Chapter Text
Relona the 15th, 7935 CRC (Ninth month)
Garen slammed his tray on the table so violently he almost spilled everything that was on it. Obi-Wan got bits of smashed Serennian roots and fish egg omelette on his tunic, Bant was splashed with almost a whole glass of blue milk while Reeft got slices of purple carrots on his trousers.
The boy ignored their protests in favor to show them some flimsi sheets with way too much glee for the early hour “On our last mission a politician we helped gave us tickets for the last representation of ‘The Lovers of Coruscant’ and my master doesn’t like theatre sooooo… would you like to go?”
Both Obi-Wan and Bant perked up, interested.
“I love their story! It’s so romantic, even if it doesn’t end well you still want to be like them.”
“I’d rather not die while abducted by the stupid-est pirate to ever exist.” Obi-Wan throw his used napkins at his friend “But I like how they represent the jedi bodyguard. At least he’s not there only be accused of being the one she’s cheating with.”
“Yeah, of course you’d like that out of the whole plot….” Mocked Quinlan.
“At least I know what the plot is.”
“How dare you…?”
“You didn’t read the book! You just copied my essay on it!”
“I didn’t…!”
“Guys.” Bant slightly raised her voice, tossing a muja muffin directly in their mouths.
Taking advantage of their inability to speak, Garen went on “It’s tonight, right after dinner.”
Obi-Wan stopped listening all together.
‘After dinner’ were the worst words in the galaxy. They always felt like a door slammed on his face.
Master Qui-Gon kept telling him that it was his fault, he should have not accepted Master Dooku’s offer - Obi-Wan was sure it was just because his master didn’t have a choice over it, so he wanted him to suffer the same way. Especially because he asked for it.
Which was true, he supposed. It still sucked.
“But Garen…” Bant’s voice was so unsure and sad that his attention got drawn back into the conversation again “It’s…”
He could feel the eyes of everyone on him as soon as he stood “Not really a problem. And don’t worry, you’ll tell me about it tomorrow.”
“Obi…”
He hated his grandmaster sometimes, even if jedi don’t hate and all of that. And his friends’ concern was even worse than actually being imprisoned in the Temple.
“I have to go, have fun a the theatre.”
He hurried to collect his tray, walking as fast as he could without running.
No need to impose himself on them more than that.
He was the one who had a curfew after all.
“Obi-Wan, are you alright?”
He didn’t raise his head from the table “No.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Can I go to the theatre tonight?”
“Tonight?”
“After dinner.”
“You are under curfew.”
“That’s why I’m asking.”
“You already know the answer then.”
He let himself slide down the chair to the floor, curling under the table.
“Don’t act like a child. You are better than that.”
“But master….”
“You need to speak with Dooku for that anyway.”
“He’s not in the Temple!”
“Then you can only accept your fate.”
He groaned, defeated, and didn’t move from his spot.
After a while, Master Qui-Gon threw a blanket over him.
Obi-Wan didn’t move until his master put a plate with a cookie on near his face.
In the end his curfew didn’t really matter, because he didn’t even made to dinner before a vision got him a ticket for the Halls.
He didn’t remember what he saw, and since Master Dooku was out they made him spend the night there - for precaution they said. He could almost pretend it was the real reason he was missing a night out with his friends.
The only consolation he got from the whole ordeal was that every time he didn’t remember his visions - if he could fall asleep after it - he would always get the same dream. It was so recurrent, he didn’t even realize it was a more than just his imagination before speaking with his mind healer.
He never see their face - he was blind, it was too bright to see who they were, only that they were human and scared and stubborn and loyal and not alone.
He could only see their shape against the blinding white and a flash of a golden orange before waking up.
But the reason he loved to see them was the feeling. Obi-Wan knew they were looking at him, and even if his gaze wasn’t really there he could feel it engulfing him whole, a warm-safe-love-protect sensation that was better than anything he had ever felt.
A blanket who cocooned him completely.
And that feeling lingered.
In the morning and often until late afternoon, he could still feel it.
That was what really made it worth of all the pain the visions usually brought.
So no theatre for him, but when he put his head on the pillow he smiled thinking about his mysterious white and orange shadow.
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Kelona the 27th, 7936 CRC (Second month)
“I’ll do your laundry”
“Not good enough.”
“I’ll clean and cook exactly like you prefer. I’ll do your mission reports too.”
“First of all, that’s wrong. It’s your master’s duty to write those reports, since he is the older and highest ranked jedi present. Does Qui-Gon force you to write his reports?”
“No…?”
Master Dooku’s face hardened and Obi-Wan knew he would speak with his master. Great, another tense dinner.
“And second, what’s stopping me from making you do my chores anyway?”
“Because I’m not your padawan?” He tried.
“You and Vos get in trouble often enough for me to never do any of those chores you listed.”
“But…”
“Are you challenging me?”
“No! Absolutely not!”
“I thought so.” He smirked while Obi-Wan groaned, defeated.
“You did an effort, that I appreciate.” Dooku rose to his feet ”Would you like some tea, grandpadawan?”
“No… thank you.”
“Right, it’s almost time for you to be home. You better hurry or you’ll meet my laundry sooner than you expected.”
“You are cruel.”
“Your master said the same. Now go, little one.”
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Helona the 35th, 7936 CRC (Sixth month)
“Guys!”
Obi-Wan barely managed to press his forearms on the table before Quinlan collided against his back, almost face-planting him in his dassirian root puree.
The kiffar’s arms circled his neck, holding on so strongly he could barely breath.
