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The wind was howling around the walls, shaking on the already thick durasteel frames. A storm had caught the Senate District of Coruscant in its grasp, rain hammered against the thick building that kept them dry but could not prevent the noise from filling the rooms inside. Qui-Gon sat next to the crip in Obi-Wan's old room that he had occupied as a Padawan, the rigorous walls that used to lay bland were covered in colourful pictures and posters. A cartoon version of a Nexu was dangling from a tree branch, smiling at the viewer to Just hold on while a Kushiban rolled itself in a big bowl of yarn right next to it. The shelf, otherwise carrying datapads and flimsy papers to study, were filled with blankets and simple games. Colourful blocks were carefully stacked on the soft mats that covered the ground as puzzle pieces with Aubresh letters.
In the middle of the room, a beautiful crip made of wood was decorated with fine carvings of humans and gungans. Padme had gifted it to them and had replaced the bed that once held Obi-Wan in his sleep. The soft padding was made of a fine, white fur they were gifted by his old Master, Dooku.
The news of his ‘grandchild’ had delighted him. Qui-Gon already had a feeling that there was something off about his Master. He had changed, something inside him was tainted. As small as it had been, the dark spots within the Force had also followed him. He got wrapped up into something that would have grown out of his control if he'd not have turned around soon enough. Though Dooku had been right in the point that the Jedi were too tense in their rules and blinded by some traditions that had outlived their time, the Council allowing Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan to raise the baby they called their own was a tweak in the right spot. It was unbelievable how quickly everything had turned around. Palpatine was uncovered before he had any chance to rise to more power. The Council had arrested him, all joined as a team despite their occasional disagreements.
All of it had led to that moment; him sitting on the ground next to a calmly breathing baby whose tiny little hand rested in his giant palm. The storm had frightened Feemor, his cries of fear and confusion hurt his heart. He was too young to understand what happened around him, his eyes not even fully capable of seeing clearly, let alone sorting out the impressions of screaming storms and lightning flashing through the room, accompanied by dark rumbling and constant howling. Qui-Gon had seeped his care into him, wrapping the little mind in his calmth that slowly covered the uncontrolled thoughts and emotions that he was unable to control.
Even after Feemor had fallen asleep, Qui-Gon was sitting in his mind to sooth the uneven waves that sudden noises shook up. The boy was dreaming, instead of firm pictures it was a mix of senses. The Master felt how a carpet rubbed against his bare belly as he crawled over the floor in the living room, tickling his skin. Feemor giggled, making his father smile. There was a firm feeling of hard exterior, he smelled the intense scent of worn boots that made him shiver and cry a little. A tendril glided over the unwell feeling that grew in Feemors thoughts and pushed it down before the boy woke up from it.
Though he shouldn't, the Master grinned as if he was caught. He remembered that. It had happened the day before. Feemor was crawling across the floor with shaking limbs, pulling himself forward. Within four months, he had more strength than was expected for his age. It was far away from grace but he didnt care. The urge to explore was strong and Qui-Gon would not intervene in that will. Leaning against the wall, he had found his fathers boots that were cleaned on the outside but stood open. Feemor had pressed his little mouth onto it, experiencing it in any way he could. Unfortunate for him, he stuffed his tiny nose inside and dropped to his back crying. The Master could not contain a small chuckle and that had been his mistake. Obi-Wan had gone rampage, handing Qui-Gon his boots and telling him to bring them outside if they made their child cry while a shocked Feemor with wide open eyes stared at the leather boots as if he had never seen something that frightening.
Qui-Gon carefully rubbed the tiny palm with his thumb. It felt unbelievably soft. He had been to the Crèche in his youth, taking his rounds to see where his future would lead him. All of the children were adorable in their own way, no matter what age or species they had been. They all warmed his heart with their childish curiosity, listening full of interest to the stories he told them. Feemor felt different though. Every time the Master laid his eyes on him, his chest filled with warmth. Like a fuzzy blanket it wrapped around his heart, warming him from the inside no matter how cold or stressed he was.
Obi-Wan was sent on a diplomatic discourse to the senate and had been gone all day and the night already. Thinking about his Beloved being so far away, it didn't even matter that Qui-Gon could see the senate building from their bedroom window, exhausted him more than any sitting with the Council. They had offered him a seat again. Many years had passed since Pijal and his first rejection so he could stay with Obi-Wan. He was unsure once again. His Padawan had been knighted after the Zabrak Sith was slain on Naboo and his own wound had healed, but having Feemor to take care of demanded all his free time. They had promised to give him his time, the baby should not miss out on his fathers but they regularly asked for his opinion. Though officially he was not part of the High Council, Plo involved him whenever Obi-Wan was at the temple too.
