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Anakin Skywalker was complaining again.
It was one of his special talents, especially at the age of fourteen, right up there with making Obi-Wan want to jump out of the speeder and let the living Force decide his fate. His master’s new apprentice seemed to take after Qui-Gon more than anyone else, which meant good things, mostly. He was compassionate and fierce and unorthodox, just like their master.
He was, like their master, also a terrible driver, by Obi-Wan’s standards.
But he and Quin had agreed to teach Anakin to drive in the hangar—with Qui-Gon’s permission, because Obi-Wan valued his ass too much to do it without—and so here they were, waiting for their turn on the practice course.
“Obi-Wan,” Anakin said, stretching his name into several syllables. “We could borrow a speeder and practice by driving around Coruscant.”
Quinlan barked out a laugh, tossing his long dreads over his shoulder. “We would have,” he said. “At fourteen.”
“We did,” Obi-Wan reminded him, rolling his eyes at Quin now. “Don’t you remember?”
“Ah,” Quinlan said. “The hairbrush. I remember that incident well.”
Anakin’s eyes widened. “You did?” he asked. He was smirking at Obi-Wan now. “Perfect Obi-Wan got a spanking with Master Qui-Gon’s hairbrush?”
Obi-Wan rolled his eyes at Anakin. “As if you didn’t know that, little one.”
“And you too?” Anakin was eyeing Quinlan now. “Okay, but we could actually get away with it. Master Qui-Gon trusts both of you. And you’d keep me safe. And then we wouldn’t have to wait in this kriffing line all day.”
Quin snorted. “Shall I comm your master and tell him you’re considering it?”
Anakin glowered a little at him. “No,” he said.
“Then learn from our mistakes and save your own ass just this once, kid,” Quinlan said. He leaned back against some crates stacked at the side of the practice hangar and put his feet up. “We can find better ways to pass the time that don’t involve me being re-introduced to that hairbrush, thank you very much.”
Obi-Wan grinned at his old friend. They may now both be knights in their own right, but both their masters had made it clear that they were not too old to be disciplined the way they had as padawans. “Have you finally learned your lesson, then?” he asked Quin now. “After all these years?”
“Certainly not,” Quinlan said. “If I’m going to get myself in trouble, though, it will be doing something far more fun than driving a speeder slowly around Coruscant while the young one learns.”
“I wouldn’t be driving slowly,” Anakin volunteered.
Quinlan tugged the boy’s padawan braid fondly. “Ah, there it is,” he said. “Come on, little one. Maybe we can entertain ourselves while we wait.”
“How would you and Obi-Wan have entertained yourselves?” Anakin asked mischievously.
Obi-Wan groaned, but he was smiling when he sat down on the other side of Anakin. He ruffled the boy’s hair affectionately. “You don’t want to know,” he said. “We caused all sorts of trouble.”
“The other padawans still talk about the fireworks incident,” Anakin said wistfully.
“You wouldn’t sound as jealous if you had also been part of the long session over Master Qui-Gon’s knee afterwards,” Quinlan said, and then hesitated. “But no, you know what? It was worth it? Almost blew up Senator Palpatine’s cruiser, didn’t we? Should’ve seen his face.”
Obi-Wan wasn’t quite sure how he felt about Quinlan telling Anakin that particular story, or about the look of utter excitement on Anakin’s face as he did. “Perhaps a different one, my friend,” he said, a pointed look over Anakin’s head at Quinlan.
Anakin sighed dramatically. “Obi-Wan,” he said. “That’s a legend in the Temple.”
“And it was a legendary ass-kicking we got out of it,” Obi-Wan said, trying to bury his smile. It had been legendary, watching the fireworks launch from the top of the Galactic Senate. And even though they had both been horrified as some of the fireworks fell over the edge and landed on then-Senator Palpatine’s landing strip, it had still been legendary.
“What about the time with the speeder?” Anakin pressed.
“Oh, the pod race?” Quinlan asked. “With the explosions and the wookies? That was just Obi-Wan.”
Anakin’s eyes were as wide and round as the twin suns of his home planet. “What?” he shoved Obi-Wan’s side playfully. “You never told me about that.”
“For good reason, young one,” Obi-Wan said. “Quin, really.”