“Guess who’s back!”
“Luminara?” Siri answered without even looking up from her datapad “Because she’s the only one I missed.”
“First of all, rude Tachi. Really rude.”
She shrugged, showing him her middle finger, half hidden under the table to avoid being scolded.
Obi-Wan struggled.
“Second of all, I came back in time for the Festival of Life! We need to celebrate together! And also…”
“Quin, I don’t think he’s breathing.”
“Bantling, you don’t need to…”
Obi-Wan hit him with an elbow in the stomach, hard enough to be released.
He gasped, air finally flowing his lungs.
“Obes! I didn’t expect this betrayal from you.”
“I need to breathe, you bantha-head!”
“I’m the only air you need.”
Obi-Wan went back to his food. Quinlan dropped next to him on the bench, snatching his dessert cup.
“Go get your own tray!” He snapped, frustrated. He didn’t have the time for this, after lunch his master was going to test his saber skills and he still had a lot of coursework and he had only until dinner to end all his other chores.
Speaking about something he would not be allowed to join wasn’t helping.
Finally sensing his mood, Quinlan wordlessly put the pudding cup down, sliding on the bench to press his side against Obi’s own.
“We can meet before dinner, there are some activity we can do before sunset.”
“Yeah, like playing with the crechelings.”
“Now, pessimism won’t make us have fun, Obes. Cheer up.”
Obi-Wan would never admit it, not even under torture, but physical closeness with Quin always cheered him up. Be it for their friendship, for the bond or whatever, the kiffar ability to calm him was a blessing.
Quin lightly poked his shields, asking for an answer, so he nodded against his shoulder.
He would try to.
______________________________________________________________
First day of the Festival of Life, 7936 (Sixth month)
“I… I’ll learn Makashi!”
“That should happen regardless of this deal. It’s good to be versatile during battle.”
Obi-Wan groaned. He was running out of ideas.
What the kriff he could offer? Nothing was enough!
In his lessons Master Dooku never spoke about impossible deals. It was always a ‘trick them into thinking you have more than what you have’ or a ‘give them something they don’t know they need’ situations. But he was not in one of those!
Everything he could offer had been turned down - chores, help in the archives, help with paperwork, excuses to politely leave chatting with politicians he couldn’t stand…
Maybe begging his master or Master Aveross to tell how they did it would be more fruitful.
Obi-Wan could find a way to use their suggestions without getting caught.
After all he just to find out what his grandmaster was looking for, and he was ready to bet that appease them would not be even half as hard as with Master Dooku.
Yeah, he was going to work on that.
“Obi-Wan…”
“Master Dooku!” He scrambled to get up, bowing as proper, which made Yan faltered in turn. It was a bit out of character for the padawan to act so formal, since they were not in an official setting.
“Why are you here?”
“I-I was… I was meditating and I lost track of time, I’ll go home…”
“Not going to celebrate with your friends?”
His glare was a frustrated one, but tinted with sadness “I can’t, Master. The celebration start after dinner time.” He pointed.
Yan hummed, sitting on the bench Obi-Wan had been using as a backrest “Tell me, grandpadawan, if someone is drowning in a lake but there is a law that says no one can bathe in it, would you save them or would you let them die?”
“I’d save them.” This time he was confused "Why…?”
“And would you feel bad for it?”
“No, but… I would apologize and pay the consequences.”
“Ah, yes. But those happen only if you break the law. You see…” Yan leaned back “If you entered in it to save someone else, you are not bathing. You are diving, or jumping in, or following the will of the Force. You could be doing literally anything but bathe.”
The frustration came back in Obi-Wan’s eyes “I know how semantic works, Grandmaster. Why are you telling me this?”
He sighed “You know, all my padawans had tried to get a leave from time to time. Rael insisted so much he almost drove me to despair. Qui-Gon did the same, but in a more passive-aggressive way, which escalated in a warlike chain of paybacks I’m sure your master is still proud of. Komari tried it at least once a month. Why have you never tried?”
Obi-Wan blinked “Are you saying that semantics would have worked?”
“Of course not, but why you didn’t try?”
“And why should have I? I know it was going to be useless.”
“Never brush off a meeting with someone you want something from. You could have learned informations on what I could want enough to give in.”
For several seconds, Yan waited for Obi-Wan to really get the meaning of his words. He could almost feel his brain re-acting all the times the padawan had found him just to loose the courage to approach him - hiding behind columns and corners a second before their gaze could actually met.
In the end, he settle for a diplomatic smile and a “I’ll keep it in mind, Grandmaster.”
Yan smiled. Obi-Wan was different from any of his padawans, still feeling the insecurities of having almost aged out, but he was so, so promising.
“I usually lift the curfew on Name-Days, as a gift.” He stood and moved his arm to show his grandpadawan a little white bag “But I have always accepted a barter for Festivals of Life. So… would you like to stay out as late as you like tonight, within reason, in exchange for helping Jocasta in the Archives the day after tomorrow?”
“Yes!”
“Good. Now, take this and go get ready. Dinner is in two hours.”
Obi-Wan hugged him, his head still barely tall enough to press against his sternum “Thank you, Grandmaster.”
“You’re welcome. Now go. And don’t give any of those treats to Qui-Gon.”
“I promise.” And with that he run away.
Yan smoothed his clothes, discreetly controlling around himself. No one saw him.
Age was making him soft, he knew it.
But, if no one knew, it would not be a problem.
After all, he was the child’s grandmaster: he was allowed to spoil him.
Obi-Wan deserved that.