#but it for sure focuses on him finding out how little obi-wan has been coping!! (very important)

[tennessoui]

oh - i would LOVE a perspective flip for when the lighthouse is swallowed by the sea!! thats like. my absolute all time favorite fic of yours (tied by vowbreaker lol) i just think its so damn good and im dying to know how anakin coped with. yk. being dead lmaoo i love u and i hope yr hiatus is relaxing and good!!

omg....i love this so much i am so happy to hear you love this fic!!!

here is 1.1k of anakin's perspective of "when the lighthouse is swallowed by the sea"

(a fic about anakin "dying" and obi-wan surviving with guilt and a bit of a death wish, but then anakin doesn't actually die and he comes back and they heal together slowly)

(1.1k)

It is terribly hard to figure out how much time has passed. The miners are nice, but it’s clear they don’t really know what to do with Anakin. He’s healing—slowly—but he’s also taking the majority of their medical supplies.

Most of this time, Anakin spends sleeping. It’s hard work, healing like he needs to. From what happened to him. It takes away all his energy, all his attention, until he can sit up in his bed, unaided.

The miners call it a miracle and inch around him suspiciously. They’ve never seen anyone do what Anakin can. Anakin would be bothered, but he is used to the suspicious, slightly afraid looks. No one can do what he can.

It feels like years pass in his tiny room. It’s a medbay of one. He needs a comm, he needs to contact Obi-Wan or Ahsoka, or any of his men, but the miners refuse to give him one. It’s too risky, they say. If they’re not perfectly safe, they—and their families and all their loved ones—could be killed for what they’ve done for a general of the GAR.

He’s alive because of the conscience of good men. But he’s stranded away from his family, his loved ones, his master because of the same thing.

Finally, when Anakin is capable of walking twice around his room without collapsing, one miner passes him an encrypted commlink.

Ahsoka’s face is tired, pinched, and wary when she picks up. It’s a relief to see the beads hanging from her montrals. He’d wondered—he’d been so afraid that she’d been Knighted in his absence. He still doesn’t know how long it’s been.

Her face goes slack with surprise when she sees him.

“So,” he says. “I’m alive.”

The hug she gives him several hours—days?—later is so tight he thinks she’s trying to rebreak all the bones he’s just mended.

“Anakin,” she says his name like it’s a secret. Or a prayer. He can’t tell which. He hugs her back. He understands. He does. He’d really…he’d really thought he’d die. In that mine, when he’d felt the explosions beneath his feet and he’d seen immediately that he was too far away from the exit to run—he’d thought that was it for him. He’d pushed Obi-Wan out and away from the mine completely. He’d protected his master. He’d protected the love of his life.

It hadn’t mattered if he died after that, so long as he knew Obi-Wan would live.

“Where is Obi-Wan?” he asks as soon as they separate. “I thought he’d be with you, that’s why I didn’t try to contact him.”

And what a trial that had been, to force himself to type Ahsoka’s comm number into the link instead of his master’s. But he had a duty to Ahsoka as her master. That had to outweigh any romantic feelings he felt for Obi-Wan, otherwise the man would never agree to start a relationship with him.

But Ahsoka hesitates and Anakin feels a black hole well up in the pit of his stomach. “Where’s Obi-Wan?” he demands, grabbing at her shoulders a hair too tightly. “Is he alright?”

“He…” Ahsoka looks askance and pulls away from him. Anakin feels like he’s back in the mine all over again. Explosions under his feet. Nothing to do but let the pain hit. “He…he’s alive.”

The news feels like a breath of fresh air. His first one in months. If Obi-Wan is alive then everything will be okay. A smile unfurls over his face. Alive. Alive. Alive.

“He…he thinks you’re dead,” she adds upon seeing his expression.

Anakin nods happily. “Everyone does, but I’m not so it’s alright.”

“It’s not,” she says. It sounds like an accusation. “It’s not alright, he’s been…he’s been….”

She trails off. Before he can demand to hear the truth from her—or pry it out of her mind—one of the miners enters with a question about Anakin’s departure. His men have paid them back in full, in credits and bacta for their caring for Anakin.

Goodbyes are quick and distracted, at least on Anakin’s part. All he can hear is Ahsoka’s voice, over and over again, It’s not alright, he’s been…he’s been.

“What has happened since the mine?” he demands of her as soon as he sees her again. They’re on their way back to Coruscant. These are a mixture of the 501st and Plo Koon’s men. In his absence, Ahsoka has been reassigned and not to Obi-Wan.

She starts telling him about the war. He lasts less than a minute before he swipes his hand through the air.

“No, what has happened to Obi-Wan since the mine?” he asks. “What have I missed?”

Ahsoka crosses her arms and looks at him. “I…he’s…he misses you.”

Anakin nods. This is understandabele. He misses Obi-Wan as well.

“He…I think…we think he wants to be with you.”

Anakin frowns. “We’re on our way back to the Temple right now, Ahsoka. He will be with me.”

“No, like…he thinks you’re dead. And I think he wants to die too.”

Anakin blinks at her. Eventually, he shakes his head. “Obi-Wan would never.”

Ahsoka growls slightly and stalks over to the table of her cabin and picks up her datapad. He watches her aggressively type on it for several minutes before she moves closer to him and thrusts it into his face. “These are the mission reports for Master Kenobi’s missions in the last four months. Look at them, Anakin! He…he isn’t even trying. He wants to die!”

When she drops the ‘paad in his lap, he picks it up and stares at the information in front of him. Close calls with death, every single one of them. He can tell Cody wrote these mission reports out, and he knows how far Cody will go to protect his general. Not as far as Anakin, but certainly past his mandate as commander.

He’s protecting Obi-Wan. And yet these mission reports scream danger. Recklessness. Disregard for safety.

Anakin swallows and looks up at Ahsoka. “You’ve told him, right?”

She nods. “He won’t believe me until he sees you, I don’t think. I didn’t.”

He purses his lips before nodding as well. He wants to hug her again. They need to talk. They have so much to talk about. But his hands ache to hold onto Obi-Wan. He needs him. He needs to hold him. He needs to kiss him. He needs to make him stop hurting.

Yes. When they arrive on Coruscant, Anakin will be the first person off the ship so he can find Obi-Wan that much sooner. Nothing else is a viable option.

[jasontoddiefor]

Summary: Five times the Jedi Council has to deal with younglings and one time the younglings have to deal with the Jedi Council. Part of my ongoing fix it series. Read on AO3!

#1

Plo Koon took slow steps into the Council chamber, bent slightly towards the right to accommodate for the little guest this session was going to have. He was the last to arrive, and that thirty minutes late as well as the youngling that had latched onto him had first refused to let him out of her sight and then hadn’t wanted to be carried to where Plo need to be. Little Ahsoka Tano, as bright in the Force as she was, was at least twice as stubborn. Unfortunately, Plo had a difficult time denying the child anything. She was his foundling, he had brought her to the temple. He would always remember the days they had spent together traveling fondly.

“Master Koon, you are late,” Oppo Rancisis said, though the amusement in his voice was apparent.

“The Force guided me elsewhere,” Plo answered and crossed the last few steps to his chair. Once there, he sat down while Ahsoka stood in front of him still, her arms crossed and frowning as if she were thinking.

“You can sit on my lap if you want, Ahsoka,” Plo told her but the three-year-old only shook her head.

Then she turned around to face the rest of the Council, still undecided on where she now wanted to go. Plo felt just a little betrayed, had he not spent thirty minutes following her wished only to be abandoned like that.

“You!” Ahsoka said, pointing at Saesee Tiin. “I want to sit with you.”

The Iktotchi Jedi only laughed boomingly and opened up his arms in a welcoming gesture. “Well, then, come here.”

With a delighted yell, Ahsoka rushed forward, somehow now twice as fast as she had been when she was holding Plo’s hand, and climbed onto the lap of the other Jedi Master. They waited until Ahsoka was seated comfortably before finally beginning their meeting.

#2

Mace wasn’t quite sure what exactly he was looking at.

“Welcome, Knight Kenobi,” he greeted calmly nevertheless. Then he attempted to continue with “and Pada-“ only for a suspicious giggle to escape out of Obi-Wan’s direction while the Knight himself pressed his index finger to his lips and shushed. He was smiling fondly and looked well rested for once. He must have begun to learn how to cope with Qui-Gon’s death and embrace his own life again.

Mace exchanged a look with his fellow councilors, but they all either shrugged or smiled in amusement as well. Mace supposed they were going to ignore their little visitor then.

“Well, the Council would like to hear about Padawan Skywalker’s progress,” Mace said.

Obi-Wan nodded and gently wrapped one arm around his stomach.

Or, more accurately, the shoulders of the Padawan hiding beneath his outer robes. It looked utterly ridiculous. Jedi robes could hide a lot, but not a nine-year-old standing on his Master’s feet. Anakin must have his arms wrapped around Obi-Wan’s stomach. Mace wondered whether the two of them had walked through the entire temple like this. It had certainly looked well practiced already when Obi-Wan had stepped into the Council chamber.

“Anakin is an amazing student,” Obi-Wan said, still holding onto his Padawan’s shoulders. “Even though he has experienced multiple setbacks-“ His illiteracy when it came to Basic being a major one that Mace knew of “-he has risen above them. He has a very strong connection to the Force and is already doing very well in the grounding exercises I’ve shone him.”

