Chapter Text
MUG, Coruscant, 32 BBY
Nervously stroking his smooth chin, he looks around once again.
But he can't spot him anywhere in the endless aisles, where one shelf follows another.
Sith spit! He had told him to stay close by. What is so difficult about following this simple instruction?
Finally, he does what he has already tried before to no avail. He reaches out to the Force again to localize his presence... in vain.
Either their training bond is not yet strong enough, or the boy is no longer in this temple of mostly unnecessary things, which is far too crowded for the young knight's taste anyway.
The latter would be very worrying, to say the least. However, he certainly won't panic. He doesn't panic easily, does he? After all, he is a Jedi. He will find him. Only how?
Unfortunately, he can't call him either, as the boy's comlink is currently lying inoperable in their quarters because this inquisitive little engineer had to take it apart and tinker with it.
What has he gotten himself into?
No, he is not sure whether he is up to this task that he has taken on, that has been imposed on him, whether he can do justice to this great responsibility of raising a Padawan.
He is obviously not even able to keep an eye on him.
Sighing in frustration, he eventually asks a Pantoran shop assistant who is just walking past him.
"Pardon me, but have you perhaps seen a little boy? Humanoid, blond hair, about this tall."
He marks the estimated height from the floor with his hand.
The blue-skinned shop assistant shakes her head, but promises to pass the information on to the mega department store's head office.
'Well, that will certainly help', he muses ironically. Nevertheless, he politely thanks her for her efforts.
He can't even estimate how many sentient beings are currently scurrying around this behemoth of a building, on the hunt for a bargain or indulging in some extravagant amusement or hobby.
Running a hand through his short auburn hair, he reaches for his Padawan braid as if out of old habit. But it is gone forever, just like a certain someone. He heaves a loud sigh. What a mess!
He shouldn't have brought his Padawan along. After all, they are not here for entertainment in this consumption hell with its endless departments and floors, and certainly not for shopping.
Where could this sometimes somewhat difficult boy be?
He decides to go up to the 12th floor and search the toy department, although he doubts he will find him there. However, he has to start somewhere.
****************************
Stepping out of the turbolift, he walks past plush varactyls of various sizes, some of which are even airworthy and equipped with speeder engines - for the rich senator kid who already has everything else, or whatever…
Still shaking his head, he is suddenly confronted by a colorful, intrusive toy combat droid heading straight for him from the main corridor.
He casually dodges the volley fired at him with lightning-fast movements. For something so ridiculous, he doesn't need to draw his lightsaber. He simply evades the supposed enemy fire with his Force-enhanced reaction speed.
A blaster shot hits him in the arm anyway.
Ouch! He rubs the spot and curses quietly.
However, the level of pain is only a little stronger than if it had been caused by one of the Marksman-H training remotes they use in the temple.
So nothing to get upset about.
Nevertheless, he finds this morbid toy completely unsuitable for children and in any case rather distasteful. Where is the educational value in such things?
Well, there's obviously only one value that counts here. The value of credits.
Eventually he reaches the section with the miniature spaceship models and pauses. Well, this might be the right place, right? He looks around hopefully, then sighs again.
No, he shouldn't have taken his Padawan with him. He is still far too young and not sufficiently trained for dangerous missions.
Well, he hadn't originally intended to, but a distress call from an injured Kit Fisto reached him just as they were leaving Dex's Diner after lunch.
He immediately had a bad feeling about it, but the boy sometimes clings to him like a limpet and simply refused to go back to the diner to wait until he or another Jedi knight or older Padawan would pick him up again. He can be so persistent. He pleads with the Force that nothing happened to him...
Let's hope he didn't fall into the hands of the fugitive Trandoshan assassin he was hunting for, who escaped into this super-sized department store.
He wipes the sweat from his forehead with the white sleeve of his tunic and is just about to get back into the turbolift to reach another floor when the loudspeaker announcement sounds like salvation.
"Little Anakin Skywalker would like to be picked up by his moth... (an only partly audible, indignant interjection from a child's voice is heard in the background, whereupon the speaker clears his throat)... um... let me correct myself... from his master in the droid department, please."
Obi-Wan feels a weight lift from his heart. Thank the Force. He wasn't kidnapped. He just snuck away, didn't he?
Anyway, he will be in for a long lecture.
