Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Quinlan was on his way to their quarters, Master Tholme a silent shadow to his left, both tired from the long mission and the – somehow even longer – debrief with the Council, when a flash of orange caught his eye.

He turned his head on instinct and would've walked straight into a pillar if not for Master Tholme’s tug on his sleeve that managed to steer him clear at the last second. Quinlan smiled sheepishly at his Master and pulsed gratitude down their bond, then searched for that familiar ginger head again, grin growing at the confirmation that his instinct had been right.

“Obes!” He called, hearing his Master’s exasperated sigh but ignoring it in favour of waving to catch Obi-Wan’s attention.

Obi-Wan’s head snapped up from where he had been engaged in quiet conversation with a Master Quinlan didn’t recognise, eyes going wide when they landed on Quinlan.

“Some decorum, padawan, if you would.” Tholme muttered, though they both knew that it was out of habit than any actual hope that Quinlan would listen. In response, Quinlan just laughed and swept his arm in front of his body, bowing in that exaggerated way he’d seen on holo-dramas.

“Always, Master.” He replied once he’d straightened, throwing in a wink just for the pleasure of seeing his Master roll his eyes. Their little ritual complete, he turned back to Obi-Wan, pleased to find that his friend was heading towards him, the unfamiliar Master following suit with a distantly amused expression on their face that Quinlan chose not to dwell on for the time being, focusing his attention on Obi-Wan.

Even from afar, his friend looked better than he had the last time Quinlan had seen him, a lightness to his step that had been missing after Melidaan. Obi-Wan's hair was still longer than the regulation padawan cut, something that Quinlan was surprised Master Dooku seemed to allow, and his eyes were back to their familiar blue and no longer shadowed with pain and exhaustion that neither sleep nor meditation could fix.

Still, Quinlan was surprised when it was Obi-Wan who reached out to pull him into a hug once they were close enough, one arm around Quinlan’s shoulders, the other around his ribs in a hold that was as familiar as it was desperate.

“I’m glad to see you.” Obi-Wan muttered into his neck, making Quinlan shiver at the puff of breath against his skin even as he carefully would his arms around Obi-Wan’s waist, surprised but pleased by his friend’s choice of greeting.

“I can see that.” He couldn’t resist teasing, though he squeezed Obi-Wan lightly to show it wasn’t in jest and tucked his chin against the other’s shoulder. He stood there for a second, just basking in the touch and the familiar Force presence, then grinned as he asked; “Fought in any more wars while I was away?”

The question had come out light, a joke more than an actual dig for information, but the way Obi-Wan tensed in his arms had Quinlan pulling away in alarm, teasing forgotten.

“Obes?” he pressed, eyes flickering over Obi-Wan’s face, knowing that if he didn’t push now, with two Masters present, Obi-Wan would find a way to avoid the topic until one of them was sent away once more.

“Prevented one, more like, stop panicking.” Obi-Wan muttered under his breath, withdrawing from the hug and taking a step back towards the Master he’d arrived with before he gave Quinlan a dirty look. “And how many times do I need to tell you that my name is Obi-Wan?”

“Until it sticks.” Quinlan shot back, not sure if he was more concerned or exasperated by everything Obi-Wan wasn’t saying.

But it seemed that cutting the physical contact between them had also reminded Obi-Wan that they weren’t alone, and Quinlan watched his friend's proper-padawan countenance return as he dropped into a respectful bow before Master Tholme.

“Good afternoon, Master Tholme, I apologise for my poor manners.” Obi-Wan greeted politely once he straightened, then gestured towards the thus far nameless Master at his side. “I assume you’re familiar with Master Sifo-Dyas?”

“That I am.” Tholme rumbled, inclining his head at the other Master before he smirked at Obi-Wan and jabbed his thumb at Quinlan. “And don’t worry, my standards for ‘good manners’ have been in the trenches since I took this one on as a padawan.”

“Hey!” Quinlan exclaimed, more for show than out of any real insult, especially since Tholme’s words managed to startle a genuine laugh out of Obi-Wan and a poorly-stifled chuckle out of Master Sifo-Dyas.

At the sound, Obi-Wan turned to the Master he’d arrived with, and Quinlan was surprised to see that his friend's grin stayed in place and his shoulders remained loose and relaxed while he addressed the other man.

“Master Sifo-Dyas, this is padawan Quinlan Vos, a dear friend of mine.” Obi-Wan introduced, and Quinlan rolled his eyes at the stuffy wording, his observations momentarily forgotten.

“You can say ‘best friend’, Obes, you’re fourteen, not forty.” He grumbled, drawing a quelling look from Obi-Wan and another long-suffering sigh from Tholme. “And it’s nice to meet you, Master Dyas.”

“Sifo-Dyas.” Obi-Wan and Master Tholme chorused immediately, though the Master in question just smiled.

“The pleasure is mine, padawan Vos.” He replied, inclining his head, and Quinlan was briefly surprised by the unexpectedly soft-spoken tone of the Master's voice. “I have a feeling we’ll have plenty of opportunity to become better acquainted with each other in the future.”

Obi-Wan huffed a laugh while Tholme snorted openly at the words, as if there was some inside joke that Quinlan was missing out on, though neither his Master nor Obi-Wan seemed inclined to clue him in on it.

Resisting the urge to pout, Quinlan instead turned his attention to how Obi-Wan and Master Sifo-Dyas were dressed – it had been a long time since he’d seen Obi-Wan in less than four layers of cloth, so the leggings and single over-shirt Obi-Wan had on was practically scandalous, and more than enough to pique curiosity.

