Chapter Text
Qui-Gon had always been thoughtful of Obi-Wan’s needs, in all the many years they had been together as master and padawan. He was steady and caring and kind—and strict, when he needed to be.
But he had never, in all of Obi-Wan’s time as a padawan, decided to take him away on a meditation retreat to the Naboo mountains for some “much-needed time to rest and reflect.”
It was exactly what he suggested for himself and his new Padawan, the child from Tatooine, however, the very morning after Obi-Wan had been knighted. Qui-Gon was still recovering from the saber injury he’d received during their duel with the Sith, and the boy was still fairly quiet, almost skittish, around Obi-Wan.
Qui-Gon had invited Obi-Wan to the shared quarters—the quarters that had been his up until a few weeks before—for breakfast.
Now, Obi-Wan kept his mental shields firmly in place as Qui-Gon told him over breakfast of their plans.
“I hope it is a restorative experience for you both, Master,” Obi-Wan said stiffly.
The child was sitting opposite Obi-Wan, still rubbing sleep out of his eyes, his gaze darting back and forth between the two men, as if trying to read for conflict there.
Qui-Gon poured his tea slowly, deliberately, and then looked up at Obi-Wan. “You will be coming with us, young one,” he said kindly, a shadow of amusement lingering in his eyes.
“Oh.” Obi-Wan cleared his throat uncomfortably. “The council—” He stopped, looking questioningly across at his master.
“They have already given their approval,” Qui-Gon said. “Now, Anakin and I can wash up here if you’d like a moment to pack.”
Anger sparked in Obi-Wan, white-hot and fierce. First he was no longer in need of a master, ready to face the trials and be replaced by a child, ready to be a knight—and the next moment he was not to be involved in making plans at all, only a child to be told where he would go and when.
He realized Qui-Gon was waiting patiently for a response, his tea still held in his hand. “Obi-Wan,” he said quietly.
“Of course,” Obi-Wan said woodenly. “Whatever you say, Master.”
Qui-Gon arched an eyebrow at him. “I see,” he said finally. “Anakin, will you see to the plants, please?”
Anakin nodded, obediently carrying away his dish to the kitchen sink. “Yes, Master.” He reached for the small watering can Qui-Gon kept beneath the sink, and busied himself watering the assortment of plants Qui-Gon had always kept in their shared living chambers.
The small gesture twisted in Obi-Wan’s chest. He had been responsible for that task as a padawan.
He pushed the feelings down.
He understood why he had been so quickly replaced, to an extent. Before the boy, Obi-Wan had been one of the most promising Padawans—gifted, strong in the force, at the top of his studies in all things. But he was not the chosen one.
“Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon said again. “Is there anything you wish to talk about?”
The look in his eyes was kind, as patient as ever, and it made Obi-Wan feel worse for thinking such disloyal thoughts about his master. His former master.
It did make sense for Qui-Gon to train the chosen one. He was the best there was, in Obi-Wan’s opinion. As wise as Yoda and as powerful as Master Windu without being bogged down by the bureaucracy of the council.
A hand on his shoulder pulled Obi-Wan from his thoughts.
Qui-Gon was looking down at him, one large hand placed gently but firmly on Obi-Wan’s shoulder. “Dear one,” Qui-Gon said softly. “Do you and I need to speak?”
It sounded so similar—so uncomfortably similar—to a phrase that had preceded discipline in the past: I need a quiet word with you, Padawan.
Obi-Wan found that he resented the turn of phrase now. Qui-Gon was no longer his master, and he had made it clear that the child mattered more, now.
Obi-Wan stood, now, removing Qui-Gon’s hand from his shoulder. “No, Qui-Gon,” he said coolly, his stomach twisting a little as he called his master by his first name for the first time in his life. It left a bitter aftertaste in his mouth as he stepped away towards the door. “There is nothing we need to talk about.”
Qui-Gon let him step away, which in itself felt like a loss.
If he had lied in the past—so clearly lied—and said there was nothing to talk about, and then all but stormed off, Qui-Gon would have provided him with what he called support and Obi-Wan called a memorable ass kicking.
As it was, Obi-Wan shut the door to their quarters firmly behind him, and stalked to his own quarters, a bare apartment with no plants growing in the windows and no tea kettle whistling. No one but Obi-Wan.
He packed his things angrily, shoving an extra set of robes into his chest and barely refraining from kicking it across the room when he was finished.
