master’s nose scrunch up in distaste.
It makes Anakin smile.
Bant’s opened the door to the quarters and stepped in without knocking, which means that Master Vos didn’t get the chance to greet them at the door, but given the tall, dark-haired figure standing just a short distance away, Anakin thinks he was probably expecting them all the same.
The figure waiting for them grins, a full smile that reminds Anakin of Kit Fisto’s. “Bant,” he greets, beaming, and Anakin glances up to see that Bant’s returning his smile.
“Hi, Quin,” she says, that same twinkle in her eye as when she talks to Obi-Wan. “Glad you made it back in time.”
Master Vos—Quin, is that his first name?—chuckles. “You know it’s not my way to be late,” he replies smoothly. Bant laughs, and Anakin thinks that was some sort of joke—evidently, one that he doesn’t understand—and he shifts on his feet, trying to feel less awkward.
The movement draws Master Vos’s eye, and suddenly he’s looking down at Anakin. Anakin sees the yellow markings on his face, and wonder what they mean, if they’re always there or if he puts them on for some reason—but he doesn’t ask, because he’s trying to be polite, like Obi-Wan always tells him to be.
“So,” Master Vos says, arms crossing over his chest, and his grin grows. “You’re Obi-Wan’s Padawan, huh?”
Anakin feels the intensity of his gaze but can’t tell if it’s a good thing or a bad thing. He remembers again what Obi-Wan has told him so many times—manners—and decides that if he’s going to be spending the night here, it’s better to be safe than sorry, so he nods, clearing his throat a little. “Yes, Master.”
Master Vos blinks at him, as if somehow surprised by that reply—and then he laughs, and gestures for Anakin to come further inside. “Come on, kid,” he says, and some of the nervous itch under Anakin’s skin melts away at how kind his voice sounds. “Come in, and you don’t have to call me that, okay?” Anakin hasn’t opened his mouth to protest, but Master Vos raises his hand anyways. “Don’t worry. I’m not gonna tell Obi-Wan.”
Anakin flushes, even though he thinks he’s starting to like this friend of Obi-Wan’s—not that he understands how they’re friends, because they seem just as different as any two Jedi could be—and when he speaks this time, he sounds a little more confident, a little more bold. “What should I call you?”
Master Vos grins. “You can call me by my name. Quinlan, or Quin—whatever powers your speeder.”
Anakin thinks it’s probably impolite to just say Master Vos’s—Quinlan’s—name without his title, but he likes it, so he nods anyways. “Okay,” he says, careful to swallow the ensuing title before it slips out, and his slowly growing smile probably betrays some of his relief, because Quinlan smiles back at him.
“That’s better,” Quinlan says, arms still crossed over his chest—and then, as though remembering something, he turns to glance at one of the doors down the hall, the door that would’ve been Anakin’s, were this his and Obi-Wan’s quarters. “Aayla, come say hi!”
Anakin doesn’t have time to connect the dots before the door down the hall is opening, a blue face peeking out before its owner comes down the hall, stopping at Quinlan’s side, but when Anakin sees the robes the girl wears, the string of beads against her lekku, it clicks.
“Hi,” the Padawan says, with a small, polite smile, and Anakin tries to push down the overwhelming return of his nerves. “I’m Aayla.”
Anakin feels eyes on him—Aayla’s, Quinlan’s, Bant’s—and quickly works up a response. “I’m Anakin,” he replies quietly, pausing for a moment—and then, instead of saying anything intelligent, or at the very least polite, a simple nice to meet you, his mouth decides to state the obvious. “You’re a Twi’lek.”
Aayla shifts a little. “I am.” Anakin realizes how awkward he must seem, and also how awkward she must feel, because suddenly he’s the one staring at her like all the other Padawans stare at him.
“That’s cool,” Anakin rushes to say, and then feels his cheeks flush again, because he’s somehow made things worse. “I mean—there were Twi’leks on Tatooine, where I lived before.” They were all slaves, but so was Anakin, so he doesn’t think much of it. He’s mostly just glad to see a species that’s familiar to him, for once, instead of all the new and increasingly bizarre species he still has so many questions about, even though he’s learned so much since he’s come to the Temple. “Is that supposed to be your Padawan braid?”
Aayla’s hand reaches up to the strand of beads on her head in a way that looks reflexive, and nods. “Yes, it is.”