“I’m surprised I didn’t have to drag you out of the Archives to see you.” Quinlan pointed out teasingly, and a dig for information behind the joking words, not that it was particularly subtle judging by the look Obi-Wan leveled him with.

“I’ve been given a schedule, if you must know.” His friend grumbled, prompting Master Sifo-Dyas to pat his shoulder in commiseration, though the man seemed more amused than actually sympathetic. “No more than two hours a day in the Archives, and I have to be on time for evening meal.”

Quinlan was pretty sure he was gaping, no amount of Jedi composure or lessons on the importance of decorum able to prepare him for the shock of; “And you’re actually listening?”

Master Sifo-Dyas laughed openly at that, the sound seemingly started out of him, and Quinlan didn’t miss the burst of surprise in the Force from some of the nearby Masters, though he was more preoccupied with the way Obi-Wan couldn’t seem to decide whether he was more annoyed with him or grateful for the jab.

“Some padawans actually listen to their Masters, Quinlan.” Tholme interjected from the side, and Quinlan immediately sent a wave of appreciation-apology down their bond, receiving a brush of fond exasperation for his efforts, along with a wordless assurance that his Master was just grumbling for grumbling’s sake that went a long way towards easing his sudden bout of insecurity.

“And some Masters regularly wrangle politicians, which makes padawans, no matter how crafty, infinitely easier.” Master Sifo-Dyas pointed out, dark eyes glittering with humour, and the hand that had been patting Obi-Wan’s shoulder finally stilled and squeezed comfortingly instead. “Don’t take it personally, padawan Vos.”

“Thank you.” Quinlan replied, because contrary to what his own Master might say, he did have some manners. Then, he looked again at Obi-Wan’s outfit when side-by-side with that of Master Sifo-Dyas, and realisation dawned like a thunderclap. “Have you been sparring?”

“We were just about to head to the salles.” Obi-Wan confirmed archly, apparently not appreciating the incredulous note in Quinlan’s voice at the prospect. “In fact…”

And Quinlan watched as Obi-Wan glanced up at Master Sifo-Dyas, a wordless conversation passing between them that ended with Obi-Wan turning to Master Tholme, his patented ‘don’t look at me, I’m innocent ’ mask in place as if he hadn’t been right there whenever Tholme had caught Quinlan doing something he shouldn’t have been doing.

“Master Tholme, I was wondering whether you would be willing to lend us your padawan for about two hours.” Obi-Wan began politely, and it took Quinlan a second to realise that his friend was talking about him. “I promise to return him to your quarters unharmed and showered.”

Tholme smirked, and though he didn’t take his eyes off Obi-Wan, Quinlan felt the question pulse down their bond even before his Master opened his mouth to ask; “And what are your designs on my padawan?”

“Nothing untoward, I promise.” Obi-Wan demurred, his own eyes glittering with amusement at Tholme's wording. “It’s just that Master Sifo-Dyas and myself are both partial to Soresu, while Master Yan is the Master of Makashi. It would be of great benefit to me if I could test my defense against a more aggressive style, and, I believe, a good exercise in patience for padawan Vos as well.”

“Well argued.” Tholme mused after a few seconds, then glanced over Obi-Wan's shoulder at Master Sifo-Dyas and arched an eyebrow. “Though perhaps I shouldn’t be surprised.”

The other Master just smiled innocently, his expression almost the same as Obi-Wan's from moments previous. Tholme pulsed the question at Quinlan again, more urgent this time, and Quinlan sent back a vague sense of agreement without thinking twice, his attention focused on the ease with which Obi-Wan existed in Master Sifo-Dyas’ space.

Though both Master and padawan were hidden behind their respective shields, there was a sense of- not quite camaraderie, but understanding to their interactions that Quinlan had not seen on his friend before.

“You may borrow my padawan, though I want him back before evening meal.” He distantly heard Tholme confirm, too lost in his contemplation of Obi-Wan's body language to fully pay attention. He was not sure whether he was more disturbed or proud of the fact that, after being rejected by Jinn for the second time, Obi-Wan managed to find himself not just a replacement Master, but two of them.

“Of course. Thank you.” Obi-Wan bowed to Tholme, then grinned at Quinlan once he straightened, and there was definitely mischief in his eyes when he reached out and snagged Quinlan’s wrist.

Quinlan allowed himself to be led to the salles, simultaneously relieved that Obi-Wan was back to being excited about sparring, and apprehensive as to what, exactly, he had gotten himself into.

Well.

At least Master Sifo-Dyas seemed…nice?

Chapter Text

Tholme was not expecting the knock on his door.

Bemused, he got up to open it, only for his confusion to turn into concern at what he found on the other side.

“Obi-Wan.” He greeted cautiously, taking in the dressed-down, visibly exhausted teenager on his doorstep. “Is everything alright?”

“Can I stay the night?” The teen requested weakly, the lack of a proper greeting only serving to hammer home just how not-alright the boy was. “Please?”

“Of course.” Tholme confirmed as he stepped aside to let the padawan in, laying a hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder to lead him to the couch. Though the boy was no longer as thin and frail as he had been after he returned from Melidaan, there was a tension in his shoulders that had Tholme’s concern skyrocketing. “What happened?”

