Chapter Text
There is a moment, barely a fraction of one, really, where Obi-Wan Kenobi holds both Luke and Leia in his arms. They are newborns, wailing and distraught. They are sensitive enough to the Force that they feel their mother dying even if they do not know that’s what it is. Her pain and grief for Anakin is enough to hurt them in turn, with something they are too young to understand, and Obi-Wan blankets them in the Force. He can shield them. These children are—they aren’t his, not really, but given the state of their parents… is he not the closest thing they have to family?
Perhaps Naboo… no. Sidious would know, if these children were placed with Padmé’s relatives.
“General Kenobi?” Bail asks. Obi-Wan turns to him—
And slips.
--
He knows, vaguely, what happens. There is a conversation—he thinks—with a familiar entity. He can’t quite recall. He’s fairly certain he agreed to—to something. The children are in his arms, snuffling against him and whimpering and utterly unhappy to be in the cold and dry world outside the womb, and without even a belly full of milk to ease the way.
There is a place between reality, dark but for where it is peppered in stars, and someone guides him through.
Daughter. From Mortis. He’s… not certain, but that answer feels correct.
The children cry. He needs to feed them, needs to get somewhere safe. He already knew that, already knew what he’d change his name to, for security. Tatooine, for—no, Bail could take one, and the other to Anakin’s stepfamily, he’s only mentioned them once or twice, but Obi-Wan’s sure he could—no, not Obi-Wan, he’s Ben now, Ben again, just like on Mandalore and—
And he agreed to something, didn’t he? With Daughter.
He’s a person. He’s a Jedi. He’s a Jedi Master and a High General and he’s holding some upset newborns that were born a little premature, and his brother has helped end the galaxy. His family is dead, and his friend was choked out by her own husband, and something convinced an army to turn on their leaders, their friends, and he’s—
Ben. He’s just Ben, now, and he has to keep these babies safe.
They are the future. They have to be.
He agreed to something.
What did he agree to?
When will this path among the stars reach its destination?
Something tugs at him. He follows. He does not fall, but he does…
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--
Obi-Wan Kenobi, age twenty-seven, is many things. Chock full of field experience is one of them. Believed to be a Sith killer is another. A too-young master to a too-young padawan is a third. He’s tired and nitpicky and strung out, but he’s also pretty experienced in the realm of things that can be politely and vaguely termed as ‘weird Force shite.’
Point of note, he was trying to talk Anakin through a meditation in the middle of the room of a Thousand Fountains, faintly aware of Masters Plo and Windu in the next garden over and possibly trying to keep an eye on Obi-Wan and his charge. Then, quite suddenly, there’s a twist to the Force, filling the air with an overwhelming power; between one moment and the next, a middle-aged Jedi Master, dripping with pain and grief and exhaustion and something that looks concerningly like ash, steps out of thin air like it’s a doorway, and just… stares.
He’s familiar, and Obi-Wan almost makes the connection, but it’s not quite connecting.
There are babies in the man’s arms. Newborns, or close enough. He’s just… staring at Obi-Wan, and at Anakin, and looks about ready to cry.
“Oh,” the master says, “that’s what she did.”
Masters Windu and Koon hop the ridge, hands on their saberhilts, but not yet unclipping them.
The unknown master stares at them, too. Obi-Wan faintly notices Master Windu sending out a message on his comm to make sure people stay away from this garden until further notice. The stranger watches, and does nothing about it.
One of the babies starts crying, and the unknown master looks down at the little bundles in his arms and shushes them, murmuring lowly.
Anakin, all of eleven years old, is the first to figure it out. He’s the first to recognize the factor that takes this from ‘odd, but such things happen to Jedi’ over to ‘weird Force shite.’
“Master,” the boy pipes up, tugging at Obi-Wan’s outer cloak. “He’s you.”
The not-so-unknown master doesn’t react to this, too focused on the babies. The Council Masters shoot looks over. Obi-Wan think that they’re just as aware of the dawning wave of horrified realization as he is.
