Work Text:
It’s not a difficult mission, but it involves a lot of sneaking around in unsavory places and scuffling with unsavory people and by the end of it, Obi-Wan is completely exhausted. His robes are smudged with soot and grime that he knows will take forever to get out. He hasn’t had the time to look at himself in a mirror between running around, but he would bet a fair credit that his face isn’t much better.
It’s easy to lose himself in the rhythm of the chase, to quiet his mind as his feet carry him wherever the Force wills. But whispers have begun to grow at the edges of his mind that long mournfully for sleep and warmth and a good meal.
Obi-Wan supposes it’s to be expected. This is his third mission in the last two weeks, all of which have taken multiple days away from the Temple.
Carefully, Obi-Wan tucks away thoughts of home and quiets the rising voice of exhaustion that rumbles through his bones.
By the time he gets around to tying up loose ends, it’s evening and Obi-Wan is entirely run-down. He pulls his fingers through his hair, gently separating the knot they run into, and takes care not to sigh.
Currently, Obi-Wan sits at the table of a human women called Bram, a merchant from Thal running a stall in the lower levels of Coruscant. She had been the one to inform him of the trouble making group calling themselves “White Moon”, and she has blessedly provided him with a hot cup of tea.
It’s an earthy blend he’s never had before, and he considers asking where she got it.
“I don’t know how I could ever thank you enough,” Bram says.
“Please,” Obi-Wan replies, considerably happier after a long sip of tea, “there’s no need at all. It was my pleasure to help.”
Bram has a kindly look about her, tired around the eyes and the beginnings of grey in her hair. Her home is cozy, in a cluttered, well-used kind of way, with shelves overflowing with trinkets, chairs and tables draped with half-finished knitted projects, and the doorway swamped with coats and shoes. Three children play on the floor around her, none look to be more than a couple years older than Anakin.
Obi-Wan watches them play and thinks of his padawan, wonders if he’s sleeping already.
Not likely. Plo Koon always lets him stay up late and ruins all the progress Obi-Wan has made in fixing his sleep schedule.
His attention is brought back to Bram when she tells him she thinks White Moon wasn’t working alone. It’s a concerning possibility, and Obi-Wan feels inclined to agree with her suspicions.
They had only been an amateur group of trouble makers and drug dealers, but the damage they’d been able to do in a relatively short stint is nothing to sneeze at. For the life of him, Obi-Wan can see no way they could have acquired such high quality product on their own so early in their game. Their power and influence had been disproportionate to their skills, which points to outside help.
Obi-Wan frowns and does his best to ward off an oncoming headache. If what Bram says is true, it might point to evidence of a larger crime syndicate brewing out of sight, which means a lot more paperwork and a lot less free time for him.
With a smile, Obi-Wan thanks Bram for her help and her tea, and stands. Valiantly, he fends off her offers of payment as he sets his cup on the counter. He tells her the tea was payment enough. He thinks he does a rather good job of dodging the bag she keeps trying to shove into his arms as he inches his way towards the door. She doesn't look impressed.
It’s getting late, though there is no sun or sky on the lower levels by which to tell, and Bram’s children have begun to nod off as they play.
“Bedtime, darlings, time to brush teeth” she calls, and the children dart over to her and wrap their little arms around her middle in a brief and practiced embrace. Bram smiles and hugs them back, dropping a kiss on each of their heads as they exchange “goodnight”s and “I love you”s before she sends them off to sleep.
The sight pulls at something buried in Obi-Wan’s chest.
It takes effort not to let his thoughts spiral into his worries over Anakin, who, although bright as can be, has become more subdued as time passes. Anakin, who doesn’t trust a soul at the Temple and who is struggling stubbornly alone with his schoolwork, despite Obi-Wan’s attempts to help. He worries that Anakin’s Force signature is gradually becoming heavy and anxious and verging on volatile.
He worries that he doesn’t know how to help, because Anakin is nothing like he was at that age, and this had not been a part of his training.
(Taking on a padawan hadn’t been in his training at all, as a matter of fact, and Obi-Wan frequently suffers from bouts of stress over that fact that he has no idea what he’s doing.)
“You’re very affectionate with them,” Obi-Wan observes, before realizing how incredibly rude it is to comment on someone else’s parenting. Force, he must be exhausted. He begins to apologize, but Bram only laughs.