“Oh, put that scowl away, Obi. What harm could it to do to tell the kid about the wild times we had as kids?”
“Right, because you’re done with your wild times now?” Obi-Wan returned. He knew for a fact that just last week Tholme had called Quin to his quarters to have a ‘discussion’ about recent recklessness while on a mission, and that after that conversation his friend had been sitting rather uncomfortably in the refectory when he joined Obi-Wan.
“You hush,” Quin said, but he was still grinning. “Obi, why don’t you tell him about your first encounter with Master Qui-Gon’s infamous hairbrush?”
Obi-Wan groaned. “Quin.”
“I know your most recent encounter,” Anakin said cheekily.
“And I know yours, little one,” Obi-Wan reminded him teasingly.
“Yes, yes, we have all spent a great deal of time over Master Qui-Gon’s knee,” Quin said, waving his hand impatiently. “But the first hairbrush spanking from Master Qui-Gon’s most famous implement? Is that as legendary as the fireworks incident?”
“Fine.” Obi-Wan surrendered to the inevitable with one last eye roll in his friend’s direction. He draped his arm over Anakin’s shoulders, and the boy curled close under his arm, his annoyance at waiting for hangar space clearly forgotten. “And no it is not anything legendary. Just a little bit of foolishness, but I’ll tell you. But only if you promise never to repeat the way I acted on my very first mission.”
#
At thirteen, Obi-Wan was brash and sharp and a bit too reckless, though he would never compare to the padawan who followed after him.
His first mission was supposed to be a simple one, of course. Qui-Gon was being sent to Jakku by the council—for the sole reason that he was one of the few Jedi with enough experience visiting this far in the Outer Rim to manage. He was accompanying a senator from Alderaan on a mission to bring medical supplies and other relief supplies after a long drought and some smuggler disputes had left many of the locals struggling.
The council had objected to Qui-Gon even going at first, but had caved when Qui-Gon had—well, Obi-Wan wasn’t actually sure how Qui-Gon had convinced them. All he knew was that they were going on his very first mission, that Qui-Gon needed him, that they were going to do this together.
Obi-Wan was going to make his master proud.
“Obi-Wan.” Qui-Gon was looking at him from behind the controls of the ship as they navigated the airspace above Jakku. From his master’s gentle, amused look, it was not the first time he had called Obi-Wan’s name.
“Sorry, Master,” Obi-Wan said quickly. “I was thinking about our mission.”
Our mission.
It sounded so official, and exciting.
“I am sure you are very excited, dear one,” Qui-Gon said, beckoning Obi-Wan to his side. “But you must mind your emotions, Obi-Wan. We have an important duty to the senator, to the people of Jakku whom we are here to serve, and to the Jedi whose image we uphold in the galaxy.”
Obi-Wan tilted his head and listened to his master’s words. Something Qui-Gon had often said was that no matter what world they visited, they represented all Jedi by whatever they did or failed to do.
And now, at last, Obi-Wan was going to have his chance to prove himself.
Qui-Gon placed a hand on his shoulder. “Obi-Wan,” he said quietly. “Stay close to me, and mind what I say. There will be no need for anything more.”
Obi-Wan knew his master was right. He trusted Qui-Gon. His master was very wise—everyone said so, and he had even heard rumors that they would offer him a seat on the council—but Obi-Wan could not help feeling a bit stifled, now.
He was ahead on all his forms, and ahead in all of his classes. He had been studying the art of negotiation, specifically, and been fascinated by the role that Jedi had played in ending conflicts around the galaxy in the past.
“Master,” Obi-Wan said as he followed Qui-Gon towards the exit. “Why do Jedi not spend as much time in the Outer Rim?”
Qui-Gon kept his hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulders as they joined the Senator from Alderaan, an elderly, soft-spoken man who had laugh lines around his eyes and a kind word for everyone he met, even young padawans who hadn’t proven themselves on a mission yet.
Obi-Wan found he liked the man very much.
“Some Jedi have lost their way,” Qui-Gon answered him now, his voice quiet. “Some members of the Republic have forgotten the duty we have to our most vulnerable members.”
