Chapter Text
Masters and padawans have squabbles all the time. For all that the Jedi preach serenity, two minds facing high-stress situations must clash at some point. As a padawan, Obi-Wan had heard her share of both gossip and first-hand accounts; teenagers will be teenagers, knights can be high on adrenaline, and everyone has a sore nerve that triggers an outburst if hit—this is all very normal. Sometimes a quarrel might even last for days, though that is, of course, rare; usually, a few hours apart and some meditation soothes tempers enough that any conflict is resolved by the end of the day at the latest. Any confrontation simply passes into the anecdotal past, sometimes even reflected upon fondly with the benefit of hindsight.
But most of the time, the key emotion is anger—there and released into the Force. The Jedi have many ways to cope with anger, to prevent it from controlling them and misguiding their actions and thoughts.
Obi-Wan is not sure how to handle hurt.
She is surprised by it, by its intensity, the sheer physicality of the wound exposed by a mere few words. It is as if a jagged rock had suddenly materialized in the chambers of her heart, sharply digging into the walls with each pump. And it sits, heavy, almost sinking into her stomach, the shock of that dull pain freezing all thought. She almost does not understand why she is even hurting, blindsided both by the verbal remark and her own reaction.
"Master Qui-Gon didn't even want you."
It had been some time since anyone brought that up, but she is not surprised that Anakin found out. That whole situation had been one of the bigger dramas the Order had seen at the time, particularly within the Temple, when everyone in the créche had watched Obi-Wan desperately scrambling for some way to fulfill a dream that was crumbling steadily to ashes. Early on, there had even been some wagers that Obi-Wan would not last very long as Qui-Gon Jinn's padawan, not so much out of malice as much as innocent skepticism; Qui-Gon had been very adamant with his initial rejections, after all.
It is not surprising that the story still drifts in some form through the Temple halls even now, that it would drift to Anakin's ears.
She just did not expect him to use it to attack her, though.
Anakin realizes his mistake instantly; he has trouble controlling his temper and impulses, which is what started the quarrel in the first place, but he is not a cruel person. Not really. His blue eyes widen before he glances down at the floor. "I'm sorry," he says instantly, one of the rare times he has done so without a lot of cajoling. "I didn't mean it that way."
Obi-Wan knows she should say something to the effect of "That's alright", or "Never mind that"—Anakin is sixteen and going through his growth spurt; his hormones are surging and sagging in spurts, as is common at this age, and he is adjusting to an ever-changing body with ever-changing instincts. That, mixed with his harsh past, would make his corners sharp as he tries to feel out the boundaries of his freedom; he had spent more of his life as a slave than as a free man, after all. Obi-Wan had never expected Anakin to be the kind of obedient, studious padawan that those raised in the créche grow to be. He still has much to learn, and he needs that time to learn, and it is her duty as his master and teacher to provide that leeway, that safe space where he can make these kinds of mistakes and say the wrong things and grow from them, learn from them. The whole point of a padawan is that they are not yet full Jedi, and they have room to improve.
But that rock, sitting low in her chest, seems to have blocked her throat. She cannot speak. She cannot even make a sound. Not even a grunt of pain.
The lift, which is ascending up to the dormitories, proceeds smoothly in a way that is almost disorienting, considering how Obi-Wan feels frozen with shock. Next to them, Siri Tachi throws Anakin a somewhat dirty look.
"Really?" the Knight drawls. "What did you mean, then, Padawan Skywalker? Because I'm really curious what else that could possibly be."
Frustration flares from Anakin's Force signature, but he bows his head and refrains from answering as guilt ends up dominating.
Silence then descends. Obi-Wan still cannot speak.
Concerned, Siri touches her arm. "Obi?"
Beep.
Obi-Wan starts, glancing down at her comm link. Mace Windu's name is displayed on the small screen.
All at once, Anakin's words, the rock on her diaphragm—those almost physically move to some side, drawing away from the forefront.
She raises the comm. "Kenobi."
"Knight Kenobi," Windu starts, "The analysts have reviewed the files you and Padawan Skywalker retrieved. Unfortunately, the data transfer caused some of the files to be corrupted and we lost access to some of the documents. It's not urgent, but we'll need you and your padawan to review them and see if you'll be able to fill in the blanks."
