Work Text:
Sometimes, Anakin seriously started to reconsider this whole becoming-a-Jedi-knight business. Because, sure, it had made quite the appealing offer back in the dusty dunes of Tatooine—unimaginable power, freedom, and a laser sword—but no one had told him that being a Jedi could be so boring.
Not boring, he reluctantly corrected himself, in a voice that sounded suspiciously like Obi-Wan. Though the work of a Jedi may at times seem tedious, his master had said, as long as one remains committed and open to self-exploration, it will never be dull. But Anakin was beginning to think that this may have been one of the very few times Obi-Wan was dead wrong.
They’d been assigned their current diplomatic mission after a particularly stressful encounter on Abelor. Obi-Wan had privately confided in him—something that, to Anakin’s delight, seemed to be becoming more frequent as he got older—that the Council had chosen this specific assignment so they could recover and have a relatively pleasant time, for once, away from the Temple.
If that was true, Anakin mused, then the Council had exceedingly worse judgment than he’d thought. Since arriving at Sypori, it’d been one tedious diplomatic task after another—not to mention the endless talking.
Anakin usually enjoyed listening to his master navigate conversations with foreign ambassadors. Obi-Wan would transform into a different person with each negotiation—a matter-of-fact businessman, a womanizing sleazeball, a sympathetic humanitarian. So yes, negotiations began as endlessly amusing for Anakin; it wasn’t just any day, after all, that he could watch his normally uptight master flirt with some Syporian prince with a roguish grin and hear him curse at the weather with a Twi'lek senator mere minutes later.
The novelty, however, had soon worn off. Obi-Wan had moved on to much less interesting negotiations—those that required him to assume the role of a stoic Jedi. And Anakin had already seen enough of stoic Jedi Obi-Wan Kenobi to last him several lifetimes. Worse, Obi-Wan had no use for his padawan during these conversations, and apparently felt perfectly alright with ignoring him altogether. Anakin’d been following Obi-Wan around like a lost mouse droid all day, and his master had barely even looked at him once.
For the fourth time in half an hour, he not-so-subtly tugged on Obi-Wan’s sleeve. His master ignored him, unsurprisingly; he was deep in conversation with a stuffy and important Pantoran.
“Yes, Minister, I understand your perspective clearly,” Obi-Wan continued, subtly shaking his sleeve free as though Anakin were an annoying insect.
“If that is indeed the case, Master Jedi,” the important man replied, “why, may I ask, does the Order still object to the proposition? To the needs of my people?”
Obi-Wan frowned, clearly in the process of forming a masterful response of deep concern and political neutrality. Anakin rolled his eyes.
“It is a difficult matter,” Obi-Wan began. “You must understand—”
“No, I do not,” the minister interjected. “You have been leading me around in circles, Jedi. On behalf of my people, I demand an explanation as to why we are denied our rightfully seized land and treasures.”
“There exist a multitude of reasons, Minister,” his master said. “A combination of factors outside our control—and yours as well.”
“A politician’s answer!” sneered the minister, as if he himself weren’t a politician.
“A peacekeeper’s,” Obi-Wan corrected.
“And that is all that the Jedi do, don’t they? Keep peace? What about upholding justice?”
“Certainly, when there is justice to be upheld.”
The minister’s eyes flashed, and Anakin had to resist the urge to reach for his lightsaber.
“I don’t know what you’re implying here, Master Kenobi,” the minister said, tightly. “But my concerns will not go unheard.”
He gave Obi-Wan a resentful glare. Anakin glared back on his master’s behalf, even though neither man was looking at him. He wanted to tug on Obi-Wan’s sleeve again, to demand that his master wrap things up with the unpleasant minister and lead Anakin back to their quarters. Instead, he sent a nudge through their bond, trying to disguise the plea for attention as an important request for assistance.
Obi-Wan barely spared him a frown and a quick mental not now, Anakin, before turning his full attention back on the minister.
“Believe me,” said Obi-Wan, “I am listening.” The minister shook his head in disbelief. “But if it’s a simple, straightforward answer you are seeking, I am afraid I must disappoint. Countless factors influence the Council’s decision. When it comes down to it, the Jedi cannot, in good faith, honor—”
“It’s ‘cause your proposal is a giant load of bantha fodder,” Anakin cut in. Oops.