Senator Dane nodded his head, smiling down at Obi-Wan. “But not you or your master,” he said kindly. “And I have met many compassionate Jedi such as yourselves who care for those in the galaxy who are in need. I am sure you will help as much as you can while you are here.”
Obi-Wan straightened, setting his shoulders. “Yes, Senator,” he said. “Of course.”
When Senator Dane had safely arrived in his quarters—they were staying in a home owned by a local woman who ran the hospital—Qui-Gon called Obi-Wan to his side.
“Dear one,” Qui-Gon said gently. “I would like to speak with you a moment.”
Obi-Wan obeyed, taking his place beside his master, who patted the seat beside him on the sofa.
“Your excitement overwhelms you, my dear one,” Qui-Gon said gently. “No, Padawan, this is not meant as reproof. I am proud of your excitement to show your compassion and do good while we are here. I am deeply proud of that, Obi-Wan.”
Obi-Wan scooted away from his master a little, shrugging off his master’s hand as he did.
“I am merely saying,” Qui-Gon continued calmly. “That I understand your excitement, but it is more important than ever for you to mind that your emotions do not control you, Obi-Wan. After our meal, we will be going out into the city. The council does not believe this to be a dangerous place, nor do I, or I would not have brought you here, but it is a place that has known much suffering in recent years, and as such must be treated with great care.”
“I don’t understand, Master,” Obi-Wan said. He tried not to sound surly, he really, really did. But he wanted to go out into the city, and help Senator Dane and the people of Jakku, and he wanted to prove to Master Qui-Gon that he was more than ready to be on missions.
“There are many desperate people in this city, Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon said softly. “And desperation turns people towards things like theft and fighting and cruelty. I felt the pain of it as soon as I landed, and I wish to protect you from it. So stay close to myself and Senator Dane, dear one. You are not to go off on your own at any time. Are we understood?”
Obviously Obi-Wan knew better than to go off on his own. Was he some youngling from the creche who needed to be kept on a leash? But he swallowed back the flash of anger and said, “Yes, Master, of course,” though he scooted even further to the end of the couch.
Qui-Gon sighed. “Alright, dear one,” he said. “Then let us be off.”
Obi-Wan fully intended to do what his master had said, and stay close to him and to Senator Dane. He really did.
They began their day at a local food back, where Senator Dane insisted on helping to unload the provisions, despite his age and need for his cane. They served a meal to locals who needed it, and Obi-Wan carefully filled plates a few places down from his master and Senator Dane.
He was not bored. He was not. His job here was important.
“Psst.”
One of the kids he had served a meal to—a young boy about his age—was grinning at him. “Yea, you,” the boy said. “Are you a Jedi?”
“I am.” Obi-Wan puffed out his chest a little.
“Are you here to help?” the boy asked. The other kid was maybe a few years younger than Obi-Wan, after all, he realized. He looked skinny, and there was a hungry, sharp-eyed look that had made seem older at first glance.
“Yea,” Obi-Wan said. “Yea, we’re here to help.”
“Can you help me bring a meal to my sisters?” the boy asked him, his face falling a little. “My grandma was too sick to come, and my sisters stayed to take care of her.”
“I—well, I’m supposed to stay close,” Obi-Wan said. “But I could help fill some plates for your family if you’d like.”
“It’s just around the corner,” the kid said, raising his eyebrow at Obi-Wan. “They really don’t trust you to do that?”
Obi-Wan bristled.
That was all it took, really.
A challenge—a dare, even.
He filled the plates, checked over his shoulder to make sure that Master Qui-Gon wasn’t looking his way, and then ducked after the other kid. “I can’t be gone long,” he said as they emerged onto the quiet desert street behind the meal kitchen. “Or my master will—”
There was a blaster leveled at his face.
“Well done, Orthen.” The man holding the blaster—a tall scavenger with a rough cloth covering his face—said to the boy, who was smirking even more now. “He’ll fetch quite the price if the Jedi decide they want him back.”
Naturally, Obi-Wan dodged the blaster and attempted to punch the man directly in the face.
He was knocked flat on his back a moment later—there was another scavenger behind him, though he hadn’t realized it, had missed the warning in the Force somehow—and then there was the sharp crack of blaster fire, and the sound of a lightsaber igniting, and only a moment later it was all over.