He avoided his master for the duration of the flight, which did not prove to be difficult, because Anakin clearly—and understandably—adored Qui-Gon, and stuck at his side, chattering on about the twin suns of Tatooine and his favorite flavor of sweet ice and whether he thought Padmé liked deep-fried Nuna legs.
Obi-Wan Kenobi was not sulking. He wasn’t.
But he did remain at the back of the ship, closing his eyes, pretending to sleep.
#
Naboo was a wild ocean of green, especially outside of the capitol city.
The queen met them when they landed, greeting each of them with a hug, though she seemed to cling to Qui-Gon, almost for support, for a moment.
“Are you well, Queen Amidala?” Qui-Gon asked her gently.
The girl swiped her eyes with the back of her hand, but she was smiling brightly, despite the tears shining in her eyes. “It has been difficult,” she said finally. She spoke formally, as she always did, and with the regality that fit her role, but she looked small to Obi-Wan, as fragile as he himself felt after everything that had happened. “I have been—well, we have been rebuilding, and grieving those we lost, which has not been easy. But my people are strong.”
“As is their queen,” Qui-Gon said, squeezing her shoulder. “And we are grateful for your hospitality, Your Majesty.”
Anakin nodded eagerly, clearly unable to wait a moment longer before he rushed forward and wrapped his arms around Padmé’s waist. She laughed and squeezed him back.
Qui-Gon gave them a moment, and then put a gentle hand on Anakin’s shoulder.
Padmé reached out and hugged Obi-Wan last. “Congratulations,” she said, and when she pulled back, her eyes were glistening again. “On your knighthood and—everything, Obi-Wan. You persevered through so much.”
Obi-Wan nodded awkwardly, dipping his head to her as they said goodbye.
Anakin fell asleep in the speeder almost immediately as they cruised deeper into the mountains, his head lolling against Qui-Gon’s shoulder. Obi-Wan sat as stiffly as if he had been spanked for his earlier insolence, his mental shields firmly in place.
Qui-Gon let the silence hang there between them for what seemed like ages. It was as they were slowing down outside a cottage surrounded by flowers and a grove of trees that Qui-Gon finally spoke. “Obi-Wan,” he said. “Are you well?”
Anakin was still fast asleep, his small body curled up between them.
Obi-Wan felt the sight tug at his heart despite himself. It was not the child’s fault, after all. It was Qui-Gon he was angry with, and himself most of all. “Just fine, Qui-Gon,” he said.
The speeder slowed to a halt outside of the cottage, and Qui-Gon turned to him. “Are you quite certain?” Qui-Gon’s voice held something akin to sternness now.
It sent a shiver down Obi-Wan’s spine.
Still, he forced himself to stare straight forward. “Quite,” he said.
He reached for his bag and the door handle, and—
“Hold.”
Obi-Wan stilled, his hand frozen on the door handle, his body obeying his master before his mind had caught up with him.
“Obi-Wan,” his master said quietly. “Let us get settled in, and then speak about whatever it is you need to say.” He lifted the sleeping child and carried him inside.
Obi-Wan felt his stomach drop down to his toes, but he followed Qui-Gon in without a word.
Anakin woke as Qui-Gon set him down on the couch. He shook his head, clearing sleep from his eyes, and beamed at both of them. “We’re here,” he said brightly. “That was so quick. Obi-Wan, will you explore the gardens with me?” He grabbed Obi-Wan’s hand.
“Of course,” Obi-Wan said, looking at Qui-Gon to see his reaction to Obi-Wan’s newest defiance.
Qui-Gon merely smiled slightly. “Of course,” he said. “You two may explore the gardens. Be back in time for supper.”
Anakin was bouncing back and forth, holding tightly to Obi-Wan’s hand. “And down to the river?” he asked. “And that little trail up the mountain? And—”
“Just the gardens, little one,” Qui-Gon said gently. He reached out and cupped the boy’s chin in his hand, tipping it up so that Anakin met his gaze.
The boy squirmed a little.
It wasn’t even Obi-Wan being forced to meet Qui-Gon’s gaze, and Obi-Wan had to fight the urge to squirm.
“Hear me,” Qui-Gon said. “Just the gardens, Anakin. No running off on your own. Are we clear?”
Anakin nodded seriously. “Yes, Master.”
“Good,” Qui-Gon said, and then his gaze met Obi-Wan’s. The look he gave was far too understanding for Obi-Wan’s liking. “Take care of one another,” he said. “I’ll be just inside.”