Both men snapped their gaze to him—the minister sporting a slack-jawed, offended look, and his master spearing him with a disbelieving, vaguely murderous glare. Anakin stared back, not quite willing to believe that he’d spoken out loud.
“Excuse me, and you are…?” the minister said, in a forcibly polite tone.
“Please,” Obi-Wan finally interceded, placing an arm heavily around Anakin’s shoulders, “forgive my apprentice. Young Anakin is easily excited and often forgets to mind his words.” This part was pointedly followed by a jab through the bond—and a brief tightening of Obi-Wan’s hold on his left shoulder.
“If you don’t mind me asking,” said the man, slightly sneering, “do the Jedi often find a use for children in their dealings of politics?”
Anakin bristled—he was a padawan. As if any youngling would be forced into listening to seven hours’ worth of tedious conversation!
He opened his mouth to set the record straight, but before he could, Obi-Wan sent a second warning jab through the bond. He turned to his master questioningly, but Obi-Wan had already looked away.
“Certainly not all of the time,” his master replied, calmly. “But I am sure, Minister, that even you would be surprised at the insights that a young and fresh perspective might bring to the table.”
“Is that so? Is that why you have brought your apprentice along with you? For his… insights?” The minister’s voice held a hint of a disdainful challenge as he matched Obi-Wan’s steady gaze. Anakin would have welcomed this interesting turn of events had the new topic of conversation not been him.
“That’s correct,” Obi-Wan said, amicably. “And once again, I apologize for Anakin’s outburst—rest assured, I will be having words with him once our dealings have concluded.”
Anakin flushed in embarrassment. “Master,” he said, quietly, trying his best to keep a whine out of his voice.
“Anakin,” Obi-Wan said to him, frowning. “I think it is past time for you to retire to our quarters. Wait there for my return.” And before Anakin could even open his mouth to complain, he added: “And I want you to go there directly, am I understood? No detours.”
He fought the urge to scowl at the patronizing command—in front of the smug minister, too!—and managed a barely polite nod.
“A verbal acknowledgment, please,” Obi-Wan prompted.
Anakin gritted his teeth. “Yes, master,” he forced out.
“Alright then, padawan, apologize to Minister Tawnek and be on your way.”
Anakin—who had been so ready to silently turn tail and flee—froze. Apologize? To the man who had called him a child and glared at his master? Obi-Wan frowned at Anakin’s inaction, and he could tell that his master was ready to tell him off for it.
“I won’t apologize for speaking the truth,” Anakin said, quickly, boldly, before he could control himself.
“Anakin!” Obi-Wan exclaimed, sharply. “Cease this childish behavior immediately, and—”
“No,” said the minister, scrutinizing Anakin with a thoughtful glance. “Let the boy speak his mind. He’s been present for our conversation, and I am curious to hear his version of the truth. It might even be, as you say, insightful.”
Anakin looked between the two men nervously. He caught Obi-Wan’s eye and silently asked for instruction. His master gave a reluctant nod of permission.
“Well,” he said, and paused. Obi-Wan had tried to give him lessons on negotiation and proper political language before, but he had never quite paid them his full attention. He was starting to regret that now. “Well, you say that the land is yours, and the resources, too. But that’s not really true, is it? Your people didn’t tend to the land, didn’t work to harvest its resources. You just rediscovered it—and there are plenty of others more deserving of it who rely on it for food, for shelter, for life. The land should belong to them. You can’t just say something’s yours and have it be yours. That’s just childish. And wrong.”
Silence. Perhaps it was an oversimplification, and perhaps Anakin could have spoken a touch more eloquently, but he was proud of himself for saying the truth. For saying what was right, rather than what was proper. And a tiny part of him wildly hoped that Obi-Wan was proud, too, even as the minister swelled like an angry Sorgan frog.
“So this is why the Jedi have refused to help my people? Ethics?”
“Anakin does not speak on behalf of the Council,” Obi-Wan cut in, hurriedly. “You have asked him to speak his own mind, entirely separate from his Jedi training, and that is what he has done.”
The minister scowled. “Yes, he has spoken his mind. And is he not a Jedi?”
“He is a padawan learner—an apprentice,” said Obi-Wan, and it felt so much like a dismissal that Anakin’s chest squeezed painfully. “He has not yet completed his training, and he is not the Council’s spokesperson here—I am.”
