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It’s late in the night and the only light comes from a window overlooking the cityscape of Coruscant. The room is quiet except for the occasional low hum of a speeder distantly passing by and the slow breathing coming from the two sleeping bodies lying in the bed. Silently, Obi-Wan Kenobi wakes and his eyes dart towards the door, waiting.
Outside in the hall, the quick patter of small feet is heard and the door cracks open. A small blond head peeks in, a boy, tears tracking down his cheeks, padawan braid held tightly in his fist. As the child makes his way over to edge of the bed, Obi-Wan props himself up on his side, careful not to disturb the woman sleeping next to him, while shielding her from view of the boy.
“I had another nightmare, master,” Anakin whispers.
Obi-Wan nods, this was no surprise. Ever since Anakin was made his padawan a year ago, this has been their ritual nearly every night.
Before he can tell the boy to go back to his room and that he will be in shortly, the woman beside him stirs. Blinking sleepily, she sits up and sees Anakin standing there, staring at her, mouth half open in shock.
“Healer Y/L/N?” The tears stop immediately and his small eyebrows make a deep furrow in his forehead as he questions her. “What are you doing in Master Obi-Wan’s bed?”
Feeling caught, her eyes dart to Obi-Wan’s face as he puts his hand to his beard and sighs.
“Anakin had a nightmare,” he says quietly, and awkwardly meets her searching gaze.
She nods her head understandingly, and a plan begins to blossom in her mind. She leans over Obi-Wan and whispers to Anakin conspiratorially.
“You’re not the only one, Master Obi-Wan gets nightmares too,” she says, and the Jedi rolls his eyes, self-conscious at her use of the title, but she continues, “That’s why I’m here, to comfort him when he gets scared.”
Anakin looks doubtful, and he turns his questioning eyes on Obi-Wan.
“It’s true,” Obi-Wan admits, surprising himself with his own honesty, “Master Qui-Gon’s death has been difficult for me.”
At that, Anakin’s chin starts to quiver and his eyes well up with tears again. “I didn’t know him as long as you did, but I miss him too.”
Obi-Wan knows that the boy doesn’t really miss Qui-Gon, at least not in the way that Obi-Wan does, but he supposes at ten years old, this is the only way that Anakin can convey the inner turmoil that those eventful few days on Tatooine have left him with.
He’s still trying to conjure up the will to begin to kindly lecture his padawan at this hour of the night, when Y/N reaches over him and pats the bed in front of Anakin.
“Come on, get up here,” she says, and wiping at his eyes, he starts to oblige but suddenly stops and looks at Obi-Wan hesitantly.
Obi-Wan considers for a moment. Usually these nightmares are dealt with by Obi-Wan going to Anakin’s room, kneeling beside the bed, and conversing with him until the boy falls asleep. After a year of this not working, maybe Obi-Wan is finally ready to try another’s suggestion.
“Well, alright,” he says and pulls back the blanket.
This is new territory for Anakin but he doesn’t hesitate to leap onto the bed, throwing his arms around his master’s torso and burying his face in the collar of his sleep shirt. Uncontrollable sobs begin to wrack his small frame and Obi-Wan holds him close, setting his chin on the top of his head.
They stay like that for a while, until Anakin’s cries subside and he starts to grow limp with fatigue. Carefully, Obi-Wan lays him down on the bed, smoothing wisps of blond hair back from his forehead. By the time he’s finished tucking him into the blankets, Anakin is fast asleep.
Obi-Wan lays back down, mindful not to wake the boy, he makes himself comfortable and watches Anakin thoughtfully.
“This isn’t the Jedi way.” he murmurs.
“And when you invited me here tonight it was?” she asks pointedly.
He shoots her a slightly guilty look, they both know of his attachment towards her, but then he doubles down when his gaze moves back to the boy.
“If the prophecy is to be believed – if Master Qui-Gon is to be believed – then he is the chosen one.” He whispers, “If I were to be the one to jeopardize his path to becoming a Jedi, I would—!” He cuts himself off, reaching his hand up to his brow, and closing his eyes. “I do not know what I would do,” he finishes softly.
She sighs and reaches her own hand towards Obi-Wan.
“I fear,” she says quietly, taking Obi-Wan’s hand down from his face and smoothing away the creases in his forehead, “that to not allow Anakin these small comforts would be worse for him in the end.” He meets her eyes and the moment stretches.
Before he can give a response to her statement, she carefully lays herself down in the crook of his shoulder, pressing herself to the side of his chest, feeling his steady heartbeat against her own.
Quietly, softly, she reaches over him and lightly traces the bridge of Anakin’s nose. Obi-Wan lets his hand come up to her shoulder, smoothing the fabric of her undershirt, taking comfort in her presence.
In the morning, she will slip out before dawn’s first light, and Obi-Wan will solemnly watch her leave, eyes tracking every movement until she closes his bedroom door, cutting off the connection of their gazes. But right now, all three relax in the security of having someone hold them, protect them, love them.