Obi-Wan sank onto the sofa heavily, a sigh rattling out of him, and Tholme threw the quilt he’d made for Quinlan over boy’s shoulders before he could second-guess himself, knowing that Quinlan always found it comforting. He watched as Obi-Wan nuzzled into the soft material, seeming to wrap himself in the comfort-care-love Tholme knew the blanket was threaded with, another deep sigh leaving him, though at least this one seemed to carry with it some of the tension that riddled his frame.

“Master Jinn accused Master Yan of treating me like his heir.” Obi-Wan said after so long that Tholme had began to doubt whether he would even answer, peering up at Tholme blearily, “...and Sifo-Dyas like his spouse.”

“Hm.” Tholme hummed non-committally, grateful for his poker face as he gave himself a moment to absorb the words. “Yes, I can see the merit of a strategic retreat.”

Obi-Wan didn’t bother stifling his snort at that, and Tholme allowed himself a small smile in response. It was rare that Dooku’s padawan let himself act like the teenager he was.

Though whether his openness was a sign of his comfort, or of his exhaustion, remained to be seen.

“Better get comfortable, then.” He advised, propping his own feet on the low table between them as he pulled out his comm. “It’s the season finale of Jedi Nights.”

Obi-Wan blinked, though he seemed to follow the non-sequitur easily enough, already familiar with what that meant. “And Quin?”

“Went out to get junk food.” Tholme replied absently while he messaged Quin to pick up enough food for three.

“You just let him go?” Obi-Wan asked in disbelief, though he seemed genuinely surprised rather than judgemental.

“It’s good practice for him to sneak past the Guards.” Tholme countered, glancing up from his comm to shoot the boy a droll look. “Especially now that they’ve been made aware of the blindspots in the Temple’s security.”

“In my defence,” Obi-Wan began, though despite the immediacy of the riposte, he had the grace to look somewhat sheepish, “Master Cin had made it a challenge.”

Tholme laughed at that, sharp and startled and all the more genuine for it.

“Yeah,” he grinned, fond and amused and exasperated in equal measure, more than familiar with Obi-Wan’s competitive nature, “that’d do it.”

They fell silent then, Obi-Wan clearly too tired to keep the conversation going, and Tholme, for all his curiosity, knowing better than to push. So he let the boy doze, watching as he slumped further and further into the sofa, the crease between his brows finally smoothing out.

Yet, rather than relax along with the boy, Tholme’s concern only grew.

Because the durasteel shields around Obi-Wan’s mind never once wavered. Not in his exhaustion, not in the comfort of his best friend’s quarters, and not even in sleep.

It wasn’t that it was an unusual skill, as such; many Shadows and Sentinels learned it sooner or later during their years on the path. The darkest corners of the galaxy, after all, were seldom kind to Force-sensitive empaths.

But Obi-Wan Kenobi was not a Shadow.

Before Tholme could contemplate the situation further, the door slid open and his padawan’s Force-presence butted against Tholme’s shields at the same time as the boy called out a cheerful, “I’m back!”

Obi-Wan’s eyes snapped open and Tholme watched as every muscle in his body tensed. Then, seemingly remembering where he was, he relaxed with a sigh and pushed himself into a sitting position, managing a grin at Quinlan over the back of the sofa.

“Quin!” He greeted with enthusiasm, then his eyes fell on the multiple bags Quinlan had brought, and he frowned. “I thought you’d gone for snacks?”

“Well, yeah, but then Tholme let me know you’re here, so I also got some actual food ‘cause Force knows you don’t eat enough.” Quinlan explained, rifling through their cupboards for cutlery and whatever else he thought they’d need.

“Are you Healer Vos now?” Obi-Wan grouched back, and though the words weren’t rude, they were crabby, and Tholme had to stifle a snort.

“Very funny. Hilarious, even.” Quinlan retorted dryly, bringing over his bags of food and a fistful of cutlery and napkins. “And after all that effort I went through to get you the greasiest fast-food I could find this side of Coruscant.”

“Dex’s?” Obi-Wan asked almost before Quin had finished, and the way his eyes immediately lit up made Quinlan grin.

“You bet.” Tholme’s padawan winked, dropping one of the bags on the low table in front of Obi-Wan. “As payment, you’re not allowed to complain about the show until after the finale’s over.”

Luckily, Obi-Wan’s dramatic, exasperated groan was far louder than Tholme’s snort of amusement.

With how often Quin couldn’t sleep due to overstimulation headaches, Tholme shouldn’t have been surprised that his padawan had become a holo-drama connoisseur at the tender age of seventeen. What did surprise him somewhat was how readily Obi-Wan had agreed to watch another random series, especially given the boy’s earlier loud disdain for Quinlan’s preferred form of entertainment.

The surprise lasted until Quinlan ended up with his head in Obi-Wan’s lap, snuffling little breaths escaping him every so often, his sleep so deep as to render him dead to the world around him.

(Tholme had a suspicion that there might have been a mild sleep suggestion at work as well, but for now, he had no proof)

Instead, he observed his padawan’s friend in the flickering light of the – now thankfully muted – television, cataloging all the differences between now and when the boy had first gotten back from Melidaan.

The changes were undeniable.

For one, the haunted look in his eyes and the grief that had seeped out of the boy’s very pores were gone, having been replaced by an air of quiet confidence and a piercing gaze that seemed to see far more than it should.

Now, however, the boy was frowning, staring sightlessly out of the window while he absently petted Quinlan’s hair, thin lips curled down in the corners at whatever he was grappling with.