"How did the data transfer corrupt the files?" Anakin exclaims, frustration rising yet again.
"It's possible those files were corrupted to begin with," Obi-Wan inserts more diplomatically, "but we can come take a look. The Archives, I presume?"
"Correct. Again, not urgent; you've only just returned—"
"I'll come along right now," says Obi-Wan, and turns to Anakin as the lift slows while approaching their floor. "Why don't you shower, change, get some food in the dining hall. I'll see what's going on with the files."
"That sort of thing is a padawan's job," Siri inserts, frowning with disapproval. "Generally the Master goes to take a shower; the padawan's the one doing all the scut work."
"Siri," Obi-Wan admonishes.
Siri looks away with a slight shrug of her shoulders. "Far be it for me to tell you how to instruct your padawan; clearly he appreciates you."
"Siri!"
"I can go instead," Anakin says reluctantly, clearly hearing Siri's reproach, but not enough to be convincingly enthusiastic. He hates paperwork, or anything that requires fine, mental maneuvers. One reason, Obi-Wan knows, is because he finds reading difficult and processes words more slowly than his peers; he is considered literate by now, and had picked up Basic very quickly, but he had spent nine years without a proper education and it still has a lasting impact to this day. It will likely impact him for the rest of his life.
Don't drag this out into more than it is, Obi-Wan scolds herself. Really, feeling insecure because of a teenager sixteen years younger than herself is too pathetic by any standard; Anakin is not Bruck Chun. He has deep-seated woes no one can possibly understand. Just because he uses the Force as naturally as breathing and certain things (anything Jedi skill, really) came easily to him, and Qui-Gon—
"I know you're exhausted," Obi-Wan reaches out to touch Anakin's arm. "Don't worry about this. I'll let you know if I need you."
"You're exhausted too," Siri remarks unhappily.
Obi-Wan glares at her, wondering when Siri became such a meddlesome person. "Don't you have better things to do?"
Siri leaves the lift when the doors open, even though this is not her intended floor. Obi-Wan looks at Anakin, mainly to convey her bemusement, but Anakin looks miserable and does not meet her gaze.
Obi-Wan reaches up to squeeze his shoulder. Anakin is already slightly taller than her. He will be even taller before the end of it, for sure. "It's alright, Padawan," she says softly. "We'll talk later."
Siri is not the only one with opinions about Obi-Wan's methods.
"I was expecting Padawan Skywalker to be down here instead," Depa Billaba murmurs as Obi-Wan follows her deeper into the Archive atrium. Her utter lack of surprise suggests that 'expecting' was a generous term.
Obi-Wan pinches her nosebridge. "It's fine. I told him to wash up. I wanted to get a head start."
Depa Billaba looks at her. The jewel on her forehead gleams in the fluorescent lights, but her eyes seem even brighter. For all that her irises are dark, they still seem to hold an amber glow.
"You seem disquieted, Knight Kenobi."
Obi-Wan inhales, then exhales. "It's been a long month."
"I told Mace that this wasn't urgent."
"I wanted to get it over with."
The Council Master gives her a considering look, but does not press, instead turning to the holoscreens to bring up the files of interest.
All things considered, the mission Obi-Wan and Anakin just came back from was hardly the most difficult in standard terms; there was an upset in the Force on a small moon society, which necessitated Jedi intervention, but the mission was not violent in nature. The moon, Precipus, is a fairly insular member of the Republic, only peripherally involved with the Senate and engaged minimally with interplanet trade. The civilization is peaceful, and their cultural laws are inherently consistent with Republic ideals, but because of their introverted nature, certain internal dynamics brew and build. Some time ago, perhaps a little less than two hundred years or so, there was a slow but steady increase of Force-sensitives being born. Now a solid fraction of their population is Force-sensitive, enough for the Jedi Order to register their presence.