“Very good that is,” Yoda added. “More you have to report?”

Obi-Wan looked thoughtful then his robes seemed to move on their own accord. Obi-Wan actually bent forward so he could listen to whatever Anakin whispered into his ear. Like this, Mace could actually see his blond hair peak out of the brown robes. Obi-Wan whispered something back, making the youngling giggle and finally stood up straight again.

“Anakin has also passed multiple engineering exams already and skipped several piloting classes,” Obi-Wan stated.

“A great Jedi he will be then,” Yaddle commented.

Obi-Wan smiled. “The very best.”

And little Anakin Skywalker, hiding beneath his Master’s robes, let out a sigh of relief.

#3

After all these years, Mace should really be used to the amused looks he got whenever he had a guest accompanying him to his council sessions. Looking back, Mace could freely admit that it had been a mistake to put him on the Council when he was only twenty-eight. It had been a stressful time, especially those two years he had trained Devan and Depa at the same time. It was a Force-damned miracle that Depa had been as self-sufficient as she had been, Mace wasn’t sure he would have managed to handle two Padawans at once otherwise. He had done her a disservice, Devan too, being unable to give them the attention they deserved. Too often had he taken one of them or both along to a Council session as a replacement for a lesson on diplomacy or galactic history he should have given them in person.

It had taught the two of them well however. They were excellent when it came to keeping secrets and Depa had told him more than once that she was a better Councilor because of how often she had sat next to his chair, doing her homework and listening to their discussions.

And much like his Master many years ago, Caleb Dume now sat next to Mace, filling out his homework.

Or, was supposed to be filling out his homework. Caleb had stopped writing a while ago and was instead listening to them. The boy sat incredibly still, forcing himself to appear calmer than he actually was.

“Do you have anything to add, Padawan Dume?” Shaak Ti asked him.

Caleb immediately began to blush, embarrassed that he had been caught.

“No, Master,” he replied, smiling sheepishly. “Sorry, Masters.”

“No need to apologize, young one,” Shaak Ti said. “You can always do your homework later. Treat this like the learning opportunity it is. Don’t you think that is a more productive use of his time, Mace?”

It was, but Mace had promised Depa he would oversee Caleb’s training while she was on a mission much too dangerous for her young charge. He should ensure he actually got his course work done, the current Padawan’s education was already being shot to the dark due to the war.

Caleb looked to Mace, his eyes wide and pleading.

Mace sighed. He knew better than to fight battles he couldn’t win.

“Don’t tell your Master,” he told Caleb seriously, face stern when his voice was everything but.

#4

Ki-Adi-Mundi didn’t enjoy listening to blabbering fools. He downright loathed attending diplomatic missions where one look at the politician in question told you that they were only here for their own gain and couldn’t care less about the people they were supposed to represent. It was exhausting trying to negotiate with such people. It gave Ki-Adi a headache. Thankfully his current Padawan wasn’t much suited for diplomacy. Ki-Adi of course still had to teach A’Sharad basic diplomacy, but it had become clear that it wasn’t A’Sharad’s strength and therefore the number of politicians Ki-Adi had to deal with was limited.

The same, however, could not be said for council sessions.

The Senator from a rather fancy Core World kept inquiring about Jedi aid he very much did not need.

Ki-Adi was tired.

Still listening to the man make the same arguments as he had thirty minutes ago, Ki-Adi focused on looking at the skyline of Coruscant. It was a beautiful day outside and Ki-Adi could think of about a hundred different things he could be doing right now when a shadow passed by the Council window, followed by an excited shout.

All heads shot up just in time to see a second figure pass by the window. This one Ki-Adi did recognize. His Padawan waved quickly before resuming his controlled fall, followed by little Anakin Skywalker. The two Tatooine children were good for one another, no matter how different their cultures of origin were.

“What- what is that!?” The Senator stuttered, face as pale as chalk.

It was the best look he had worn so far.

“Just First flight,” Adi Gallia said with a chuckle. “Ignore them, Senators. The younglings are merely having fun.”

Ki-Adi was pleased to see a group of Initiates and Padawans were following A’Sharad. First flight was a long-standing tradition, a rather ridiculous one as well, watching 10-year-olds throw themselves off the highest points in the temple, but right at this moment it filled Ki-Adi’s heart with warmth. He was happy that despite his troublesome start, A’Sharad got to make the experience most temple-raised younglings did.

The Senator was obviously still in shock. Ki-Adi supposed most cultures didn’t let their children simply jump off high ledges for fun. It took the man a while to find his line of argumentation again, though the shadows passing the windows certainly distracted him.

One by one the children passed until another one jumped and flew by the window that did catch Ki-Adi’s attention. Mainly, because they were much too small to be attempting this yet. With the Force, Ki-Adi reached out to catch the child mid-air. The Mirialan youngling was obviously put out.

“Proceed, Senator,” Ki-Adi said as he rose from his chair to open up the window and pull the child floating mid-air inside.

“Master!” The child pouted. “I wanna fly.”

The Senator did not proceed. For a moment, Ki-Adi considered leaving the council session to bring the youngling back into the creche where they belonged, and yet-

“You’re too young,” Ki-Adi said. “What would cour crèchemaster say…”

“Barriss,” she introduced herself. “I’m Barriss and I’m already six.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Ki-Adi replied. He settled back into his chair, Bariss on his lap. “I apologize, Senator. I hope you don’t mind Barriss staying with us.”

“Of- of course not,” the man stuttered.

The meeting was over five minutes later.

#5

Yaddle was old. Not as old as Master Yoda, no, but she had lived many centuries already. She would be here many centuries more as well, but sometimes she felt particularly old, especially when she was holding a newborn.

Little Cal had been born just a week ago and his mother was tired. Yaddle had offered to take him off his mother for a while so she could calm. Of course, Vatnem’s own Master and sibling-Padawan had offered as well, but Yaddle had missed taking care of someone so young. She should spend more time in the creche like Yoda, perhaps it would brighten her spirits as well.

“A sweet child he is,” Yoda said about the baby sleeping soundly in his crib.

Cal had his mother’s bright red hair and her lungs as well when he screamed, but right now he was absolutely comfortable.

“Not much noise we should make today,” Yoda continued, glancing at Even Piell and Yarael Poof who had very opposing opinions on the discussion at hand.

“Not much noise at all,” Yaddle agreed and didn’t even bother to cover up how fun she thought this whole discussion was bound to be with nobody wanting to wake up the sleeping child.

+1

Anakin looked at the three Councilors standing in front of him. Out of the three of them, only Kit Fisto seemed to be dressed appropriately given that he was wearing only swim trunks. Anakin pinched the bridge of his nose.

“You do know this is art class, right?” He asked.

Luminara was wearing her long dark robes and Aayla looked like she had just come from a mission, dressed for war and not for three-year-olds. But given how chaotic everything could get here, Anakin was willing to just call it a day.

“Okay, fine,” he sighed. “Just don’t complain when you get finger paint all over your robes.”

“Like you?” Aayla asked, pointing at his color covered pants.

“Exactly like me,” Anakin replied. “Which is why I wear these every time I’m doing art. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Then, smiling almost a little mischievously, Anakin turned around back to his Clan. He had two Padawans helping out distributing the paint to the children who were now excitedly waiting for their crèchemaster to allow them to start smearing the paint all over the canvas.

“Attention!” Anakin called and all eyes drew to him. “We have guests today, I want you all to be on your best behavior, alright?”

The children nodded or cheered eagerly, Anakin could spot the first smearing paint on their neighbor’s tunics. This was going to be fun.

[space-girl-and-droids-art]

A New Dawn- Book Review

(Nobody asked for this review, but here it is. This is spoiler free but it does contain minor spoilers for Star Wars: Rebels and some key events from the prequel movies. I’m not a book expert and I don’t even know how to speak in English to begin with, so excuse my poor grammar.)

“A New Dawn” is canon novel written by John Jackson Miller that focuses on how Hera Syndulla and Kanan Jarrus met and the beginning of the rebellion against the Galactic Empire. This book is a prequel to the TV series “Star Wars: Rebels.” But it contains more adult and deep themes than the tv series itself because it focus on the lives of two adults that have been through a lot already. This book is also after the events of the “Kanan Jarrus: the last padawan” comics, but it’s not necessary to read the comics to understand what’s going on in the book.

This book starts in the mining planet Gorse, a planet where the empire is mining a material used to fabricate Star Destroyers and under the control of the cyborg Count Vidian. But what starts being an inspection ends up generating chaos around the planet. There’s not much more I can talk about the plot of the book without making heavy spoilers, but you are going to enjoy it. The plot feels like a Star Wars movie.

If you are a Star Wars rebels’ fan and you want to get to know more about Hera Syndulla and Kanan Jarrus before their arrival to Lothal, this book is a must read. Even if you are not really into rebels, if you like stories about rebellions this is going to be an enjoyable read. Being focused on different characters perspective (third person, so it’s not that confusing), you get to know a lot about the trauma that jedi carry after Order 66, their relationship with the force in a galaxy that is no longer welcoming of those who use it, and what was the perception the regular people had of the empire, and at the same time you get to understand the cruelty behind the empire, what were their motives, etc.