“Obi-Wan.” Tholme murmured, distantly guilty when the boy startled, having clearly relaxed enough to drop his guard, though his shields never wavered. Still, it was apparent that the teen was struggling with something, so Tholme did his best to project safety-calm-understanding. “You don’t have to, but if there’s anything you’d like to tell me, I’ll listen.”

Obi-Wan stared at him for a few seconds, his hand never ceasing its petting of Quinlan’s hair even as his eyes seemed to see through to Tholme’s very soul.

Then, he sighed.

“Master Jinn said that he told Grandmaster Yoda to find another Master for me.” He murmured, meeting Tholme’s gaze evenly. “After he returned from Melidaan.”

Tholme nodded to show he was listening but didn’t otherwise interrupt, having a bad feeling about where the teen was going with this.

“Master Yoda...didn’t.” Obi-Wan revealed, a humourless smile tugging at his lips. “And he didn’t tell me about it, either.”

“Did Jinn not go to the Council of Reassignment?” Tholme asked, a frown beginning to pull at his brows.

“Not to my knowledge, no.” The padawan replied, mirroring Tholme’s frown. “Why?”

“Because there is protocol that needs to be followed if a Master cannot complete a padawan’s training.” Tholme replied, feeling anger start to stir in his gut at how blindsided the boy looked at that news. “And it is not Master Yoda’s job to pick a replacement Master, either.”

“...Oh.” Obi-Wan murmured, his eyes flickering over Tholme’s face as if looking for signs of deceit. “I...didn’t know that.”

“I wouldn’t have expected you to.” Tholme sighed, fighting to keep his voice kind and even despite his rising indignation. “If you tell me to leave it be, I will. But I would like to go and talk to the Council of Reassignment in the morning.”

This, more than anything else, seemed to snap the padawan out of his shock, and Tholme watched as the boy frowned, curious, suspicious, and hesitant at once.

“Why?” He demanded, and it was the genuine incomprehension in his voice that made Tholme to release his anger and focus on reassuring the traumatised boy before him.

“Because you deserve it.” He returned simply, smiling sadly when Obi-Wan froze at his words.

“O-oh.” He breathed, eyes wide as he stared at Tholme, before a small, brilliant smile lit up his face. “Alright, then.”

Chapter Text

Tholme has long since stopped believing in coincidence, so it was either fate, or the Force.

Whatever it was, however, was certainly laughing at him, because-

“Obi?” Quin called when a familiar redhead came out from around the corner, looking tired in a way sleep couldn’t fix and carrying a pale, wide-eyed youngling on his hip.

“Quin!” Obi-Wan gasped, visibly as surprised to see Quinlan in the crechemasters’ office as Quinlan had been to see him. That sharp silver gaze then darted between Quin, Tholme, and Aayla, and Tholme had a front-row seat to Obi-Wan’s brain processing what he was seeing.

“Teacher Tholme.” Obi-Wan added after a beat, inclining his head, and with a mere two words, Tholme knew everything he needed about the youngling in Obi-Wan’s arms.

But before either he or Quin could react to the implication that the youngling on Obi-Wan’s hip had likely come from the same background as Aayla, Obi-Wan adjusted the girl on his hip and grinned at Quinlan tiredly.

“What did you break this time to get assigned crèche duty?” He asked teasingly, and on anyone else, Tholme would’ve taken the question at face value. 

Luckily, both he and Quinlan knew better.

“Slander!” Quinlan gasped, his hand flying to his chest dramatically before he pointed a threatening finger at Obi-Wan face. “I’ll have you know that I’m here with my very own future padawan!”

Aayla giggled at Quinlan’s dramatics, the exact outcome Tholme reckoned Obi-Wan and Quin had been angling for, her Force-signature lighting up with a mix of pride-joy-excitement that brought a smile to Tholme’s lips, no matter how much the concept of his padawan being of an age to even consider having a padawan of his own made him feel ancient.

“And does your future padawan know that they are to be your future padawan?” Obi-Wan teased, shooting Aayla a smile and a wink, as if the ritual of ribbing Quinlan Vos was already a well-established one between the two.

“She better.” Quinlan huffed, crossing his arms over his chest even as his Force-presence gently butted against Aayla’s. “Spontaneous Force-bonds don’t happen between just anybody.”

Obi-Wan looked far less surprised than Tholme privately reckoned he should’ve been at that announcement, turning to Aayla with an idle; “And what is your name, future-padawan-of-my-idiot-best-friend?”

“Oi!” Quinlan yelped, but neither Tholme nor Obi-Wan paid him much heed, while Aayla and the youngling on Obi-Wan’s hip giggled again.

(The youngling, which Tholme was almost certain was, in fact, Dathomirian, because Obi-Wan has grown to be as committed to giving the Council headaches as Rael had been as a padawan.)

“Aylas’ecura.” Aayla replied, raising the tip of her right lek and brightening both visibly and in the Force when Obi-Wan managed to repeat her name the way she’d intoned it and acknowledged the greeting by waving back.

Tholme really shouldn’t be surprised that Obi-Wan was proficient in Ryl, and had at least some familiarity with Twi’leki customs, at this point.

And yet.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Obi-Wan smiled, dropping his hand back to the youngling on his hip to hitch her up into a more comfortable position. “I am Obi-Wan, but you can also call me Ben.”

The youngling he was carrying made a noise then, and Obi-Wan refocused on them immediately, his shields tightening.

“Do you feel up to introducing yourself?” He asked the girl in lieu of addressing whatever had caused that reaction, and upon getting a vigorous head-shake in the negative, seemed to stifle a sigh, though he didn’t look particularly surprised by the response.