Cataloging a whole moon, and Precipus was actually larger than some planets—was never an enterprise meant to be completed in a month. Obi-Wan and Anakin were only meant to establish relations; Force-sensitives do not always have to be trained in the Jedi Order, but a good number of them would stand to benefit from proper upbringing, and the Order can always use new talent. Precipus has some awareness of the Jedi Order, of course, but they had not been very interested until now. Given their cultural tendencies, it was important to make sure the early networking process is as amiable and affable as possible.
Easier said than done, particularly over a month-long stay; Anakin can maintain civilities over a few standard hours, even a few standard days, but he is a complex person with a complicated history, and such individuals can struggle with delicate interactions with those who hold certain very different beliefs. It is hard to correct his flaws when he instinctively assigns any criticism as a gesture of contempt. Obi-Wan understands; he wears his heart on his sleeve, and he is ever conscious of his past as a slave, the demeaning implication. No amount of prestige or laudation can undo the wounds that kind of life leaves behind. It would almost be amusing; most in the Order think of Anakin as arrogant and proud, when actually he is deeply insecure and very sensitive about his failings. Most of his protests or defiance stems from the lack of confidence that he will ever improve. Obi-Wan has tried, over the past seven years, to reassure him that he has nothing to be ashamed of, that he has yet to fulfill his potential as a person—after all, look at Obi-Wan. She has also come a long way since she was sixteen.
No one can doubt that Anakin will surpass her one day, and soon. He has already surpassed her in many ways.
Against her will, Obi-Wan drifts back to melancholy, to the point where she stares at the screen without comprehending. It has been seven years. She feels like she has been fighting by the skin of her teeth for every Force-forsaken second of those seven years—longer even, from when she was Anakin's age when he first arrived on Coruscant, when she dreamed of becoming a knight, only for her optimism to fade as her thirteenth birthday crept closer and none of the potential masters looked her way. Her apprenticeship with Qui-Gon was a constant, steep uphill battle; he may have accepted her as his padawan, but Obi-Wan knew he never actually liked her. She was a duty, a responsibility he agreed to take on, but she was far from his favorite, even when she tried her very best, all the time. Training Anakin had involved countless sleepless nights, pouring over texts about child psychiatry, about trauma and the details of slavery she had always been too timid to learn, so she could anticipate his reactions, understand them, figure out how to address them, help him work towards something of a healthy adult, while fearful the entire time that the Council would deem her unworthy after all, unready to take a padawan, much less one with the sort of special needs as Anakin did. All things told, Anakin had come so far; Qui-Gon would be proud of him, she is certain.
She just does not know if Qui-Gon would be as proud of her. Somehow, Obi-Wan would not think so. She can never tell if Anakin's growth was because of her or in spite of her.
It feels like for all her life, Obi-Wan would try her best, give her all, only to earn a barely adequate result.
"Knight Kenobi?"
Startling, Obi-Wan glances up sheepishly at Depa Billaba, who is standing at her shoulder. "I'm sorry," she blinks a few times to focus on the screen. "I must be more tired than I thought."
"This isn't urgent," the Council Master repeats. "You can come back tomorrow, after you've rested. Sometimes, the peaceful missions are harder. Though they are less physical, they require more mental exertion."
Obi-Wan shakes her head, feeling foolish. She should not subject Depa Billaba to her self-pity. The Council Master has other places to be, other things to do.
Obi-Wan is a knight now. She needs to get her head in gear. "I'll be alright. Let's see what data is missing…"
Much of the lost information cannot be recovered, even with Obi-Wan's memory. The documents are supposed to contain records of suspected Force-sensitive subjects and activity over the past two hundred years, along with details of individual politics, history, and interstate dynamics. Obi-Wan hardly reviewed all of them prior to downloading onto the external drives, so there is not much to be done about most of them.
"It's poor form to have lost this data while trying to make a good first impression," Obi-Wan says to Billaba, "but these glitches happen and ultimately, I think they would understand." Precipus is introverted but not unreasonable. In truth, Obi-Wan and Anakin had been received with great hospitality. "I can reach out to their minister—their minister's coordinator, rather. They'll want me to retrieve a hard drive, though. Sending the data remotely…some of the contents are a bit too sensitive for that."
"It is best if we can avoid losing face," Billaba shakes her head. "As you said, this is sensitive information."
"There is a lot of data that was lost. Soldiering through with this much missing context is a bit dangerous."