“What do you mean by that, Anakin?”
The master in the middle of the clearing stares.
“He feels like you,” Anakin says, which isn’t exactly damning evidence; for all that Anakin is perceptive to the Force in ways few people are, he is also eleven, and has only been training for two years, “and his hair is your color, and—and he has your forehead mole! In the exact spot!”
That… is significantly more evidence.
It’s also true, because when Obi-Wan looks up, actually looks at this man with exhaustion and grief and pain and babies, he sees the lines of his face and the cut of his brow and that mole he’s had since he was born. If this Jedi Master isn’t him, then the similarities are too odd to ignore.
“Is this true?” Master Koon asks, stepping forward just enough to grab the attention of the man in the middle of the clearing.
Obi-Wan’s stomach turns as future-him looks up, because he’s seen those eyes in his own face before, and he never wanted to see them again.
“If I am not, at this moment, hallucinating in an incredibly vivid manner brought on by the last several days, then… yes, I suppose it’s time travel,” future-him says.
“I can’t say I’m eager to hear about what put you in such a state,” Master Windu says, and he sounds the kind of calm-and-careful that everyone used around Obi-Wan after he got back from Mandalore, still shaky and shocky and lashing out when surprised. “Or what was so bad that you had to come back in time to fix it, given that it’s taboo for a reason.”
Future-Obi-Wan just blinks at him, fatigue in every line of his body, and sways on the spot.
Master Windu closes the distance and steadies him, showing none of the alarm that Obi-Wan himself is feeling, or the distress that Anakin’s giving off.
“You should sit down,” Master Windu orders, helping future-Obi-Wan sit down on the moss. The babies are whimpering again. “We’ll have a route cleared to the Healer’s Wing so we can get you medical attention without letting anyone see you. If a padawan can identify as quickly as he did, then—”
“Opsec, I understand,” future-Obi-Wan sighs. It’s not the way Obi-Wan talks now. He doesn’t like it. “And—the twins, they were premature, I don’t—”
“We’ll ensure someone is there with the qualifications to care for them,” Master Koon says, kneeling down by this specter of Obi-Wan’s future. He puts a clawed hand gently on a knee that… has wear marks consistent with armor straps. Obi-Wan knows what that looks like. Obi-Wan doesn’t want to know why he was wearing armor again. “How old are they?”
“A few hours,” future-Obi-Wan says, sounding far away and a little broken, like just saying that has shattered him all over again. “It’s… I’m not even sure it was an hour. It had only been a few minutes before—before time went… went all sh—”
“You don’t have to explain,” Master Koon assures him. Future-Obi-Wan is crying, eyes fixed on the children. It’s incredibly awkward for everyone there. Obi-Wan thinks Anakin’s about to start crying along just from the empathy that the Force engenders. Even Master Windu, organizing things by comm a few meters away, seems like he wants this all to be over. Master Koon just rolls ahead, though. “What are their names? Are they yours?”
Obi-Wan sure as hell hopes that if they are his, which he hadn’t quite considered until Master Koon said the words, that he won’t be censured for his future self’s violation of the code. It’s a comparatively minor fear, considering the horror they can all feel this man just came from, and it would be irrational to hold Obi-Wan accountable for things that won’t happen for another ten years, but still. The fear is there.
“Luke and Leia,” his future self says. “They… their mother, she only survived long enough to name them. There were complicating factors, not just the childbirth, but that didn’t help.”
“Their mother?” Master Koon prompts, gentle as he can.
Future-Obi-Wan shakes his head. “No. I won’t… it could ruin her life, and she’s not… what year is it? I’m not even sure if she’s an adult yet.”
Obi-Wan has to fight very hard not to make a face at that. A child? He supposes that ten years down the line, such an individual would be nearly the same age he is now, if the ‘almost-adult’ estimate is accurate, but it’s still uncomfortable to think about.
