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It had been absolutely pissing down misery for three days now and showed no sign of stopping. Obi-Wan picked at a strand of hair coming loose out of his top knot until he made himself crazy and took the whole thing down to fix it. Rainy days were always slow for a florist, but Qui-Gon always said that romance didn't wait on the weather, so here Obi-Wan was slowly going bored out of his mind. He'd finished two paperbacks from the used store down the way, and was considering getting a third on his lunch break.
He'd already triple checked all the blooms in the cooler, and it was far too soon to change the window display as he'd only set it up that first day the clouds rolled in. Maybe he'd finally get that tongue piercing he'd been considering. And maybe he could just rip his shirt open and let Qui-Gon murder him with a kitchen knife.
The image made him snort at himself, before slumping slowly over the counter, tipping his stool precariously in the process. Rain always made him tired, ever since he was a kid. When his mother was still alive she declared rainy days quiet days, she'd make a big pot of tea and make a great nest in their living room of blankets and cushions and pillows and they'd snack and sip and read books curled up. He'd always fall asleep and wake up to her humming softly and drawing her fingers through his hair.
The sudden jangle of the front door was a sufficient startle he nearly fell, but the muscle memory of working this shop since he could remember had him kicking out to catch the edge of the counter to shove his stool back onto four legs, safe and sound. "Welcome on in, let me know if you have any questions."
Wizened little old Yoda just blinked up at him from under wispy tufts of white hair as he folded his umbrella, rainwater puddling on the tile floor. "Hiding from the wind, I am, Obi-Wan. Shelter in here with you, may I?"
Obi-Wan hid his sigh and got up to move a mail package off the bench near that front window display. "Of course, Mister Yoda, as long as you need."
"Some tea, maybe you might have for sharing? Dreadful it is outside, just dreadful."
"Yes, Mister Yoda, one moment." Obi-Wan only let himself roll his eyes with his back turned. Mister Yoda with his thick accent and foreign grammar was a positively ancient friend of his grandfather's and had a particularly close mentor relationship with his father. Yoda was to have whatever he wanted, nothing was an inconvenience for them, so into the back Obi-Wan went to fix a pot of the spiced tea he preferred. Black for Yoda, sweet and light for his own. "Here you are, Mister Yoda, it's hot."
"A good boy you are, Obi-Wan, a good boy, yes. Thank you." He slurped and Obi-Wan hauled the box of floral foam to toss into the dry storage. He let his father fuss with getting arrangements just so and harmonious or whatever feng shui fad he was into that month. He came back to drink his tea, standing now, because sitting was apparently lazy and bad manners in front of one's elder's. Cup of tea finished, Yoda stretched out his short legs with a satisfied grunt. "Tell Qui-Gon, 'hello', I said, you will, please. See your grandfather I shall for poker, hmhmhm!" Yoda rasped his odd little chortle and patted Obi-Wan's elbow before trundling back out into the less blustery, but just as wet weather.
Obi-Wan went to get the mop when his phone let out an annoying alert to tell him Anakin had texted. His younger half-brother didn't usually text during work hours, for fear Qui-Gon would decide he had enough free time to pick up a shift. Obi-Wan dug into the drawer he had to keep his cell in, and immediately squeezed his eyes shut again. There was no way in hell he was going to be the one to break the news to their father that Anakin had only fucking gone and done it.
'Delete this. I didn't see shit. You tell dad yourself, you shit.'
'C'mon Obi, please?'
'Fuck no, not on your life. I have to get back to work.'
Obi-Wan silenced his phone and shoved it in the drawer to try and forget he'd ever seen the selfie of Anakin—all of 19 and stupid with it—at the courthouse marrying his older girlfriend in a sudden elopement without inviting anyone. If Obi-Wan had pulled shit like that Qui-Gon would've actually considered taking a belt to him for his exclusion of his family and lack of consideration to their feelings. If Obi-Wan was the one to tell Qui-Gon that messenger would get emotional buckshot to the face, because why didn't Obi-Wan stop the dumbass from doing something he'd not told anyone he was doing?