“Yet he is the only one today who has spoken to me truthfully—however inanely—without attempting to hide behind riddles and technicalities,” said the minister. “If I am to report back to my people regarding the Jedi’s stance, I will simply have no choice other than to repeat your boy’s words.”
“He is not my—he is an apprentice,” Obi-Wan repeated. “And he has spoken simply and plainly because he has the luxury of being young and utterly unaware of the true complexity of the matter.”
Anakin’s face burned with embarrassment. “Master, I didn’t mean to—”
“I think we have heard enough out of your boy, Jedi,” the minister said, with an air of vicious glee. “Though I do see your point—I am sure that my fellow board members will find his account of the Council’s decision quite insightful as well.”
Obi-Wan frowned, obviously displeased by this new turn of events. Anakin was displeased, too, and fought the urge to punch Minister Tawnek right in the center of his smug face. But he’d made enough bad decisions for the day, and opened his mouth to hopefully aid Obi-Wan’s case in some way.
“Anakin,” his master cut in, tightly, “I agree with Minister Tawnek on one count—you have contributed quite enough to this conversation. I shall meet you in our quarters once our discussions are concluded.”
Caught off guard by the abrupt dismissal, Anakin bit down a few instinctive choice words—and he wasn’t sure whether they were aimed at his master, the minister, or himself.
He wanted desperately to stay, to make things better and undo the damage he’d so clearly caused, but Obi-Wan sent a final warning nudge in the Force that demanded his full cooperation.
“Yes, master,” he said quietly. “I’m—I’m sorry.”
He said the last part hurriedly, and not at all directed at the minister, but Obi-Wan seemed to accept it anyway, nodding at him as a clear instruction to leave. Still bursting with unsaid apologies and arguments, Anakin made a jerky nod back at the two men. He had extensive experience with knowing when he wasn’t welcome. With one final imploring look at his master, he reluctantly turned and forced himself to step away.
He was determined not to hear any more of the minister and Obi-Wan’s conversation, and he didn't want to know how his master was attempting damage control—if he was further disparaging Anakin’s status as a padawan now that he was gone. He sped blindly forward, and it wasn’t until he was well separated by the crowd that he could finally stop and breathe.
He waded his way through the sea of politicians and journalists, catching snippets of vaguely veiled threats and even less veiled innuendo. He felt desperately out of place. And sure, part of it was navigating a new planet without his master at his side, but Anakin’s skin also crawled at the concealed yet prevalent mistrust in the air—the disconcerting knowledge that no one around him was speaking or acting as their true selves. It felt sometimes like this at the Temple, but at least there, the Force presences of knights and padawans pulsed bright; here, he had no way of knowing, of feeling, anyone around him.
He made a beeline for the building where he and Obi-Wan were staying. It was a tall, fortress-looking tower, and Anakin had trouble naming places where he felt less at home.
Then, a nearby tent—clearly a credit-sucking tourist trap—caught his eye. It was the only colorful thing around, embellished with tacky flashing hologram advertisements, the type that Obi-Wan would scoff at. But Obi-Wan wasn’t there, and Anakin turned towards the tent, if only to delay the dread of waiting alone for his master to return.
The merchant running the tent, a hunch-backed Toydarian, smiled welcomingly, throwing his clawed hands to display the spread of trinkets. Anakin made an effort not to instinctively break eye contact with him. It’d been a while since he’d made close contact with a Toydarian, but this wasn’t Watto—and Anakin was buying, not being sold.
“Finest fur and feathers in the galaxy!” the merchant boasted. “What are you looking for, my boy?”
Anakin hesitated. He hadn’t thought that far ahead. “Something… to say I’m sorry,” he said, finally.
The merchant made a thoughtful gesture. “And what sort of person are you saying sorry to? Who are they to you?”
He didn’t want to say the word “Master” in front of the Watto-lookalike, so he scrambled for the next-best word. Besides, this wasn’t an undercover mission, but Obi-Wan had warned him to be cautious about sharing his Jedi status with strangers. “Uh, he’s my… teacher.” Among other things.
“And would you say your teacher is the sentimental type? Or perhaps more practical?”
“Oh, practical, definitely,” Anakin said.
The merchant rubbed his wings together, then perked up. “You’re in luck, boy—I happen to have just the apology gift.” He rummaged through the boxes around the tent for a few moments, then emerged with two wrapped packages. He uncovered them with a flourish.
Anakin frowned, doubtful. “Umbrellas?”
