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It was the soft swoosh of the door that woke Obi-Wan Kenobi up. It was not loud enough to startle him to awareness, adrenaline coursing through his veins, ready for battle. Instead, it was a gentle hand, pulling him back from deep sleep to a semi-aware blur, his eyes still closed as he refused to relinquish his precious sleep.
“Shhh! Obi-Wan’s asleep!” Whispered the familiar voice of his former Padawan.
It was coming back to Obi-Wan now. He and the 212th had arrived back on Coruscant after a gruelling campaign, with the 501st scheduled to arrive five hours later. After assisting with docking and ensuring that his men who had survived the last campaign had both feet firmly on Coruscant soil, it would only be another hour until the 501st arrived, and so Obi-Wan had decided to stay up and wait for them in his quarters. Between the war, his Council duties, Ahsoka’s classes, and Anakin’s…visits to a certain senator, he saw his Padawan and Grandpadawan far less than Obi-Wan wished to.
And so, Obi-Wan had made himself a cup of tea, and settled onto the sofa with his guilty pleasure romance flimsi-book, and waited for Anakin and Ashoka’s return. Now that he thought about it, he could still feel the flimsi between his fingers, and the way his head was resting on his own shoulder as he’d fallen asleep on the sofa.
How very…old of him.
“His neck looks broken.” Ahsoka said, and oh how his Grandpadawan had such a way with words.
“Don’t make me laugh, Snips, we’ll wake him up.” Anakin whispered back, the smile on his face clear in his voice.
Obi-Wan should probably open his eyes and let them know he’s awake, but he’s just so tired. The last campaign had been brutal, with more vod’e losses and civilian casualties than usual. Both he and Commander Cody had barely slept a wink throughout, every aspect of the campaign requiring both of their undivided attention. The journey back to Coruscant had not even provided either of them with any respite, between reports for the Council, the Senate, requisition forms for medicine, armour, weaponry, and the thick, suffocating sense of grief in the air.
Obi-Wan felt his book been gently tugged out of his hand.
“Ahsoka, can you grab the blanket?” Anakin asked, his voice much closer to Obi-Wan now.
Anakin’s mechno-arm came up to cup Obi-Wan’s cheek, the metal almost bitingly cold against Obi-Wan’s sleep warm face, while Anakin’s other arm scooped under his legs. In one twist, Obi-Wan was laying down, his head was pillowed on the arm of the sofa. There was the sound of fabric being shaken, and then the familiar feel of Qui-Gon’s old knitted blanket being draped over him. It was such a loving gesture after the weeks of cruelty as blaster fire reigned down on him, that Obi-Wan almost cried as he instinctively grabbed the edge of the blanket to bring it up to his nose.
“Alright, Snips, time for bed. Say goodnight to Grandpa.” Anakin joked, and if Obi-Wan had any energy at all, he would’ve sat bolt-upright to remind Anakin about respecting his elders.
“You know, he’s not that much older than you, Master.” The cheeky Padawan shot back, and Obi-Wan could see her mischievous smile without even opening his eyes.
“Bed.” Anakin deadpanned.
There was the sound of Ahsoka kissing her fingers, before pressing them to Obi-Wan’s head.
“Goodnight, Master Obi-Wan, Skyguy.” She whispered, followed by the sound of her bedroom door swooshing closed.
Then, the feeling of his Padawan’s hand pushing Obi-Wan’s hair out of his eyes.
“Goodnight, old man. Your bones are gonna be dust in the morning.”
His thoughtful, kind, rude Padawan.