“Yes, well, hugs are good for them,” she says, dusting her hands off on her pants then motioning for him to stay put while she rifles through a cupboard.
“Are they?” Obi-Wan asks with curiosity.
“Oh, yes.” From her tone, Obi-Wan suspects this is something about which Bram feels strongly, “It’s important to show your children they are loved. Hugs build trust, and make children feel safe and secure with their guardians. In fact, children should ideally receive eight hugs a day-”
Bram continues on about the benefits of hugs until his head is spinning. She tells Obi-Wan about how they improve self-esteem and balance emotions and even contribute to physical growth. The information feels like a shock to his system, the kind of sudden swirling burn that always comes when Obi-Wan makes mistakes or oversteps.
Absolutely floored, Obi-Wan sits back down and places his elbows on the table in front of him and laces his fingers together, “I have a young one of my own, actually,” he says seriously, voice low and a touch conspiratorial.
“Is that so?” Bram replies as she sits down opposite him and mirrors his posture, equally somber.
“Yes, it is,” Obi-Wan hums, brows furrowed deeply, “I wonder if I might ask you some questions.”
—
Tomorrow Obi-Wan will have to present his report to the Council, including a suggestion to look into this possibility of a new crime syndicate. It will take at least several hours to write it out, but Obi-Wan’s mind is hardly on the meeting tomorrow or gangs on other planets.
Newfound knowledge of another type cycles through his mind on repeat until it works him into a knot of worry.
Bram had given him her comm frequency before he left, telling him that he is welcome to contact her if he ever needs help with his little one. Their discussion had been terribly illuminating, and Obi-Wan feels infinitely better having someone to ask these sorts of questions.
More than once, Obi-Wan has observed his padawan hesitate and pull back from himself. For all that a louder, more adventurous side is making itself known in Anakin, he is still unwilling to come completely out of his shell. Obi-Wan senses much fear in him; of his new surroundings, of the order, and of failing.
He worries. He doesn’t think padawans should feel this way.
A terrible thought strikes Obi-Wan that Anakin might not feel safe in the temple, despite having been assured there is nowhere safer. That can only mean Obi-Wan is doing something wrong.
He feels queazy at the possibility of having failed so completely at what seems to be an integral part of raising a child. He’d had no idea that something like hugs were so important.
When he makes it to Plo Koon’s door, his friend tells him Anakin is already back at their apartment, supposedly because he was “tired” and “wanted to sleep”. Obi-Wan doesn’t believe it for a second.
He must not be doing a very good job of hiding his internal crisis, because the other Jedi ushers him in quickly with a harried “what’s happened this time?”
Plo settles Obi-Wan on the old red couch in the living room that is swathed in blankets and throw pillows. It’s only after a few minutes of staring intensely at the woven rug under the low table that Plo Koon returns to press a mug of fragrant tea into his hands.
“You look terrible, Obi-Wan,” Plo says bluntly, sitting down in the arm chair across from him, a mug of caf in hand that he won’t be able to drink until Obi-Wan leaves and he can retreat to his kel-dor friendly chamber. “Rough mission?”
“I’m worried Anakin thinks my care for him is conditional,” Obi-Wan says carefully, not bothering to ease into the conversation, “I’m afraid that he feels inadequate and alone, and that I have done nothing to make him feel otherwise.”
“Why do you think that?”
That question is so loaded and complicated that it short circuits Obi-Wan for a good while. With a frustrated sigh, all he can say is, “Just… something I heard.”
Plo hums thoughtfully and swirls his mug before suggesting lightly, “Well, have you tried telling him you care about him?”
Not explicitly, no.
“Well, there’s a start.”
Obi-Wan glares and grumbles under his breath then thinks back to what Bram had said. “Do you hug your Padawans, Plo?”
Although he doesn’t have one currently, Plo Koon has had two so far, to his knowledge, and both have turned out to be wonderful Jedi. It’s only to be expected having grown up under Plo’s steady tutelage.
If Plo thinks the question is strange, he doesn’t show it. “On occasion, when they needed it,” he says simply.
“And it’s good for them? I heard it’s good for them.”
Plo answers thoughtfully, “I believe so. We are effectively parents to our Padawans. It’s our duty to raise them to the best of our abilities, and they require affection to grow up healthy.”