Master Koon waits, but future-Obi-Wan doesn’t continue. And he prompts again, because it feels necessary, because they all know this information is needed, “Master Kenobi, who is their other parent?”
Master Kenobi certainly is easier to think than ‘future Obi-Wan.’ Obi-Wan does not get very long to think on that, though, because almost against the man’s will, his older self glances at Anakin.
Obi-Wan feels ice water down his spine, and Anakin gasps. He shouts a moment later, as small children are liable to do. “What?!”
Master Kenobi winces. “Don’t—I shouldn’t have let that slip. Forget that. Please.”
Anakin’s staring, confused and happy and scared all at once. He whirls and tugs at Obi-Wan’s belt, eyes wide. “Obi-Wan, Master, I’m eleven. I’m not old enough to be a dad! Future me was probably old enough to be a dad but I’m not! I’m eleven! I can’t be a dad!”
“Ah,” Master Kenobi says, sounding like he’s slipping away from himself again. “So she definitely isn’t an adult yet.”
Very much not the point at hand, future me.
“How far into the future?” Master Koon asks instead.
“Anakin was twenty-two when I left,” Master Kenobi says, a wealth of horror in his voice that Obi-Wan doesn’t want to even think about picking apart, and one of the babies starts wailing. The master goes to comfort it, but between the exhaustion and his pain in the Force, he doesn’t have much success. “It’s alright, Leia, you’ll have a meal soon, I promise, it’s coming…”
“May I?” Master Koon asks, holding out his hands in a clear offer to hold one twin while Master Kenobi soothes the other.
Master Kenobi… flinches away.
Nobody comments on this. Master Koon retracts his hands, placing them lightly in his own lap, and nods minutely.
“They…” Master Kenobi tries, and his voice cracks, and the tears are back. “These children are my last remaining tie to sanity. If you try to take them from me, at this juncture, I don’t know what I will do.”
“I see,” Master Koon says. “The healers will need to see to them, you know.”
“I’m aware,” Master Kenobi says. He shakes where he sits, and Obi-Wan doesn’t want to know what turns him into—into this.
“It sounds as though you are saying the healers will have to sedate you,” Master Windu says, ambling back over in a way that is studiously casual.
Master Kenobi breathes in, and it shudders on the way down, chokes on the way out, so viscerally awful that they can all feel the way it sets him off balance. “It may be necessary. It’s been… a very long few days. I haven’t slept in a week.”
Anakin is almost within reaching distance, having slipped away while Obi-Wan was consumed by horror, before Master Kenobi turns to look at him and freezes like an Alderaani deer in speederlights.
Anakin stills and then, as if his broken future master really was just a deer, sits down and hugs his knees. “I want to see the babies. Can I?”
Master Kenobi shakes on the spot, and something horrible swirls through him.
“Anakin,” Obi-Wan says, as quiet as he can. “Come back here, please.”
“But he said they were my babies,” Anakin protests, though he keeps it low enough to not wake the babies. Small mercies, really. “Or, future me’s. Can’t I meet them?”
“Maybe later,” Obi-Wan says. “Mas—er, my future self? He isn’t having a good time. We can give him a few hours, right? And wait until the healers have made sure the babies are okay?”
Anakin looks from him to his older self and back, and maybe he sees what Obi-Wan sees, in the way Master Kenobi has eyes on the greenery, fixed and unmoving and watching something that is not there, something that happened days and weeks and months and years earlier, and also won’t happen for a decade yet. Maybe Anakin sees what’s wrong in that way, and that’s why he scoots backwards and stands to join Obi-Wan’s side again.
“Thank you,” Obi-Wan whispers to him, smoothing back his padawan’s hair in the kind of affectionate gesture that Anakin thrives on. Anakin moves closer, and maybe he plans to say something. Obi-Wan never finds out, because his future self has something to say.
“Ben.”
Master Koon tilts his head. “Hm?”