“This is Asajj Ventress, padawan of Knight Ky Narec.” He introduced the girl in his arms, oddly not-looking at Quin. “She will be joining the crèche until her teacher recovers.”

“I never told you my other name.” Asajj accused as she pulled her face out of Obi-Wan’s shoulder to squint at the teen, and the suspicion in her eyes and voice only confirmed what Tholme had already suspected as to her origins.

“Obi has a knack for knowing things he shouldn’t.” Quin dismissed with a wave of his hand before Obi-Wan could try to explain himself, sending Asajj a grin and a ‘what-can-you-do’ shrug. “You’ll get used to it.”

“Is that how you found me?” Asajj continued after a suspicious glance at Quin, clearly not fully convinced by the explanation. “Ky said nobody would think to look in the caves.”

“Caves?” Quin echoed incredulously, alarm and concern pinging off of him in the Force, his earlier easy-going mien immediately discarded as he rounded on Obi-Wan. “Just where the hell were you?”

“Rattatak.” Obi-Wan replied absently, seeming more occupied with soothing the youngling who’d startled at Quin’s tone than Quin’s actual question.

Tholme made the connection a split-second before Quinlan, so he was prepared when Quin’s thoughtful frown turned into wide-eyed shock as realisation dawned, and- “Wait, are you why we were called in to advise on a ‘buddy-system’ for Outer Rim Jedi?”

Tholme stifled a sigh when Obi-Wan stilled briefly, but all the boy did was offer Quin a demure smile and an innocent, 'I can neither confirm nor deny~' which was an answer in and of itself.

“Stars, it was because of you.” Quin groaned, his expression a mix of amusement and concern. “Windu looked so guilty when he called us in, I didn’t even have it in me to rile him up. What did you do?”

“In my defence, I was left unsupervised.” Obi-Wan huffed with a roll of his eyes, dropping the earlier innocent act, and Tholme didn’t quite manage to stifle his incredulous snort.

Quin snapped his fingers and pointed at Tholme as if to second his reaction, then turned to Obi-Wan with a raised eyebrow, prompting the other teen to let out an exasperated groan. 

“And it all worked out in the end, so if you could stop dramatising, that would be wonderful-!”

"Dramati- you little-!” Quin gasped, reaching out as if he planned on throttling Obi-Wan despite the youngling still on Obi-Wan’s hip.

“Enough, children.” Tholme cut in, stepping between Quin and Obi-Wan before the two could devolve into actual grappling. “Why don’t you two leave Ky's padawan here with me and Aayla, and go somewhere away from young, impressionable ears to catch up.”

He did not miss how the girl tensed, nor Obi-Wan's immediate instinct to soothe her, and it was only when Obi-Wan removed his hand from the youngling's knee to hug her closer that Tholme noticed the cast on her shin. 

“She’ll need to be carried back to the Halls after this.” Obi-Wan warned, not loosening his hold on Asajj nor making any other move to hand her over while he eyed Tholme warily, as if worried that would somehow revoke Tholme's offer. 

“Aayla still needs her full check-up; the Halls were our next stop.” Tholme replied evenly, meeting and holding Obi-Wan's gaze and hoping the teen could feel his sincerity and read between the lines as to what Tholme was really offering.  

“Very well.” Obi-Wan sighed, nodding his head in gratitude and shooting Tholme a small, exhausted smile before he turned to address the youngling. "Do you remember what I told you about Quin and Tholme on our way here?"

Quin's head jerked up at that, but all the girl did was nod.

"Do you trust me?" Obi-Wan asked then, something heavy and wry flashing through his eyes for a split-second, but it was gone before Tholme could try to decipher it further. 

Another nod.

"Then I need you to let go." Obi-Wan instructed with a small smile, lowering himself to one knee so he could set the girl on the ground beside Tholme, though he let her keep leaning against his shoulder so she wouldn't put pressure on her broken leg. "I’ll see you tomorrow, alright? And if you get overwhelmed, I left our ship unlocked.”

The youngling perked up at that, her relief palpable, and she carefully unwound her arms from around Obi-Wan's neck and accepted the hand Tholme held out for her, though he didn't try to pick her up just yet, majority of his focus still on Aayla and Quin's own goodbye. 

Then, Quin straightened and wrapped an arm around Obi-Wan's shoulders, tugging the other teen away with a final wave at Tholme and the two younglings, though Tholme still caught his padawan's incredulous; “Should you really be telling her that?”

“At least this way, I’ll know where to look for her.” Obi-Wan retorted wryly, his shoulders visibly sagging under Quin's arm with every step they took away from the crèche. “And we’re all out of fuel anyway. She wouldn’t get very far.”

Tholme huffed, half-amused, half-concerned at that ruthless practicality, then turned his attention to the two younglings now clinging to his robes and the curiosity-caution-kinship emanating from both girls as they seemed to size each other up. 

Well. 

At least he wouldn't need to worry about Aayla making friends? 

Chapter Text

“Right!” Quin exclaimed as soon as the door to Obi’s room swished shut behind them, throwing himself onto his friend’s uncharacteristically unmade bed. “Debrief! How the hell did you end up on Rattatak?”

“I borrowed a ship.” Obi-Wan shrugged, beginning the process of removing his various packs, pouches, and layers, and wrinkling his nose when each movement seemed to dislodge small clouds of red clay dust into the air. “And your debrief will have to wait until after my shower. I have dust and sand in places neither should be, so if you’ll excuse me.”