#
Obi-Wan had thought his departure to the gardens were going to be a reprieve from whatever conversation Qui-Gon wanted with him, but as it turned out, listening to Anakin chatter on endlessly was its own kind of punishment.
When they reached the fountains, the water drowning out any chance that Qui-Gon could hear them anymore, Anakin stopped abruptly. “Obi-Wan,” he said. “Excuse me, I mean Master Obi-Wan. Do you wish I had stayed on Tatooine?”
Gone was the bright grin and endless stream of conversation.
Anakin Skywalker looked older than his nine years, and he was staring at Obi-Wan with a knowing look that was eerily reminiscent of Qui-Gon Jinn himself.
Had the child invented an excuse in order to talk to Obi-Wan alone? He had seemed so innocent and naïve to Obi-Wan, but there were more layers to the boy than he had realized.
“No,” Obi-Wan told him now, dropping down onto a bench and sighing. “I’m sorry, Anakin, if I gave that impression.”
Anakin folded his arms across his chest. “Master Qui-Gon said that you would need time,” he said. “But I thought it was my fault.”
Obi-Wan bristled. “Qui-Gon doesn’t know what he’s talking about.” That was categorically a lie, and by Anakin’s expression, they both knew it.
“You do hate me,” Anakin said.
Obi-Wan felt the surge of something in the Force, anger in Anakin, white-hot, and something beneath it, a swirl of unruly emotions with pain at the epicenter of it all. “Anakin,” he said. “No, that’s not true. I don’t hate you at all.”
Anakin glared back at him. “Don’t lie,” he said.
Obi-Wan was not some child-minder in the creche, and Force, he had no interest in being one for Qui-Gon, especially for the child who had replaced him. “Perhaps we should go back inside,” he said. “Anakin—”
Anakin took a step back. “I don’t know why,” he snapped. “I don’t know why you hate me. I didn’t do anything to you. I didn’t ask for anyone to train me, and I didn’t ask Master Qui-Gon to kick you out and—”
Obi-Wan’s surge of anger was blinding. He was on his feet before he knew it, towering above the child. “As if I would be replaced by some—”
He stopped the words before he said them, because they were cruel and untrue and even in his anger he knew that, but by the look on Anakin’s face the boy felt them all the same.
Anakin turned and ran from the gardens.
#
Qui-Gon had known Obi-Wan would need some time to sort through his feelings about the changes that had converged so suddenly, and the fear that had lingered since their battle with the Sith. He had known, too, that his young padawan was ready for knighthood, for the path that lay ahead of him.
That did not mean the boy was without the need for guidance, however, and it had become increasingly clear by Obi-Wan’s surly behavior for the duration of the day that the guidance would be needed sooner rather than later.
What Qui-Gon had not anticipated—or rather, had hoped to avoid—was having to discipline both his padawans on the same day.
It was scarcely ten minutes since Obi-Wan’s desperate detour to the gardens, when Qui-Gon felt a surge of something in the Force—anger, from them both, and pain, and a bit of shame. And then a moment later, Obi-Wan was hastening up the steps, throwing open the door.
The shame practically radiated from the boy, and he met Qui-Gon’s gaze with a panicked look.
“Master, I—” He stopped, staggering over his words.
Ah, so it was Master again, and not Qui-Gon, as Obi-Wan had tried calling him twice now.
“What is it, young one?” Qui-Gon asked him, looking at him evenly.
“The boy—the child—he ran away from me, and I can’t find him, and it’s my fault—”
Qui-Gon held up his hand, and Obi-Wan stopped, his breath ragged. “Come,” he said. He What Obi-Wan needed from him now was clear direction, and perhaps Qui-Gon should have seen that sooner, should have given that to him sooner. “We will find him, Padawan.”
#
He did not wait for Obi-Wan to explain further—indeed, it seemed quite clear to him that regardless of the circumstances, both of his padawans were in need of a trip over his knee—but led the way back into the gardens.
“Anakin,” he called out sternly.
There was no answer beyond the sound of the fountain.
Qui-Gon reached out through the Force. His bond with Anakin was new, yes, but the child had attached to him quite firmly, and he had not—until now—ever been difficult to find. “He is not in the gardens,” Qui-Gon said, letting out a soft sigh.
“Master,” Obi-Wan said, his voice cracking. There were tears in his eyes when he looked up at Qui-Gon. “I’m sorry. It’s my fault he ran.”