“Ben. I’ve gone by it before. I can answer to that name again.” Master Kenobi looks to Obi-Wan and away. “Kenobi is a common enough surname, so few would question it, but I can change that too.”
Taking away any stability from his future self seems like a terrible idea to Obi-Wan. “You don’t have to do that.”
Future-him looks over and blinks like he doesn’t understand.
“We look too similar to dismiss,” Obi-Wan rushes to explain. “If we remove the mole, and you keep the beard and ‘Kenobi,’ we can say you’re my uncle or something, back from a long-term mission. Shadow work or, I don’t know, got stuck on a planet with no space travel. They’ll question it, but it should patch any holes and preempt the questions people have about, you know, having the same face.”
Ben laughs at that, creaky and a touch hysterical.
Obi-Wan doesn’t get the joke. Nobody else does, either. Ben wipes his eyes against the shoulder of his robes, because his arms are occupied by faintly upset newborns. “Should the Council approve of it, I suppose.”
This is… about when the healers show up for a hidden, but absolutely not unobtrusive, transport to a private room.
Bant’s part of the group. She hears Master Windu say “Master Ben Kenobi,” sees the mole, and immediately puts the numbers together for the correct answer.
Obi-Wan can’t elaborate for her, but that’s fine. She doesn’t try to ask.
--
Anakin sits in the children’s chair that’s been put in Master Ben’s room. He’s figured it’s easier for everyone if he calls the man that, because saying ‘Master Kenobi’ is fine for most people, but Anakin’s actual master is a Kenobi, and he can’t just use ‘Knight Kenobi’ to differentiate the way everyone else can. Until someone has a better idea for him, he’ll just be calling them Obi-Wan and Master Ben, and that should be fine.
Mostly it’s not an issue, though. Master Ben doesn’t do much, other than sleep, because he’s been sedated on the healer’s recommendation. He’s very sad, and kind of old, and maybe a little touched in the head. Anakin knows how to deal with that—there were plenty of older slaves that went crazy after a while, if their owners were bad enough, or they just lost enough people—but it’s kind of depressing. Anakin sits with his datapad and does his homework while Obi-Wan talks about Grownup Stuff with the Council, which is kind of boring. They kept the babies in the room, though, because Master Ben had looked ready to freak out when someone suggested putting them in the room with the incubator boxes. Healer Eerin was really nice about it and brought one of the baby cribs into the room, so they could be here when Ben wakes up, and he can know they’re safe and right there.
Anakin’s not happy about future him not being there for the babies—does it mean that he’s dead, or just busy?—but it makes his heart all warm and fuzzy that future Obi-Wan cares enough about future Anakin to care this much about his babies. Does it mean Ben’s basically their uncle? Or their grandpa, maybe?
He’s not sure, but he does know that nobody really comments on it when Anakin gets up and goes to the crib to just stare at Luke and Leia. He’s been told that he’s not allowed to touch them without washing his hands first, or to touch them while they’re sleeping, or to pick them up. He can reach through the bars to let a half-awake Leia cling to his finger, though. She’s very small, and her hand is tiny, but her grip is pretty good for a baby, he thinks.
“Hi again,” he tells her. He’s not sure what else to say. Everyone agrees with Anakin about how he’s too young to be the baby’s dad, and Healer Eerin had joked that Anakin was basically a baby, which he absolutely hadn’t appreciated, but meant that nobody was really trying to make him responsible for any of this. He’s eleven. He’s barely responsible for himself, most days. Obi-Wan is responsible for him. Anakin’s just responsible for things like his grades, and keeping his room clean.
“Ani?”
“Hi, Bant,” Anakin says. He’s still not entirely comfortable calling her by her first name, because doctors are supposed to be respected, but she insists, and so he does. Maybe he’ll even get used to it, eventually. “Is Obi-Wan done yet?”
“No, I’m afraid not,” she tells him. She hands him a snack bar, the kind that are supposed to be healthy and don’t taste entirely terrible, because they’re made of dried fruits and stuff. “Here, you should eat.”
