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Obi-Wan found Anakin in the deep corners of the Archives, fallen asleep on top of an old map made from tattered cloth, notes and scribbles in a language not even he could decipher at first glance. A datapad lay to his right, dozens of colorful flash drives speckled around it like confetti. Obi-Wan sighed, watching as Anakin's fingers twitched slightly in his sleep.
"Anakin," he touched his elbow. "It's four in the morning already. Wake up."
When that didn’t yield any results, he pressed his hand a bit more firmly, prodding at his Padawan in the Force. "Come on now. It's time."
Anakin's eyes slowly fluttered open, still bleary with sleep. He straightened in his seat with a groan, rubbing his hands over his face in an attempt to wipe the exhaustion from it. The rays of the early morning sun weaved into his sleep-tousled hair, painting it in streaks of gold.
Obi-Wan couldn’t help but be reminded of a similar scene: a sleepy boy with messy flaxen hair struggling to keep his eyes open through his first morning lesson, blinking as sunspots dance on his face. Obi-Wan had reached out to him then, ruffling his hair even more, startling him awake as the boy laughed.
The Jedi felt his hand twitch at his side, desperate to reach out again. Something stopped him, as it always did these days, and his hand awkwardly hovered in the air. There was some kind of barrier between them now, and Obi-Wan wasn’t sure if it was simply because Anakin was not a little boy anymore, or if it was something else, something vast and ominous growing between them, that Obi-Wan didn’t dare to examine closer.
In front of him Anakin huffed out a breath, still not quite in the present.
"You do remember that we're supposed to fly on a mission tomorrow? Today, that is," Obi-Wan chided, trying to pour at least some resemblance of rigor into his voice. "You can't possibly expect to perform well when you had, what, three hours of sleep?"
"More like half an hour, actually," Anakin muttered under his breath, but in the quiet of the Archives it was still loud enough for Obi-Wan to catch.
"Do you not realize how irresponsible that is?" he felt real frustration creep into his tone now and he thought he saw Anakin flinch slightly and then straighten his back, as if preparing for something. Obi-Wan felt a small jab of guilt and took a steadying breath, redirecting his annoyance into the Force, trying to keep his voice level-headed. "You're going to have to skip your breakfast and morning meditation. Come on now, up to your room. You've got some sleep to catch up on."
"I mean," Anakin yawned shamelessly, stretching out his arms, his defensive reaction gone as quickly as it had appeared. "I could always just… you know, not go to sleep at all."
"You could also hit yourself on the head with a club," Obi-Wan retorted, voice sodden with derision. "You will find the damage to your health and mental clarity remarkably similar."
"Alright, alright, Master, I'm going, no need to get all…" Anakin gestured vaguely in the air and pulled a face.
Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Well, perhaps you shouldn't have stayed up all night studying old maps again if you didn't want me to get all," he mimicked Anakin's gesture. "What is that thing anyway? It looks positively ancient," he peered over at the old piece of cloth sprawled out in front of them as if it had offended him personally. "And please tell me it's at least somewhat relevant to our mission."
"It's uh… Well, yeah, in a way," Anakin said in a tone that usually meant he was well out of excuses.
The map displayed some kind of a rocky desert environment, judging by the crudely drawn dunes and boulders marked by even cruder symbols Obi-Wan could only guess was writing. His gaze wandered it’s surface, taking in the primitive artwork, before stopping at the very top, where two red circles engulfed it’s hem in bright-crimson rays. Obi-Wan’s eyes widened in recognition. “Oh. This is…”
“A map of Tatooine drawn by the Tusken Raiders,” Anakin said, his eyes glinting with wonder and what Obi-Wan could only label as longing . “Fascinating people, really. They were always treated as uncivilized savages, I had no idea they had their own writing system. Maybe there’s more to them than the eye meets,” he mused, before his attention snapped back to the map. “Here,” he nudged the fragile piece of cloth closer to Obi-Wan and pointed at one of the scribbles. His Padawan braid swayed wildly, mirroring Anakin’s excitement. “It might look like random scratches, but it’s actually an adaptation of their knot-based writing system. They braid knots into the hair of banthas, and depending on the distance between them, they correlate to different sounds. This one here for example is,” he pointed at a large mountain sticking out in the middle of the map, and made a few barking guttural sounds.
Anakin cleared his throat awkwardly. “I’m still not exactly sure, but I think that translates to “The Star Spire” ,” his eyes were suddenly clouded by memory, mind far away in the past. “I remember an old tale about it. It was about a slave who managed to climb it, and met a little star from the sky who taught him how to fly. The slave went back to his family and taught them how to fly as well, and they all escaped from their master together,” he huffed out a soft laugh. “I never would’ve thought the Tuskens also called it that.”