And Quinlan- well.

Quinlan would have had to have been blind and deaf to miss such a set-up.

“Would you like some help with that?” He leered, wagging his eyebrows suggestively, fully expecting Obi-Wan to blush and fluster and maybe smack him.

But Obi-Wan just raised an unimpressed eyebrow, looked him up-and-down, then drawled: “Maybe later.”

Quinlan gaped.

His utter discombobulation at Obi-Wan actually flirting back was replaced by incredulity when Obi-Wan unclipped his lightsabre and then, like he was in some kind of comedy sketch, proceeded to somehow pull out a shoto, two blasters, a vibro-knife, and a switchblade from- somewhere on his person, and drop them into the drawer of his bedside table.

“Right.” Obi-Wan sighed as he finally came to a stop a few seconds later, now clad only in his socks and boxers, yet somehow looking more put-together than Quinlan felt in full robes. “Try not to break anything while I’m in the shower.”

And with that parting jab, Obi-Wan grabbed his towel and left the room, leaving Quinlan to pick his jaw up off the floor and rearrange his worldview in light of the realisation that Obi-Wan not only carried weapons beyond his lightsabre, but also seemed game to actually flirt back when they were behind closed doors.

The new and heretofore unexplored opportunities for mischief that that revelation created-!

Just as he was about to reach for one of Obi’s many data-pads to sketch out their next prank, his gaze caught on the open drawer of Obi-Wan’s bedside table, and- well.

Quinlan had never encountered a warning he hadn’t summarily ignored.

He slid off the bed and knelt on the floor, then used his teeth to tug off one of his gloves, while his other hand reached into the drawer for the first thing he could find like some kind of macabre ‘lucky dip’.

His fingers closed around the vibro-knife and Quinlan pulled it out of the drawer, absently noting that the handle was scratched in many places and the blade discoloured, while the knife itself was far flatter than one would normally expect.

Flat and chipped and discoloured, but the tip of the blade was sharp.

Quinlan took a breath, chanced a glance at the door, then wrapped the fingers of his bare hand around the handle-

-Obi-Wan had never trained with handheld weapons that were not his lightsaber, but when the other slaves overwhelm one of the guards, he scrambles for the vibro-knife the man drops when he falls, tucking it with shaking hands into his boot, nicking the meat of his palm in his haste. He will not be the first to resort to violence, but neither will he stand passively by when the guards abuse their power. And if they turn their sights to him- well, what is another scar compared to the webbing already spreading across his back-?

-This time, Ben knows precisely where to slash to disable, where to stab to stun, where to cut to kill. When he slashes the ligaments on the back of the Elder's knee, it's because he recognises Mawat's features in the stern-faced man, and beyond his unwillingness to kill, he does not need to give Mawat another reason to hate him. So the man falls, but his shout of pain is cut off by another scream, this one higher in pitch, and this time, Ben doesn't hesitate when he throws the vibro-knife, and though his aim is off, the blade still nicks the woman's carotid artery and she falls with a gurgle, letting Nadia scramble to her feet and escape to the nearby tunnel even as Ben calls the blade back to his hand with the Force because good weapons are sparse around here-!

-Melidaan again, and Ben never thought he'd be back here, never thought he'd have a Mandalorian at his side, either, but here he is, Myles beside him, and though he knows the Pantoran has likely spotted the Elder their stunt with the tower had alerted, he isn't reacting fast enough for Ben's tastes, so Ben drops into a roll and pulls his blade out of his boot as he goes, staying low as he coils his arm back and launches the vibro-knife with some help from the Force, the strength behind the throw sending the weapon straight through the Elder's gut and out again. But before the blade can bury itself in the wall, Obi-Wan reaches out with the Force and pulls it back to himself, making sure to go through the man's kidney this time, because they can't have him running back to the others and revealing the Young's unexpected helpers, and he also doesn't particularly want Myles to die, so the Elder has to go-!

-He's not fighting for his life this time but the urgency he feels to keep Rael away from Qui-Gon is almost worse than when he was. He knows he can't keep his lineage-brother distracted forever, not when Rael isn't holding back like Dooku, not when Rael has been in the Outer Rim far longer than him, not when Rael's reaction when Ben settled into Soresu had been a derisive snort, and Ben knows why, knows it's the worst Form to use against Rael's Djem-So, but he can't afford to let himself get distracted, can't let himself remember the last time he faced a similar fighting style- so he throws the vibro-knife. He throws the knife, and Rael is a millisecond too slow to fully lean out of the way and the blade nicks him just beneath the eye, but it's enough to stop him in his tracks where he was heading for the door, and Ben watches as his lineage-brother turns towards him slowly, blood beginning to drip from the cut on his cheekbone, and then Rael laughs, startled and delighted and mean, then twirls his 'sabre and jumps-!

-Ben feels Asajj cling to him, so small and delicate in his arms for all that he knows she is anything but, her face buried in the crook of his neck as he carries her from the cave to his ship, trusting Rael and Silas’ squad to handle the slavers on their tail. Then, a blaster bolt whizzes by his ear and the next one hits him high on the shoulder and he stumbles, and Asajj must feel his flare of pain in the Force for she whimpers, and it is that sound, more than the pain, more than the real danger of an armed slaver behind them that forces Ben to call his blade from his boot with the Force and turn mid-step, side-on to their pursuer to cover Asajj with his body and coil the arm he is not supporting Asajj with to throw the blade in his hand with all his might, feeling sick satisfaction when it embeds itself in their pursuer's eye and the being falls with a cut-off scream that only serves to make Asajj settle in his arms once again. He calls the blade back to him then turns back towards the direction of his ship and begins to sprint, trusting Rael to keep to his own path despite the flare of pain and panic he must've felt from them both-!