This novel also does wonders for Kanan Jarrus character development and after reading it, his attitude towards Ezra at the beginning of rebels makes more sense. Often we forget that Kanan had a different coping and survival mechanism than Obi-Wan Kenobi and other jedis that survived Order 66, and this book let us know how deep this trauma affects him and how it drives him as a person.

The characters of this book felt real, and that’s something I always enjoy when reading. Even when sometimes I didn’t agree with them, I could understand why they were doing what they were doing. I understood their motives. Example being the antagonist, Count Vidian. Everytime he was even mentioned I wanted to throw him out of the nearest window. But not because the character was badly written, on the contrary, he was such a well-written villain.

This being said, I thought since I am a rebel’s fan I would end up having either Kanan or Hera as my favourite character of the novel, but I was wrong. I love them, with all my heart, but the secondary characters stole the show for me. Specially Skelly, one of Kanan’s co workers at the mines. I feel the whole crew of this story represents the different parts of being a rebel in a unique way.

The story and it’s plot constantly kept me guessing what was going to happen next. It has a little mystery aspect to it that I really enjoyed and kept me hooked from beginning to end. The beginning was slow paced for me , because it introduces us to new characters, but after the characters are properly introduced and you get to know what their routine is , their whole world is flipped upside down and it gets really fast paced but not rushed. I liked it a lot.

My favourite part of the book is for sure every fight they have against the empire. The author does a good job making characters real, and even better at doing battles. I felt like I was in the ship with them. The other scenes I liked where the ones that showed how each of the characters belief system changed. You get to see why they are against the empire, except for Hera, which is expected since her father was already involved with the rebellion of Ryloth since the Clone Wars.

We do get to understand why the rebellion is important to here nevertheless.

The book made me both laugh and cry. I felt almost every emotion while reading it. Such a rollercoaster. It also made me want to watch the show again, and made the season four ten times sadder.

This novel got me hooked from page one and kept me turning pages until I finished it.

I did miss ma boi Chopper. The droid isn’t on the book, but I get it because during the story they are flying mostly in other ships and not on the Ghost.

Kanan at the beginning was such an asshole, which makes sense considering his background, but I really wanted to punch him. His character develops a lot in the book and, considering the rebel series, I have to admit that Kanan is one of the most well-developed characters in all Star Wars and I’ll die on this hill.

I wish the book focused a bit more on Hera because I really felt like out of the crew, she was the least developed while being the most important at the same time. Sadly,since the book focused more on Kanan, she was viewed from his view and clearly from a male gaze that wasn’t present in the show. This changes when Kanan’s perspective does .She was still a badass pilot and fighter and portrayed as such.

Overall, this is a great book. I would recommend this book to rebel’s fans, people who have Rogue One as their comfort movie, Rebellion story lovers, people who likes reading about sabotage, people that want to know more about the technical aspects of leading the empire, Kanera shippers, People who still cry about Order 66 and isn’t ready to see it again in the bad batch, readers eager to know a cruel villain you abstolutely won’t root for and Kanan Jarru’s simps.

If you are more interested in politics and love themed stories, this one isn’t for you. Also, if you are looking for more young adult novels, maybe this isn’t the story you should begin with. If you are looking for force users stories this also may be a little disappointing for you because Kanan doesn’t really use the force a lot until rebels. Also if bombs or bomb attacks are triggering to you in some way you should know that they are featured quite a lot. I will be reviewing more Star Wars book in the future and I have done more reviews already that you can check on my tumblr page if you want to read a different book.

It’s not a mandatory read to understand the lore of Star Wars or Star Wars: rebels, but I heavily recommend it and it’s a good stand alone book.

I hope you find this review useful and give this book a chance if you are interested.

[hellotherekenobi]

─── a letter to you.

summary: the one thing you’re good at, aside from being a jedi, is writing. in fact, it helps you say the things that you can never say aloud; like how you’re in love with obi-wan kenobi. the one thing you’re bad at, though, is keeping your writing hidden, and one letter gets found.

requested by: @iamfrulcrum

ONESHOT. ⟶ 2,521 WORDS.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

It was one of those things. Something you do to help quiet the voices in your head, to collect your thoughts into one big bundle instead of scattered scribbles on the pages of your mind. It was calming. It was your way of coping. It was writing.

When everything became too much, you knew the one thing that would always help is to write things down. With a pen or a pencil in your hand, the world goes quiet. It was also a way to express your secrets without ever really telling anybody— secrets you kept for the very reason that if anyone found out, you would be in deep waters. Why? Because you’re in love with a Jedi. And you have no idea what to do about it.

You’ve been friends with Obi-Wan ever since you were knighted a Jedi alongside him, and although you two were on less and less missions together as the years passed, your feelings for him never faulted. Whenever he greeted you with a toothy smile or ran a hand through his hair or looked at you with those dazzling blue eyes, you felt every sort of butterfly erupt in your stomach; completely head-over-heels for a man who could never love you back, or love at all for that matter.

So, writing was the best option for you. It was that or harboring your entire existence around him, which was almost becoming the norm for you with how much you think about him. But no more. To get the thoughts out of your head, you know you need to put them to paper. Then you can scrunch it up into a little ball and burn it and hope for the best.

However, the hopeful moment was split in two when a finger tapped your shoulder and you flinched; turning around in your chair quickly to see those beautiful, sparkling cerulean eyes that you were all too familiar with— the very pair that made you melt down into a puddle, feeling all gooey inside— so you can’t help but instantly relax at noticing that it’s him and smiling like, what you are sure looks to be, a complete and utter goofball.

“Hi, darling,” he smiles, a soft chuckle flowing past his lips as he settles himself into the chair beside you— and you feel as if your smile has grown even wider with just those two words and the very way he said them— “do you mind if I sit here for a while? I’m on the run at the moment.”

“On the run?” You laugh and he leans in close to shush you.

“Yes, from Madame Kandria. I’ve become her errand boy for the day and I have had it. I need a break.”

You nod at him, placing your chin in your palm, “Hmm, very good choice then here, the library.”

“It was the most obvious choice, yes—” he nudges your arm— “besides, when I saw you sitting here all by yourself, I had to join you.” He smiles brightly, as if he should be receiving a golden sticker on his robes for such a charming compliment, “What are you writing?”

“Just thoughts,” you offer, sliding him a piece of paper you had been scribbling at for the past few minutes, fortunately nothing about him... yet.

He takes the paper with gentleness; using one finger to spin it to face himself and taking his time to read each word with the utmost attentiveness— you almost scoff at how he looks, all he needs is a pair of reading glasses and the picture would be set; something adorable to frame inside your mind, as opposed to all the other moments you’ve captured that now reside where you can always look at them. After a moment, Obi-Wan hums and flashes you another, but quick, dazzling smile.

“You have a way with words,” he says and you drag the paper back to you, rolling your eyes and shaking your head as if it were a twitch, but Obi-Wan is quick to reach for the paper; placing his hand on top of yours, “I mean it!”

“Thank you.” You nod at him, focusing much more on the feeling of his soft but calloused hand rather than his sincere words.

“When are you going to write me something?” He asks suddenly, and you’re looking at him with such genuine surprise that he chuckles, “I’m asking.”

“You’re asking?”

He makes such an adorable sound when he nods at you that you almost cave and tell him well, I have written about you before, plenty of times, so take your pick! but just as his tap on the shoulder to you interrupted your thoughts before, so does the shout of his name from the doorway does now; Obi-Wan springing up, his hand squeezing yours, and stammering out a, “M-Madame Kandria!”

She looks furious, the poor woman; standing with her back so straight that she might as well have been a statue, the lines under her eyes showing more than just age but stress too, “I’ve been calling for you.”

“My apologies, I was helping my frien—”

“Come with me.”

She doesn’t say another word, just simply spins on her heel and walks right back out of the door. Obi-Wan turns around to you with a mocking yet tired smile on his face and you’re about to burst into laughter right then and there with how much annoyance you can feel seeping from him, until he leans over to press a kiss to your forehead, his hand that was on yours now at the back of your head to move you toward him gently, and then he’s dashing out of the room to follow Kandria before she can shout at him again.

And you sit there. And you blink. And you write.

─────── ⋯ ───────

Obi-Wan rarely sees you that week, with him at Madame Kandria’s beck-and-call and you with your duties around the temple, that whenever you two do happen to see each other, it’s when you’re leaving the library and he’s entering it. He keeps trying, however, to time those quick encounters better so that he can actually talk to you but it turns out that when he tries, he ends up missing you altogether. Like now, with him finding the only evidence that you were even in the library to begin with being the papers scattered on one of the desks.

It brings a soft smile to his face, though, to see all the mess you’ve left behind— you have always been a bit of a scattered bookworm and besides, this gives him the best excuse to find you and return these as if he hasn’t been chasing you around the Jedi Temple for days. As he goes to collect them all, he can’t help but skim his eyes down the pages and read what he can, because he doesn’t want to pry, really he doesn’t, but he has always hoped that you would write about him one of these days, even if it were to make fun of him or—

Soft, cerulean eyes and auburn hair. He’s beautiful without realizing it.

Was that... his eyes that you had written about? His hair? Do you think that he’s... beautiful? Now he can’t help the jolt of curiosity that suddenly rushes through him, and he sits down on the chair to properly read what’s on the page.