Anakin still feels nervous, but he takes a chance and smiles. “That’s cool,” he repeats, a little more confident and a little less rushed this time. His hand rises to his own braid. “It looks cooler than this does.”
At that, Aayla smiles, too, and Anakin feels a weight lift off his shoulders. “I think it does, too,” she confides, like they’re sharing a secret even though there are still two Jedi watching them. Quinlan makes a soft tsk-ing sound, but doesn’t reprimand her, and Aayla only grins more.
“C’mon,” she says suddenly, holding out a hand, and now it’s Anakin’s turn to be surprised, to blink, stunned, at the offer. “You get to stay in my room. My Master and I set up an extra bed on the floor, so I’ll sleep there and you can take mine.”
This Padawan, Anakin decides, is far nicer than the rest, or at least seems that way—but before he can take her offered hand, he glances back up towards Bant, searching for encouragement or approval or something before he disappears for the night.
Bant smiles, her eyes a little bit lighter now than they’d been before, and waves her hand. “Don’t let me stop you.”
Suddenly bolstered by her response, Anakin turns back to Aayla, takes her hand, and smiles, following her down the hall and not thinking much about Obi-Wan the entire way to her room.
It doesn’t take Anakin very long at all to decide that he likes Aayla.
They stay up for a while together, even after they’re both in bed. Anakin had asked if she really didn’t mind if he slept in her bed, because he really wouldn’t mind sleeping on the floor, but she’d said no, she really didn’t mind, and so he’d ended up in her bed, turned to face her while they chatted for a while, with Aayla’s elbow propping her up, fist under her chin.
They talk about all sorts of things. Mostly Aayla tells him a lot about being a Padawan, and Anakin is really, really grateful for that, because although Obi-Wan’s told him all the boring, formal stuff, Aayla tells him what really matters—namely, which instructors are the nicest, how to keep from falling asleep in the Archives, which training salle is the most coveted and how to claim it for the day before the others do, which involves a very early morning and a lot of melioorun fruits.
Not long after he begins to stir in the morning, hazily recalling the events of the previous night, Anakin realizes that he doesn’t remember stopping their conversation to say goodnight, or seeing Aayla fall asleep, which means that he was probably the one to fall asleep first, and that he probably also fell asleep right in the middle of their talking. He’s embarrassed, but he also feels too well-rested to care right now.
He wants to lay in bed a little bit longer, because he’s really, really comfortable, and maybe he’ll fall back asleep again, which would be really nice, but Obi-Wan will probably be waiting for him for breakfast— and only then, Anakin remembers again that Obi-Wan isn’t here, that he’s with the Mind Healers, and his worry returns in full enough force to make any thoughts of going back to sleep impossible.
He wishes Obi-Wan were here, because then he could tell his Master all about how he thinks he’s made a friend, how Aayla talked with him for so long, and he could ask him about how he and Quinlan became friends, because they seem really different, and when Obi-Wan visits Quinlan’s quarters, does the mess bother him—but Obi-Wan isn’t here, he reminds himself, and with a small frown of discontent that he can’t help, he rolls over in bed.
Aayla’s still on the makeshift bed on the floor, and from the looks of it, she’s asleep, which only makes Anakin’s frown deepen. He wishes she were awake, so that maybe they could talk about things other than Obi-Wan like they did last night, so that he wouldn’t have to just sit here and think about his Master. He thinks about waking her up, but that would be rude. He thinks about maybe accidentally making a noise and waking her up that way, but that would also be rude, even if it was less likely to get Anakin in trouble. Just because Anakin can’t sleep any more than he already has doesn’t mean Aayla shouldn’t get to. Anakin knows that.
He knows that, but it doesn’t mean he has to be happy about it, and after a moment, he sighs, plopping his head back on his pillow and closing his eyes. His stomach is grumbling a little, even after all the snacking he and Bant did last night, and though he can’t smell it, he wonders if Quinlan makes breakfast in the mornings like Obi-Wan does, if maybe he can have some, before he gets passed off to the next Jedi babysitter to watch over him. Maybe, if Quinlan was cooking, Anakin could talk to him about stuff that wasn’t Obi-Wan while he waited for Aayla to wake up. It’s definitely a possibility, given how nice Quinlan had seemed to be last night, and it’s a nice idea.
