Chapter Text
Obi-Wan's days have a routine.
She usually wakes a little after dawn, unless it is the weekend, though even then, she rarely wakes too long after. She goes through her morning ablutions: brushing her hair, brushing her teeth, washing her face, and putting on sunscreen—her fair skin is such that sunscreen is an absolute must if she does not want to be dealing with a gross, peeling face—and gets dressed in her tunics and trousers. She eats a hot breakfast—cold breakfasts hurt her stomach, especially as she got older—and then heads to the research facility where the greenhouses are.
There are all sorts of simulations to be performed for both crop breeds and the tech used to grow them, especially as planetary climates change and dietary needs shift, so the morning usually passes with testing models for crops, checking on the status of ongoing experiments, and jotting down notes for future directions. Once a week at mid-morning, before lunch, she leads a department meeting for a status update. The projects that are completed, or due to be complete that week, can be submitted to Corps members who are scheduled to head out to introduce the new crops or technology, sometimes both. New proposals are introduced at these meetings, and after discussion, are approved or discarded. Usually, these meetings take about an hour, maybe an hour and a half, after which everyone adjourns for about a three-hour long lunch, to fit in a nap in between, as most farmers generally would.
Obi-Wan usually goes home for this. She makes a hot lunch, again to help with her stomach, and then takes a nap. She sometimes reads a little, before going back to work to either implement the new proposals or continue old ones, delegating the tasks to the more junior members as needed. By late-afternoon, the day is done, and everyone goes out for dinner and drinks to unwind. It is usually late evening by the time she comes home, and she often is too tired to do much else besides go to bed, since the next day, she will still wake a little after dawn, repeating the cycle anew.
It is not a bad life, as far as living goes. Her hours are regular, and she has a lot of time for herself, especially if she chooses not to join her colleagues for drinks. She is well-fed and well-clothed, and she has a nice, spacious condominium near her place of work with a beautiful view of a mountain and lake. On the weekends, there are concerts and performances, the occasional festival held by the locals, and she can go hiking in the mountains or swimming in the lake. Her quality of life is far better than many in the galaxy, and Obi-Wan knows.
Those days at the temple feel like a far-off memory from another lifetime, something that had happened to someone else. Their teachings too, of serenity and peace, and that desperation to always improve, to achieve those high aspirations, also seem dreamlike. They have little to do with her life now, where being mundane is perfectly alright. AgriCorps is the largest branch of the Jedi Service Corps; unless a failed Initiate showed talent in something pertaining to the other branches, they generally get assigned here. Everyone in AgriCorps is like her, and likes her fine the way she is, whatever she may be able to contribute. They help millions, billions across the galaxy, as they deal with famines and plagues, deforestations and climate change, overpopulation and malnutrition. There is little that is glorious about their work, but it is meaningful, and Obi-Wan is…content. She has the Force, she has her monthly stipends, her nice condo with the good view of the lake. She has friends who know what it is to let go of childish dreams to pursue a quiet life. She can have, and own, whatever she likes: a new speeder, a new headset, the latest companion droid.
After all, Obi-Wan is not a Jedi, and that is good, in many ways. She has come to terms with that. She has had twenty-three years to do so.
Jinn and Skywalker arrive on-planet on a clear, winter morning.
Obi-Wan, naturally, had no idea that this was in the works. She nearly stumbles right on top of them when they arrive at the facility, after she adjourned the department meeting and is on her way out. She sees Jinn first, in the lobby with his now grayer hair draping past his still-broad shoulders, his Force signature calm but disapproving as he peers down at a Jedi padawan by his side.
Ten years ago, Jinn had rescued a slave child from Tatooine said to have the highest midichlorian count ever measured in the history of the Order. Said child was nine years old and angry, everyone had said, but the boy wanted to be a Jedi, and Jinn was convinced the Force willed the same. It was a huge scandal and the talk of the AgriCorps service for months. Jinn did not exactly defy Council orders when he took this Anakin Skywalker as his padawan, but everyone knew that even if the Council ultimately gave their approval, it was with great reluctance and skepticism.
Obi-Wan cannot deny that hearing the news hurt on a deep level, and her closest friends at the facility were very careful around her for a while. Still, she thinks to herself about her own stint as a slave, and how hard it must have been for this child to have grown up his whole life as one. There is no removing the hurt, or even envy, but she cannot hate him for having what she was not good enough to earn. After all, at least he had a pretty good reason to be angry.
Still, not hating does not mean she is ready to meet him face to face, now or ever.
She means to pass right by them and go home to settle her grievances by herself, but just when she thinks she is in the clear, she hears a "Hey! Excuse me?"
She is the only one in the lobby at this point, but even so, Obi-Wan considers pretending not to hear. Ingrained manners have her halting her footsteps, however, and she turns reluctantly to find this Anakin Skywalker looking directly at her.