There were two of them—one orange, the other blue—intricately detailed with painted swirls.
“Two parasols of the highest quality you will get—in this corner of the galaxy, anyway. Made of delicate galek wood and cloth rivaled only by shimmersilk.” The merchant picked up the orange one, collapsed it into a small capsule, and wrapped it with a nearby ribbon. “Handy and portable.”
“I don’t know,” Anakin said, doubtfully. “It doesn’t rain a lot in Cor—where we’re from.”
“It may not rain a lot in Coruscant,” the merchant said, winking, “but it sure does here. Tomorrow morning’s expected to be especially brutal.”
“That’s not what the weather report said,” he said, stubbornly.
The merchant laughed. “Oh, nobody listens to that old thing. Syporians predict the weather through their scales and pass on warnings to the less fortunate of us. It’s going to be heavy rain tomorrow, mark my words.”
Even if Obi-Wan didn’t like the fact that Anakin had gotten him a gift, wouldn’t his master be glad that he had thought ahead and brought protection against the weather? That he’d been resourceful like a proper Jedi was?
“Well… how much?” Anakin said.
“Normally, such a treasure wouldn’t go for any lower than a hundred,” the Toydarian said, cheerfully. “But for a thoughtful boy like you, how about we say thirty?”
From experience, Anakin was pretty sure he was still being overcharged, but he nodded. He knew he was being stupid—Jedi weren’t supposed to put any value in material possessions, he was wasting money, and an umbrella certainly wouldn’t make Obi-Wan forgive him—but he emptied his credit bag into the merchant’s cupped claws.
“Excellent, excellent,” said the merchant, and juggled the two umbrellas. “Your choice.”
“Blue’s his favorite color,” Anakin muttered, and reached for the umbrella. The merchant placed it delicately in his hands to carefully stow away in his pack.
“Excellent,” the merchant repeated, and waved goodbye as Anakin began to turn away. “I wish you the best of luck in gaining your teacher’s forgiveness, young one.”
“Thanks,” Anakin tossed over his shoulder and headed straight for the building they were staying at.
Once he successfully navigated to their quarters—the building was even more like a fortress inside—he collapsed onto the couch, pack resting next to him. He stared up at the hideous, star-spotted wallpaper, which seemed to blink admonishments at him. There was nothing to do now but wait, quiet and alone, for Obi-Wan to return.
Anakin had no way of telling how much time he sat there on the couch, as the quarters had no windows. But he was starving, past exhausted, and beyond anxious when the door finally opened. He leaped to his feet, then thought better and sat carefully back down. Obi-Wan, looking more haggard than usual, gave him an assessing look coming in, holding two paper bags that presumably contained dinner—but Anakin suddenly found that he didn’t feel hungry at all.
“Master,” he greeted, voice hoarse. He cleared his throat. “You’re back.”
His master simply nodded in response, which sent alarm coursing through him. A silent Obi-Wan was rarely a good sign—it usually meant he was too upset to be entertaining Anakin’s nonsense, and needed to meditate before he could calmly deliver whatever lecture he had in store.
Obi-Wan placed one of the bags next to him and, even more alarmingly, remained standing. “Eat. I know you must be hungry. They’re Kaadu skewers.”
Anakin poked at the bag. He already wasn’t hungry, but Obi-Wan’s short tone made him feel positively ill. Not that he could tell his master that.
“And while we eat, I think we should have a discussion about what occurred earlier today,” Obi-Wan said suddenly, with an intentional mildness that Anakin instantly knew to be deceptive.
“Um,” Anakin offered. He fiddled with the bag, not daring to look up.
His master continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “I realize that you can get… restless on these types of missions. I also realize it isn’t particularly exciting to restrain yourself when we deal with more stubborn cases—”
“I can control myself, I’m not a youngling.”
“I believe you, Anakin,” said Obi-Wan, his voice quiet. “But I’d very much like to see that control in action.”
Something about his master’s careful, disappointed voice made Anakin bristle. This was a talk that they’d had in the past—Obi-Wan gently instructing Anakin to check his temper as if he were an unruly animal.
“That minister didn’t seem to be in control, master.”
“Yes, which is why it was even more paramount for us to deal with him calmly, and carefully,” Obi-Wan said, patiently. “He did not wish to be negotiated with; he was simply looking for the chance to create more conflict—a chance, unfortunately, that I allowed you to provide.”
