Chapter Text
Obi-Wan had been joking when he’d posited the possibility of the resupply ship delivering his new Padawan, wanting to tease Anakin. Yes, he’d discussed with Yoda about the possibility of taking on a new Padawan—he’s even had his eye on one for a few months now, a bright, strong Togruta youngling named Ahsoka Tano—but the Council is hardly going to drop a brand new Padawan into the middle of an active war front without having even met their new Master.
At least, that’s what Obi-Wan had assumed. Somehow, over the last handful of years, Obi-Wan had actually forgotten how much Master Yoda likes to meddle. One would think it’d be something he wouldn’t forget, considering the whole Bandomeer fiasco, but apparently not.
However, the two younglings walking down the empty resupply ship’s ramp are helping him remember quite clearly.
“And who are you two supposed to be?” Anakin asks, his bafflement ringing clear as a bell in the Force and somewhat drowning out the exhausted disappointment of the troopers who’d come with them to unload, now returning to their posts.
Who, indeed. Obi-Wan recognizes Ahsoka, of course, but the other youngling is only vaguely familiar to him in the sense that Obi-Wan is sure that he’s seen them before. They’re Human or near-Human, with pale skin and short red-orange hair, and they’re small, more than an entire head shorter than Ahsoka. If it weren’t for the fact that they’ve been sent here, Obi-Wan wouldn’t think that they’re old enough to even be chosen as a Padawan yet.
The Force swells against Obi-Wan’s shields, murmuring something that sounds like change.
“I’m Ahsoka Tano, she/her,” Ahsoka introduces, her voice lifting with a note of uncertainty that is quickly smoothed away by the false bravado that every youngling her age has, her chin lifting. “Master Yoda sent me. I was told to tell both of you that you must get back to the Temple immediately—there’s an emergency.”
Oh, Force, she’s trying so hard to be professional. It’s adorable.
Anakin’s questioning gaze shifts to the other youngling, who only seems to notice when Ahsoka sends a not-so-subtle prod at them through the Force.
Obi-Wan finds all of his attention on the youngling as they provide shortly, “Cal Kestis, he/him.”
After a beat where it becomes evident that Cal isn’t going to say anything else, Anakin says with an audible note of irritation, “Right, well, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but we’re in a bit of an emergency right here.”
“Yes, our communications have been a bit unreliable,” Obi-Wan adds in a milder tone, shooting his former Padawan a warning glance. “But we’ve been calling for help.”
Ahsoka’s spike of anxiety leaks past her shields easily, not that much more is expected of an Initiate. “Master Yoda hadn’t heard from you, so he sent me—us to deliver the message.”
“Oh, great,” Anakin groans. “They don’t even know we’re in trouble.”
Obi-Wan grimaces in agreement at the sentiment, but he’s careful not to miss Ahsoka’s suppressed wince or the way that Cal Kestis’ lips purse. His gaze lingers on Cal longer than he means it to—the Force is still whispering change, the sentiment building with all of the anticipation and tension that comes with a new possibility, and when Obi-Wan examines the youngling in the Force, he thinks he understands why. The youngling’s Force signature is well shielded—almost too well shielded, for his age—but Obi-Wan can feel it resonating with a note that’s unlike anything he’s ever seen, and whatever that note is has the Force curling around him like a happy loth-cat, warm and strong and bright.
Just like Obi-Wan’s first Padawan, something about Cal Kestis is special. Just in a different, much subtler way.
“Maybe you can relay a message through the cruiser that just dropped us off?” Ahsoka suggests, snapping Obi-Wan back to the physical world.
Anakin halts his frustrated pacing to shoot Ahsoka an impressed glance. “Actually, that’s good thinking.”
Ahsoka lights up, and Obi-Wan has to force himself not to smile. “That it is, dear one,” he adds, “and we have no time to waste, so let’s get on with it, shall we?”
It’s a quick jog back up the boarding ramp, and Anakin immediately gravitates to the communications panel, hands ghosting over controls as he catalogs what’s there. “I might need to do a quick rewire to get us enough of a boost so that there’s not a massive delay on the call—” He presses something, and part of the display screen flashes. “Yeah, I do. It should only take a minute, though.”
“Can I be of any help?” Ahsoka asks eagerly.
Anakin glances at her like he just realized that she was there, which, knowing him, is entirely possible. “Uh. Just—stay out of my way. Please.”
Ahsoka deflates a little, but smoothly takes a step back with an even, “Of course.”
Obi-Wan resists the urge to roll his eyes at his former Padawan’s behavior, instead turning his attention to the youngling who’s leaning against the wall barely a pace away from him, as quiet as ever.
Change, the Force whispers insistently, this time with a nudge—that’s really more of a poke—in Cal’s direction.
I heard you the first time, Obi-Wan shoots back as he asks, “And why are you here, young one? It only takes one being to deliver a message.”
It seems to take Cal a moment to realize that he’s being spoken to. When he does, he suppresses a wince, looking up at Obi-Wan. “Master Yoda told me to come, sir.”