Write about me, he says. As if I haven’t done so a hundred times before. A letter to you, then. I’m consumed by you. You touch my hand and I light up. You kiss my forehead and I melt. I doubt you even know how I feel about you. Sometimes I think that you may feel the same. I wish you had kissed me on the lips instead.

Obi-Wan’s whole world has been turned upside down. The words he’s read are swirling around in his head, spinning faster and faster like a tide-pool, until he feels as if he’s going to topple over. All these years... all this time when he thought he was chasing daydreams, and you’ve felt the same way. Why couldn’t you be here? Why can’t you be next to him so that he can pull you to him and kiss you like you had wished that he would? How could he even tell you that he’s loved you ever since you were young? If only he had an outlet like you, where he could express himself and confess to his feelings— wait.

He looks down at the paper, and he looks at all the others, and he finds one that’s barely been written on. And he grabs the pencil you had left on the table. And he writes.

─────── ⋯ ───────

You turn around the corner with a smile on your face, looking as positively cheerful as you can muster, before noticing that the desk is empty and you’ve missed Obi-Wan in the library again, and the smile wipes itself off of your face almost about as fast as Obi-Wan had ran out of the library at the start of the week. It was becoming increasingly tiresome to constantly miss Obi-Wan by a couple of minutes or only see him down the hallway when you’re heading in the opposite direction. You just wanted to talk to him. Aside from writing, he was the only other thing— the only other person— that helped you relax. And the very fact that the last exchange between the two of you was him kissing your forehead is about driving you mad. That spot has been burning ever since and you’ve found yourself swiping your fingers along it without prompt on more than one occasion.

You need to write. You need to get these thoughts out of you before you bubble over, or boil over for that matter (it does seem the most appropriate with everything that’s been going on.) With you is your stack of papers, all crumpled up between each other; the ones that were left by your door by who you’re sure was Obi-Wan. You hadn’t meant to leave a mess behind you in the library that day but you were in a hurry, and you’re thankful that no one else found them... like Master Mace Windu. You shiver just at the thought of him reading anything of yours. What if he read something private? Like the one time you wrote in agonizing detail the embarrassing encounter you had with the Gungans who had been invited to one Senate meeting and you had... no, that’s better left unsaid.

Flicking through your papers, you look for a spare one that you can write on, but you don’t seem to find any empty space, which is odd seeing as you always make sure you have at least one blank piece of paper with you. There’s your diary entry of sorts about yesterday, the messy notes you took in the meeting which was only supposed to be quick but it went on for much longer than that, the dream you had, the note you had written about Obi-Wan— maker, what if he had seen that?— and the paper about someone’s eyes. Wait. You don’t remember writing that. Wait. That isn’t your handwriting.

The most beautiful eyes I’ve ever gazed into. You’re beautiful in everything you do and you don’t seem to realize it.

You re-read those words as if your life depends on them. One more time. Two more times. It sounds just like what you wrote about Obi-Wan the other day, and you quickly flick through to compare the two letters. It’s as if someone has replied to what you wrote. And when this thought registers in your mind, you read the rest of it.

I’ve never been too good at words like you are, as much as you may think that I am. Instead I will list all the ways that I love you. In the way I touch your hand, in the way I kiss your forehead, in the way I smile when we talk. I love you in every way that I can. I wish I had kissed your lips as well.

It’s as if someone just drove their hand deep into your chest and gave your heart a handshake. There’s no feeling in your fingertips for a moment as you sit there and hold the letter, glance at the words, and fight the urge to scream— because if what you read wasn’t any indication on who wrote this, then it was the scribbled ‘sincerely, the errand boy’ on the bottom of the page that gave it away. It was Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan wrote you this letter. Obi-Wan read the letter you had written him. And Obi-Wan told you that he loves you.

Now you really do bubble over (and, yes, this is the most appropriate with the excitement you feel) at the thought of Obi-Wan Kenobi, the Jedi knight, the boy, you had fallen in love with all those years ago who loves you back. It seems too good to be true, as if you’re going to smile so wide that you’ll wake yourself up from this dream and go back to only ever being able to love him in words. But the weight of everything sinks in when you flip the page over and read ‘I’m in the training room’, and you leap out of the chair like you’ve never moved so fast before— taking care to not leave anything behind this time— and practically run to the training room. He needn’t have to tell you which one; you can feel him as you get closer— he’s nervous.

When you step through the doorway, Obi-Wan is sitting at the other end of the room and he stands almost as fast as you had done only minutes before in the library. There’s a moment where neither of you two move, where the air goes quiet and you can only hear the hammering of your heart, and then in a soft, whispered press of the Force to your mind you hear him speak, ‘you’re here’ and you nod at him, a smile forming at the corner of your mouth, and speak aloud, “I’m here.”

He takes the first step toward you, then you take one, then he takes two more, and so you two play this game of who will reach the other first. As you near him, you can see the way he fiddles with his hands. Chuckling, you reach out to him, your hand gently brushing along the top of his until you can feel him relax under your touch, and you both have stepped so close that you’re breathing the same air together, and he takes one more tentative step to gently rest his forehead on yours. You close your eyes and you breathe this moment in; you let yourself remember what this smells like, you let yourself cherish the quiet that you spend with him like this.

And then ever so quietly, with the sweetest tone of his voice, he speaks, “Can I kiss you this time?”

tags: @thedevilwearsbeskar @goldenkenobi @aemorr-5885 @katsav17 @badedum-badaboom @solaena @lexylovesfandoms

[dettiot]

Out of the Mouth of Babes

Padme goes through an unusual change, and Anakin’s not sure how to cope with it. Rated G. 

Enjoy the crack, folks!

Out of the Mouths of Babes

Padmé strode along the hallways of the Senate Building, her mind working away on a dozen major issues. And in the back of her mind, always, were the knot of worries and fear about Anakin. 

“Sabé, please make sure the latest reports from the front are loaded to my datapad,” she reminded her most faithful handmaiden. Not because she thought Sabé would have forgotten, but just . . . so she would know that Padmé was worrying about Anakin. 

“Of course, Senator,” Sabé said gently. “I skimmed them and it doesn’t look like there were any major hot spots in the last week.” 

“That’s good,” Padmé said, pausing to smile and nod at Senator Organa as they passed in front of one of the large windows in the Senate Building. “Bail, how are you?”

He smiled and bowed to her. “I’m well. Busy, of course. But I’ll be leaving for Alderaan tomorrow night to see Breha.” 

Padmé smiled, hoping she didn’t look as wistful as she felt. “How wonderful.” 

Bail opened his mouth to speak, but then squinted as bright flashes of light began strobing through the window. “What . . . ?” he said. 

“I don’t--” she began to say, before the flashes grew brighter than the sun. Padmé threw her hand up as she closed her eyes, feeling the light fall over her and making her feel . . . odd. 

And small?

XXX

Sabé crouched beside Padmé, her heart pounding. “Padmé? Are you all right?” 

A tiny hand flailed at the yards of fabric around her, then a small face with big brown eyes looked up at her. “Where am I?” she asked in a smaller, softer version of Padmé’s voice. 

To go with her much smaller body. 

Beside her, Senator Organa sank down on his haunches. “You’re in the Senate Building, on Coruscant, Padmé,” he said in a gentle voice. 

The tiny, small child that was now Padmé looked up at him, then looked at Sabé, her lip quivering. “I live on Naboo. I want my mommy.” 

“Of course you do,” Senator Organa said sympathetically. “We’ll contact her and get her here. But for now, would you please go with Miss Sabé and she’ll take you to your home here on Coruscant?” 

Padmé looked at Sabé hesitantly, hugging her knees to her chest, her dress swamping her child’s figure. Then she nodded and extended one hand to Sabé. 

“All right, let’s go,” Sabé said, putting on a smile. “Um, upsy-daisy,” she said awkwardly. 

She helped Padmé gather her skirts and rise to her feet, then Sabé looked at Senator Organa. “Could you please make apologies for Padmé’s absence this afternoon?” 

“Of course, Sabé. I’m sure this is just . . . temporary.” The Senator sounded as unsure as Sabé herself felt, but she appreciated his attempt to soothe her.

“I hope so, too. Let’s go, Padmé,” she said, clutching her hand. 

Padmé nodded and started skipping along beside Sabé, looking around with big eyes at all the people surrounding them. 

Meanwhile, Sabé was focused on what to do. Because whatever had happened to Padmé, it was dangerous for her to be in this state. The Trade Federation would love the simplicity of a target who wasn’t capable of fighting--and Sabé doubted the Trade Federation would have any qualms over killing a child. 

No, Padmé would need protection as long as she was in this condition. Of course Sabé would do her best, as well as the rest of Padmé’s aides and former handmaidens. 

But Sabé knew there was someone who would be an even better protector for her best friend. 

XXX

Anakin Skywalker looked around as he approached Padmé’s apartment, feeling his nerves increase. Ever since he had received Sabé’s strange holocall, he had been worrying about what was going on with Padmé. That worry doubled when right after the call, Master Windu had called him into a Council meeting and told him Senator Organa had requested Jedi protection for Senator Amidala. 

With Ahsoka off-planet with Obi-Wan, Anakin was on his own and found himself wishing either his former master or his current Padawan was with him. But on the other hand . . . being able to be with Padmé, protecting her from a threat . . . it would be like old times. Like when they had first met. 

The thought was enough to quiet his nerves for a moment, long enough for him to settle himself and press the doorbell by Padmé’s door. 

