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It was on Vespa that Qui-Gon had smiled and reached out with his hands. Two of them – one for each padawan. It was childish as it was silly and their Master had never before indulged his own soft heart in such a manner, but the air had been soaked with the celebration of the locals and Qui-Gon had proposed they visit the festival.
The locals were twining and bumping around and into one another – the whole crowd like a golden fish swimming against the currents of a fast river. It was hard to keep track of their Master so Qui-Gon had turned to them and offered his hands with a gentle smile on his face.
Obi-Wan had hesitated for a second, his own arm aborting its move in the air with uncertainty. In those few seconds of hesitation, Anakin had made sure to grab the right hand of his Master.
He remembered little of the night after but he knew it had been important for him to be on the right.
“If they were to drown who would you save Qui-Gon?”
Anakin shifted nervously ignoring the urge to hide behind Master Qui-Gon’s robe at the disapproving glare that Councillor Mace Windu was aiming at the three of them. Qui-Gon couldn’t look at him to reassure him at the moment but he looked calm and unshakable and it helped settle something deep in Anakin.
“Anakin,” Qui-Gon did not hesitate and Anakin could barely see from the other side Obi-Wan nodding enthusiastically. “Obi-Wan can swim,” the Master finished and Anakin thought he sounded smug like Watto had when swindling more credits from a customer than he should on a bad day.
Anakin felt warmth glow in his chest, Master Qui-Gon had been there for him through the whole ordeal on Tatooine and was currently fighting for him in front of the whole Jedi Council. It made him feel valuable but not in the way that Watto had told him. Like he was worth more than credits.
“Let me ask you again,” Master Windu repeated slowly, his voice like a dangerous shadow in the night. “If they both could not swim, who would you reach for first?”
The room went silent for a minute that felt like hours in the wide space. Master Qui-Gon did not argue that this was a stupid question as Obi-Wan could obviously swim. It was probably important then. Important for their future.
Despite that, Anakin preened, ready to hear his name leave his master’s lips. Ready to hear the undeniable proof that he was wanted here, that he was cherished.
“I will teach them to swim,” Qui-Gon gritted out with effort. He looked ready to physically fight the other Jedi, so tightly wound up like a spring a mere seconds away from uncoiling and springing high into the air.
Windu nodded pleased with the answer, Obi-Wan breathed out a sigh of relief no doubt also sensing their Master’s ire and glad it had passed like a thunderous cloud carried away by the strong wind.
It had been the right answer, but it didn’t please Anakin. In a brief flash, he felt anger course through him – he had left his world with a promise and right now Qui-Gon had broken the unspoken vow he had given him. Qui-Gon had promised him he was free and offered to train him. But Qui-Gon had bought him with credits from Watto and Anakin knew all too well merchandise could be just as easily brought back into the store.
He had needed Qui-Gon to pick him.
Qui-Gon had coaxed it out of him – that need to be chosen and he had relinquished it with a heavy heart and tightly sealed lips. His Master hadn’t abandoned him though and that gratitude had turned into loyalty and he liked to think now – something else.
At seventeen Anakin had caught the teramelian flu. For a week he laid helpless in bed fighting for his next breath, his mind -- a blurry storm of images and pain.
His Master had been a constant presence by his bed. He would press his cold hand to Anakin’s burning forehead and murmur soothing words that Anakin couldn’t hold together as they spilled soaking in the stale air.
On day six, for the first time since it had started the Padawan had found the strength to open his eyes and piece the room back together.
He was alone.
He found his Master on the couch in the common room, snoring lightly from the uncomfortable position. Obi-Wan’s head was resting on his shoulder as the older boy had turned sideways on the couch and had his back flush to his Master. His hands were crossed in unrest at the front.
Anakin looked at them both and the minutes slipped through his fingers. Mere moments ago he had felt the chill of the room and the unpleasant painful pulsing of his head. Now, he felt only the anger clawing up his throat.
An unreasonable indignation or something stronger he couldn’t tell. But he knew his Master should’ve been with him.
As if sensing his distress Obi-Wan awoke, blinked twice, and smiled gently.
Immediately, Anakin’s confused emotions were pushed at the back of his mind. Obi-Wan’s concerned eyes relaxing his defensive stance.
“ ‘aster,” Obi-Wan croaked sleepily, “he is awake.”
Qui-Gon startled as Obi-Wan poked him with his elbow. Their Master was a light sleeper, so he had obviously been in need of a rest.
“Anakin,” Qui-Gon beamed at him and rose. He checked his Padawan’s temperature, but the hand on Anakin’s forehead did not bring the cool relief it had the previous nights.
Obi-Wan’s posture was perfect so Anakin copied it – straightened his back and lifted his right hand further up, hoping their Master wouldn’t notice the slip-up.
The hairs at the back of his neck stood up. The Padawan felt Qui-Gon’s presence behind them -- that itch to run away Anakin only ever connected with an immediate threat and the disapproving stare of his teacher.
He braced himself for the Master to correct him, grasp him by the shoulder, push him lightly forward and tell him to try again.