“Is that so…” Obi-Wan muses and sips his tea contemplatively.
Plo Koon goes still and silent and Obi-Wan can feel his Force signature snag on the urge to say something. He knows immediately that something is a comment on Qui-Gon’s child rearing skills. They’ve been down this road many times before. Obi-Wan gives him a stern look and Plo makes a noise that is still, somehow, insulting.
“Yes,” Plo snarks in his inflectionless way, incapable of restraining himself, “shockingly, it is alright to show children affection-”
“Plo.”
“-It’s almost like children benefit from care and attention.”
“I take issue with your tone,” Obi-Wan sniffs haughtily.
“And I take issue with your master.”
“Really, Plo?” Obi-Wan asks flatly, “I had no idea.”
“Yes, actually. I happen to think master Qui-Gon was a kri-”
“You have absolutely no respect for the dead.”
“Yes, I do,” Plo places a hand on his chest, “just not that one.”
“You’re insufferable.”
“Just go hug your padawan, Kenobi.”
—
Plo Koon is annoying, but he’s not wrong.
Anakin is more emotionally volatile than any child his age should be. He is unbalanced in the force and ends up swinging wildly from extreme to extreme. That it took Obi-Wan this long to realize it’s likely because Anakin doesn’t feel secure or safe is an embarrassment. Any pendulum without a support is bound to swing.
Obi-Wan has been a poor master to have let this continue as long as he has under the pretense of propriety.
He has always had something of a habit of holding others at arms length. Certainly, he had never received anything like hugs from his own master, who stressed the importance of strength of self and strongly discouraged attachment.
(The Jedi Temple’s definition of attachment and its supposed dangers are things that have weighed darkly on Obi-Wan’s mind for a long time. There are quite a lot of things Obi-Wan questions about the Order and the codes, actually. He doesn’t think he’s quite ready to tackle them yet.)
As it is, Obi-Wan is not Qui-Gon Jinn, no matter how much the Council wishes he were (and, oh, that pinches), and Anakin is not Obi-Wan.
Obi-Wan is not the best at displaying his affections.
But he thinks it’s nothing practice won’t fix.
So Obi-Wan gathers his courage until determination flows like fire through his veins. He’s going to make sure Anakin knows he’s cared for and important and safe. Because he does. He cares.
Probably far more than the code calls for, but Obi-Wan doesn’t have it in himself to regret the depth of this attachment.
When Obi-Wan tugs open the door and steps inside, he is entirely unsurprised to see Anakin sitting before the low table in the living room wearing his sleep clothes, but very much not in bed. He has a pile of metal bits in front of him, along with a multi tool and a bunch of wires. Anakin looks up at the hiss of the door and greets Obi-Wan with a broad smile.
“You’re up late, padawan,” Obi-Wan smiles, feeling a rush of fondness erupt in his chest.
Anakin schools his features into something haughty and responds, “You’re back late,” he says, Force signature buzzing in suppressed excitement, “You took longer than usual, master, I thought it was supposed to be an easy mission.”
He had lied about that. He probably shouldn’t have, but that’s not important at the moment, he’s on another mission now. He sets his bag down by the door and continues his stride until he’s right in front of Anakin. He drops to one knee to make them level.
Obi-Wan gathers his padawan into his arms and holds him close.
Anakin tenses in a moment of confusion before he melts into the embrace and works his fingers tightly into the rough fabric of Obi-Wan’s robes. His force signature is colored with giddiness and a healthy amount of surprise.
They stay like that for some time. The hug is easy and warm and Obi-Wan thinks that it’s rather nice, actually. It’s certainly not as hard as he’d thought it would be. Time pauses as the waters of the Force settle around them into something glowing and content, and he feels weeks of stress bleed away naturally into the Force.
Through their bond, Obi-Wan can feel Anakin’s signature humming in a heavy jumble of complicated, messy feelings that he thinks generally equate to a tentative happyrelievednice. When he finally pulls away, Anakin is reluctant to let go.
That hadn’t been so bad, really.
Obi-Wan gives Anakin a squeeze on the shoulder before he stands and walks back to the kitchen. “Sorry I took so long,” he says, “I had some things to take care of.”