The chime had barely finished sounding when the door slid open to reveal Sabé. “Good evening, General. Please, come in,” she said, sounding even more no-nonsense than normal. But he also detected an air of . . . 

Well, if Anakin didn’t know better, he’d say Sabé was frazzled. Which seemed impossible.

“Thank you, Sabé,” he said, stepping into the apartment and looking around for Padmé. “I’m at your and the Senator’s disposal, of course. I understand something has happened?” 

Sabé’s face was blank, but her lips thinned infinitesimally. “Yes.” 

Before Anakin could ask any more questions, a small blur dashed into the room, a loud shriek emanating from it. Hot on its heels came Dormé, holding a large towel. “Padmé, please!” 

Anakin blinked as the blur resolved itself into a small, dripping-wet child, with big brown eyes and curly brown hair . . . and completely naked. 

Dormé quickly wrapped her towel around the child and scooped her up, carrying her back to the refresher. Anakin’s eyes followed the two of them, but his body was frozen in place as he tried to figure out what he had just seen. 

Then, slowly, he turned to look at Sabé. 

“Would . . . would you like a seat?” Sabé asked weakly. 

He sat down heavily, still staring at his wife’s best friend. 

“Three days ago, the Senator was . . . caught . . .  in an accident of some kind,” Sabé said slowly, sitting down across from him. “From everything we can tell, and from her medical records, she was regressed to her four-year-old self. We don’t understand what’s happened, which is why we wanted a Jedi to come and evaluate her. And more than that . . .” Sabé looked around and lowered her voice. “I knew you would want to know.” 

Almost unconsciously, Anakin reached out for Padmé through the Force, searching for her presence. He could sense a flicker of her in the apartment, something small and uncertain, like a flame in the wind. 

“I . . . I’ve never heard of anything like this happening,” Anakin said slowly. “Certainly not to someone who isn’t Force-sensitive. But--but I suppose I should reserve any guesses at what caused this, until I’ve . . . until I’ve talked to Padmé,” he said, discarding his thought of talking to Master Yoda for the time being.

Sabé nodded and rose to her feet. “I’ll bring her out.” 

“Sabé--wait,” he said, taking her wrist. “What . . . what is she like?” 

A rush of emotion flickered through Sabé’s eyes. “She is very much like Padmé. Strong-willed, determined, but also kind.” 

Anakin wondered what Sabé was leaving unsaid. But he supposed he would find out very soon. 

Sabé slipped out of the room, and after a few minutes, she returned, tugging Padmé along with her. “Come along, Padmé, this nice man needs to talk to you.” 

“No,” Padmé said, in a stubborn voice that Anakin couldn’t help smiling at. Because she sounded very much like his angel. 

Rising to his feet, Anakin knelt to one knee in front of Sabé and Padmé, putting himself more on Padmé’s current level. “Hello.” 

Padmé looked at him for a long moment, her eyes thoughtful and calculating. It gave him time to really look her over, to see the woman she became in the soft, childlike features in front of him. He felt his heart swell as he wondered if they ever had a child, if they would look like Padmé did now. 

That’s if you’re able to figure this out and bring back *your* Padmé, his sarcastic inner voice reminded him. 

Doing his best to ignore that voice, Anakin held his hand out to her. “My name is Anakin. Would you mind talking to me for just a few minutes? I know it’s late and you’re probably sleepy.” 

She shook his hand, then frowned. “No, I’m not,” she said emphatically, shaking her head and sending a tangle of curls shifting around her face and small shoulders as she responded to his last statement. 

Anakin smiled a little. “Okay. Well, how about we talk?” 

Padmé nodded, then took his hand again. “This way.” She tugged on him, with surprising strength, and dragged him over to the couch. She climbed up, letting go of his hand, and then plopping down on the cushions. She arranged her long white nightgown and blue robe carefully, then looked up at him, her bare feet bouncing a little. 

Slowly, Anakin sat down beside her, leaving some space between them. “Do you know your name?” 

The look she gave him was scathing. “I’m not a baby. I know my name. It’s Padmé. And I know all the planets in the Chommell Sector, and I know arithmetic, and how to say ‘Hello’ and ‘It’s nice to meet you’ in six languages.” 

“Wow,” Anakin said, not faking the impressed tone in his voice. “You’re right, you’re not a baby. I asked my question wrong. What I meant was, when you woke up here, did you know your name was Padmé before anyone called you that?” 

She frowned, but nodded. “Yes.” 

“Good,” Anakin said, taking her in. Focusing on her presence, sensing how different it felt now.  

“You’re really tall,” Padmé said. “I bet you can reach all the things on the shelves.” She pointed to the display shelves around the room. 

Anakin chuckled softly. “Yeah, I can.” He leaned in closer to her. “So what do you want from the shelves?” 

Padmé gave him a conspiratorial smile. “The blue fish,” she said, pointing at a small figurine on the top shelf--a knickknack Anakin knew she had brought with her from Naboo. 

“Well . . . if you don’t mind answering my questions, perhaps I could get it for you to play with,” Anakin said.

She weighed that thought, then nodded. “Okay.” 

“Thank you,” he said, smiling. “All right, so my next question is . . . have you ever heard of something called the Force?” 

“Yes,” Padmé said, before frowning. “But I don’t know what it is.” 

“That’s okay, Padmé,” he told her. “The Force is an energy field that surrounds all of us. Some people can sense the Force, and can use it to learn things and to protect themselves and others.” 

Her brown eyes went big. “Can you do that?”

Part of him couldn’t help preening a little at her words. “Yes, I can. I want to use the Force to see what’s happened to you.” 

“Will it . . . hurt?” 

“Not at all,” Anakin reassured her. 

“Well . . .” Padmé’s eyes went to the blue fish, then returned to his. “Okay.” 

Anakin reached out slowly, delicately touching Padmé’s mind. Her eyes drifted close and she leaned against the couch cushions. 

Her mind was nothing like his Padmé’s. It was underdeveloped, almost unformed, but there were still hints of who she would become. And her essence--that core of her that was still Padmé--was there. 

Slowly, he searched through her mind, looking for any hints as to what caused this. It was so strange. He would understand if her body had remained unchanged but her mind altered to her younger self. But both her body and mind being altered? It seemed like something out of holofiction. 

His heart seemed to sink as he realized he didn’t know what had happened or how to fix this. And he felt the fear in his heart, at the thought of losing Padmé. Yes, she would probably grow up and be fine . . . but how would he survive without her? 

It wasn’t fair! 

Drawing in a breath slowly, Anakin made himself push aside his own fears and withdraw his hands from Padmé’s temples. She looked up at him, an unhappy, confused look on her face. Then, to his shock, she moved and threw her arms around him. 

“Um . . . Padmé?” he asked in surprise, glancing at Sabé. 

The former handmaiden looked as surprised as he felt. “Padmé hasn’t hugged any of us.” 

“You need a hug,” Padmé said, her voice muffled against his tunic. 

With some hesitation, Anakin lowered his arms and gave Padmé a gentle hug in return. “Well, thank you.” 

Padmé pulled back and looked up at him. “Are we all done?” 

It was so hard to not reach out and stroke her hair. “Yes, we’re all done for now.” 

“Can I play with the fish now?” she asked, making her brown eyes seem especially pleading. 

“No, Padmé, it’s bedtime,” Sabé said, speaking up for the first time. “But I will let you play with the fish tomorrow. I promise.” 

A look of disgruntlement flickered over Padmé’s face, but she seemed to sense that there was no use in arguing with Sabé. A sentiment that Anakin fully agreed with. 

“Okay.” She wiggled down off the couch. She dashed over to Sabé and took her hand again. 

Anakin rose to his feet. “Good night, Padmé. Sweet dreams.” 

She gave him a smile that was small and adorable. “Good night, Anakin.” She made a little curtsey, prompting what was almost an eye roll from Sabé, who then led Padmé away. 

Running a hand over his face, Anakin assessed what should happen next. Just because he hadn’t found any cause for Padmé’s regression didn’t mean there wasn’t one. Master Yoda would be much more capable than he was at searching Padmé’s mind. 

But the thought of taking Padmé into the Temple . . . it didn’t sit right with him. He wasn’t sure why, but . . . it just didn’t. 

At the very least, he could talk to Master Yoda and share this information. 

Dormé stepped out into the living room. “Master Skywalker? I was wondering if you needed to return to the Temple immediately?” 

“No, not immediately,” Anakin said. “I was going to return and tell Master Yoda that I would need his help . . .” 

Dormé nodded. “Then I don’t suppose you’d mind fulfilling a request of Padmé’s?” 

“Of course not,” Anakin said quickly. 

“Follow me,” Dormé said, leading him into the room he already knew the way to. 

In the bed they normally shared, Padmé looked especially small. Her cheeks were flushed and there were tear tracks on her face. 

“Padmé?” he asked, moving past Dormé and walking over to sit on the edge of the bed. “What is it?” 

She sniffed but squared his shoulders. “Could you brush my hair? It’s all tangled and I want you to fix it.” 

Not for the first time, Anakin wondered if Padmé had some kind of ability that went beyond the Force. How else to explain her talent at offering exactly what someone needed when they needed it? 

A hairbrush and comb appeared in his line of vision, proffered by Sabé. Taking them both, Anakin looked at Padmé and did his best to smile at her. “All right. Turn around and face the pillows.” 