Anakin scowled. “I was telling the truth! That land doesn’t belong to him or his people, and you know it.”
His master frowned. “Of course I know it,” he said, and a hint of impatience finally crept through. “But just because we know something to be true does not mean we should say it. Out loud. To a hostile and clearly unreasonable and illogical politician. I was under the impression that you were taught this in your Mediations class?”
Anakin scowled. He hated it when Obi-Wan spoke to him like this, like he would to a child. And Obi-Wan knew perfectly well that this was taught in Mediations; his master had, after all, been asked to guest lecture on multiple occasions.
“Are we agreed, then, padawan?” his master said, gently, apparently taking his silence as assent. “We will watch what we say in the future, yes?”
“That’ll be pretty easy, master, seeing as you don’t ever let me say anything!”
His outburst took both of them by surprise. Anakin winced. Obi-Wan had been more patient than usual, even seemingly ready to let the whole thing go. Why did he have to go and push it further?
Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow. “You are perfectly free to chime in with an appropriate comment whenever you feel it is necessary, Anakin. I thought this was clear,” he said. “I encourage it, even, as good practice for future missions. As for today, frankly, I thought you were tired and didn’t want to take part in any of the—how did you put it—snoozefest.”
His master was right, of course—Anakin didn’t care to listen to politicians drone on for hours. What he did care about was having Obi-Wan ignore him for the whole day. But he wasn’t about to admit that.
“And do you think I’m capable of making an ‘appropriate comment’?”
Obi-Wan sighed.
“What?”
“Anakin, I’m not going to respond to that,” his master said. “Let’s eat and get some rest.”
“Why not?” Anakin snapped. “Is the answer no?”
“Of course you’re capable of forming calm and rational decisions,” Obi-Wan said, frowning. “You just sometimes don’t allow yourself the necessary time and opportunity to do so.”
“I do not—”
“You’re not the first Jedi to be impatient, nor the first to say the wrong things,” his master continued. “I trust you remember that incident with Padawan Evone last month? But look at him now. On his first solo diplomacy mission.”
“Why don’t you go and train Evone, then?” Anakin snarled. He didn’t need the reminder that other padawans were beginning to go on solo missions, while he, Anakin, had been barely trusted to walk back to their quarters alone.
Obi-Wan rolled his eyes. “Not this again, Anakin.”
“Why not?” he challenged.
“Well, for one, Evone already has a master,” Obi-Wan said, infuriatingly calm.
“Someone else, then,” Anakin challenged. “Get an initiate, one of the perfect ones with perfect manners who don’t talk back and know how to fold their napkins.”
Obi-Wan clenched his bag, turning away from Anakin. “Right. And who will complete your training?”
“I’ll get a master who understands me,” Anakin said, bitterly. “A master who actually wants me.”
“I’m not convinced you’ll have luck finding anyone with the patience, to be honest,” his master said, irritatedly, tearing open his bag.
Anakin’s heart dropped. So, after everything, after all of Obi-Wan’s assurances, the truth… He dug his nails into his palms, feeling horribly like crying.
His master winced.
“Anakin, I didn’t mean that,” Obi-Wan sighed. He placed the bag on the counter. “You know I didn’t. I’m sorry. It has been a long day, for both of us; I spoke out of frus—”
“Master Qui-Gon wanted me,” Anakin said, suddenly.
The room became still, like the words had sucked the life out of it.
“Anakin,” Obi-Wan said, woodenly.
“Qui-Gon wanted me,” he repeated, and his voice grew stronger with anger. “He wanted me. He wanted me even more than he wanted you.”
Had he really just said that? He vaguely felt his heart racing, something in him screaming at him to shut up. He was shaking uncontrollably, and he couldn’t bring himself to look at Obi-Wan.
“Anakin, stop—”
“I wish he had been my master instead.”
There was a brief moment where Anakin felt something splinter in his chest—a horrible, sharp pain. Blotches of muddy black covered his vision, and he couldn’t help but search in the darkness for his master. He could barely make out Obi-Wan’s expression: his face was oddly shuttered, closed off, but his master’s eyes were wide and shining.
With horror, Anakin realized that the pain, the splinter in the Force, must have come from Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan, who never allowed Anakin to feel his emotions second-hand as intensely as this—not in the early days, and not even as he got older.