“Thanks,” Anakin mutters. “Are the babies okay?”
“Yes, Anakin, they’re still fine,” she tells him. She doesn’t even sound annoyed that he’s asking. “The feeding was all they really needed, and I’m sure they’re very happy that you keep interacting with them.”
“…really?” Anakin asks. “You’re not being sarcas… um, sarcastic? Because I should be leaving them alone to sleep?”
It’s a new word for him, at least in Basic. He heard someone call Obi-Wan a ‘puffed up, sarcastic little bastard,’ and he needed to know what it meant. It turns out sarcasm is a form of rhetoric, and the insulting element is circumstantial, so just asking someone if they’re being sarcastic is like asking them if they’re joking.
At least, that’s what Anakin thinks it means.
Healer Eerin’s safe to try out new words with, though, so it’s fine.
“Not at all!” she assures him. “Babies, especially mammalian babies like humans and near-humans, need to be held a lot. Skin to skin contact is important, because it produces the chemicals that make them feel happy and safe. That continues even into adulthood for most warm-blooded species of the deoxyribo branches, but at a lesser rate. Luke and Leia need to stay in the crib for a while to keep them from getting bumped about too much because of how small they are, but they still need contact with people, and since they’re Force Sensitive, they especially need contact with people who love them a lot.”
She pokes him in the stomach, making him laugh before he can stop it. He pouts up at her, and she smiles. “And that, Ani, includes you, because you already love them very, very much.”
Anakin looks over at the babies. He does already love them a lot. “I keep thinking someone’s going to lecture me about attachment.”
“Well,” Healer Eerin say, putting her hands on his shoulders, “most species with a communal background have ingrained, instinctive, positive responses to babies. Our brains produce chemicals in reaction to their faces and size and the way they cry, as a built-in bid to keep those babies alive, so they can grow up to be people. It’s an evolutionary strength, that we bond with the young.”
“So… all humans have that?” Anakin asks hopefully.
“Well, I wouldn’t say all,” she tells him. She reaches past him to tuck the blanket a little higher on Luke and pass a finger up his cheek. “Instincts, much like any other expression of a species’ genetics, don’t always come through. It’s the vast majority, though. You’re perfectly normal for feeling fond and protective of newborns, especially ones you’re related to.”
Anakin struggles to find the words to respond for a few moments, and then Bant squeezes his shoulders and says, “alright, I think Quinlan and Aayla just showed up. Obi-Wan asked them to look after you, right? Go on, get your things.”
He doesn’t want to leave the babies, but he also knows that Obi-Wan’s really overwhelmed with the whole Ben situation right now, and Anakin’s best way of making sure he doesn’t make things worse is by making sure he finishes all his homework.
“Okay,” Anakin says. He knows they can’t understand him, but he needs to say something anyway. “Bye, Luke. Bye, Leia. I’ll come back soon, okay? Make Ben happy when he wakes up; you’re very important to him.”
He thinks Bant is trying not to smile as she guides him out and into the waiting noogie of Aayla Secura.
--
Aayla Secura is eighteen, a senior padawan, and the proud Cool Cousin to one Anakin Skywalker. They are not, in any manner, actually cousins. Their masters are friends, maybe even best friends (except everyone always argues about who is whose best friend, because Healer Bant always claims Obi-Wan and then Master Quin declares a war against her), and Aayla’s even caught them kissing a few times.
She’s old enough to know they probably do more behind closed doors, but that means she’s also old enough to not pick the locks.
There are things she doesn’t need to know, thank the Force.
Anakin’s a sweet kid, but he’s also got a history of crime that makes Aayla glad he didn’t get Master Vos as a teacher. She knows Anakin sneaks out for reasons that are less ‘explore the interstellar market’ and ‘nightclubs! Let’s see a nightclub, Aayla!’ that she and Bultar and most other padawans all take part in, and a lot more ‘take part in a dubiously legal pod racing circuit, which definitely isn’t legal to minors, and maybe swindle some criminals in a game of cards every once in a while.’