"We'll see what we can do with the drive first," says Billaba. "If necessary, we'll arrange for you and your padawan to revisit Precipus."
"I don't think it's necessary for both of us to go."
"Oh?"
Obi-Wan catches Billaba's gaze before quickly glancing away.
Many of the moon's inhabitants were not keen on sending their children to the Jedi Order. Obi-Wan had understood. Anakin…not so much.
Ultimately, no one was offended; Anakin's attitude was easily explained as his passionate endorsement of his Order and what it represents, but…something about how those families had guarded their children, had been resistant to the idea of giving them up, just rubbed Anakin the wrong way. Obi-Wan would wager a guess, but ever since Anakin had hit puberty, she feels like all she has been doing with him is guessing.
"Padawan Skywalker needs to learn how to set aside his own opinions, when addressing issues of such a scale," Billaba states softly.
Obi-Wan does not ask how the other knew this to be a problem without Obi-Wan saying so; this is hardly the first time Anakin let his own biases get the better of him. "We're working on it."
"You're working on it," says the Jedi Master. "Is he?"
"He's…" trying, Obi-Wan wants to say, but there is no try, as the saying goes—"…doing his best. It's harder for him than for other padawans; his opinions used to be of no value."
"He's been with the Order for many years now," says Billaba. "Long enough that those old habits should have changed."
Should they have? Obi-Wan is suddenly overcome with another wave of self-doubt. Had she not done enough? Had she been guiding Anakin all wrong?
"Knight Kenobi," Billaba rests a hand on her shoulder, "that was not meant to be a reprimand to you."
"My padawan's failings are my failings."
"That is not true." The older woman pauses meaningfully. "You did not choose Skywalker as your padawan. He was thrust upon you. It would be hypocritical of us to blame you for his failings when all of us had argued against this in the first place."
Obi-Wan blinks, her heart opening like a lock being turned. Was that why those words slipped so easily from Anakin's lips? Because he had hurt, for the same reasons Obi-Wan did?
"Whether or not you are a good mentor is only part of the equation," Billaba continues. "Padawan Skywalker himself must determine the lengths he is willing to go to become the Jedi he aspires to be. He has been with us for several cycles now; there is no question he flourishes in the Force, but while his scars are understandable, they are no excuse for how he allows his fear and anger to control him, nor can we as the Order abide by a member who is unable to avoid being so compromised in his judgment and actions. There is time, yes, and the future is always in motion, but ceding to his pride, to his desires at the expense of the welfare of the galaxy, does no one any favors. Especially not him."
"He just needs more time. He's had half the amount of time others have had at his age. He just needs more time and so do I."
"That may be, but time passes quickly, Knight Kenobi. We all must race to stay in place; that is the way of all living things. Padawan Skywalker was already behind when he started. He cannot afford to dawdle."
Obi-Wan exhales. She is starting to feel a little of that frustration that plagues her padawan. "We're already progressing as fast as we can." She turns to the holoscreen and turns the topic back. "I'll handle any discussions with Precipus. We'll make sure we have the necessary information to continue this network. I'll summon Anakin if needed."
Billaba ducks her head. "Very well."
Anakin is in their dorm. Obi-Wan can sense that he is still distraught. When she arrives, he is in the middle of a chaotic scatter of droid parts on the floor, which is unsurprising; Anakin has always turned to this activity when he is in need of consoling. He is not actually working though; he had sensed her imminent arrival, and as soon as Obi-Wan enters the apartment, the boy rises and scurries over to her.
"Master," he exclaims, and then dives into her arms.
He is tall enough now to almost knock her over. It is on the tip of her tongue to say something along the lines of Anakin being too big for this sort of thing, but almost like he senses the words coming, the boy's arms wrap even more tightly around her, as if trying to squeeze her enough to keep them in.
"I didn't mean it," he insists.
"Oh hush." Truthfully, Obi-Wan was never angry—the rock is still there, lodged in her chest, but it feels lighter somehow, with Anakin's arms around her and his earnest horror and contrition. She presses the side of her face against his. "It was the truth. You weren't wrong."