Qui-Gon was standing over him, the light of his saber highlighting the stern angles of his face, and the scavengers were fleeing into the desert. Qui-Gon replaced his lightsaber at his belt and then hauled Obi-Wan to his feet.
Qui-Gon’s expression was usually calm—very, very calm. Now, though, there was a sharp flicker there. “Padawan,” he said in a voice that was eerily quiet. “What in the galaxy was that?”
Obi-Wan’s throat closed. “Master,” he said. “Master, I didn’t mean to—”
Qui-Gon held up his hand for silence. “We have a mission to complete,” he said. “I will not hear excuses from you, Obi-Wan. We will speak of this later.”
He turned on his heel and walked back inside, his stride long.
Obi-Wan nearly had to run to keep up with him. He felt as if stomach had sunk all the way down to his toes. He had been trying to help. Already, though, he realized that would not be enough.
He winced at the thought.
Master Qui-Gon had told him to remain close, and he had not.
He would be spanked for that after they had returned to their quarters, of that he was already very certain. His shoulders slumped as he followed Master Qui-Gon back inside.
It was a particular kind of torture, standing just down the line from his Master, trying to focus on his task of filling plates and knowing he had disappointed his master and would be punished. On his very first mission as a Jedi, Obi-Wan had failed immediately.
The shame of it burned bright in him all evening.
At last, the last local had filed through with a full plate, and Senator Dane was nearly drooping over with exhaustion. Qui-Gon beckoned Obi-Wan to follow, and then walked beside Senator Dane, making polite conversation as they walked back to their quarters.
It took forever for Senator Dane to say goodnight—he seemed to have a thousand things to say about the local population, and the drought, and the likelihood of convincing the senate to send any further resources, and whether or not he could convince any donors to help if the senate would not.
Qui-Gon offered his own opinions, and when at last the men wished each other goodnight, Obi-Wan nearly sagged with relief.
The relief was replaced a moment later by fresh feelings of shame and anxiety as he followed Qui-Gon into the quarters they would share for the duration of their stay on Jakku.
“Master—” Obi-Wan began, and then hung his head in shame.
“Oh, dearest,” Qui-Gon said, sighing softly. He reached out and pulled Obi-Wan into his arms.
Obi-Wan startled, pulling away slightly. “Master, I’m—I’m sorry. I don’t deserve—”
“Hush,” Qui-Gon said firmly, and Obi-Wan allowed himself to be hugged for a moment. Qui-Gon withdrew a moment later and sat on the couch, drawing Obi-Wan close until Obi-Wan was standing between his master’s knees.
Obi-Wan swallowed hard. He knew he was about to be over his master’s knee for what he had pulled tonight, and it was during times like these that he always had cause to reflect on just how big Master Qui-Gon’s hands were.
He shivered a little.
“Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon said firmly. “Please tell me what you were thinking tonight when you followed that boy outside, after I had told you to remain at my side.”
“I thought—” Obi-Wan looked down at the floor, a flush creeping up his cheeks. “Master, I thought I could help him. He said his sisters and grandmother needed food, and I wanted to help. And I—”
He stopped.
“I believe that you wanted to help, Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon said. “But that was not all, was it?”
Obi-Wan shook his head, a tear spilling over and trickling down his cheek.
Qui-Gon tipped Obi-Wan’s chin up gently, his thumb brushing away the tear. “Obi-Wan,” he prompted quietly.
“I thought I could do something good,” Obi-Wan said. “He said are you a Jedi and I just wanted to prove I could be a good one. I—I let my pride cloud my judgment, Master. I’m sorry.”
“I am sure you are, Padawan,” Qui-Gon said. “Please fetch my hairbrush from the ‘fresher.”
Obi-Wan’s stomach dropped. “Master,” he said, but he bit back any further words and instead hurried to do as he had been told.
His master had spanked him before, of course, but only with his hand. Qui-Gon had promised him, once, that if he risked his life again he would be introduced to the hairbrush.
Obi-Wan supposed this had been quite the risk. He returned with the hairbrush and handed it to his master, who took it with a quiet, “Thank you,” before setting it on the couch beside him.
Qui-Gon patted his knee, and Obi-Wan obeyed wordlessly, shoving his pants and underwear down to mid-thigh before letting Qui-Gon guide him down over his lap.