Yes, Obi-Wan had suspected as much. His attention catches on the ‘sir,’ though—Cal had said it in the same way that the clone troopers say it, short and formal but not lacking respect.
It feels wrong. Cal’s a Jedi youngling, not a soldier.
Not yet, a traitorous part of Obi-Wan’s mind supplies. Obi-Wan forcefully shoves the thought down.
“Got it!” Anakin calls, effectively cutting off any other questions Obi-Wan might have asked. “Master, you have the routing codes for the Resolute memorized, right?”
That Obi-Wan does. With a silent sigh—and batting away the prod of the Force that tries to direct his attention back to Cal, pulsing with change, teach, change—he moves to enter it.
The comm call with Yoda is unfortunately cut short due to the arrival of even more Separatists, but they’d managed to actually secure eventual backup, so that’s something, at least.
“Well, I guess we’ll have to hold out a little longer,” Obi-Wan sighs. He seems to be doing a lot of sighing recently, but part of that might be due to the fact that he’s barely slept seven hours in the last three days.
Force, he should probably take an actual downshift before Helix tracks him down and sits on him.
Not right now, though.
Obi-Wan turns to the younglings, who had gravitated towards each other and out of the cam range of the call—or apparently, Ahsoka had gravitated towards Cal, who hadn’t moved other than to go from leaning on the wall to standing straight. “My apologies, young ones. It’s time for a proper introduction: I’m Master Obi-Wan Kenobi, one of you two’s new Master, I believe.”
Obi-Wan pointedly ignores the pulse of resigned surprise that comes through his bond with his former Padawan.
Before about fifteen minutes ago, Obi-Wan had been planning to ask Ahsoka to be his Padawan. But since then, the Force has been making it quite clear who Obi-Wan is meant to train, so Obi-Wan is not at all surprised—if, perhaps, a little bit disappointed, but he shelves that emotion to meditate on later—when Cal Kestis steps forward. “That would be me, Master.”
Obi-Wan smiles, projecting encouragement-welcome towards his new Padawan, something that’s magnified by the Force swelling with light-giddiness-change. Cal’s shoulders lower a little, and he returns a small smile and a short burst of anxiety-excitement.
“Wait,” Anakin says, squinting at Ahsoka with suspicion. “So why are you here? He could’ve probably delivered the message alone.”
Obi-Wan coughs into his hand, not entirely sure whether he’s covering a laugh or a wince. This is going to be... interesting.
Ahsoka is radiating nerves-hope-anticipation as she announces, “I’ve actually been assigned to you, Master Skywalker.”
Obi-Wan knows the exact moment that the implications of that sentence register properly in Anakin’s brain because the explosion of shock-horror in the Force nearly cracks his shields—he barely managed to extend them to the younglings in time.
“What?! No, no no—there must be some mistake!”
The way that Ahsoka deflates hurts like a blaster shot, but she gathers herself quickly, chin raising. “No, Master Yoda was very specific. I’m assigned to Anakin Skywalker, and he is to supervise my Jedi training,” she retorts with an edge of heat.
“But that doesn’t make any sense!”
The Force shifts with a chiming warning of coming-soon, which settles a weight in Obi-Wan’s gut. Judging by the way he shifts uneasily, glancing out of the ship, Obi-Wan’s new Padawan senses it too.
“We’ll have to sort this out later,” Obi-Wan cuts in before Ahsoka can respond, pushing a wave of apology-consolation-encouragement at her. “It won’t be long before the droids figure out a way around the cannons.”
“I’ll check with Rex in the outpost.” Anakin starts to stalk out of the ship.
Anakin, Obi-Wan reprimands sharply through the bond.
Anakin’s head snaps around with an expression of offense. What?
For Ahsoka’s benefit, Obi-Wan orders out loud, “You’d better take her with you.”
Anakin scowls, but gestures at his soon-to-be-Padawan to follow. After a moment of surprise, Ahsoka scrambles after him, determination sparking.
Obi-Wan shakes his head, turning to his own Padawan. Cal’s looking up at him with a sort of guarded hesitance that makes Obi-Wan internally wince, but his posture is trusting, if a little wary.
Change.
Yes, this is definitely going to be quite the change.
“Well, Cal Kestis,” Obi-Wan says. He doesn’t drop to one knee to give Cal the height advantage like he instinctively wants to, because younglings in Cal’s age range tend to take it as patronizing rather than reassuring. “My apologies for my Grandmaster’s meddling. I hope you’re not opposed to the idea of being my Padawan?” Obi-Wan would respect if he was, although the way the Force would be bound to screech at him if he didn’t take Cal as his Padawan wouldn’t be pleasant to deal with.
Fortunately, Cal seems stunned at the very idea. “Oppos—Force no, sir, it’s an honor! I just—wasn’t expecting it? I mean, I’m not even supposed to—” He cuts himself off, his face reddening.