Anakin opened his mouth to apologize, to swear that he didn’t mean it and never would, but it was too late—Obi-Wan’s eyes had closed already. And Anakin realized, with a fresh wave of pain, that he could no longer feel his master through their Force bond.
“I sometimes wish that, too,” Obi-Wan said quietly, and without once looking at Anakin, swept out of the room.
Anakin didn’t know where he was.
He recalled going after Obi-Wan, knocking on his bedroom door, calling his master’s name, and not getting an answer. Of course, not getting an answer.
Anakin knew he had left their quarters shortly after that, desperate to pretend that the emptiness in the Force was from physical distance. After a few unbearable moments, he had closed himself off in the bond, too. Things got hazy after that. He must’ve wandered off the main road at some point, because he could no longer see the fortress-looking building in the skyline. In fact, he couldn’t see any buildings in the skyline. He seemed to be on a hill somewhere. Did Sypori have hills? The sky was almost completely dark, now; two of the three suns had fully set, and the third was nearly there, too.
It occurred to Anakin that even if he were allowed to accompany Obi-Wan back to Coruscant in the morning, he would likely not be able to find a place to sleep tonight. It also occurred to him that he probably deserved this.
He looked down, and with another dull twist in his chest, realized that he was clutching the umbrella he had bought for Obi-Wan. The umbrella’s handle had bent in half from the strength of his grip. So much for the Toydarian’s galek wood. It was silly of him to even try, anyway. Obi-Wan would never have been won over by a stupid umbrella.
Then it began to rain. Anakin almost laughed. He wondered whether any other padawan in the history of the Order had ever kriffed up this badly, this frequently. He wondered what Master Yoda would think about his lineage ending with Anakin, what Qui-Gon would think about how Anakin had treated Obi-Wan. He felt almost sick with shame.
“Anakin.”
He spun around, heart beating wildly. That voice could only belong to—
Obi-Wan stood at the crest of the hill. His master was absolutely furious, and he was also absolutely drenched head-to-boots in rainwater. His normally distinguished halo of hair had soaked into a limp, wet mane, and his Jedi robes dripped in all directions every time he breathed out.
“Master,” he said, gaping. And maybe it was the shock of seeing his proper master utterly dishelved, but he didn’t think before gasping out: “Master, you look like a drowned river rat.”
For one glorious second, Obi-Wan didn’t react, and Anakin thought perhaps that his master hadn’t heard him—that the Force had granted him one respite today.
But no, Anakin could never be that lucky. Obi-Wan’s eyes widened with outrage, and his master approached him with the determined air of an executioner. He ignored Anakin’s hasty attempts to retreat and reached around to place one stilling hand on his nape, as if handling a rowdy tooka cat.
Then he spoke, voice dangerously low, water droplets spraying everywhere: “I will do us both a favor and ignore that comment. You’re already on thin ice, Anakin—no, no, you’ve taken the ice and stomped it to pieces. I cannot believe you. No note, closing yourself off in the Force. Do you have any idea what it took to track you here? Do you have any idea how it felt to—”
His master cut himself off, taking a deep, calming breath. Then he huffed, wryly: “At least I know you’re uninjured if your insolence has remained intact.”
Anakin began to cry.
Obi-Wan loosened his grip in surprise, and moved a few paces away, possibly to give Anakin some space. Anakin wanted to ask him to come back.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, instead.
And there was nothing more he wanted in this moment than to force himself into Obi-Wan’s arms, to be held and comforted, but he knew that he didn’t deserve it. Not today, and possibly not ever again.
That terrible thought spurred him into action.
“I promise I’ll be good,” he said, quickly. “I’ll never speak out of turn again. I’ll study for all my classes. I’ll train hard, harder than all the other padawans combined. I promise.”
“Anakin—”
“I know that I’m not good at this,” he continued, voice fraying. “I keep—disappointing you. But I swear I’ll do better, and you won’t… You won’t regret it.”
“Anakin—”
“I didn’t mean what I said,” he said, tears turning his words thick. “Qui-Gon didn’t… He only wanted me for the prophecy. And you were right. No one—no other master, no one else wants—would want—”
He broke off, feeling sick. He didn’t want to know what his master was thinking.
“Anakin,” Obi-Wan repeated, calmly.
“What?” he managed to croak out, wiping his eyes with a damp sleeve.
“Are you done?” his master said. “Do you have anything more to confess, or may I respond now?”