"I didn't mean it," he repeats. "I was just…sometimes it just feels like my best is not enough."
And how can Obi-Wan not understand that? "Yesterday's best isn't today's," she points out. "And today's best isn't tomorrow's. You sell yourself short, young one."
Anakin exhales heavily and suddenly lets her go. "I'm not a youngling," he mopes.
"But you are a young one," Obi-Wan tugs at his padawan braid. For some reason, Anakin seems a little dissatisfied, and he wrinkles his nose.
This, Obi-Wan cannot begin to comprehend, but at least he is not irritated or angry, and the moment passes as Anakin suddenly leans into her again, wrapping his arms around her and slumping. Apparently her padawan wants to use her as a huggable crutch.
"Hey!" Obi-Wan exclaims, and cannot contain her chuckle when as she moves, Anakin just lets his body get dragged. "You're too heavy; let go and stand properly."
"You're just the right height though!"
"Impertinent brat," Obi-Wan scoffs, and then proceeds to the sofa with her padawan knapsack still clinging to her. "Come on, sit down. I owe you a lecture; don't think you're getting yourself out of this one."
Anakin makes a whining sound, and then curls up around her when she sits, arms around her waist and face buried in her stomach like he is trying to hide there. Obi-Wan feels a mixture of fondness and bemusement; in truth, Anakin had not done this in a while. Probably years, even. But perhaps he is in need of reassurance, the kind of closeness he had sought more often when he was younger, and Obi-Wan had freely given because it just…seemed like the thing to do, when a former child-slave is suddenly in this new, unfamiliar situation and only has her, a frightened new Knight, to rely on.
He is really too big for this though. Anakin will continue to get taller, he is definitely an adult-sized figure, even if said adult is Obi-Wan.
"I was thinking about how we first met," Obi-Wan states casually, and reaches to smooth his short golden locks. "I wasn't very amiable to you, at the time."
Anakin groans and squeezes her waist harder. "Master, you were fine."
"No I wasn't," Obi-Wan lets herself feel the regret. "I was too caught up in my own concerns. If you sensed any sort of animosity at the time, it wasn't directed at you."
He groans again. "I knew it wasn't, and you didn't have any animosity or what's it—you were just confused. I'm not stupid."
"…No," Obi-Wan agrees. "But I was thinking. Everyone calls you the Chosen One, despite our best efforts. But I didn't choose you. And I think that bothers you."
Anakin twists his face up to look at her. His eyes are very blue in this light, vivid in a piercing way.
She continues to smooth his hair. "Qui-Gon wasn't the only one who didn't choose me. No one did. You probably heard, I was on my way to Bandomeer, out of the Order. Particularly early on, a lot of people thought I should have continued on that journey. Qui-Gon ultimately accepted me, but acceptance isn't the same as…"
Acceptance is not the same as being wanted, but that is not something Jedi should aspire to. The desire to be wanted is the desire to forge attachments. Obi-Wan trails off, unsure how to finish.
Anakin seems to understand anyway. "But you two were closer later, and Master Qui-Gon liked you."
"He never liked me, Anakin," Obi-Wan says gently, and the dull pain in her heart sharpens briefly before she soothes it back into the dull ache that it was. "He had other padawans. Better, that he liked more. I was just someone the Force matched to him, that he didn't fight. The entire time, it felt like I was working myself to the bone just to get even the slightest approval from him. In the end, I don't know…we'll never know, now."
"But he did like you," Anakin insists. "He had to have. You're…you."
Obi-Wan laughs, sad and touched all at once. "Qui-Gon had his reasons, but my point isn't to tell you my sob story. I just want you to know that…I know how it feels, not to be chosen. To feel like you got thrust into someone's care, that someone's only tolerating you because they're forced to deal with you. And…that's not what's happening, between us. If…" she swallows, and says the words she had always wished Qui-Gon would say to her, "if I had to do it all over again, if I were to go back in time and tell myself what I should do, I'd tell myself to choose you. Do you understand?"
Anakin's eyes abruptly grow wet, and he sits up from her lap, shuffles his hips on the sofa, and then envelopes her in a proper hug once more. "Yes, Master. And I'd choose you too. I choose you, always."