So nice of an idea, in fact, that Anakin decides that it’s better to take the risk than to just lay here in the quiet with his own thoughts, and he pulls himself up and out of bed as quietly as he can, tip-toeing around the mattress on the floor to get to the door of the bedroom. He opens the door just as carefully as he’d walked towards it, mindful that he doesn’t make so much as a sound to wake Aayla up as he steps into the hallway, closing the door behind him, and when it’s done, he breathes out a sigh of relief, closing his eyes for a second. Good.
Then he turns, hearing the creak of a chair moving out in the living area—Quinlan—and a small smile comes to his lips as he quickly but quietly moves down the hall, already feeling the relief of having someone to talk to the moment he sees the figure standing just next to the table.
Then his mind catches up to his eyes, and he blinks, thinking that maybe he’s more tired than he thought, or maybe he’s still dreaming—but no, the figure waiting for him definitely isn’t Quinlan.
It’s Obi-Wan, and Anakin stares, wide-eyed, taking in the sight of his Master and trying again to convince himself that he’s not dreaming.
“Anakin,” Obi-Wan says, quietly, and yes, that’s his voice, but he sounds—nervous, maybe, or like he’s about to apologize? It’s hard to say. “Good morning.” Obi-Wan swallows, and Anakin feels more confident in his earlier observation, because his Master really does seem nervous, despite the fact that Anakin hasn’t ever seen him that way before. It’s a little bit of an uncomfortable sight. Obi-Wan clasps his hands behind his back, pausing for a moment like he’s thinking very hard before he speaks again. “I—”
Whatever Obi-Wan might’ve said next doesn’t come out, because Anakin is running forward until he’s all but colliding with Obi-Wan, arms wrapped tight around him, as though he might disappear if Anakin so much as lessens his grip. His eyes are squeezed shut, all of his focus on hugging his Master as tightly as he can.
It takes a moment, but slowly, Obi-Wan seems to come to, and then he’s crouching, and his arms are coming up around Anakin as well. Anakin only holds him tighter, hands balling into fists where they’re gripping the back of his tunic, and he feels more emotions all at once than he has in a long time.
He doesn’t want to pull away from his Master, but eventually, that’s just what happens as Obi-Wan’s hands move to his shoulders, pulling him back just some, just enough so that Anakin can see his face, and even though it’s probably the polite thing to do, Anakin doesn’t wait for Obi-Wan to say whatever he’s going to say, because politeness doesn’t matter right now.
“I missed you,” Anakin rushes out, his eyes meeting Obi-Wan’s, wondering if the shine he sees there is just a trick of the light. Obi-Wan watches him for a moment, as though stunned, and then melts into a smile again, and his hands squeeze Anakin’s shoulders gently, like he’s hugging him all over again.
“I missed you too, Anakin.” Anakin knows he means it because his voice is quiet in a serious way, but he’s smiling still, too, and shaking his head a little, and Anakin takes his chance to get a good look at his Master, to see if he can find any traces of what the Mind Healers have done.
For the most part, Obi-Wan looks the same as he had the last time Anakin had seen him, back when they’d been meditating in the Room of a Thousand Fountains. The ghosts of worried wrinkles are still on his forehead, dark circles still under his eyes, only something is different, something Anakin can’t quite put his finger on, can’t quite see, but he can feel it—and then he looks up to Obi-Wan’s eyes again, and suddenly it all makes sense, because there’s light there, with an intensity Anakin hasn’t ever really seen before in his Master. He’s seen traces of it, yes, just little sparks—when he’d brought up the hoi-broth incident, or when Obi-Wan had walked in on him swimming in the deep end, but he’s never seen it this bright, and he blinks in awe.
Obi-Wan notices his staring, and while he seems to gain that same slightly nervous edge to his gaze that he’d had when Anakin had first seen him, he manages a smile all the same. “What? Is there a fly on my nose?”
Anakin grins a beaming smile, and shakes his head, still too overcome with too many emotions—happiness, excitement, relief—to get out a single word, and Obi-Wan’s smile grows a bit cheekier. “Good. You had me worried, Padawan.”
Anakin can’t help it. He leans in again, once more hugging Obi-Wan tight, though this time not for nearly as long, because while that’s tempting, Anakin is again struck with the urge to pull back and see his face, make sure a second time that there’s nothing there to be worrying over—and when he sees, again, that there’s nothing but happiness shining in Obi-Wan’s eyes, he bites his lower lip, his own hope rising in his chest.