Anakin, bewildered still, but not unhappy, looks back to his scrap pile, “It’s fine…” he says, fiddling with something between his fingers.
The response is endlessly entertaining to Obi-Wan, who will never miss an opportunity to fluster his padawan. “Why?” He asks, raising an eyebrow with an amused smirk, “Did my padawan miss me while I was gone?”
He chuckles as Anakin squawks his denial and raves to preserve his dignity, all with a healthy pink to his cheeks than Obi-Wan is kind enough not to mention. “Have you eaten?”
“No,” Anakin says, “you weren’t back yet.”
“Mm, I thought that might be the case,” Obi-Wan begins taking out ingredients for a quick dinner. “You know there’s a mess hall for a reason, don’t you?” Plo couldn’t have fed him, since he doesn’t have any food for humans.
Anakin wrinkles his nose, “why would I want to go there when I could eat here instead?”
“I’d no idea you were so fond of my cooking, padawan,” Obi-Wan teases. He is not a good cook, it’s one of his greatest weaknesses, but he’s improved to an acceptable level after the first few months of inedible meals and subsequent trips to Dex’s.
Anakin squawks and denies Obi-Wan’s suggestion firmly. “What? I’m not- that’s not the reason!”
“Hmm? What’s that?” Obi-Wan pretends not to hear, “Why, thank you very much, dear one, I think I’m not half bad myself.”
“I thought pride was forbidden, master.” Comes Anakin’s classic response.
Obi-Wan rolls his eyes, “Where do you want to eat?”
They eat at the low table, as per Anakin’s request. It seems both of them were hungry, they finish eating in no time. Anakin looks particularly pleased, for some reason, even though the food is barely mediocre. Soft strands of the Force swirl across their bond and hum with quiet satisfaction.
—
After dinner is had and dishes are done, the rest of the evening is spent in companionable quiet. Anakin has returned to his pile of scraps, which is quickly coming together. When Obi-Wan asked what he was making, Anakin had replied “it’s a secret” and thrown himself bodily over his project.
Obi-Wan had startled at the sudden action and considered being frightened by the unexpected and extremely suspicious response, but frankly, as long as it’s not explosive, he figures it will probably be fine. Anakin is certainly more capable in the realm of machinery that Obi-Wan can hope to be.
Obi-Wan himself has set up a station for himself at the dining table, which they rarely use for dining. For the next three standard hours, he’s going to have to buckle down if he wants to finish his report on time.
Night has settled the sky into darkness and Obi-Wan squints at the fluorescent lights in displeasure. They’re far too piercing for a home, in his humble opinion, and they don’t even have a dimmer. He would turn on the lamps instead, but they give off the same sterile white light as the overhead ones, so he settles for just turning on the kitchen light and leaving all the others off.
Only a little left to go now and he can go to bed. With a quiet sigh, Obi-Wan takes a long sip of tea. It’s getting late now, and Anakin’s eyelids are beginning to droop even as he keeps fighting to assemble his mysterious project.
This is a momentous occasion. It’s not even 2100 hours yet, and Anakin is already sleepy!
He’ll have to finish his report from bed.
It’s no use sending Anakin to bed on his own. As long as Obi-Wan is up and about, Anakin will absolutely refuse to go to sleep, because “it’s not fair, master!” It had taken months to get Anakin to go to sleep any time before midnight. Frankly, Obi-Wan has never seen a more atrocious circadian rhythm.
In the beginning, Anakin had passionately resisted any form of bed time. “But you’re up!” Anakin had pointed out when he found Obi-Wan working into the early hours of the morning. Obi-Wan had tried to justify his wakefulness on grounds of “I’m an adult,” but that had gone about as well as expected.
So Obi-Wan decides he can finish proof-reading more secretly in bed and shuts his data pad off in the hopes of avoiding a lecture about his unforgivable hypocrisy.
Obi-Wan has had to start going to bed earlier, since Anakin somehow always knows if he’s up past one hundred hours.
(It’s seriously strange. Obi-Wan has witnessed Anakin wake from a dead sleep just to walk over to his room and loom in the doorway more menacingly than a ten-year-old has any right to be. Obi-Wan sleeps by 12:30, now.)
He sweeps around to the sink to rinse out his cup. His quiet steps whisper over the wooden floors as he makes his way to check the lock on the door, then to the windows to check them too (a habit he’s inexplicably picked up since gaining a padawan).