If Anakin owned up directly, the worst that would happen is probably Qui-Gon insisting they hold a reception at least for the family, and—of course—he'd offer to pay because he was very conscious that Padmé Naberrie came from the very expensive side of town and he didn't want her family to think the shop wasn't flourishing.
Caught in this turmoil he was therefore taken utterly and completely by surprise when the door jangled open and a dream walked in, looking harried and rushed. "Hey sorry for the short notice, I—hrk!" The dark head of dreadlocs and their stylish crimped beads very quickly disappeared along with a rather terrifying crash.
"Jesus Christ! Are you okay?" Obi-Wan lept back around the counter, dodging a display of peace lilies to find the man absolutely laid out on his tile floor, clutching his head in agony. Oh fuck, the puddle. "Here, don't sit up." His sneakers squealed on the damp floor as he knelt down to press a light hand on the man's broad shoulder. "Does your neck hurt? You'll be alright, I'm an EMT." He'd be a paramedic if he'd had his choice, but the shop needed him, and Qui-Gon said that Obi-Wan needed the experience running it if he was going to take over one day. Still, he loved his certification, and volunteered constantly at the school sports meets and the local volunteer station when he could find the time.
The man was staring up at him in a daze, and the bright goldenrod stripe across his face looked like a cultural tattoo, echoed near his temple in a smaller streak. Obi-Wan checked his wrists and ankles, before sliding his hand under the man's neck. He rattled off a few questions to see if the had any disorientation, dizziness, or confusion but all seemed well, if terribly uncomfortable. "Nothing seems broken, just a bad knock. Let me take you into the break room and get a better look, you think you're ready to sit up?"
"Yeah." Obi-Wan helped keep the man's head and neck relatively still, to sit up, waited to see how that treated him, then tucked under his armpit to be a support and getting him on his feet. "You should lay down for a little bit, I've a couch in the break room." He slammed the door lock and flipped the sign, Qui-Gon could just be pissed about it before he went about getting the poor man comfortable.
The breakroom couch was one of the few battles he'd won with his father, ugly and second hand, but oh-so comfortable. Qui-Gon thought such a thing would encourage laziness, but Obi-Wan just wanted to slouch over a hot beverage in comfort on his breaks. He got the gentleman laid out and turned to Anakin's minifridge to see if he could manage a cold compress. No ice, but he remembered an instant snap-pack in the first aid kit and fished that out.
"Still with me? No dizziness?"
"Caravaggio…"
Obi-Wan caught the man's hand before he could touch Obi-Wan's face, and frowned in concern. "Ah, no, I'm Obi-Wan."
All the color rushed out of him, turning him gray with shock before the man passed out and Obi-Wan cursed, moving to call the rescue to get out here. He watched his buddies load the man up, eyes catching on the full sleeve tattoos and under cut locs. Just his luck the first person he'd might be willing to humiliate himself and ask for their number swans into his life, and he nearly kills him for want of a wet floor sign.
Quinlan woke up as the ambulance bumped over a cobble and he stared at the ceiling of his involuntary admission, still reeling.
"Hey there, trooper, good to see you're with us." A blast of too-bright light and a thumb lifting each eyelid made him cringe back, but the man with the curling scar around his eye and eyebrow was unphased. "Gave Obi-Wan a scare proper. Do you have any pain?"
"My head."
"Where'd you rate your pain, sir?" Another rattling bump and Quinlan spat out something approximate.
"You think you can soldier through it a little longer? We're pulling up now, but your pupils look good."
"Sure."
Another transfer, an annoying round of questioning and some pain meds later, they admitted him just to observe over night. Quin pulled out his phone and puzzled a little bit about how he got here. Instead he sent a text.
'Dad. I found him.'