“Anakin can make his own choices, Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon said. “Come. There will be time for explanations later. Let us search on the trails leading down to the river.”
Obi-Wan followed him without a word, and though he maintained his mental shields, the boy’s distress remained clear.
Anakin had left a rather easy-to-follow trail, thankfully. He had left a small footprint in the mud near the beginning of the trail, and Qui-Gon could sense the distress he had been in as he ran. Still, Qui-Gon thought wearily, he had expressly told the child to go no further than the gardens, and even if Obi-Wan had said something to upset him, he could have come inside to Qui-Gon instead.
Qui-Gon rounded a corner, Obi-Wan still shadowing him silently, and found Anakin huddled at the foot of the tree, arms wrapped around his knees and face buried in his arms. He was shaking with sobs.
Qui-Gon crouched down at the child’s level. “Anakin,” he said gently. “Are you alright?”
The boy scooted away frantically. “Please leave me alone,” he said miserably.
Qui-Gon hmm'd soothingly. “Come here, young one,” he said. “Let me help you.”
Anakin scrambled to his feet. The boy’s eyes were red, and the wave of emotions that hit Qui-Gon were a chaotic mixture, only made stronger by the living Force that was so great in the child. “No,” he said. “No, you should send me back.”
Behind Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan sucked in his breath sharply.
“Anakin,” Obi-Wan said shakily. “I was wrong. I’m sorry. My anger is my own. You belong here, with Master Qui-Gonn. It is I who should return to Coruscant.”
Qui-Gon briefly considered swatting both of them here and now for this foolishness. They both belonged at his side, and always would, regardless of the feelings they had allowed to control them today. “Enough,” he said firmly. “Whatever this is, we will talk it over inside. Come, Anakin, Obi-Wan.”
Anakin shook his head, scraping the back of his hand over his eyes.
Qui-Gon could sense the longing in the boy, though, overpowering the other emotions for a moment, so he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around the child, who folded against him almost immediately, sobbing as if his heart would break.
“Ah, dear one,” Qui-Gon said softly. “There, it’s alright. Come up to the house, both of you.” He took Anakin by the hand and led him back towards the path.
Obi-Wan lingered for a moment, but when Qui-Gon beckoned him forward firmly, Obi-Wan obeyed and fell into step just behind him.
Sensing the boy’s hesitation, Qui-Gon reached back and put a hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder, his touch firm.
Obi-Wan leaned into his touch as if desperate for it, sending a pang to Qui-Gon’s heart.
He had been wrong, then, to give his former padawan some space. Obi-Wan had needed a reminder of his place in Qui-Gon’s life, padawan or not. And unfortunately for both of them, that reminder would need to begin over Qui-Gon’s knee.
When they reached the house, Qui-Gon sent Anakin to the kitchen, directing him to get a glass of water and drink it—all of it—and cool off before he returned to the main living room. He needed a moment to make sure Obi-Wan was alright.
Qui-Gon seated himself on the sofa, but before he had a chance to speak, Obi-Wan dropped beside him, kneeling there and looking up at him. He had already removed his saber and belt and placed them on the nearby table. There were tears on Obi-Wan’s lashes, but his voice did not tremble as he asked—
“Master, will you give me Anakin’s punishment as well as my own?”
Qui-Gon stilled, and then reached out and put a hand on Obi-Wan’s jaw, tilting the boy’s face up so that he was looking at Qui-Gon. “Young one,” he said. “Have I so shattered your faith in me?”
Obi-Wan jolted, frozen still where he was. “Master?” he asked.
“Have I ever punished you because I was angry with you?” Qui-Gon continued.
Obi-Wan hesitated, and then shook his head no. “You—you have disciplined me because you…because you care.”
“Indeed,” Qui-Gon said. “And I would remiss if I did not show Anakin the same care I have shown you.” He released Obi-Wan, gesturing for him to stand up, and then guided Obi-Wan to sit down on the sofa beside him. “Ease your mind, Obi-Wan. I do not intend to be hard on the boy. He shall get his spanking for running off when he was told to remain in the gardens, and that will be all. Do you trust me with that?”
Obi-Wan nodded, his gaze on his lap.
“And you and I have more to talk about, yes?” Qui-Gon prompted.
Obi-Wan nodded again. “I’m sorry, Master.”
“As am I,” Qui-Gon said. He glanced to the door. “Anakin, you may come in.”
Anakin entered, his empty glass of water in his hand. He looked uncertainly at Qui-Gon, who beckoned him forward.
“Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon said gently. “You may choose a corner.”
Obi-Wan obeyed instantly, planting himself in the furthest corner from the couch, and Anakin drew closer, setting his glass down on the nearby table.
“Master,” he said softly. His lip was already trembling. “I’m sorry I disobeyed you.”
Qui-Gon reached out and drew Anakin forward until the boy was standing between his knees. One hand nervously fiddled with his new padawan braid, and his gaze remained firmly on the floor.
“Anakin,” Qui-Gon said. “Can you tell me what happened, little one? Why did I find you in the forest beside the river instead of safely in the gardens?”
There would be a time for sternness later, and there would be days he would need to be stern with the child in front of him. That was a part of any Jedi’s training—perhaps of any child’s raising—but for now, when the child was still so new to this life, Qui-Gon would speak to him carefully.
It was a good thing, too, because Anakin was trembling. “I thought Obi-Wan would tell you,” he said. “It was all my fault. I said something…something mean. It wasn’t true.”
He stared at Obi-Wan’s back, and Qui-Gon could feel the waves of emotion Anakin was sending to Obi-Wan in the force—sadness, mostly. The child was already sorry, though Qui-Gon would have to see to it yet that he was sorrier still.
“So you had an argument,” Qui-Gon prompted gently.
Anakin nodded his head rapidly.
“Master,” Obi-Wan murmured from the corner. “It was my fault. Really.”
“This conversation is between me and Anakin,” Qui-Gon said firmly. “You and I will have our own, Obi-Wan.”
Anakin met his gaze finally. “I’m sorry I ran off,” he said in a small, subdued voice. “I…I nearly fell into the river.”
“And you do not yet know how to swim, do you?” Qui-Gon infused just a bit of sternness into his tone, though he still held Anakin’s small hand gently in his own.
Anakin shook his head no.
“Answer me aloud please, Anakin,” Qui-Gon prompted.
“No,” Anakin whispered. “I don’t know how to swim.”
“I told you expressly that you were to go to the gardens, but no further, did I not?”
Anakin nodded again, and then caught himself. “You did, Master,” he said miserably.
“And we spoke back on Coruscant of some rules, Padawan, did we not?” Qui-Gon asked.
“Yes, Master,” Anakin said. “Are… are you going to spank me?”
“I am,” Qui-Gon told him gently.
The boy’s shoulders slumped.
“Did your mother ever spank you?” It was Qui-Gon’s last question—usually he dispensed with the questions entirely until his padawan was over his knee and he had already begun administering the discipline, but this was Anakin’s first time, and he rather thought the boy needed some time to adjust.
Anakin nodded tearfully. “Yes, Master,” he whispered.
“So you know what to expect.”
“Yes, Master.”
“Come then, Anakin,” Qui-Gon said firmly, steeling himself for what must be done. He guided the boy across his knee, allowing him—just this once—to leave his clothing intact. Obi-Wan would not get a similar luxury, because Qui-Gon would need to see what he was doing in order to ensure he did not hurt the boy. But Anakin’s infraction was small, and made in the heat of a moment that had clearly been too much for him.
Correction was needed; but not harshness.
He landed the first swat in the middle of Anakin’s backside, and the boy lurched forward with a whimper. Qui-Gon forced himself to continue, covering the boy’s bottom and sit spots with a series of firm swats.
“You will obey in the future,” he said as he landed two particularly stinging swats to Anakin’s sit spots, where he would surely feel it when they sat down for supper. “Will you not?”
“Yes, Master,” Anakin promised tearfully. “I’ll be good.”
Qui-Gon continued spanking. “You are always good,” he said firmly. “You have good in your heart, Anakin Skywalker. Next time you will behave.”
Anakin began crying in earnest now as Qui-Gon continued to land swats to his backside.
“Master,” Anakin managed. “Master, I was—I was cruel to Obi-Wan.”
Qui-Gon paused, and rested his hand on Anakin’s back. “Ah,” he said. “Do you have more you need to confess, Anakin?”
Anakin’s head bobbed rapidly. “I didn’t mean to, I didn’t—” he began through hiccups, and then stopped himself. “I said you kicked him out.”
Qui-Gon looked at Obi-Wan, who was standing ramrod straight in the corner, his mental shields as high as they had ever been. Still, still, Qui-Gon could sense Obi-Wan’s shame at hearing the words repeated now.