Qui-Gon brought his hand down hard on the center of Obi-Wan’s backside a moment later, and then began covering his bottom with firm smacks. He spanked in silence for a moment, nothing but the sound of his hand colliding with Obi-Wan’s backside interrupting the silence—and then, very quickly, interspersed with a whimper or two from Obi-Wan.
The sting in his backside was already growing, and Obi-Wan was regretting all of it thoroughly. It was almost a relief when the lecture finally began, as Qui-Gon began a second circuit of swats covering his backside from the crest of his bottom to the tops of his thighs.
“Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon said firmly. “When you are told to remain close to me on a mission, you will do so. I do not order you to do things for my own sake, Padawan, but for your safety, especially on a mission.”
Obi-Wan let out a small sob. He had failed. He had ruined everything, and now his master was never going to want to take him with ever again. “I’m sorry, Master,” he said through his tears.
“There will be time for apologies later, my dearest,” Qui-Gon said, now landing several hard smacks in a row to Obi-Wan’s sit spots.
Obi-Wan squirmed desperately, but Qui-Gon’s aim was unerring. Perhaps he was using the Force to smack Obi-Wan’s backside harder. Perhaps he was using the Force to literally set Obi-Wan’s backside on fire.
Obi-Wan let out another small sob, shifting uselessly in his master’s lap.
“When we are in the field,” Qui-Gon continued. “We must trust each other. We must listen to one another. And while the work we do comes with many risks, you must never add recklessness on top of that. Certainly not for the sake of your own pride.”
Obi-Wan’s tears were flowing freely now, and he was squirming so much that Qui-Gon wrapped a firm arm around his waist.
“You have a good heart, Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon said, and the kindness in his tone only made Obi-Wan cry harder as Qui-Gon continued spanking just as hard as before. “But mind your emotions, and let your better judgment have a word before you go rushing off. And if you are standing in the same room as me and do not tell me if you think you ought to go off on your own somewhere, I will consider that an attempt at deception, if not an outright lie. Do you understand me, Padawan?”
“Yes,” Obi-Wan sobbed. “Yes, Master, I’m sorry.”
“Thank you, Padawan,” Qui-Gon said. The spanking paused for a moment, and Obi-Wan almost moved to get up, but Qui-Gon kept his arm wrapped around Obi-Wan’s waist. “We are almost through, child.”
He lifted the hairbrush.
A moment later, he brought it down on Obi-Wan’s already sore, well-punished backside with a dreadful crack.
“What are you learning from this spanking, Obi-Wan?” Qui-Gon asked, bringing the hairbrush down a second time, and then a third, the swats now too rapid to count.
He was learning that he should throw Qui-Gon’s hairbrush in a trash compactor, and then launch the trash out past the outer rim into the dark void of space. But that seemed like an unwise thing to tell his master, so he sobbed—
“I will listen to you, Master.”
“And?” Qui-Gon prompted him with a few swats directed at the curve of his bottom where he would feel it every time he sat down.
“I will be mindful of my pride,” Obi-Wan nearly wailed, tears streaming down his cheeks and soaking the pillow he was clinging to. “I won’t—ow—take unnecessary risks.”
Qui-Gon continued spanking, the lecture finally done, so Obi-Wan took the moment to blurt out apology after apology.
“I’m sorry—” Obi-Wan managed. “I’m sorry for ruining the mission. I’m sorry for—”
The spanking stopped, and there was a small clunk of the hairbrush being set down on the nearby table, and then Qui-Gon was rubbing his back soothingly.
“Oh, dear child,” Qui-Gon said kindly. “You did not ruin the mission. No mission in the history of the Jedi has ever gone off without a few mishaps. It is the nature of our work, my dear one.”
Obi-Wan’s shoulders were shaking. “Are you going to send me back to Coruscant?” he asked through his tears.
Qui-Gon pulled up Obi-Wan’s clothes and lifted him, setting him down on his lap. He gave Obi-Wan a gentle smile, though it was tinted with a bit of sadness. “Do you think I would want to be rid of you so easily, little one?” he asked.