Instead, Qui-Gon’s arms followed the grace of Obi-Wan’s own. Qui-Gon engulfed the smaller frame of his padawan and time stilled. It was not the equilibrium that evaded Anakin still in mediation, it was not the cry before battle that thrilled his blood. This was something else he realised as Obi-Wan faltered and lost his balance.
“Master!”
It was not Obi-Wan that objected. The cry tore from Anakin’s lips.
Look at me.
Mere moments ago he would’ve given anything to hide his mistakes. Now, he wanted what attention those could bring.
“Your form was lacking, Anakin. Again.” Qui-Gon said but did not avert his eyes.
Anakin had loved sneaking past beds and curling in front of the living room’s door in the narrow corridor. He’d ignore Obi-Wan’s affronted stare and try to listen to Qui-Gon and his guests.
Very important people visited their Master. And Anakin very much enjoyed pointing it out in front of every padawan and initiate that would ask. Mace Windu, who Anakin disliked greatly, and Master Yoda, Master Brimla of the lesser Temple, and members of the Jedi Council – all of them valued their Master’s opinion so it became a frequent way for Anakin to spend his nights instead of studying.
Most of the time these meetings meant nothing to him, the words foreign, the politics – useless. But there was also a certain satisfaction of hiding behind his Master’s back and watching him, observing. Sometimes it wasn’t a mission that was discussed and Qui-Gon was…different. Relaxed and mellow, kind, and unreachable. Not a Master but something else, something more and it pulled on Anakin’s memories of the man, who saved him, before he had donned the teacher’s persona and distanced himself behind it.
Anakin loved catching those moments just like the initiates that caught butterflies in the room of a thousand fountains.
Obi-Wan disapproved, but Anakin often wondered if Obi-Wan even cared about their Master. He looked so content with his role as the mere student and never reached for more. Had never as a younger boy gone into Qui-Gon’s room and demanded to be held, never yearned the gentle squeeze of a shoulder and the gleaming pride in the blue eyes.
Better for Anakin that Obi-Wan did not want to share that attention.
He startled as that thought came unbidden. He loved his brother padawan fiercely and deeply.
He did.
Anakin stood up from his crouch almost giving away his hideout and sneakily tiptoed his way back to their room.
Obi-Wan threw him a disapproving glare, but Anakin was too bothered by his recent musings to mind. He flopped on the ground in front of their huge window and closed his eyes, sinking in light meditation.
He needed to purge those feelings.
They were fighting and Anakin was drawn in like a magnet. He had never, in his life, heard Qui-Gon use that tone of voice with Obi-Wan. It was usually reserved for him. So he should be filled with glee and pride for he hadn’t heard it for a few years now.
Instead, it was jealousy that drove him to peek into the room. Curiosity stopped him from announcing his presence and neither their Master nor his brother padawan noticed.
They were locked in a fierce battle of words, their voices never raised but biting and dangerous aimed to hurt. Qui-Gon was towering over Obi-Wan, neither budging. Obi-Wan’s chin raised in defiance.
“It was not your place to speak,” Qui-Gon uttered quietly and Anakin strained to hear more.
“With all due respect Master, not your place to sacrifice either.”
“You are not thirteen anymore, there is no collar to blow you up, I thought I taught you –“
“You taught me to think in the moment and seize it and that’s what I did.” Obi-Wan deflated, the fight leaving him. “I couldn’t…” he trailed off and looked down. His lips moved but it was too quiet.Qui-Gon heard it, though, for he took Obi-Wan’s hand in his.
Time stopped.
Anakin was twelve again as Qui-Gon offered him a hand to drag him out of the sands.
Qui-Gon was stroking the tender skin of Obi-Wan’s wrist.
Anakin was nineteen and Qui-Gon applied bacta to his skin as it burned in equal measures from the pain and the gentleness.
Their Master lifted the hand.
Anakin was sixteen carried with ease on his Master’s back as he tried not to drift off, the pain in his leg – a distant memory.
Obi-Wan sucked in a breath of surprise.
Anakin was twenty and had realised his Master did not look at him with the longing he himself was feeling.
Qui-Gon kissed the vulnerable skin.
Anakin was twenty-two and had never felt more foolish as he stood at the door and observed a stolen moment. It didn’t belong to him.
Anakin stopped in front of the door. He felt awful. His stomach was churning. It was hard to breathe from the anger pressing inside of his chest. If he closed his eyes he saw them both locked in an intimacy foreign to him.
He finally knew what his Master’s eyes looked like alight with love.
Jealousy was not the Jedi way.
He tried to control his breathing. Closed his eyes and relaxed his heavy shoulders.
Finally, he straightened up and knocked twice once out of necessity and once out of impatience.
The door slid open and Anakin found himself pinned by the piercing gaze of Mace Windu.
“Padawan Skywalker?” The Master nodded and Anakin bowed respectfully, the anger clawing at his throat. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” Mace asked calmly.
Anakin stood bowed down, staring at the mosaic on the floor. “Master Windu,” he began. The anger, jealousy, pain, and love coalescing into a single painfully burning wire around his heart, gripping it tightly. He couldn’t breathe. It burned too much.
“I drowned.” He said, happy with the knowledge his world would burn too.