Her face lit up, her tears forgotten, as she scrambled into place. Anakin noticed how knotted her hair was, and remembered how much Padmé hated having those knots brushed out. 

Gently and delicately, he began working his way through her hair, unsnarling the fine hairs. “So, why don’t you tell me all the planets in the Chommell Sector?” he said softly after a few moments. 

“There’s Naboo, of course,” Padmé said. “But also Behpour, Chommell Minor, Erep, Karlinus, Kreeling, Moth, Storm, Widow . . . Have you ever been to Naboo?” 

“I have,” Anakin said, working on a difficult tangle. “I’ve been to Theed, and to the Lake Country.” 

“We have a villa in the Lake Country. Maybe you could come visit us there! My mommy is coming to stay with me. It just takes a long time for her to get to Coruscant from Naboo.” 

He smiled a little at the enthusiasm and welcome in her voice. “I hope she gets here soon.” 

“Me, too. I miss her. And Daddy, and Sola . . . but Sola’s all grown up and has little girls, too.” Padmé’s voice sounded like she was pouting. “They’re older than me. I should be older than them! I’m their aunt!”

Anakin couldn’t help a soft chuckle. “We all hope we’ll be able to get you back to your right age soon, Padmé.”

“I know. ‘Be patient, Padmé’,” she said, sounding like she was reciting something she had heard often. “Easy for everyone else to say.” 

“Tell me about it,” Anakin said in commiseration. 

The worst of the tangles were smoothed out, allowing Anakin to begin running the hairbrush through her hair slowly. 

Padmé let out a soft sigh. “That feels good, Anakin. Do you have a little girl? Is that how you got good at brushing hair?” 

“Um . . . no. I’m a Jedi. We don’t have families.” 

“Well, that doesn’t make any sense,” Padmé said matter-of-factly. “Who takes care of you, if you don’t have a family?”

You. 

Anakin swallowed down the word. “Well . . . I have my Master, Obi-Wan. He’s like . . . like my father and my brother, all in one. And I have a Padwan--someone I’m teaching to be a Jedi,” he explained. “Her name is Ahsoka. But she’s a Togruta, so she doesn’t have hair to brush.” 

“Lucky,” Padmé said around a yawn. 

Dormé spoke softly. “Are you tired, Padmé?” 

She nodded a little and shifted around, reaching up to run her little hands through her hair. She looked up at Anakin and beamed. “Thank you for brushing my hair.” 

Swallowing and trying not to snap the comb in his mech hand from gripping it too hard, he nodded and smiled back. “You’re welcome.”

He stood up, backing away as Dormé leaned in to braid Padmé’s hair. She finished the task quickly and kissed Padmé’s cheek. “Time to sleep.” 

Padmé nodded, yawning again and snuggling down under the covers. “Good night,” she said, her eyes closing almost immediately. 

“Good night, Padmé,” Anakin couldn’t help saying. Then he shoved the brush and comb into Sabé’s hands and stepped out of the room, leaving the apartment as quickly as he could. 

He could hear and feel Sabé hurrying after him. “General Skywalker--”

“What, Sabé?” he said, turning to look at her, trying to hold his anger in check. Anger at Sabé for delaying his escape, anger at all the feelings swamping his meager control, anger at this whole situation. 

Her shoulders slumped slightly, before she gathered herself and returned to her usual erect posture. “Just . . . thank you.” 

“For what? I don’t know what caused this, I don’t know how to fix it, and for all I know, Padmé’s gonna have to grow up twice!”

Proving her worth and value, Sabé didn’t back down in the face of his anger. “But you put Padmé first. She’s been acting out ever since this happened--throwing tantrums, whining, or being incredibly clingy. You’re the first person she’s reacted to like the girl she really is. And I know it couldn’t have been easy for you, to see her like this. So . . .thank you.”   

Now it was time for Anakin’s shoulders to slump. He nodded a little, feeling the flames of his anger die down to embers. “Just . . . tell Padmé I’ll be back in the morning. I’m going to talk to Master Yoda about her condition and what else we can do.”

“Very good,” Sabé said. “I’ll comm you if anything changes.” 

“Thank you,” he said, meaning the words. Trying to act more like the grown man he was. 

She gave him a small smile. “Good night.” 

With a nod, Anakin left the apartment, walking slowly to his speeder and going through everything in his mind. Wondering if he could make himself hang in there until Padmé grew up again. Wondering what he would do if that Padmé would love him, too. 

XXX

After a sleepless night and a long session of meditation, Anakin went to the Council meeting room to wait for Master Yoda. Fortunately, the ancient Jedi didn’t make him wait long. 

“Troubled, Master Skywalker?” Yoda asked, looking up at him. “The Senator, what is her condition?” 

“It’s very odd, Master Yoda,” he said, following him into the meeting room. “Her body and mind seem to be that of her four-year-old self.” 

“Hmph,” Yoda said, sitting in his normal seat. “Seem? Or actually are, body and mind?” 

Anakin spread his hands. “I didn’t sense any darkness or malevolence in her mind. No trace of the Dark Side acting upon her like this. And I could understand if the Force could make her mind regress, but her body as well?” 

“Many times I say, luminous beings we are, not crude matter,” Yoda said, gently poking his shoulder with his gimmer stick. “But have the Force, the Senator does not. Strange, it is.” 

“Yes,” Anakin said with a nod, resisting the urge to rub his shoulder. “I hoped you might come with me to the Senator’s apartment, to examine her with your greater skill.” 

“Bring her here, you do not?” 

Pressing his lips together, Anakin strived to do what Obi-Wan would do in this situation. “Given the Senator’s history and profile, I thought it would be best if as few people as possible were aware of this . . . change.”

“Mmm . . . a point, you have.” Yoda hoisted himself upright. “Take me to the Senator, you will. Help her, we shall.” 

“Thank you, Master Yoda,” he said, following him. “I know the Senator appreciates your concern.” 

“A strong supporter of the Jedi, she is,” Yoda affirmed. “At this time, lose our friends, we cannot.” 

Anakin nodded in agreement, even as his thoughts turned, once again, to the thought of losing Padmé. 

Thankfully, Yoda allowed him to stay lost in his thoughts as he drove them to Padmé’s apartment. Keeping his steps small and slow for Yoda’s benefit gave Anakin extra time to prepare himself. 

If Padmé couldn’t be restored to her true self . . . then Anakin would find a way to cope. He had Obi-Wan and Ahsoka, after all. And perhaps he would be able to visit Padmé occasionally. Plus . . . if she was on Naboo, with her family, growing up, she would be safe. Away from the dangers of Coruscant, protected by the people who loved her. 

He would just have to trust in the Force, that it was doing all of this for a reason. 

That didn’t stop him, though, from punching the doorbell at Padmé’s apartment a little harder than necessary. 

And it wasn’t until he pressed the doorbell that he thought to reach out for the feelings of the apartment’s inhabitants. Strangely, they all felt . . . excited? 

The door slid open and Sabé smiled widely at him. “I was just about to comm you.” 

“Good news, you have?” Yoda asked, a smile on his face as they stepped into the apartment. 

Before Sabé could respond, a small blur approached them and threw their arms around Anakin’s neck. “Ani!” Padmé cried out. 

Adult Padmé. His Padmé. 

And even with Master Yoda standing right there, Anakin couldn’t help hugging her tightly, pressing his face against her neck. “Padmé,” he breathed out. 

She pulled away, smiling brightly at him. “I’m back,” she said. “I just woke up this morning and I was me again.” 

“I see,” he said, beaming at her. He reached out and brushed a curl out of her eyes, his fingers smoothing her braid a little. 

“It was the strangest thing. It’s like I remember what happened, but it’s all like it really happened when I was four, and not over the last three days,” Padmé said. 

“Amazing powers, the Force has. Beyond all we know, we always find,” Master Yoda said. 

Padmé’s face flushed and she wrapped her arms around herself, since she was . . . in a robe. Thankfully not the robe she had been wearing last night, as that one would be much too small for her. 

“Yes, Master Yoda,” she said. “I--I must thank you, and General Skywalker, for your concern for me.” 

“Least we could, for Senator Amidala,” Yoda said, giving her a kind smile. “Allow you and Master Skywalker to speak, I will.” 

Anakin stared at Yoda as he turned and headed for the door. “Master Yoda?” 

“Think we know so little, you do?” Master Yoda said, pausing to look at him. “Aware, we are. Aware, and accepting. But, careful you will be,” he said, lifting his gimmer stick. “More than just Jedi, against such a relationship.” 

And with that, Yoda turned and walked out of the apartment, leaving him absolutely dumbstruck.

“Ani?” 

“Yeah?” he asked, only glancing at Padmé before he looked back at the now-closed door.

“Did--did Master Yoda basically just tell you that he . . . and that it’s okay that we . . . ?” 

Anakin gave his head a shake, like he was trying to slot all the pieces into place after thinking they would never fit. “Um . . . yeah. I think he did.” 

“Maybe I should have been turned into a four-year-old sooner.” 

“Never say that,” Anakin said quickly, turning to look at her and then scooping her up in his arms. “But since we’ve just been given an all-clear by the Grandmaster of the Jedi Order, I’m going to take you to your bedroom. And it’s not to brush your hair.” 