“Supposed to what?” Obi-Wan asks gently.
Cal ducks his head, but his words are clear when he answers, “Be chosen as a Padawan yet.”
Obi-Wan’s stomach sinks. “...Cal, how old are you?”
For a long moment, Cal hesitates. Then, “Ten, sir. But I’ll be eleven in three weeks.”
The words hit Obi-Wan like a blast to the gut.
Ten.
Ten.
Almost eleven, granted, but—
They’re in an active war zone.
And suddenly all Obi-Wan wants to do is steal his new Padawan back to the Temple, curse out Master Yoda, and meditate.
...Maybe not in that order.
But unfortunately, only one of those things is even possible right now, and Obi-Wan doesn’t have the time to spare.
Obi-Wan puffs out a breath that isn’t a swear only because he’s got a ten-year-old standing in front of him. “Well, then. That’s...” He sighs, attempting to figure out what he’s trying to say. “...not ideal.” But then, nothing about this war is ideal. “But we’ll make do. I’m assuming there’s a reason that you’ve been sent to me so early?” Sent, not assigned, because even if their partnership is to be a result of Yoda’s meddling, Obi-Wan is more than willing to take Cal as his Padawan.
Cal winces. “I might’ve touched some stuff I shouldn’t have. From Geonosis.”
Touched...?
Wait.
Oh. Oh kriff.
Obi-Wan’s gaze drops to the gloves—soft, blue gloves with little outlines of animals embroidered in green—that have been half-hidden by the sleeves of Cal’s robes.
“You’re the psychometric,” Obi-Wan vocalizes, the words feeling far away. The psychometric rather than a psychometric because since Elders Tebak and Aorbel became one with the Force, there’s only been one psychometric other than Quinlan in the Temple, a youngling that Quin has talked about meeting with a handful of times.
Apparently, Cal is that youngling.
There’s nothing wrong with Cal being a psychometric, of course—except that a literal battlefield is perhaps the worst place in the galaxy for one to have to hang around, especially one who can’t even fully control their abilities yet, and Obi-Wan is going to be spending months, if not years on an endless chain of them. Yes, Obi-Wan may currently have the most experience handling psychometrics out of anyone in the Temple, thanks to growing up with Quinlan, but that’s really not a good enough reason to put a ten-year-old psychometric on a battlefield.
“I’ve got a decent handle on it, sir, I promise,” Cal asserts, but there’s an underlying note of uncertainty to his tone that tells Obi-Wan that the youngling doesn’t quite know where his limits are.
Once again, Obi-Wan is only refraining from swearing because there’s a ten-year-old in front of him.
Obi-Wan forces his jaw to relax. “We’ll talk about that later. For now, will you be alright if you keep your gloves on?”
Cal relaxes a fraction, what Obi-Wan only now realizes is anxiety mostly slipping away. “Yessir.”
For a fraction of a moment, Obi-Wan allows himself to wonder how developed, exactly, Cal’s shields are—because while Obi-Wan would expect stronger shields from a psychometric, even one Cal’s age should still have bits of emotion slipping past their shields on occasion. Force, even Anakin still has emotions slide past his shields on occasion, when he’s not projecting them into the Force for all to hear. But besides the brief pulse that Cal had sent him when Obi-Wan had welcomed him as his Padawan, Obi-Wan has picked up nothing, having to rely wholly on vocal tone and body posture to get the measure of Cal’s emotions. It’s not like the youngling is shade-shielding—hiding his presence at all—Obi-Wan can still very much tell that Cal is there, can feel the flow of the Force around and through him, but there’s nothing coming from Cal’s mind.
For a moment, Obi-Wan is tempted to brush against his new Padawan’s shields, if only so he can feel their weave. It’s something he hasn’t done yet out of politeness, but—
Obi-Wan mentally slaps himself. Now’s not the time.
“Well, Padawan-mine, you’re not going to be seeing the very front of the lines for a while yet. I’m sure we can agree on that?”
Cal cracks a smile. “Yeah, that’s fair.”
Almost as if on cue, Obi-Wan’s comm chimes. Obi-Wan pushes a wave of apology-urgency at his Padawan, and receives a wave of understanding-it’s-fine in turn as he answers. “General Kenobi.”
“Master,” comes Anakin’s voice, “we have a problem.”
“Oh, joy.” Obi-Wan glances at his new Padawan, but to his surprise, Cal looks more interested than worried. “What sort of problem?”
“They’ve got a ray shield.”
Kark. That is a problem.
Danger-coming, the Force warns, heavy and chilled.
“We’re on our way.” Obi-Wan ends the call. “I’m sorry, young one,” he says to Cal, “but it seems that we’ll have to perform the braiding ceremony at a later time.”
Cal seems to start a little, but his voice is even when he replies, “That’s fine, Master. I understand.”
Master, not sir, Obi-Wan notes, wondering what made it change. His new Padawan is something of an enigma, it seems.
But he’ll have to investigate later.
War beckons.