They had rarely been in their quarters at the same time, often only brushing against each other the last couple of weeks when one left and the other came back. One time, Plo carried Feemor in his arms and basically threw the child into Qui-Gon's arms before the door had closed behind him. Not a baby type, he had said before he fled the room and left his friend to change a full diaper. At first, the Master had believed him but the gentle gushes his friend seeped into the force when he saw him told him that the Kel Dor was not as recoiled as he claimed. Qui-Gon chuckled at the thought. Plo was there whenever they needed him, as frightened as he was about the child. Feemor was no regular baby to him either.
A tuck on his hand shook the Master from his daydream, his eyes fluttering open to find blinking blue eyes that wandered over the ceiling, turning his head away from the window that still opened their view to the storm. Lightning struck, followed by deep rumbling that made Feemor tremble, his chubby, soft face slowly growing furrows for a cry that sat on his tongue. Short whines that almost sounded like a hiccup emerged before they formed a proper, long cry.
Qui-Gon rose to his bare feet, hanging his head over the crip to look at his child. Feemor struggled in his little blue jumper with lightsabers that Siri had gifted them, his body tucked in warm, his head popping out of the top end where thick, blond curls stood out of his head. The hand of his father was big enough to cup his complete head, gently stroking the blushing cheek that took on colour from his cry. Tiny fingers found him instantly, grabbing for a knuckle he could not wrap his hand around. His grip was strong and unwilling to let go, the blue ponds that reminded him of his own looked around in his face though he probably only saw shadows and contours.
Uncontrolled pulses rushed through the Force; fear, frustration and need for closeness ravaged through the calm waters he had rested in before, shaking them up. The storming waters were met by calm waves that proved themselves to be surprisingly sturdy, tumbling over the uncontrolled emotions Feemor radiated. The wave broke when Qui-Gon reached for his mind, soothing the raging edges and dripping his presence into the dark spots where loneliness began to grow. There was no hunger or physical discomfort to be found.
“You will never be alone, Feemor,” Qui-Gon whispered after the cries died down to insecure huffs which grew to squeals once he had realised who was there with him. His father stepped over to separate his son from the window, covering the view to the darkened outside of Coruscant's night. Maybe they would have to get proper blinds for a good night's sleep during storms.
When the child started to move around more frantically, Qui-Gon picked him up. Resting in his arm, Feemor began to look around. His tongue stuck out as if he tried to decipher from a distance what he already knew and what was new as every other day, another friend dropped by to surprise them with a gift. Right then, there was nothing new to be found though.
To not further scare him with the storm, his father strolled through the room. At the shelves they waited together, Feemor reaching for flimsy books and small stuffed animals that waited patiently to be played with. They were thrown through the air after being waved around, followed by flapping arms and high giggles of joy. Once the interest in the shelves was satisfied, Feemor rested his chubby cheek on his fathers chest. His tiny fingers clawed into the warm robe, pressing himself against it. Qui-Gon placed a gentle kiss on his head, weighing him back and forth for a long time and watched the little lids close more and more before they kept shut. His breathing deepened, his mind slowly easing out to a pacified slumber.
They walked a little longer, the foam mats under his feet damping every noise he made, until they came back to the crip. Oh so careful, Qui-Gon placed the boy down, fixing his clothes with heedful tucks to not not wake him from his slumber again. Resting his hands on the brim of the crip, the Master leaned over to watch the peaceful expression Feemor had, smacking his lips in his sleep while his legs started to kick out. Dreams coloured Feemor's mind again and let him discover his world once more, crawling wherever his limbs would carry him.
Smiling broadly, the master watched him until a light embrace made him jump a little. Arms had wrapped themselves around his waist, pulling him close to a cold, wet body. Qui-Gon turned around, pressing a completely soaked Obi-Wan against his chest. The long, auburn strands had lost its gracious volume and laid in wet streaks on his head just like his robes clinging to his body.
“Oh, my Beloved,” Qui-Gon murmured, rubbing the cold back with his warm hands. He felt clammy and shivered but his mind was at ease when the Master touched it. Obi-Wan pressed his face against his Masters chest, his eyes closed and his mouth twisted to a content smile. Qui-Gon kissed his cool forehead, quietly helping him out of the soaked robe before his partner stepped next to him to watch the crip. Shadows laid under Obi-Wan's eyes, his hooded lids dripping of exhaustion but the pleased hum that travelled along their bond told his Master that he would be fine.
“I’m happy to be home,” Obi-Wan breathed, almost inaudible. Qui-Gon kissed his temple, holding him closely to let him nurture from the warmth that flooded him every minute of the day. Both felt the Force swirl around them in pleasant billows of light that rested on them like a soothing coat. The Master smiled against the messy hair.
“So am I, my Love. We both are.”
While Obi-Wan just sucked in the care he lacked during the day, the Master's view dropped to the crip. He blinked. Feemor was looking straight at them, a hand in his mouth that he gently chewed on but remained quiet as if he knew that moment was important for them. His expression shortly changed to a smile before he turned his head to the side and closed his eyes with a big, long yawn.
That child never failed to surprise him.