There are a million things he could ask—what really happened, why didn’t you tell me, what did the Mind Healers do—but only one question matters, and Anakin meets Obi-Wan’s eyes as he asks it.
“Are you better now, Master?”
Obi-Wan takes a deep breath that Anakin knows means he’s preparing himself to answer that question, because it’s the same deep breath that he takes when Anakin interrogates him about the latest dish being served in the refectory, or the biology of a species he’s never seen before, or any one of all the things on Coruscant Anakin is still unfamiliar with—and then he nods. “Yes, I am,” Obi-Wan says, but he hesitates, and Anakin feels an inkling of his worry returning—“For now.”
It’s not the answer Anakin was hoping for, though it is pretty close. His brow furrows in concern as he meets Obi-Wan’s gaze more intently, searching now for any and all answers he can get, trying to get some grasp of what the future holds for both of them. “Are you gonna have to go back there again?”
There’s something a little sad to Obi-Wan’s smile, and when he nods again, it seems like he understands that he’s still not giving the answer Anakin wants. “Yes.” His voice is quiet, distant, and if Anakin’s not wrong, a little nervous, like it was before. “Most likely. Sometimes.”
Anakin considers this, his lips in a small frown as his eyes fall from Obi-Wan’s. He doesn’t like it. He misses Obi-Wan when he’s gone, but… after a moment, his gaze turns upwards again. “Does it help, when you go there?”
This time, Obi-Wan’s response comes more readily. “It does.”
That settles something in Anakin’s mind, perhaps aided by the fact that he’s seen how it’s helped, how the light has come back into Obi-Wan’s eyes… and even if it means spending some time without his Master, hanging out with Plo Koon or Kit Fisto or Bant or Luminara or Quinlan, Anakin suddenly feels strong in his conviction that seeing his Master like this again, happy again, is more than worth a little bit of time without him.
“Okay,” Anakin decides, responding to a question Obi-Wan hasn’t spoken. It’s okay with him if this is what Obi-Wan needs to do. Anakin’s okay with this. No, more than that—he wants Obi-Wan to do this, because more than anything, he wants Obi-Wan to be happy.
That small bit of sadness and worry in Obi-Wan’s expression melts, leaving his still-shining eyes bright with nothing but happiness, and Anakin feels better than he has in a long time at the sight of his master’s grin.
“Okay,” Obi-Wan agrees softly, his smile beaming, like a weight has been lifted.
What comes next comes without thinking, as Anakin’s smile turns a bit cheeky, his voice taking that same teasing tone that Obi-Wan had used when he’d asked if there was a fly on his nose, because Anakin can’t resist the opportunity to try and make his Master laugh—“But only if I get to hang out with Aayla more.”
Obi-Wan doesn’t laugh, but his grin grows, even though it looks like he’s trying hard to keep that from happening. “Aayla?” He echoes, raising a brow, and the light dancing in his eyes makes Anakin feel light, too. “Have you made some new friends, my Padawan?”
Anakin thinks he must be beaming just as much as his Master as he nods confidently, crossing his arms over his chest. “Mhm. A lot of them.”
This time, Obi-Wan chuckles, and waves a hand. “Well, go on, tell me all about it.”
Anakin grins, and opens his mouth to start, to tell Obi-Wan all about all the Jedi he’s met, to repeat all the conversations he’s had, all he’s learned—but then a thought crosses his mind, and his brow furrows again before he gets a word out.
Obi-Wan notices at once, and the concern on his face is immediate, a hand reaching out to rest on his Padawan’s arm, ready to comfort him if need be, to do whatever he must to assuage whatever Anakin is feeling—
“What is it, Padawan?”
Anakin looks up at his Master, the happiness in his eyes dimmed only faintly by a look of nothing but simple concern.
“Can we eat breakfast first?”
The moment his request sinks in, Obi-Wan is smiling again, even fiercer than before, and Anakin dares to think that maybe everything really will be okay, because his Master looks so happy—
“Yes, Anakin,” Obi-Wan responds, a chuckle in his breath even as he rises to his feet again, his hand coming to rest on Anakin’s shoulder. “Yes, we can.”