She pretends she doesn’t. That’s not her job. That’s Knight Kenobi’s job. Aayla, for her part, gets to just be the padawan Anakin looks up to and tries to emulate, and that means she gets to be cool instead of telling him to clean his room, or whatever it is that Obi-Wan has to do. She’s sure he treats a padawan differently from Master Quin.
“So…” she says, after she’s decided that Anakin’s done enough of his homework for the night, and they can have a little fun. He’s sitting cross-legged on the floor with his quantum mechanics textbook, the one even she’s not sure she could understand, and she grabs a pillow to lie stomach-down next to him without her shoulders rebelling if she stays down too long. “I overheard the whole thing about future Obi-Wan. Are the babies really yours?”
“He said we should call him Ben, so people get less confused,” Anakin tells her. She’s already aware of that, but she nods seriously to show she’s listening anyway. Anakin’s of an age where he can probably tell that she’s playing it up, but he seems to appreciate it anyway. “And yeah! Healer Eerin did some tests and she said they’re both half-me. So… I don’t know, Aayla. I’m not old enough to be a dad!”
“You’re a kid,” she tells him gravely. She ruffles his hair, and he bats her hand away with a pout. She grins at him. “Well, I dunno, don’t kids from species with two parents for biological reproduction with randomized gene pairs in the gametes have… what, thirty-to-seventy percent shared genes on average? Higher and lower is possible, but usually something like that, yeah? And fifty is in that range. So… eleven years isn’t an impossible age difference for siblings. You could be their big brother!”
Anakin blinks at her, and then looks down at his textbook again. He shuts it and puts it on the coffee table, and then pulls his knees up and hugs them. Aayla has to refrain from cooing at how cute he is.
“If I’m going to be their brother…” Anakin says carefully, eyes focused on the blank holoscreen alcove, “then shouldn’t… shouldn’t my mom know? That they exist?”
Ah. Right.
The mom issue.
Aayla only sort of remembers her parents. She thinks her father was protective but distant, somewhat wealthy but hiding her among the servants for her own safety. Part of her still isn’t sure if they were servants or slaves, and she still can’t quite bring up the courage to ask Master Quin about it. Knight Kenobi mentioned once that he remembers having a brother, sort of, and Master Quin definitely remembers his parents, but for awful reasons. Bultar doesn’t remember her parents at all, though, and Master Tholme has never even mentioned his.
But Anakin knew his mother until two years ago, and so much of that world and that life is still baked into him, and everyone knows it. Aayla tries to make it a good thing, having him practice Ryl with her, so he can learn grammar, and she can learn ‘an accent that won’t get her pegged as a Core kid and robbed within five seconds of stepping into Hutt Space.’ She encourages him to talk about why his experiences don’t match up to Jedi philosophy, trying to use it as a springboard for understanding the philosophy as it is intended, and not just as it’s taught, because everyone’s noticed by now that the Jedi teaching method isn’t quite meant for someone whose background is as scattered as Anakin’s.
Aayla likes the kid, and she’s proud to call him her little cousin when the joke comes up, but she’s also one of the people who sees the most of Anakin’s background, his life and his fears and just how real it all is for him.
“You want to tell her about the babies?” Aayla asks. Anakin mumbles something. She props herself onto one elbow so she can reach out and tweak his nose. “Hey, Ani, answer me.”
“I want her to meet them,” Anakin says. “They’re hers too, right? She’s their grandma, or—or if we’re saying I’m their brother, really, then she’s their mom, kinda, because she’s my mom. And she should get to at least say hello, and… and I keep getting distracted from that, even though it’s important, because I’m worried about her and if Qui-Gon’s plan to get her away from Watto ever worked. And I know I’m not supposed to have attachments, but she’s my mom and she might still be a slave and I’m worried, and Tatooine is awful but it’s still my home and I get really worried, Aayla!”