Obi-Wan sniffled and looked down at his hands. “I wanted to prove myself to you, Master,” he said. “But instead I proved that I wasn’t ready for a mission.”
Qui-Gon chuckled. “No, dear boy,” he said. “That is not at all what you proved.” He pulled Obi-Wan in closer so that Obi-Wan could lean on him.
“Master?” Obi-Wan sniffled.
“Tonight,” Qui-Gon said firmly. “You showed me that you have, as I knew, a heart full of compassion, and that your first instinct is always to help those around you.”
“But I was wrong, Master,” Obi-Wan said.
“Hush, and let me finish,” Qui-Gon said. “You also showed me that you have much to learn about missions and about minding your emotions. Do you know what that makes you, Obi-Wan?”
A failure, Obi-Wan wanted to say. But instead he shook his head no at Qui-Gon’s question.
“It makes you a padawan learner,” Qui-Gon said quietly. “No more and no less, Obi-Wan. I will not judge you for needing help, or guidance, or discipline. I will never judge you for that. It is why I am here, little one.”
Obi-Wan found his shoulders relaxing a little at his master’s words, and at the soothing rumble of his master’s voice. “I was wrong tonight, though,” he said. “I’m sorry. I really thought the boy was suffering. I thought I sensed—” he stopped, shaking his head.
Qui-Gon sighed. “I think you did sense the boy’s pain, dear one,” he said. “Do you think he would have tried to lure you to the scavengers if his life were easy, or if he had everything he needed, or if he knew where his next meal would come from? Your sense of his suffering was not wrong, Obi-Wan, nor your compassion or desire to help.” He tugged gently on Obi-Wan’s padawan braid. “But next time you will perhaps remember to consult me, yes?”
Obi-Wan nodded, a little shamefacedly. “Yes, Master,” he said fervently.
“Alright.” Qui-Gon stood him on his feet. “I think it’s time for you to get some rest. We have a long day tomorrow helping at the hospital, and I would like to meditate with you tomorrow morning before we begin. I think that would help us both center the needs of the people we are serving and not our own emotions, padawan.”
Obi-Wan nodded, leaning against his master a moment longer. “Yes, Master,” he said. “I promise I’ll do better.”
He also promised himself, then and there, that he would never do anything to earn a dose of the hairbrush again.
#
As Obi-Wan finished his story, Anakin wrinkled his nose. “Did you tell me that story as a lesson?” he asked. “It was very...moral. I think I'd rather have the story about the fireworks. Or the speeder. Or the blizzard.”
Obi-Wan rolled his eyes. “No, Anakin, I did not, and no, Anakin, I will not. I did make myself a promise to never encounter that blasted hairbrush again, though.”
Quinlan snorted with laughter. “How did that promise work out for you, old friend?” Quin asked him.
Obi-Wan reached over Anakin and shoved his friend’s shoulder playfully. “Well, I was friends with you,” he said. “So not well, obviously.”
Anakin laughed. “Well, I am going to be smarter than both of you,” he said. “Master Qui-Gon won’t have to use the hairbrush on me. Well, not anymore.”
The attendant on the practice hangar was waving them forward, and Obi-Wan stood, offering the other two his hands.
“Oh, he thinks he’s going to be less of a troublemaker,” Quinlan said, taking Obi-Wan’s assistance.
Anakin made a face at them both as he jumped to his feet and nearly bounced towards the waiting speeder. “No,” he said. “I’m going to be a better troublemaker. Which means I just won’t get caught.”
“Naughty boy,” Obi-Wan said, shaking his head fondly. He looked over at Quinlan, whose eyes were bright with their shared memories. “Do you think that plan will go about as well for him as it ever did for us?”
Quinlan laughed, slinging an arm over Obi-Wan’s shoulders. “Oh, I’m certain of it,” he said. “Do you remember the night we appeared in front of our masters covered in blood and dust from outrunning those security droids, and when they asked where we had been? You said meditating.”
“And you don’t think Anakin can do better than that?” Obi-Wan asked, laughing as they followed the younger boy through the hangar. “That was probably the worst excuse in the galaxy.”
“I think your master is not an easy man to fool,” Quinlan said, jabbing a finger playfully against Obi-Wan’s ribs. “And that blasted hairbrush is nearly impossible to avoid.”