While Obi-Wan shuffles around, Anakin takes it as his cue to wrap things up. He hasn’t really made too much progress in the last half hour, fiddling with his tools as his head grew heavier and heavier. Anakin has gathered his parts into his arms by the time Obi-Wan turns to him with a hand on the light switch.
“Come now, dear one,” he says, “to bed."
Anakin scurries off to his own room to deposit his things and change into night clothes. While Anakin brushes his teeth, Obi-Wan turns on the lamp in his room and immediately sighs, relieved by the low, warm glow. He waits for Anakin finish brushing teeth before taking over the fresher and hopping in the shower to wash away the grime and dust of the day, as is ritual. He brushes his teeth and dries his hair until it’s only damp, then checks on Anakin one more time.
Anakin is already in bed, tucked in loosely and playing absentmindedly with a small model of a fighter he put together last month.
Relief and satisfaction roll through Obi-Wan. He’s never seen Anakin so willing to go to bed. He must be tired.
Suddenly, Obi-Wan remembers something and quickly goes back to the front door, beside which is the cloth bag he carelessly dropped in his rush.
(Bram had accosted him as he left her home. She had shoved a large cloth bag into his arms with haste and slammed the door shut behind him before he could get a word in edge wise.
“Take them,” she had said through the door, “or I’ll have no choice but to assume you are insulting my work. There’s something in there for your little one as well.” And really, that hadn’t leave him with much choice.)
Inside the bag are two woven blankets that are soft and heavy and he knows they must be high quality. Bram has also hidden a box of tea at the bottom. Obi-Wan smiles with a shake of his head. He’ll have to send her a thank you message.
Obi-Wan puts the box into his tea cupboard and tucks the deep blue blanket under his arm then walks quietly to Anakin’s room. He knocks twice before going in.
Anakin sleepily tracks his movement with curiosity, but doesn’t speak until Obi-Wan is already unfolding the blanket.
“What’s that?” He asks.
“A blanket,” Obi-Wan replies lightly, and inwardly snickers when Anakin rolls his eyes.
“Yeah, I know that,” his padawan groans, sounding put-upon, “but what for?”
Obi-Wan hums thoughtfully as he flicks his wrists so the fabric settles evenly over Anakin, “Because it’s getting colder,” which is true. Nothing more than a little chill in the air from Coruscant’s poor excuse for a winter, but Anakin was built for the deserts and twin suns of Tatooine.
The explanation must be good enough, because Anakin only hums and continues to watch without resisting as Obi-Wan tugs the corners of the blanket into place and brushes the wrinkles out of the woven material one more time. Anakin runs his hands over the blanket with sparkling eyes and something blooms quietly in the Force, warm and brilliant.
Pleased, Obi-Wan sweeps his hand over his padawan’s head in an affectionate pat.
“Goodnight, dear one,” he says, “sleep tight.”
“G’night, master,” Anakin replies. Then, quietly, he murmurs, “…Sleep tight.”
Obi-Wan flicks out the lights.In his own room, Obi-Wan takes out the other blanket, this one a deep, earthy green, and folds it at the foot of the bed, ready to pull up should he get cold in the night. With practiced precision, Obi-Wan pulls back the corner of his covers just so and slips underneath.
Not five minutes after pulling his data pad out, he hears little footsteps padding in the hallway. He looks up to find Anakin in the doorway with his new blanket wrapped around his shoulders. The blanket is enormous, and drags behind him.
Obi-Wan waits patiently for Anakin to finish sorting through his thoughts. He hangs in the doorway for several long moments, shifting his weight from foot to foot. To Obi-Wan’s surprise, Anakin does not abandon whatever thought he had and leave with a quick “goodnight” as he often does.
With determination in his eyes, Anakin darts over to Obi-Wan’s bedside and throws his arms around his middle.
The embrace is over nearly as soon as it started, and it leaves Obi-Wan reeling. Anakin darts back to the doorway and spins around to fix Obi-Wan with a fiery look.
“G’night, master,” he declares fiercely, “sleep tight!”
Between one moment and the next, Anakin has disappeared back to his own room, leaving Obi-Wan to implode with fondness. He smiles, feeling warm and content.