Chapter Text
Qui-Gon Jinn was dead and it soured Quinlan’s mouth. The master was killed days after spotting him amongst the crowd of Tatooine where he’d done his damn best to ensure they wouldn’t interact with one another.
‘Not here, not now,’ he’d thought and turned his face into his chest. ‘Don’t spot me.’
The silent plea was granted. The lank of Qui-Gon Jinn disappeared into the scenery, tan like the rest of the planet.
It was supposed to be something he could discuss later with Obi-Wan. The conversation points were already planned. Why were you two on Tatooine? I bet he left you again, didn’t he? Was this mission the one where he finally decided it was time to lose this? His thumb would follow the ridges of the padawan braid, and Obi-Wan’s cloudy blue eyes would follow him.
Instead, he sat alone on a sparsely filled passenger shuttle, the blue of the comm the brightest light in the bay. Upon request, Aayla had broken away to give them a moment of privacy and was leaning against the bay wall, scanning the sparsely filled ship.
A curious human a seat over kept glancing at the figure of Tholme while snacking on a nerf strip. Far too entertained by terminology he had no comprehension on, he watched on, oblivious to the sorrow Quinlan tried to control within himself.
“I thought it best to give you forewarning,” Tholme said softly. Whether his delicacy was given for Quinlan’s own training under Qui-Gon, or his friendship with his padawan, he didn’t know.
Because he was a Jedi first of all, he asked, “What of those who killed him?” instead of what of his orphaned padawan.
“Killed by Obi-Wan. The Council has deemed it his trial and has given him his knighthood,” the crackling blue hologram explained.
A knighthood granted in the cruellest way possible. The braid never to be cut by the one who curated its growth. There was no joy when a master didn’t see their padawan through to knighthood. It was only a reminder of who was missing.
Quinlan’s empathy was a desperate thing, craving to place a hand on his friend’s arm and pull his face into his shoulder.
He reclined into his seat, mourning the peaceful reprieve he’d been anticipating at the temple. The human, ignorant to the importance of what he was eavesdropping, none the less comprehended the depth and looked away to a pair of murachauns smoking over a game of desert draw.
“There’s a few other points-”
“Don’t tell me. I’ll hear it from Obi-Wan.”
A ripple distorted his master, then the small figure bowed.
All he did when he returned was shower and change his robes. A few hours of rough sleep on the transport had been enough, and he’d decided to eat when he’d coax Obi-Wan into a meal with him.
“I’m in the west gardens. The third flower field from the left entrance,” Obi-Wan had informed over his comm. “Quin, get some rest. We don’t have to speak yet.”
Qui-Gon loved being in the garden, cultivating it without using the Force and relying on the nutrient rich soil and filtered sunlight. There was Obi-Wan, six days after the death of his master, already taking up his hobbies out of responsibility.
“I’m coming down,” was all he said. “I’ll help you, then we’re eating.”
The comm was silent, then eventually a dry, “Okay,” came through.
It was cool in the Temple this time of year. The Coruscant weather system was rigged towards blowing wind through the high city buildings which lead to the entrances. Knights and padawans strolled the halls wearing their cloaks with the breeze playing with the hems. The species with hair were constantly having to pat it back into place after it was ruffled.
Kneeling in a field of freshly tilled soil were a handful of Jedi. Each to a section with a basket next to them. Obi-Wan was one of them. The group effort of planting flower bulbs had commenced. Beyond this patch, there were a myriad of others volunteering to the task in the surrounding fields.
Now with death looming over them, Obi-Wan must find it in him to give life. He must encourage the cold soil to support the life he was trusting it with. He, and all Jedi, must tend to this nursery, so they would all have something beautiful to look forward to.
His friend’s pale hands slipped into the soft dirt, holding it open like a door so the youngling next to him could tip in fertiliser and place a bulb inside the hole. In his gentle manner, he folded the dirt back over and patted it down. Then, the two of them shuffled down to restart the patient cycle.
The closer Quinlan advanced, the more clearly he saw the paleness of his cheeks and the darkness under his eyes. It shouldn’t be seen on someone freshly-knighted. He should be delirious with victory, the ray of light he always was beaming for all to see, not a man going through the motions with the weight on his master’s death shackling him.
He approached, carefully between the freshly turned rows. A fragment of the smile he’d been looking forward to greeted him. The youngling, perplexed at why they stopped, followed his elder’s line of sight to Quinlan and stared at him in curiosity that usually wasn’t displayed so openly within the temple.
“Quinlan, it’s always good to see you,” he said tightly. Turning to the youngling, he said, “Anakin, this is Jedi Sentinel Quinlan Vos. He’s an old friend of mine.”
“Nice to meet you, Anakin,” he greeted with a bow and crouched down in front of the two of them.
The boy mimicked the greeting awkwardly, almost as though he was inexperienced with the movement.
“Quinlan, this is Anakin Skywalker. My padawan learner.”
The sentence hung in the air between them.
He made no effort to reply. Too many questions and theories were frantic to be the first thing to come out. There were layers he was rapidly trying to comprehend, trying to find reason in. A dozen possibilities leapt in his mind and were immediately dashed away.
“Can we keep going?” Anakin asked with an attitude no padawan should have.
Obi-Wan shuffled over slightly and sunk his hands into the soil. “Qui-Gon wanted to take him as a padawan. Now that he has passed, I will fulfil his final wish.”
The pieces slotted together perfectly. Of course he took on the boy because Qui-Gon wanted to cast Obi-Wan aside for a better option. Of course Obi-Wan believed his master, that he was inferior to the child Qui-Gon had gifted all of his graces before dying.
It was only the years of training that stopped the surge of rage. How he wanted to curse the name of Qui-Gon Jinn for putting this burden on his padawan. For choosing a new padawan so easily after the turmoil he’d put his last one through. For dying before he could see his best student to knighthood.
The turning of soil was all that was heard for several seconds. His anger and regret were taken by the Force. Where there was death, there was also new life.
The next time Obi-Wan made to dig into the soil, his hand was in Quinlan’s own. The back of his fingers were in his palm, wet earth dirtying his hand. Absentmindedly, still in his trance of grief, Obi-Wan curled his hand against Quinlan’s own until they slotted perfectly together. His eyes closed momentarily and he leaned forward, days of grief and anxiety ready to consume him. A reflection of a time in cave, where they worked together to save a life. Now together, they would grow life.
In an instant he’d caught himself and became the pillar of strength the boy would need. He guided Quinlan to the soil and with four hands they pulled open a hole. Both so close to each other, he couldn’t resist leaning forward slightly so his forehead brushed Obi-Wan temple. Obi-Wan sighed and turned into it slightly, brushing his lips across Quinlan’s cheeks.
They would finish here and then recover.