Padmé beamed at him, wrapping her arms around his neck. “But you do it so well, Anakin. Pretty please?” 

How could he resist that smile? The short answer: he couldn’t. “Oh, all right,” he said, unable to stop smiling at her. “But later.”

“Much later,” Padmé agreed, leaning in to kiss him. 

End.

[anotherhawk]

Star Wars Fanfiction - The Past Remains Ch 2

Finally done in time for Star Wars day. I honestly thought I might be writing and rewriting this chapter forever. If you enjoy it please let me know.

Obi-Wan couldn't help but imagine the look on Anakin's face if he saw him leading half the Jedi High Council through Coruscant's lower levels in search of precisely the right kind of discreet drinking hole. Somehow, in spite of all evidence he was offered to the contrary, Anakin still clung to his view of the Council as being hopelessly remote, distanced from the real world atop their exalted tower. Obi-Wan didn't understand it; and now that he was on the Council it was even a little hurtful. He wished Anakin could see that they were all Jedi. They had all fought and bled across a hundred worlds, trying to keep a little light alive in an increasingly dark galaxy.

For all its flaws Coruscant was where the Temple was and that meant it was home, and he and his fellow Council members walked through the dark and dingy tunnels as readily as they walked through the halls of the Senate building. Possibly more readily, actually. The spice dealers and swoop gangers who eyed them as they passed were more honest and upfront in their intentions than any politician he had ever met. Their body count was probably a lot lower as well.

“Are we going anywhere in particular?” Adi asked him as she turned back from pressing a few credit chips into a beggar's eager hands.

“Just a little place I know,” he told her. “It should just be up ahead on the right here...unless it's been shut down.” That was always an unfortunate possibility. “Ah, no, here we are.” He rapped on the metal door and a shutter was flung open immediately.

“What you looking for?” a voice demanded.

“Discretion,” he answered and the door was pulled open.

Depa shook her head. “I think that's the worst password I've ever heard.”

“At least it gets straight to the point,” he said with a light smile. “Shall we?”

The inside was just as he remembered it; dimly lit with a few widely spaced tables and a snoozing ithorian tending bar. The man who had let them in scowled, not so much as glancing at their faces, and held out a hand. “Cover charge.” Obi-Wan paid him. “Right, sit where you want.”

They found a table near the back of the room. Depa smiled as she sat down. “You know, Mace, this reminds me of that place on Corellia. The one where we met up with Ishgo Dar and you, ah, generously 'gave' him all your credits.”

Mace gave her a sidelong glance. “A Jedi must always be compassionate.”

Obi-Wan shook his head and signalled for some drinks and, when they arrived, drained his immediately and signalled for another. “I did say I intended to go for unhealthy coping mechanisms,” he said as he caught Mace looking at him.

“Oh, I know,” Mace agreed wryly, knocking his own drink back. “And I'm here to keep you company. But please, Obi-Wan, for my sake pace yourself. I promised myself the morning after I was Knighted that I was never again going to let myself get so drunk that Master Yoda had to drag me home.”

Depa laughed. “I would give a lot to have seen that, Master.”

“I seem to remember, my padawan, that the morning after your own Knighting I had to scrape you up from the kitchen floor,” Mace said dryly.

The day after his Knighting Obi-Wan had been caught up in arrangements for Qui-Gon's pyre, reading through Anakin's sparse medical records and trying to arrange for him to get his vaccinations, reading everything he could about the Sith, reading everything he could about trauma symptoms in children, trying to figure out where to even start when he was going to have to teach his new padawan everything... That had been the day he'd called Dooku to inform him of Qui-Gon's death as well. He remembered his Grandmaster staring at him stoically through his stumbling explanation before hanging up the call without so much as a word. It hadn't been long after that Dooku had left the Order for good. He wondered; if he had been able to find better words back then was it possible they wouldn't be in this war now?

“Obi-Wan?” Plo's voice handily pulled him away from his past failings and back to his current ones.

“Sorry,” he said. “I was thinking about the morning after my own Knighting. That was the first time I made Anakin jadufruit flatcakes. It was six months before he was comfortable enough to admit he hated them.” He smiled crookedly to himself and finished his drink.

“Do you ever regret it?” Adi asked. “Taking a padawan so young, I mean.”

“No,” he said, astonished she could even ask. “Anakin has been the brightest light in my life for well over a decade now. I could never regret those years.”

“Not even when he cut all the sleeves off his robes and tunics?” Mace asked with a snort.

He remembered that; Anakin had been eleven at the time. “Don't remind me,” he said and he hadn't expected to laugh tonight. “The quartermaster wouldn't let me requisition any more cloaks even temporarily so I was up most of the night sewing.”

Depa was smiling. “Why in the world did he want to cut his clothes up?”

“It was that holo drama, 'A Light in the Temple',” Mace answered unexpectedly. “One of the characters ran around in sleeveless robes. It was very popular amongst the initiates and younger padawans for a while – Skywalker wasn't the only youngling to try out the look. He was the only one to destroy his entire wardrobe though.”

He smiled into his drink. “Anakin has never believed in half measures. Why do you even remember that, Mace?”

“While you were sewing I was stuck for hours in meetings with Creche Master Oswin, trying to convince him that we couldn't sue the program makers.”

He chuckled at the thought. Really, at the time he would probably have agreed with Master Oswin. Anakin had been obsessed with the show and it had been extremely aggravating. Still, the warmth in his chest wasn't just from his drink.

The conversation wound on talking about padawans, their misadventures and triumphs. He wondered if Qui-Gon had ever spoken of him like this. There had been times when his master had been proud of him after all. Perhaps when Tahl had still been alive...he could imagine the two of them sitting together like this, talking about him and Bant. That time between those first tumultuous years of his apprenticeship and Tahl's death had probably been the point where their relationship had been at its strongest. When he had most often felt those rare flashes of pride through the bond.

He remembered that mission on Ryushi; the look on Qui-Gon's face when he'd led the children out of the cave system, battered and bleeding but safe. Alive. He'd felt Qui-Gon's joy and affection surrounding him then, a warm mental embrace that had been so proud, so...so loving. Qui-Gon had loved him, at least then. Even if he hadn't been wanted he had been loved.

That mission had only been a few week's before Tahl's death, and so it had been the last time he'd ever felt Qui-Gon's embrace like that. By the time Qui-Gon had managed to climb his way out of the pit of rage and despair, by the time Qui-Gon had been able to look at him and see him again, Obi-Wan had no longer been a child to be coddled.

He wished he'd made more of that moment. It was one of his cherished memories now, yes, but at the time he'd been focused on the younglings in his care and on his own pain and hunger and he'd missed so much.

“Obi-Wan.” Depa was looking at him, kindness shining in her eyes. “Might I ask you something?”

His lips quirked. “You can always ask.”

“I was wondering if you might tell us how you gained Padawan Nataya's trust? Not the details, if they are personal, but I gathered that there was something we missed.”

Plo nodded intently. “I hope we never encounter another situation like this but the burden shouldn't rest on your shoulders alone.”

As loath as he was to speak about it that did make sense. He took a moment thinking about where to start – and felt Mace's warm support through the Force as he matched him drink for drink. “She was afraid,” he started. “We all recognised that, I know, but I wonder if you fully realised that she was far more afraid for her master than she was of him. She knew what he was doing was wrong and wanted to protect him.” He thought again of the brightness in her eyes, the stillness of her hands and part of him wanted to run back to the Temple right now, to make sure she was safe and happy. He fought down the impulse, reminding himself that he had already agreed to meet with her for lunch tomorrow. She was safe now.

Adi leaned in towards him, her brow creased. “Surely she must have realised that it wasn't her responsibility to protect him in that moment?”

“Must she?” He refocused, shrugging slightly and keeping his hands deliberately still. “From the moment they enter the creche we teach our children to be independent, compassionate, selfless, loyal and brave. No doubt from her point of view she was doing precisely as she had been taught; protecting those who needed it, both Master Krin and the people who need Jedi help.” That had certainly been how he had felt about it. Qui-Gon had been doing good for the galaxy; stopping that for his own concerns had seemed unthinkably selfish. “She didn't want to be taken away from him. She was afraid that without her his condition would worsen.”

“Worsen?” Plo asked, his eyes bright behind his mask.

“From what she said I gather that for the last six months she has been principally responsible for keeping her Master functional, focused and in the right place at the right time.” Unwillingly he remembered learning how to make all of Qui-Gon's favourite meals, coaxing him to eat, drink, shower – do anything but go on missions or sit staring into the dark. “I strongly suspect that were we to check thoroughly we would also find that most of the paperwork Master Krin has submitted over the last few months has, in fact, been completed by Nataya.” Which left the unpleasant thought that there may well have been tens of thousands of lives depending on the battle plans of a sixteen year old.

“That poor child,” Depa sighed. “We must make sure she gets a chance to rest and heal.”

Adi nodded. “Students should not be forced to be carers.”

Depa turned to her with a frown. “That would suggest that Jedi who need some help with their disabilities should not take padawans.”

“That's a completely different situation,” Adi argued. “That would be something agreed between master and padawan – and the healers, if necessary. Not one child, alone and unsupported, shouldering responsibilities they are not ready for.”

He cleared his throat. “Anyway. She needed to be assured that Master Krin was not going to be cast out and forgotten, and that the situation was not her fault.”