He is a handsome young man—the thought strikes Obi-Wan a little like a stun blast, though with it does not come the flood of want or lust like most women would probably feel, but a stomach curdling sort of misery. He is tall and lithe, with that youthful beauty that young human males often have at his age. His hair is dark gold and his eyes very blue; his features are well sculpted on his face, but the cheeks and jaw still carry that softness of childhood, not quite shed yet. He is a stunning specimen already, and will be more so when he grows into his body. No wonder Qui-Gon Jinn insisted on training him. Anakin Skywalker looked like the Chosen One, and indeed, if Obi-Wan were the Force and she were to fashion a Chosen One, she would ensure that he looked the part, all bright and shining and resplendent. It feels like she is staring at the exact image of everything she is not: someone strong and good and beautiful, all the qualities consistent and well-fit together to create exactly what the Jedi Order wants.
"Hi!" the padawan trots up to her. "Sorry, um, I—my name's Anakin. Anakin Skywalker? My master, Qui-Gon Jinn, and I, we're trying to find the Director's office. Would you mind showing us where it is?"
Obi-Wan blinks, confused because there are easier ways to find the office than to accost a worker here. There are signs, and the Jedi should be able to call the Director directly, if they were expected. But…maybe their comms are not working?
She knows better than to question the Jedi. "Oh. Sure. I can take you there."
When she goes back to the corridor from whence she came, she can feel Qui-Gon gaze upon her. He may or may not recognize her; Obi-Wan doubts he remembers her, even if their brief time together had been inflammatory and…memorable. Even so, she avoids looking at the Jedi Master as she leads the pair to the elevators in the middle of the hallway.
"It's lunchtime, isn't it?" Skywalker asks conversationally as he sidles up next to her. Obi-Wan finds this a little odd; she remembers padawans being required to walk behind their masters? But maybe she remembered wrong, or perhaps the Order has changed this custom? "It seems like everyone's left. Were you going to lunch as well?"
"…It is lunchtime, yes," Obi-Wan replies.
"Ah. Sorry, we're keeping you from your lunch," says the youth.
"…It's no trouble."
The elevator arrives then. Obi-Wan makes sure to keep her eyes focused entirely on the buttons as the two Jedi join her. She avoids looking at them when the door closes and they are lifted up.
"Big place," Skywalker murmurs. "Eighteen floors. That's pretty tall, and this building's very broad."
"…Coruscant has taller buildings, I'm sure."
"Yes, it does!" the padawan agrees. "But, few places are like Coruscant. I feel like most places that don't have so many buildings often don't build them so tall."
"…That's…true."
"Were you from Coruscant? Your accent sounds Coruscanti."
The elevator dings as it reaches the Director's floor. Obi-Wan sidesteps the question by pretending her attention is now back to leading them to the office. They step out into a luxuriously carpeted area, where there are dozens of potted plants decorating the lounge immediately in front of the elevators. Usually there are people here, but this is lunchtime, as Skywalker has pointed out, so the place is empty. The Director, however, does seem to be in the office still, so Obi-Wan moves ahead of the guests to go inside.
The receptionist, a young zabrak female, is also still in. She blinks her big eyes up at Obi-Wan.
"Oh," says she, "Master Jinn and Padawan Skywalker?"
"Greetings," Jinn strides forward and bows. Skywalker hurriedly does the same from next to Obi-Wan.
"The Director will be with you shortly," says the zabrak, and gestures at the chairs. "Please have a seat, or you can wait outside if that's more comfortable; you're the only ones he's expecting after all."
"We'll wait here."
Obi-Wan steps to the side. "Masters," she says, even though Skywalker is clearly still a padawan, but that is how everyone who is not actually a member of the Order refers to anyone who is. "Serti here will take care of you."
"You have our thanks," Jinn tells her. It is the first time he has spoken to her since their parting twenty-three years ago.
"Yeah, thanks!" Skywalker says brightly. "Hey, wait! What's your name?"
Thankfully, the door next to the receptionist opens, and the Director steps out. He is a human male in his fifties, and has been in AgriCorps almost all his life, as all members are, and Director for the last five years, after the last one retired. "Master Jinn! Master Skywalker! Welcome!"
Obi-Wan ducks out before anyone can tell her to wait.
She goes home and cries. Actually, she cries on her way home as well, but she really cries when she gets home. It is embarrassing, really, but it is not like there is anyone to see, and anyway, she is not a Jedi. She does not have to release it all into the Force, especially if it does not actually work. She can cry if she wants.
Three hours later, she has not eaten, she has not napped, and her eyelids are still a bit swollen and red, so she comms the lab to tell them that she is not feeling well and will not be returning to work today. Obi-Wan rarely takes off like this, and ever since her promotion, she has actually been able to set her own hours, so she gets a sympathetic condolence and reassurances that all will be well in her absence this afternoon. That is another perk of not being a Jedi, Obi-Wan decides. She can do things like this, and her days are flexible. If she needs it, she can take a mental health day, and not have to tough it out, the way a Jedi would be expected to.
