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?