Obi-Wan listened to his Padawan’s rambling, eyes creased with reluctant fondness, his expression slightly rigid, as if he was trying to keep his lips from forming into a smile. “Oh, Anakin. If only you put this much fervor into your actual studies.”
Anakin’s Force signature, painted with child-like fascination just mere moments ago, dimmed with a smear of disappointment. It was smothered down almost immediately, before Obi-Wan could take a closer look at it.
How does this keep happening?
For the second time today, he wanted to reach out.
He didn’t.
He settled on cautiously placing his hand on the back of his Padawan’s chair. “Anakin,” he started, letting some of his affection slip into the reprimand, like he used to do when Anakin was still a boy in need of coaxing. “I understand this might mean a lot to you, but you have to let go of your life on Tatooine. Don’t let your attachments drag you back into the past.”
Anakin placed his hands back in his lap, grabbing fistfuls of fabric, his knuckles turning almost white.
“Easy to say for someone who doesn't have a past,” he hissed.
Obi-Wan’s stomach turned hot with fury, making his head light and his fists heavy. Memories of Qui-Gon’s blood seeping into his palms flooded his mind.
Anakin looked up at him defiantly, his chin held up in a challenge.
Obi-wan was twenty-five again, buried under the crushing weight of grief from losing a father, forced to become one for a boy just as lost as him. He could feel Anakin’s rage sizzling under the surface, barely contained as his Force signature bristled with resentment.
He closed his eyes. He wasn’t twenty-five anymore, and the last thing Qui-Gon would’ve wanted was for him to shout at the boy placed in his care.
There is no emotion, there is peace.
There is no passion, there is serenity.
He sighed, exasperation bleeding into weariness. “I know that I will never truly feel what it’s like having to adjust to the life of a Jedi. But that doesn’t mean I can’t understand your struggle,” he felt his Master’s blood scorch his hands again. “Just because I didn’t have a life outside the Temple walls, Anakin, doesn’t mean I didn’t have things I had to learn to let go of.”
Anakin turned away, lips drawn in a thin line.
A moment passed by, and then another, as the sun rose higher above the horizon.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” Anakin said quietly, anger slowly fading from his tone. “Not about Qui-Gon. I know you— I didn’t—” he huffed out a frustrated breath.
The apology hung unspoken in the Force between them, uncertain and fragile, but it was enough for Obi-Wan.
“It’s alright, Ani.”
Anakin blinked and looked up at him in surprise. They both froze for a moment, startled by this forgotten nickname spoken aloud so casually, and for a second Obi-Wan thought that Anakin would just ignore his slip of words, just as they both had been ignoring these awkward moments of miscommunication that happened so often lately. Instead Anakin spoke up, voice unusually pensive.
"You haven't called me that since I was twelve."
For a second he looked as if he wanted to say something else, but he stayed silent, watching the morning sun engulf Coruscant's buildings in golden light. Anakin reached for his Padawan braid and twirled it between his fingers, like he always did when he was lost in thought.
Obi-Wan blinked. Has it really been that long? It was a silly little thing, just one of Anakin’s past monikers, and yet it was special for some reason, it carried weight .
He thought about the mission they were assigned to today, and was surprised and maybe just a little bit ashamed to find that this conversation seemed more important right now.
"I didn't want you to think I still see you as a child, Anakin," he finally said very carefully. Bringing up Qui-Gon’s death had always turned their conversations into something terribly brittle , and now he once again felt like one wrong move or phrase could start some irreversible process. “It's just… This is what your mother used to call you, isn't it? I realized that a bit too late, I think, but when I did… I was afraid it would be a constant reminder of what you had lost," he sighed, looking away from his Padawan’s intense stare. "I didn't want to force those memories on you," He added quietly.
Anakin watched him for a second, before turning away to face the window again.
The city, even though it never truly slept, began to slowly stir to life, more and more speeders zooming by in commotion. The bustling chorus of thousands of Force signatures going about their mornings was a comforting hum at the back of Obi-Wan’s mind.
Anakin looked down at the fraying map of his home planet. His hand jerked towards his braid absent-mindedly, but he put his hand on the cloth instead, gently tracing the surface with his fingers.
“You want me to forget,” he stated blankly. He didn’t seem angry or bitter, taking on that same pensive tone of his Obi-Wan wasn’t quite used to yet.