Quinlan was pulled back from the memories by a hand landing on his knee and he gasped, dropping the blade as if burned, and it was only when he was forced back into his own body that he realised that his lungs were burning, his breathing fast and shallow and his heart nearly beating out of his chest like he'd been the one running away from someone shooting at him-! 

"What the fuck, Obi." He gasped between panting breaths as he forced his eyes to open, catching Obi-Wan's apprehensive frown before his friend noticed him looking and wiped the expression from his face. "I'm the Shadow, I'm supposed to be the one fighting and in danger and doing shady shit and you're meant to be safe as a diplomat, that was the deal we made, you promised me-!"

"Breathe, Quinlan." Obi-Wan cut him off, and Quinlan had missed the moment Obi-Wan had shuffled close enough to lay his hands on Quinlan's shoulders, his fingers ten burning points of pressure on Quinlan's skin, the contact far more grounding than he would ever admit aloud. 

He tried to obey the quiet order, but his inhale was still more of a jagged gasp than a breath, yet all Obi-Wan did was press his hands harder into Quinlan's shoulders and inhale deeply, wordlessly setting a rhythm for Quinlan to match. 

"What did you learn?" Obi-Wan asked quietly some time later, long after Quinlan's hiccoughing gasps had turned into more measured breaths and the bloated feeling that always came with being in not-his body finally passed.

For just a moment, Quinlan saw Tholme in the curve of Obi-Wan's raised eyebrow, in the patient warmth in his eyes, and in the open care and trust that his friend projected in his direction, and the quip on the tip of his tongue died before it could fully form.

He was almost positive that Obi-Wan had never helped him come down from a bad read before.

Yet Obi-Wan seemed...calm.

Calm and steady and relaxed, like this was something they’ve done hundreds of times before.

"You're a self-sacrificing idiot." He choked out after a few silent seconds, flashes of the read still playing in the back of his mind and making bile rise up his throat. "And your pain tolerance is ridiculous.”

“It's useful.” Obi-Wan dismissed, seemingly not seeing the problem in being able to shrug off a blaster wound. “Now, what did you learn?”

And this- this was Tholme’s tone, Tholme’s wording, Tholme’s steady calm, and Quinlan found himself answering before he quite realised that it was Obi-Wan before him and not Tholme, the similarities jarring his brain into gear.

“You don't like killing but you'll do it to protect.” He rattled off, obediently listing every detail he could remember from the read. “Your aim is good even without the Force to help.”

And that- that was something Quin would have to raise with Tholme, because while he was no stranger to Obi-Wan’s midnight training escapades, the only training rooms that catered to more than just lightsabre combat were in the Shadow salles, and Obi-Wan would have had no way of accessing that unless-!

“You trust Rael to an extent that confuses you.” He continued before he could work himself into an anxiety attack over the thought of Obi-Wan as a Shadow- “You're calm. Even when you're being shot at, you're calm.” 

Quin had been told of battle-calm.

Though he hasn’t yet successfully managed it himself, he knew Tholme had learned it from the Anzati he’d trained under, while some of the other Outer Rim Jedi they’d met on their missions had picked it up on a very much needs must basis.

Yet he had never expected his diplomat-track best friend to be able to sink into battle-calm seemingly between one breath and the next.

“Did you learn anything else?” Obi-Wan inquired, tilting his head at the same time as he smoothed his hands down Quinlan’s arms until he could loosely hold his wrists, the touch bizarrely grounding.

“Yeah.” Quinlan huffed, half-amused, half-incredulous, then twisted his wrists so he could catch Obi-Wan’s hands and twine their fingers together. “Not to touch your stuff if I don't want to throw up.”

Obi-Wan snorted at that, his expression managing to convey without words that he sincerely doubted the lesson would stick.

“Good job.” He drawled, the words somehow both genuine and glib. “Reckon you’ll be able to sleep, or do you need to work this off?”

“What’d you have in mind?” Quin inquired, still too off-balance to make it a leer, but Obi-Wan must’ve sensed his intention because he rolled his eyes.

“Katas, or hand-to-hand. Something active, but not too exciting.” He elaborated flatly, shooting Quinlan a quelling look. “We could get Bant to join, maybe Garen too, if he’s around.”

“You’re boring.” Quinlan huffed, releasing Obi-Wan’s hands to lean back against his bed with a dramatic sigh.

“If you were hoping for another type of workout, I expect to be wined and dined first.” Obi-Wan sniffed, and Quinlan promptly choked, then nearly gave himself whiplash with how quickly he jerked his head up to pin Obi-Wan with an incredulous look. “And no, before you ask, Dex’s doesn’t count.”

That was now two occasions of Obi flirting back instead of kicking Quinlan out.

Two occasions in the same conversation, where in the past, Quin had been lucky to get two occasions in the same year.

...huh.

“Alright, princess, let’s go find Bantling!” He exclaimed before his thoughts could run away from him, pushing to his feet and reaching down to hoist Obi-Wan to his feet as well and linking their arms before Obi-Wan could twist out of his grip, which his friend accepted with an resigned sigh and a small, fond smile.

(“By the way, I’m sleeping over afterwards.”