“I ruined your gift,” Anakin said, miserably, and he could barely stand it anymore. “It was supposed to be yours—” He gestured wildly at the broken umbrella. “—and I couldn’t even do that right. And now it’s all ruined.”
“My gift?” Obi-Wan repeated, curiously. “The umbrella?”
Anakin flushed in embarrassment. “The merchant thought you would like it,” he mumbled. “‘Cause I said you were practical. And you like blue. I know it doesn’t mean anything. I wasn’t trying to buy your forgiveness, or… I’m sorry, I was just being stupid—oh—”
And he gasped, both in surprise and shock at the temperature, when Obi-Wan bent down and drew him close.
“Anakin, you could never be stupid,” his master soothed. “Although I hope you don't mind me saying, you are—on occasion—a little ridiculous.”
He was shocked to feel his master begin to shake with laughter.
“I appreciate the gift, padawan,” Obi-Wan said, a smile in his voice. “It certainly would have come in handy a half hour ago.”
“So…” he said, daring to allow hope to flood his chest. “So, I’m… I’m still your padawan?”
His master laughed, detaching himself. “Anakin, I’m sorry to report that you will never not be my padawan.”
“Even if I’m—even when I’m horrible?”
“You are not—”
“Even when I’m horrible?” he insisted.
Obi-Wan sighed in exasperation. “Yes, Anakin. Even if you set fire to the temple and turn all our cleaning droids evil. In fact, I’m afraid you’ll still be my padawan even when you’re knighted. Even when you’re Master Yoda’s age.”
Anakin swallowed. “Even when I say—horrible things?”
“Even then,” Obi-Wan promised, softer now. “But I know you didn’t mean it.”
“Master, I—”
“Of course, if he—if Qui-Gon had lived,” his master went on, looking away, “of course, he would have been a wonderful master for you. He saw your potential, even outside of the prophecy. I am sorry that the two of you did not have enough time to enjoy that relationship.”
Anakin bit his lip, not knowing what to say.
“I know that things have not been easy for you,” Obi-Wan said. “Truthfully, it has not been easy for me, either. But I am proud of you, just as I know Qui-Gon would have been, and as things stand… I do not wish things were different.”
“I don’t, either,” Anakin said, quickly. “I wouldn’t want anyone else as my master.”
“Not even a master who really understands you?” Obi-Wan said, teasingly.
Anakin flushed to hear his words repeated back to him. “Master,” he complained.
Obi-Wan laughed.
“I have my own confession to make,” his master said. “But before I tell you, you must promise that just this once, Anakin, you will not follow my example.”
Anakin peeked up at him, curiously. “What is it?”
“Promise me first, padawan.”
“I promise to never follow your example.”
“Anakin.”
“Yes, I promise, fine,” Anakin said, smiling.
Obi-Wan sighed. “I… lost my temper with Minister Tawnek shortly after you left us.”
“What?”
“His smugness was… climbing rapidly to unbearable levels,” his master admitted, abashed. “I lost control and gave him a piece of my mind. Told him his people weren’t stealing that land as long as I can wield a lightsaber. I’m afraid the Council will not be very pleased.”
Anakin laughed in disbelieving delight. “You… you yelled at the Minister… then came back and scolded me for yelling at the Minister.”
“Don’t gloat, Anakin,” Obi-Wan said, but he was smiling. “And I do not yell.”
“You… you’re such a hypocrite, Master.”
Obi-Wan let out an exaggerated sigh. “Only my very young apprentice could be massively in trouble for running away from our quarters, and still criticize my teaching methods.”
Anakin froze, smile fading. Massively in trouble? But Obi-Wan shook his head and gave him a fond look, and turned to the city skyline.
“Shall we return, padawan? I heard a disturbing rumor that staying out in the rain can cause one to obtain the likeness of a drowned river rat.”
Anakin cringed, carefully studying Obi-Wan’s expression for any remaining irritation. But his master seemed to be struggling to contain a smile.
“Am I going to pay for that one later?” he asked, sighing.
Obi-Wan tugged Anakin gently to his side. “Obviously, padawan.”
And as they began to make their way back down the hill, Anakin poked tentatively at the training bond, smiling when he felt Obi-Wan nudge him back. As it continued to rain, Anakin wrapped himself tightly into that nudge—content and soft-edged and steadily, brightly warm.