Unwelcome memories of his first weeks after his and Qui-Gon return from Mandalore creeped into Obi-Wan’s mind. He remembered his own desperation as he tried, again and again, and failed to forget the way Satine looked at him, to wipe the sound of her laughter from his mind, and how every attempt had only brought him more pain. You have to let go, Qui-Gon had said then, so Obi-Wan kept meditating, his Master’s disappointed gaze burning holes in his skin.
He suppressed the sudden emotion that swelled in his chest and said what needed to be said, what he had drilled into his own brain, what he whispered under his breath at night when memories of Satine’s clever eyes and soft skin refused to give him peace. “The longer you dwell on it, the more difficult it will be for you to let go. And you will have to let go, Anakin. It is your duty as a Jedi to be free of attachment. Attachment leads—”
“To the dark side, yes, Master, I remember,” Anakin cut him off, irritation ebbing off of him in waves. “I just— I can’t let it go. I know it’s been almost nine years already, but I just can’t ,” he ran his hand through his hair with a frustrated sigh. “I miss my mother. I want to see her again.”
Like countless times before in the past nine years, Obi-Wan felt helpless against the tide of his pupil’s emotions. He never quite figured out a way to handle this part of Anakin, the part that remained a hurt little boy, longing for his mother’s warm embrace and gentle hands.
He wondered what his own Master would do in a situation like this, a worry that visited him more often that he’d like to admit. Would Qui-Gon place his hand on Anakin’s shoulder and try to comfort him, or would he simply stand there, enduring his Padawan’s whirl of emotions with expressionless reticence, like he did with Obi-Wan?
After Mandalore, the only thing that helped purge his dreams of Satine’s presence was distraction. He threw himself into his training, spent countless sleepless nights buried deep in his studies, never allowing himself to rest, to feel that longing, going to sleep only when exhaustion made it difficult for him to stand upright. Qui-Gon’s rare, restrained smiles of encouragement were the only good thing he could remember about those few weeks.
But time healed, and Obi-Wan had moved on, his broken heart smoothed by its flow like a jagged glass shard in an ocean.
Anakin had years and years worth of distraction, and he still couldn’t let go. Obi-Wan remembered the way Anakin dreamed of adventure, yet clung to his mother’s robes, the way the boy nodded when they told him it’s best to forget her, yet still cried almost every day during his first two weeks in the temple. He never moved on. His heart was still a jagged glass shard, untouched by the ocean of passing time.
Why did they have to be so different?
Obi-Wan rubbed the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath, when a different realization hit him. He stroked his beard thoughtfully.
“It’s been an awfully long time since we’ve meditated together, don’t you think?”
Anakin’s entire posture deflated, his face twisted with a sour expression. Obi-Wan had to hold back a fond smile. Some things never changed.
“Come now, Anakin. You’re not a child anymore.”
“Exactly,” Anakin bristled, “That’s why I don’t need it anymore.”
Obi-Wan sighed. “That’s not how it works. Meditation is not a one time fix, it’s something you have to do regularly. It’s a way to secure your connection to the Force.”
Anakin’s eyes glinted with boyish arrogance. “I haven’t meditated at all for the better part of this year, and my connection to the Force is stronger than ever,” he proclaimed.
“Anakin, even the Masters on the Jedi council practice meditation on a near daily basis. It helps—”
“But I’m not like them. I’m different, you know I am,” Anakin said, something intense and almost proud behind his eyes.
Obi-Wan looked down at the map sprawled in front of them, unable to hold his Padawan’s gaze. He knew Anakin was right, but there must’ve been at least something he could do. He might’ve lacked Qui-Gon’s warmth and composure, but he did care .
“You are different, Anakin. You always were,” he said softly. “I’m afraid I realized that too late. I can’t train you the same way I was trained.”
Anakin looked up at him with barely contained smugness. “Does that mean I’m allowed to drop meditation?”
Obi-Wan gave him a chiding look, but allowed a small smile to slip into his expression nonetheless. “No. But I was thinking maybe we could try something… different,” he tapped a short rhythm on the table with his fingers. “There is a type of meditation that’s a bit less strict that focuses more on your emotions, rather than strengthening your connection to the Force. It’s not commonly taught, but I think it could work for you.”
He could tell that Anakin still scoffed at the prospect of meditating with his Master again, but there was something uncertain in his posture now that made Obi-Wan feel a twinge of hope.
He only now realized how many meditations relied on describing emotional balance as some kind of sensation of being in water. The feeling of your body submerged in the sea, floating in a vast ocean. All completely foreign sensations for someone who grew up on a planet like Tatooine. How come he never noticed this?
Anakin shifted in his seat with a soft rustle, breaking Obi-Wan’s train of thought. The sun lit his face from a new angle, his hair glinting with warm gold again.