“You’re not.”

“Am too.”

“You snore!”

“And you hog the blankets.”

“You run hot anyway!”

“My feet don’t!”

“That sounds like a you problem, Vos!”

“I’ll let you be big spoon~”

“...Fuck you.”)

Chapter Text

Tholme wished he could say he was surprised when he entered his quarters almost an hour after sending Quin and Obi-Wan off and found the shower running, not-his clothes strewn on the floor, and a tattered mission pack propped up against the back of the sofa.

Sighing, he headed to the kitchenette, the routine of throwing together some leftovers while Rael abused his shower a familiar one for all that it has been over a decade since the last time they’d had need of it.

He portioned out the leftover noodles and whatever vegetables didn’t look like they had grown their own ecosystem while he and Quin had been away, then carried the bowls over to the sofa, not bothering to wait for Rael to finish with his shower, the two of them far too old to get offended over the perceived breach of hospitality.

When Rael did finally emerge a few minutes later, a billow of steam following him out of the ‘fresher, Tholme was hardly surprised to discover that Rael had also rifled through his closet, the legs of the pyjama pants he’d stolen dragging on the floor while the sleep shirt hung off his shoulder in a way that might’ve been endearing if he’d been literally anyone else.

“I suppose whatever Obi-Wan threatened you with must’ve worked.” Tholme mused as he lifted another forkful of noodles to his mouth and quirked an eyebrow at the idiot he unfortunately called his best friend. “I hadn’t expected to see you here for at least another year.”

“Kid was creative, I’ll give him that, but me being back so soon actually isn’t his doing.” Rael huffed as he threw himself onto the sofa beside Tholme and reached for his cooling bowl, propping his feet up on Tholme’s lap in the same motion. “I might’ve accidentally let slip to old man Nico that Nim’s birthday was coming up. Bastard practically wrestled me onto the ship here and threatened to sic Vokara on me if I don’t go to the Temple shrinks voluntarily.”

Tholme blinked as he absorbed the stream of information he’d been bombarded with, half of his mind busy processing while the other half watched bemusedly as Rael descended on the noodles with the same voracity as he’d had when they’d been a pair of a growing teenage boys.

“Tell me you’ve called him that to his face at least once.” Tholme threw back, picking the section the least likely to blow up in his face and not bothering to hide his amusement at the thought of renowned chain-breaker Nico Diath being relegated to old man Nico.

“Oh, many times.” Rael dismissed with a smirk and a wave of his hand, somehow managing to affect an airy tone despite speaking through a mouthful of noodles. “It keeps him humble.”

Tholme snorted.

“You’re such an asshole.” He accused, flat and fond and so far from surprised it was almost worrying.

“You love me.” Rael shot back as he leaned over to put his empty bowl on the low table, somehow having inhaled the noodles while Tholme was still only half-done with his.

“Unfortunately.” Tholme sighed, wordlessly offering up the remainder of his bowl, which Rael took with a smug grin. “Which is why I have to ask you something.”

“Oh?” Rael inquired, arching an eyebrow as he shoved another forkful into his mouth. “By your expression, I’m guessing it’s not about the secret to my enduring good looks.”

“Fuck you.” Tholme retorted automatically, the same response he always gave when Rael’s slower-than-baseline ageing came up in conversation. “No, it’s not. There have been some…developments, around the Temple. My question is, would you rather be kicked when you’re already down, or should I wait until you’re back on your feet?”

It was Rael’s turn to blink at him, his earlier humour replaced by an oddly thoughtful expression.

As usual, however, the illusion shattered the moment he opened his mouth: “That depends on how much alcohol you’ve got stashed around.”

“Enough.” Tholme replied, perhaps a touch too wryly given that he felt Rael’s attention on him sharpen.

“Don’t you have a padawan running around?” Rael inquired faux-idly, and Tholme might’ve once been offended at the implication that he was neglectful of his padawan’s wellbeing, if not for the fact that they have both recently discovered how easily neglect could be missed, or dismissed.

“Quin learnt the hard way not to touch my bottles.” Tholme explained with a snort, then, at Rael’s intrigued look, offered a simple: “Psychometric.”

“Ah.” Rael breathed, blinking rapidly as he connected the dots, then winced in sympathy. “Shit, poor kid.”

Tholme hummed, sharing the sentiment; he wasn’t a big drinker by any means, but he’d lived an unconventional life even for Shadows prior to getting Quin, which meant that when he did drink, it was rarely with happy thoughts in mind.

Luckily, the first time Quin had reached for Tholme’s bottle had also been his last.

Not to mention that mixing alcohol with psychometry was a bad idea to begin with, which Quin had also found out the hard way. And as much as Tholme didn’t like to see his student suffer, he had to acknowledge that at least those lessons stuck.

“Do your worst, then.” Rael concluded, reminding Tholme of his original question and shuffling around on the sofa until his legs were thrown over the armrest and his head was in Tholme’s lap. “And if it’s as bad as you’re implying, I’m crashing in your bed.”

“You were going to do that regardless.” Tholme accused without heat, not even bothering to protest being relegated to a glorified pillow, both of them fully aware that his words would fall on deaf ears.

“Yeah, but I was gonna be nice about it.” Rael replied, and though his expression was hazy with fatigue, his eyes were sharp as he gazed up at Tholme, and his grin had far too many teeth in it for polite company. “If you get me mad and drunk, I won’t be.”

Tholme allowed himself one fond, incredulous laugh, then sobered and launched into his report.