“I see,” he said. “You will apologize to Obi-Wan after we are through.” He patted Anakin’s back as the child nodded. “Very well then. You will mind your words next time, Anakin.” He resumed the spanking, landing a few sharp swats to the boy’s sit spots. “A Jedi does not use his words to harm others, and I know you have it in you to remember your compassion, even when you are angry. Are we understood, Anakin?”
“Yes, Master,” Anakin said, and then he was sobbing in earnest, nearly gone limp over Qui-Gon’s knee as Qui-Gon landed the last few swats.
Qui-Gon placed a gentle hand on the back of the boy’s neck and squeezed softly. “You can get up now,” he said. “You did very well, Anakin, and I am most proud of you.” He did not have a chance to help the boy up, as Anakin pulled himself up and promptly launched himself into Qui-Gon’s lap, burying his face in the crook of Qui-Gon’s neck.
Qui-Gon rubbed his back soothingly, his other hand cupping Anakin’s head against his shoulder. “There, there, dear one,” he said as Anakin’s sobs quieted to hiccups and sniffles.
“Master.” Anakin’s voice was barely a whisper, and Qui-Gon had to lean down to hear him.
“You can speak, Anakin,” he said.
Anakin shook his head, face still buried against Qui-Gon’s neck.
“You love Obi-Wan,” Anakin said, his voice still quiet.
Obi-Wan’s body jerked at the words, but he remained facing the wall as he had been bid.
“I do,” Qui-Gon said.
The Jedi code demanded no attachments, demanded a detached form of compassion and empathy, but Qui-Gon had never been much for that particular rule. True balance in the living Force, Qui-Gon had come to believe, came from allowing balance within, and there was no balance to anything—much less the Force—without love.
“You shield,” Anakin said. “I don’t know a lot about the Force yet, but you shield so that we don’t feel everything you feel all the time. But you can’t hide that. Your love is so much.”
Qui-Gon felt a smile tug at the corners of his mouth. “Ah, is that so, little one?” he asked.
He was watching Obi-Wan carefully.
“Yes,” Anakin said firmly, hiccupping a little. “How am I ever—how can I ever be anything at all to you? Obi-Wan is—he defeated a Sith. He saved your life. The council loves him. All the other padawans say he was the strongest force user in years.”
He sounded a bit as if he worshipped Obi-Wan already, and Qui-Gon fought the smile at the thought. It was all he wanted for them both, truly—to have one another, to care for one another, to protect one another.
“Dear boy,” Qui-Gon said gently. “You are right that Obi-Wan is very dear to me. But so are you, my padawan. But not because of anything as fleeting as one accomplishment or another. Because of this, Anakin.” He placed his hand on the boy’s chest above his heart and felt the steady drumbeat of his pulse. “What is in here,” he said firmly. “Anakin, that is what makes you who you are. Your compassion and kindness within.”
Anakin sniffled again, and Qui-Gon rocked him quietly for a moment.
At last, feeling it would be truly unfair to Obi-Wan to make him wait any longer, Qui-Gon set Anakin on his feet, ignoring the boy’s protests. “You could use some rest, Anakin,” Qui-Gon said firmly. “Come, I will show you to your chambers and you will lie down and rest until Obi-Wan or I come to retrieve you.”
Anakin made a soft whine beneath his breath, but he did as Qui-Gon bade, and followed his master down the hall to the smallest room at the end overlooking a bed of flowers and a small fountain.
“Rest, Anakin,” Qui-Gon told him firmly. “I will come for you soon.”
He tucked the blankets over Anakin, whose eyes were already drooping. Anakin clung to his hand for a moment.
“Master,” he said, looking up at Qui-Gon from round eyes, his lashes still wet with tears. “Please don’t be too angry at Obi-Wan. This was my fault.”
Qui-Gon bent and pressed a kiss to Anakin’s forehead. “I am not angry,” he said truthfully. “Obi-Wan needs to be reminded that he is cared for, and I shall give him that. Alright?”
“Alright, Master,” Anakin murmured, releasing Qui-Gon’s hand and settling comfortably against his pillows.
Qui-Gon sighed heavily and shut the door behind him. The conversation with Anakin had not been easy—it was never easy to cause one of his dear ones pain, even if it was a much-needed correction—but it had been simple. Obi-Wan, however, was grappling with something much larger, and much weightier, and Qui-Gon found himself dreading it nearly as much as he knew his former padawan was.
With one last bracing breath, he opened the door to the living room and stepped inside.