“Alright. Maybe we could… try. Sometime,” Anakin finally said, voice small and unsure, fingers twirling his braid restlessly.
Obi-Wan reached out to him, until the invisible barrier stopped him again. He let his hand hover in the air, and then gingerly settled it on Anakin’s shoulder. “I’m glad you accept,” he smiled. “Now, what was that about you getting half an hour of sleep?”
Anakin stared at him for a moment, as if his mind was still somewhere else. “Oh. Right,” He blinked. “Isn’t it a bit too late for that? I thought we’re supposed to be aboard the ship in… Uh, my datapad’s dead,” he leaned back in his chair to look at the giant holo clock shimmering in the middle of the hall. His face dropped. “Kark ,” he swore, standing up so fast he accidentally swept the dozens of flash drives off the table. “Dank Farrik, I better clean this up or that old witch is going to kill me again,” he groaned, dropping to his knees to collect them off the ground.
Obi-Wan decided now wasn’t the time to lecture his Padawan on his disheartening lack of manners. “It’s alright, Anakin, no need to hurry. There might be something I could arrange about the mission. I know someone who’s free today who could go instead of us.”
“But Master, the ship takes off in fifteen minutes,” Anakin protested. “No one would be careless enough to take on a mission they know nothing about.”
Obi-Wan quirked his eyebrow in amusement, voice full of grim satisfaction. “Oh, you’d be surprised.”
Anakin stared at him questioningly before he realized Obi-Wan wasn’t going to elaborate. “Alright then. Let’s hope they’re awake.”
Obi-Wan reached out through the Force, an old weak bond snapping back to life. His expression soured. “He certainly is.”
Anakin raised an eyebrow but didn’t question him. A smile played on his lips. “Well, you better get going then, old man. You’re not as quick on your feet as you used to be.”
“I assume I can trust you to make it back to your room safely without running into a wall?” Obi-Wan teased back.
Anakin flashed him a grin. “Don’t worry, Master. The Force is strong with me.”
“Well, I certainly hope it’s strong enough to withstand Jocasta Nu, because I do believe she’s coming over here,” Obi-Wan smirked, head turned to the other corner of the hall, where a small figure slowly made her way towards them. He watched his Padawan’s face pale in horror.
“Oh, not good,” Anakin sprung to his feet, one flash drive slipping out of his grip and clattering to the floor again.
Obi-Wan held back a chuckle. There were things Jedi of all generations could relate to, and having a crippling fear of the Archives’ Chief Librarian had appeared to be one of them.
Obi-Wan was about to make his escape when Anakin called out to him, his voice strangely cautious.
“Uh… Master?”
Obi-Wan turned around. Anakin was looking at him, his datapad awkwardly clutched close to his chest. He looked down, his hand coming up to twirl his braid. They stood in silence for a bit.
“Thanks,” he muttered very quietly.
Obi-Wan smiled, his eyes creasing in the corners. “You can thank me by finally getting some rest, my young Padawan. I don’t want you to waste your energy on trying to stay upright.”
Anakin nodded, still not meeting his gaze. Obi-Wan turned on his heels, heading for the exit, walking just a little faster than was necessary.
Jocasta Nu wasn’t known to be fond of early morning visitors.
-:- -:- -:-
Obi-Wan yawned, hand belatedly coming up to cover his mouth as he slowly headed back to the living quarters.
He was just done seeing Quinlan and Aayla off, trying to cram in as much information as possible into the three minutes they had left. You know, Kenobi, Quinlan had sneered, helping his Padawan up the ramp, I didn’t take you for the type to cancel important plans minutes before your flight takes off.
Urgent business, Obi-Wan had explained with a smirk, Besides, you owe me one, Vos, remember? Quinlan had only scoffed, but Obi-Wan had known him long enough to see that the Jedi didn’t mind the sudden change in his schedule.
He would have to explain himself to the council, a prospect he was not particularly thrilled about, but that would come later. Right now he’s walking down the halls of the Temple, delightfully empty and alight with the glow of the morning sun. He was almost there. He stopped in front of one the windows, taking in Coruscant’s countless blocky buildings, all bathed in rose-gold light.
He and Quinlan used to love early morning meditations as Younglings because of moments like these, when the Force itself hummed with golden incandescence in the early hours of the day.
He imagined what kind of Master Quinlan would make for Anakin and huffed out an amused chuckle. Both of them so brash and reckless.
And yet Quinlan was still a Jedi.
Obi-Wan stroked his beard, watching hundreds of speeders and ships zoom past the Temple. After all, it’s not like Anakin was the first Jedi Padawan to struggle with attachment. It was normal for his age. He would get over it with time, as they all have.