Aayla considers that, chewing on her lower lip. Objectively, the whole situation is a bit of a grey area. Technically, the Temple can keep the babies in the crèche and take custody, since the parents are either dead-slash-in-the-future, currently also Jedi, or… well, technically, she thinks ‘Ben’ has been listed as their legal guardian until further notice.
But Shmi Skywalker is the only adult biological relative they have. Legally, that matters, except she’s in Hutt Space, so legality doesn’t mean anything at all.
Anakin still misses his mother and is full of fear at leaving her, but most Jedi at the temple either can’t remember their parents, or they know for a fact that their families are safe, or are already dead and there’s nothing that can be done. Usually, even those that can’t remember have that assurance.
Anakin doesn’t. He’s not entirely unique in that, but he’s in a very, very significant minority. He’s also the only one with enough information to do something about it. Aayla remembers Knight Kenobi and Quinlan talking about it once, and Aayla had been helping Anakin eavesdrop on them, and Knight Kenobi had said something about Qui-Gon having a courier run some expensive thing to Shmi so she could buy her own freedom.[1] Anakin had been relieved to hear it, but later confessed that he wasn’t sure Watto would sell Shmi at all, even for the right price.
“Aayla?” Anakin says, and she holds up a finger to ask for a moment. He obliges.
Aayla huffs. “Okay. So you think your mom should meet the babies, because she’s their grandmother, and also you’re worried about her because of Watto.”
“Um… yeah,” Anakin says. He sees her looking expectantly at him, and hurries to add on, “also, Ben was really freaked out and Obi-Wan doesn’t know how to really hold a baby, I think. I feel like my mom could help.”
There are crèchemasters for that. Or Master Plo, since he’s probably easier for Aayla to get hold of.
Still…
She pulls out her comm and calls Master Quin. He’s only in the next room, but this is better than shouting, because their neighbors are a nocturnal species, and even though the walls are great, shouting really does get through. He answers, looking a little mussed, like he’s just spent a few hours on datawork. “Hm? Need something?”
“Master Quin? You know how you said that once a year or so, I should find something good to do that I care about, that isn’t technically illegal or against the Code, but will probably annoy the Council, and just let you know so you can keep me safe while I do it?”
Master Quin’s eyebrow raises pretty high at that. “Yes, Aayla, I definitely remember saying that. Hello, Anakin, I’m guessing that recap was for you.”
“Hiya, Mister Quin,” Anakin says, waving despite having seen each other half an hour earlier.
“Right,” Aayla says. “Can we go to Tatooine and get Anakin’s mom? She might still be a slave, and also Anakin wants to introduce her to the babies.”
Master Quin stares at her for a long moment, and then a grin curves across his face, almost blinding even through the holo. “Damn, not going for half-measures, are we? I think I can get Master Plo to sign off on that so we don’t get in trouble for grabbing a ship. Give me a few hours to set it all up, we can be gone by midnight.”
“I want to come!” Anakin interrupts. “I need to tell her!”
Aayla sees Master Quin hesitate, and then nod. “I’ll tell Bant. Hopefully we can get back before Obi-Wan realizes we took Anakin on a field trip, but between Bantling and Master Plo, someone should notice if he starts freaking out about Anakin being gone instead of just being babysat.”
“I think you’re underestimating how protective Obi-Wan is of his eleven-year-old padawan,” Aayla accuses.
“I think you’re underestimating how stressful everything is for him right now,” Quinlan argues back.
“He still wants to get dinner with Anakin every day,” Aayla points out. Hell, Master Plo liked getting dinner once a week with Aayla, and she was just his great-grandpadawan! Of course Knight Kenobi and Anakin were supposed to eat together at least once a day!
Quinlan winces. “Right. Um… I can just tell him I’m taking you two on a field trip and not explain where?”
Aayla groans.
[1] This is Legends canon, see the images embedded in this post on tumblr.