With the afternoon free, Obi-Wan takes that long-delayed nap. She wakes up feeling a little better. By this time, she thinks, the Jedi have probably left the facility. Honestly, they probably left before she even had to go back in, and she feels a little silly for overreacting like this.
Still, she had not wanted to explain why her face looked so bad, so it is just as well. And now, with her afternoon free, she can do whatever she wanted. It is good, to do something fun and nice when a day turns sour, like this one did.
She eats a hot lunch, this time ordering out, because she has the time now to wait for someone else to prepare the meal. Spicy and sour, savory and sweet, all the flavors so they explode in her mouth, in a fragrant broth with juicy meats and crunchy greens. Fried tubers dipped in cheese sauce seasoned with peppers and crushed seeds. A cup of rich, hot cocoa topped with whipped cream and glittering sugar sprinkles, because why not?
She goes out to the lake with her ice skates to work off all the calories. The lake has frozen over, and the sun is still very bright in the early afternoon. Surrounding the lake are an evergreen species of tree, which stand tall in solemn vigil in sweeping swathes under the blue, cloudless sky. In the distance, the mountain looms, noble and steadfast, like a guardian. The ice surface is rough, gray blurring into white blurring into gray again, but Obi-Wan has good enough reflexes that she navigates this without trouble. She practices some spins. She tries to turn the other way too, like she always does, and this usually ends in disaster, like it does this time. Jumps are out, though. Maybe she can practice those in an indoor skating rink, but not one like this, where she might land on a ridge of a ripple that froze as it was forming.
After about an hour, Obi-Wan feels good enough to stop. Being alone, she generally does not want to skate until she is too tired, or else she might end up injured in the middle of the lake with no way back, Force or not. There are neighbors, of course, but it is always a bit embarrassing, and in any case, Obi-Wan is not so young anymore. Falls hurt, and often not just for the moments immediately after, either.
When she returns to her condo, she finds several messages on her comm from coworkers checking in on her. Obi-Wan calls them back and tells them she is feeling better, and that she will report to work the next day.
She watches some holodramas before going to bed. In the wintertime, she does not have to get up as early as in the summer, but she should head in earlier tomorrow to make up somewhat for missing this afternoon, and anyway, Obi-Wan is tired.
She is not a Jedi. She can hit the hay early, if she wants.
The next morning, Obi-Wan wakes a couple of hours before the crack of dawn, feeling quite refreshed and even a little sore from the ice-skating. Aging really is something, she muses, and one's thirties is really different from one's twenties, which is still different from one's teens. She cannot say she likes it, that even though she is still considered in the earlier third of her life, she is already losing those aspects of youth that define one's prime. But, such is life in general: nothing truly stays.
She eats a hot breakfast, one she cooks: egg fried until both sides are crispy golden, put on toast and seasoned with salt and pepper. Then, just to be contrary, she makes her own cup of hot cocoa for the morning. This one is not as rich as the one she ordered, and she has no glitter sprinkles, but she does have whipped cream, and the indulgence fills her with a simple kind of pleasure. Who is going to tell her she should not drink hot cocoa in the morning? She is pretty sure that is not a hard rule.
She somewhat regrets that hot cocoa later, when she arrives at work with a little bit of a stomachache—but again, worth it, and anyway, it is not too bad, just the result of a little more sugar and fat than she is used to.
She enters the building and its blast of warm heat, then goes up the elevator to her floor. She has a big office of her own, to drop her belongings, but she has to go through the laboratory to reach it. There are stands for dialysis and shakers to grow cultures, the machines humming and creaking in the background. The din is soothing in its familiarity. She takes off her coat before even getting to the front of her office door, and is holding it in one arm while reaching for the locking mechanism with her other hand when she hears the Director call her name.
"Obi-Wan!" he calls out. "You're here! Great!"
Obi-Wan turns with a smile on her face. "Director. Is—"
"I saw you met Master Jinn and Master Skywalker yesterday?" The Director gestures to the two Jedi. "This is Obi-Wan Kenobi; she's the primary investigator for Averneum, and one of our finest in the Corps, overall—Obi-Wan, guess what: your Averneum Project got the approval for distribution! That's what the Jedi are here for! Isn't that great?"
Obi-Wan stares at the Director, then at the Jedi, then back at the Director. She has no idea what her face is doing. "Oh. Um. That's good news."
"Masters Jedi," the Director bows to Jinn and Skywalker, "I leave you in her capable hands. Obi-Wan, congratulations!"
"Thank you, Director," Jinn bows in turn.
Skywalker copies the gesture, before turning to Obi-Wan with a grin as the Director leaves. "Hello again! Obi-Wan, is it? May we call you Obi-Wan?"