He checks the blue-shimmering holomap outside the turbolift to locate where in Sith hells this droid section is. He didn't even know there was one. Otherwise he would have looked for him there first.
Then again, this place has literally everything.
Eighty-eighth floor. Oh, stars! Good thing he doesn't have to walk.
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While still in the turbolift on the way to the upper floors, his comlink chimes. He takes the call from Master Windu, who informs him that their injured fellow brother has been taken to the Halls of Healing and will be okay, and that another Master Padawan team has captured the fugitive killer wanted for the contract murder of a senator. He probably won't reveal who hired him anyway. But such things are of no concern to him right now.
His worries evaporate the moment he senses a powerful presence in the Force. It pulsates with excitement, but unlike sometimes there is nothing dark or negative about it. The boy seems to be fine.
The moment the elevator doors open, all trouble is forgotten.
He hasn't even got out completely when he already has his arms full of a disobedient Padawan.
Somewhat embarrassed, he looks at the still quite young Togruta shop assistant, who lets out a delighted "Aww" at the touching sight.
'Totally inappropriate,' he chides himself but returns the hug. He shouldn't nourish their already suspiciously strong attachment, yet it takes a while before he can detach himself from the boy, who clings to him like a tentacle monster.
Cerulean eyes glare at him reproachfully:
"Where have you been, Master? I've been looking everywhere for you."
Obi-Wan grumbles. Well, that statement is nothing short of insolent. Nice try.
"Hear, hear, have you? Well, that's really fascinating, because I..."
After all, it's highly unlikely that they accidentally lost each other, right?
He actually wants to scold him. In fact, he should reprimand him. He needs to set him boundaries.
But he doesn't get the chance.
Anakin takes a bunch of parts from the shop assistant, who is still standing by, that just look like junk to him. He rolls his eyes. Why does he get the feeling this boy is going to be the death of him?
"Oh Anakin, what did I tell you...."
Needless to say, he is interrupted before he can deliver his sermon.
"I'm sorry we lost sight of each other, Master, but um.... Now that we're here, can we buy this?"
Obi-Wan shakes his head resolutely. Impudence wins out, or what?
That's the last thing he will do: reward him for having to worry about him.
"No, I'm afraid that's out of the question."
Cerulean eyes stare at him imploringly, as if it were a matter of life and death. Indeed, his Padawan is prone to exaggeration.
"Oh please, Obi-Wan, these are exactly the droid parts I was looking for!"
The young knight rolls his eyes. He shouldn't. No, definitely not. That would hardly be the appropriate reaction.
Besides, since his padawan moved in, his quarters have turned from a formerly well-organized place into a messy workshop in no time at all anyway.
As if he had read his thoughts, the tempting offer follows.
"Please, I promise to tidy my room later."
Well, that would be a start. But not enough.
"And you'll also clean up all the other things you have scattered around our quarters?"
"Of course, I promise, Master. ...Does that mean we will buy ...?"
A hopeful glance, a winning smile, an emphasizing tug in the Force .... and he softens.
So what? It doesn't even look particularly expensive, what he has chosen. A few circuits, some adapters, a couple of cables, some coverings, whatever. More like stuff from a one-credit bargain bin.
"Alright dear one, but this can only be an exception, do you copy?"
There's no way he's going to coddle his Padawan, is he?
After all, that would hardly be the Jedi way.
A few spare parts fall to the floor and are picked up by the shop assistant, as Obi-Wan finds himself impetuously embraced for a second time.
Well aware that he won't be released any time soon, he runs his fingers through messy blond strands - which have darkened a little since they are no longer bleached by twin suns.
His padawan has a very physical way of saying thank you.
But it is touching to see that such small gifts can bring him so much joy. May he retain this level of modesty.
The young knight rolls his eyes. Well, so much for "not nurturing attachment".
Oh stars, he is such a disaster of a master.
As if to soften this harsh self-criticism, a wave of genuine fondness resonates in the Force, an ardent affection addressed to him.
A comforting warmth flows through him, soothing his tormented heart and alleviating the smouldering grief over his still fresh, painful loss which, despite daily meditations, has left a dull emptiness in him like a gaping wound, while he returns the hug with a relieved smile.
Even though there may still be a way to go, he suddenly has a good feeling about them. They will grow together.
Who knows, one day they might even make a great team.
Tbc