-:- -:- -:-
The door quietly slid open in front of Obi-Wan, revealing Anakin, sprawled out on the small bed in his clothes. He didn’t even bother to take off his shoes. Obi-Wan frowned, wondering whether that was just his usual untidiness, or a result of many sleepless nights he was never supposed to learn about.
Anakin left the window open, as always, and fresh morning air creeped into the room, leaving the taste of ozone and faint lilac on Obi-Wan’s tongue. He walked up to the bed and unfolded one of the synth wool blankets Anakin always refused to use, and gently laid it over him. It wasn’t cold, it never was, not with Coruscant’s artificially regulated climate, but chilly enough for Anakin to have caught a cold once, so Obi-Wan wasn’t taking any chances.
Anakin mumbled in his sleep, pulling the blanket up to his neck. Obi-Wan smirked. So he did get cold, after all. Something to remind him of the next time he refuses to wear protective gear in colder climates.
Obi-Wan strode to the small closet on the other side of the room. It was left open, rows of simple dark Jedi robes hung in what seemed to be Anakin’s own definition of order. To his right sat a white polished desk, the light from the window lighting it’s clean surface. Safe for a tiny bedside table and a couple of chairs, this was all Anakin’s modest Padawan quarters had to offer. It wasn’t completely strapped of individuality, Anakin’s presence still recognizable in his carelessly mismatched bedsheets, or the way the desk remained the most spotless and untouched part of the room, but there was nothing here of personal significance, nothing left here to remind him of who he once was. Obi-Wan took out one of the robes, smoothing out it’s creases, and hung it back neatly in the closet. He reached for another one.
Perhaps it was good that Anakin never kept anything that could pull him back into the past and break his focus. This was the Jedi way. The life you had before you came into the Temple must be left behind and forgotten. Dwell on the past, a Jedi does not, lectured a familiar voice in the back of Obi-Wan’s mind. And yet, he couldn’t help but wonder if Anakin would’ve had an easier time letting go now if he was allowed to indulge in his attachments as a child. He was different from the rest of them. Easy to say for someone who doesn't have a past.
Memories of Anakin’s first few months as his Padawan slithered into his mind, stinging regret settling into the pit of his stomach. Obi-Wan hadn’t been himself then, suffocated by grief and guilt, once again unable to just let go . He had frequently dreamed of Qui-Gon; memories of his large warm hands on Obi-Wan’s shoulders, the low soothing rumble of his voice, but most of all, his icy-blue eyes, so often clouded by disappointment. Promise me you will train the boy, he had whispered back on that wretched day on Naboo, as life drained from his body, his hand caressing Obi-Wan’s cheek. And so Obi-Wan tried, and he kept trying even when his Padawan dismissed his advice and regarded the Jedi Code more as flexible guidelines than actual tenets to live his life by. He kept trying even as Anakin grew more arrogant and reckless by the day, taking improper pride in his precocious mastery of the Force.
It had seemed to Obi-Wan like he just couldn’t catch up with his apprentice, always chasing after him, always reaching, but never quite arriving where he knew he had to be as a Master.
Perhaps this rift between them wasn’t quite as recent as he’d like for it to be, after all.
Obi-Wan hung the last robe back into the closet, all of the clothes now hanging in neat array. He gently closed the doors.
But even though Anakin was thrust upon him by Qui-Gon and the Council, it was hard to imagine anyone else taking his place, even if he was angry and impulsive and difficult . He learned to love him, and perhaps, Obi-Wan realized with a stab of guilt, he wasn’t always good at showing it, but he hoped that Anakin knew anyway.
Knew just how often his Master thought of him as his son.
Anakin turned in his sleep, and something small fell out of the bed with a soft thud.
Obi-Wan turned around. His eyes widened slightly in surprise.
“Really, Anakin?” he muttered under his breath, a tired smile tugging at his lips.
He crossed the room in two big strides and picked his Padawan’s lightsaber off the carpet. The safety switch was turned off. Really, what was he thinking? He could’ve lost an arm or a leg if he somehow managed to push the button in his sleep. Obi-Wan sighed. He sometimes felt like his apprentice was going to drive him into an early grave.
He settled near the bed, watching the peaceful rise and fall of Anakin’s chest. He tried to imagine a different boy, or perhaps a girl, lying in this bed, someone more proper and orderly like himself, and was unsurprised to find the thought brought him no joy at all.
Bringing up a Padawan changes you, Qui-Gon told him once, Molds you into the Jedi you were always meant to be. One day you will understand.
Late morning sun engulfed the room in light and wove gold into Anakin’s hair. Obi-Wan reached out and gently ruffled it.