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Obi-Wan sat crisscrossed on the floor of his temporary accommodations. Dressed in nothing but his underclothes, he embraced the discomfort of the cold, hard floor. There was a fancy woven rug within scooting distance, but he found the bare floor suited him best, at that moment.
Sounds of merriment filtered in from outside. They felt so out of place compared to the subtle misery that was Obi-Wan Kenobi. His face twitched as he debated standing and shutting the windows. He had opened them earlier on in the night when the air in his extravagant accommodations had become suffocating. The fresh outside air also helped filter out the charred smell of Obi-Wan’s shame.
He had relapsed.
Again.
If Master Qui-Gon were still alive he’d be so disappointed.
Obi-Wan tucked his legs close to his body and held himself. He ignored the stretch of raw angry skin and closed his eyes as if to hide from the voice in his head. All he could see was a field of flickering red and his Master with a glistering hole in his chest. All he could hear was that terrible gasp Qui-Gon made as he burned alive from the inside out.
“I’m sorry, Master,” Obi-Wan said, he himself unsure if he was apologizing for failing to protect the man or for hurting himself after he’d promised he wouldn’t anymore. “I’m so sorry.”
Qui-Gon is not there to accept his apologies. And he never will be.
The thought is hard to palate, let alone digest, but accept it he must. For the sake of his sanity. For the nine year-old he was now somehow in charge of.
After the funeral, Obi-Wan had escorted Anakin to bed. Anakin grumbled the entire way about “not being tired”, only to pass out as soon as his sandy-haired head met the silken pillow. Obi-Wan had pulled the covers over Anakin's shoulders, shocked by his budding fondness for the boy, and slunk next door to his own rooms to ruminate.
What started as purely innocent self-recrimination grew into something more insidious as the night dragged on. He had meant to light a stick of incense to soothe his raging mind. Instead, he stripped to his underclothes and painstakingly dragged a small flame over his bare thighs, torturing himself with thoughts of what Qui-Gon must have felt. By the end of it, his skin stung and he felt that familiar guilt overtake him.
And he knew he could not carry on this way.
Qui-Gon wouldn’t want this for him.
So Obi-Wan did what he had been taught to do. He forgave himself for this setback, for falling back into old habits.
Forgiving himself for Qui-Gon’s fate would not be so easy, but he promised himself he’d get there eventually.
Obi-Wan dragged his leaden body to his discarded robes and pulled out his comm. With a quick call and a frustratingly curt conversation with a droid, he scheduled an appointment with his mind healer. And then, after a moment’s consideration, he scheduled an appointment for Anakin, too. With a little luck, Anakin might turn out better than he did.
Obi-Wan closed his eyes. He imagined himself piling up his hurt and grief into manageable piles to be tackled one at a time. He stared down his self-loathing with a compassionate smile, bending down to pick it up. It was heavy. Heavier than he’d anticipated.
Heavier than he could manage on his own.
But Obi-Wan kept at it, imagining himself slowly but surely lifting it off the ground. It became suspiciously light all of a sudden and Qui-Gon appeared across from him. Obi-Wan’s beloved teacher smiled at him, at peace with his place in the universe.
“Qui-Gon,” Obi-Wan said, a tear trailing down his face. The Force surrounded him and he felt its warmth like a hug from his Master. He was afraid to open his eyes knowing his Master wouldn’t be there when he opened them. “I miss you so much already.”
“I haven’t left you, Padawan. Not truly.” Qui-Gon said, and Obi-Wan’s immediate worries became less. “Look to the Force and I am there. Always.”
Obi-Wan nodded. He opened his eyes, scrubbed the wetness from his cheek, and led himself to the refresher. He slathered bacta cream over his fresh wounds, refusing to acknowledge them further by looking at them, and threw on his nightclothes.
It was as he was leaving the refresher that his door squeaked open. A little head poked in at him cautiously.
“Um, Obi-Wan, sir…”
Anakin looked afraid as if fearing he’d be yelled at for leaving bed. He eyed the bed longingly and it wasn’t hard to guess what he wanted. He was just afraid to ask.
Obi-Wan put on his gentlest smile and beckoned the boy inside.
“Do you want to sleep in here with me?”
Anakin nodded, feet padding quickly across the smooth floor and hopping onto the giant mattress. Padme had promised them the best accommodations that Naboo could offer and she wasn’t lying. The bed was so soft that Anakin practically sunk into it. It was likely softer and warmer than anything the boy had ever experienced in his life. No wonder he would have difficulty sleeping alone, let alone in an unfamiliar environment.
Obi-Wan once again tucked Anakin into bed.
Anakin looked up at him guiltily. “I’m sorry for bothering you, sir.”
“It’s no bother, dear heart,” Obi-Wan said, carefully patting the boy’s hand. “Jedi are no strangers to sharing space. Did you and your mother share a bed?”
“Yeah,” Anakin nodded against his pillow. “Watto didn’t wanna buy another bed so he just gave us one.”
Obi-Wan doesn't know how to respond to that so he just. Didn’t. He acted like he understood so that Anakin wouldn’t feel bad but all he could focus on was how unprepared he was to care for this little boy. He shut the lights off and carefully made his way to his side of the bed.
Anakin soon fell into a peaceful slumber, arms tucked tight around an embroidered pillow.
In the quiet of the night, Obi-Wan let himself rest. The outside world was now quiet but for the occasional nocturnal animal and insect. He felt Anakin’s bright sunny presence in the Force, now muted with sleep. He watched the steady rise and fall of Anakin’s chest and had to reassure himself that it wouldn’t stop just because he closed his eyes. Everything would be alright.
Yes.
They will be alright.
Just like Qui-Gon said.