Plo nodded slowly. “On previous occasions we have been alerted to problems with master/padawan relationships by problems with coursework or engagement with other masters. With this war taking up so much of our focus we need to pay closer attention.”

His tongue felt heavy in his mouth. He took another drink and felt it burn. “Coursework and classes aren't always a good way to tell anyway. You might focus on studying to keep your grades up and your record clean so no one notices anything is wrong and gets you and your master in trouble.” You might try and present yourself as perfect in the hope that your master will notice and say he's proud of you. His hypotheticals were nowhere near hypothetical and everyone knew it and that too burned.

Mace's warm force presence pressed up against him, Adi, Depa and Plo not far behind. Gentle. Cautious. Reassuring. He was grateful for their support – he was – but he couldn't bring himself to lean into it, couldn't let them think of him as weak or broken. He took a deep breath and centred himself like a good Jedi before pouring himself another drink like a terrible one. By now he'd had quite a few and since filtering the alcohol's effects away was rather contrary to the point of the evening he was most definitely feeling it. There was guilt associated with that, a certainty that he was being ridiculously self-indulgent and he shouldn't let himself be impaired while on duty. (Technically he was off duty, wasn't he? Except he was never off duty.)

While he'd been taking his little moment Depa had gracefully pulled the conversation away from him so he was no longer in the spotlight, and while he could still feel their concern it was no longer near as pressing. He was never quite sure what to do with concern, and he could admit that was something of a problem. Perhaps he should go back to seeing a mind healer...if he could ever find the time.

“Obi-Wan!” Depa called to him with a smile. “You've read Truwin's thesis on Cultural Relativism, haven't you? Come and help me tell Mace that he's wrong.”

Perhaps at the very least he could allow himself to enjoy the warmth of friendship.

The evening wore on. He drank more, and Mace kept up seemingly with little effort. As strange as it might sound it helped. Made him feel like they weren't simply here to keep an eye on him. Honestly he'd never liked drinking alone – normally Quinlan or Garen would keep him company. The conversation stayed light; away from the war and from Padawan Nataya and Master Krin, and certainly away from Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon Jinn...right up until he found himself in a booth near the back of a bar, alone except for a bottle of brandy and Mace Windu.

“We did notice,” Mace said, his hands clasped together, his gaze intent. “No matter how clean your record, or how good your grades, the Council did notice that  you were completing all of Qui-Gon's reports. Just as the healers noticed that you were exhausted, malnourished and too often injured. I'm sorry that we weren't able to help you. Please don't think that no one noticed – or cared.”

“I know,” Obi-Wan said, looking down at his drink and swirling the liquid around. “I remember you talking to me, trying to get me to admit something was wrong. It was me that wasn't ready to talk about it.”

“No,” Mace said, his Force presence full of soft regret. “You were hurt and I couldn't find the words to help. I let you down. I'm sorry.”

He glanced up long enough to flash a small smile. “Even if I'd ever blamed you I would have forgiven you long ago.” Qui-Gon had needed him. He'd gone back to their rooms after meeting with Mace in the Council Chambers, the memory of concern in his mind, and Qui-Gon had been sitting in the dark, staring at an old datapad. He hadn't even noticed Obi-Wan was gone. “It did help, I think. Knowing someone was paying attention.” Qui-Gon certainly hadn't been. “He didn't want me.”

There was silence for a long moment. He didn't look up, even when Mace eventually spoke. “He didn't see what he was missing.”

“It wasn't as though anyone else wanted to train me,” he said with a swell of old bitterness that surprised him. (Unwanted.)

Mace's surprise lurched in the Force. “That's...I didn't know you still thought that.”

He drew back a little, in spite of himself. “It's true.”

“Oh, Obi-Wan. We really have let you down.” Mace paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts before leaning forwards intently. “You know Yoda was trying to push you and Qui-Gon together. He had foreseen that you would be a good pairing and so he discouraged any other knight or master from asking about you. The rest of the Council fell in line.”

Truth sang in the Force, and that...that hurt. Not that he had ever noticed any potential master looking at him with interest back then. And he had been looking. “I suppose it really doesn't matter now.” The past was in the past. He wished he had moved past it as well as he'd thought he had.

“You should be proud of all you've accomplished,” Mace said, his eyes fixed on Obi-Wan's face. “Because none of us helped you like we should.”

He forced a wry smile. “Pride is hardly an appropriate Jedi attitude.”

“I think you can risk a little pride,” Mace said, dry as a bone, before growing serious once again. “I fought beside Qui-Gon countless times. We had many differences of opinions, but I would say I knew him very well. I would even have called him my friend. And I have to say – he could be a complete dick.”

Taken entirely be surprise, he laughed. “Oh, he was such a dick,”

A broad smile graced Mace's face. “Ha! Yours was the last voice we needed. That's it, the majority of the Jedi High Council has officially ruled Master Qui-Gon Jinn a dick. It's official, I'll enter it into the archives tomorrow.” He gestured exuberantly, if a little wobbly.

He shook his head, the corners of his mouth still twitching. “Really, Mace.”

“Really.” Mace's eyes flickered down to the empty glass in front of him and he smiled ruefully. “I did ask you to pace yourself.”

*

It was late, or, from another point of view, early when they left the bar; five distinguished Jedi Masters, three of whom were even able to walk convincingly in a straight line. Obi-Wan was feeling pleasantly disassociated, the alcohol providing a warm barrier between him and the rest of the world. They had nearly reached the elevator to return to the surface level when a familiar voice he had never heard before screamed in pain from somewhere below. That was a clone. That was a clone, in pain, far from any battlefield.

They were Jedi; it was in their nature to run towards signs of distress. Even as Obi-Wan sprinted towards the nearest barrier he could feel his fellow Council members right beside him, and they vaulted over the edge and fell down, down, down as one, using the Force to slow them at the last possible moment.

There was a small mob gathered, a dozen or so, gathered around a single fallen trooper, seemingly unarmed and unarmoured, his arms pulled around his head defensively, his legs pulled up to protect his abdomen, while his attackers were wielding batons and shock sticks. One pulled his leg back, readying a kick. It never connected; Plo surged forwards with Force-given speed, scooping the attacker up before any of them had even registered the Council's presence.

The fight, if it could even be called that, was incredibly short. In no time at all they had the mob dismayed and disarmed, corralled up against the wall while Adi called for the Coruscant security force.

Plo was by the trooper's side, helping him sit up. “Are you alright, son? What happened?”

The trooper blinked a few times, evidently struggling to focus, a slow trickle of blood running down the side of his face. “I'm okay, jus' some bruises, I think. Thanks for the save...” His eyes widened as he looked around  and took in just who had come to his rescue. “....Generals!”

In other circumstances his shock and alarm would be almost comical. “What happened?” Obi-Wan asked, stepping forwards to support his other arm, and now that he was close up he had seen this man before, though they'd never spoken or been introduced. He was part of the 501st, and his mind flashed back over old battle reports and plans. “Dax, isn't it?”

“Yessir,” Dax agreed, with that faint, painful flicker of pleasure they all got when someone new acknowledged their chosen names. “Some of us wanted to try someplace other than 79s. We went to a cantina in the lower levels and I, uh, left early.” He coloured slightly, making it clear that he hadn't left alone, and he in no way wanted to talk to any High General about it. “These hut'uns jumped me as I was making my way back.”

Probably just opportunistic predators then. There were many on Coruscant who weren't happy about the war, and some of those had managed to twist things around to put the blame on the clones, rather than on the Senate and the Jedi Order. “They'll be arrested,” he promised. “And we will all be happy to act as witnesses if you wish to press charges. I'm sorry, this is unacceptable.”

Plo had produced a first aid kit from somewhere and was seeing to Dax's injuries. Adi had finished with her call and was talking to Mace, who along with Depa was keeping the prisoners restrained.

They should have done more to get the clones rights by now. That had been the idea when the Order had taken command of the GAR. Even with the notoriously slow pace of the Senate, no one had thought it would take more than a few months, at the very most. It was self-evident that the clones were people, just like any others, and in battle after battle, year after year they had proven themselves brave, loyal and trustworthy. By now they should have been full citizens of the Republic, able to decide what they wanted to do with their lives, free to choose whether or not they wanted to serve. They shouldn't have to desert just because they didn't want to fight. What had gone wrong? How had they failed so badly? Now there were those – even amongst the Council – talking as though they would need to wait until after the war to make any progress. As though it would take winning the war for the clones to earn their freedom.

Grief and anger rippled through him. The Jedi couldn't even take care of their own anymore. He thought of Qui-Gon, and wondered if they ever had.

He was so tired. They – he – had failed so often, and so badly.

The sound of footsteps had them all alert for a moment before a group of armoured troopers in 501st blue came rushing round the corner and, behind them -

“Anakin,” he smiled, his mood lifting immediately. “I thought you were with Padme.”

The tension ratcheted up immediately, and really, even if Anakin wanted to hide their relationship what was wrong with acknowledging that he and Padme were friends at least? “Master! I...what are you....that is, yes, I was with Senator Amidala for a short while this evening, but when we were finished...I mean, when our meeting was concluded....she had to work, and I went back to the Temple but you were gone,” he said, with a hint of indignation that made Obi-Wan wince. “So I went out with Rex and the troops.”

“General,” Rex chipped in, saluting crisply. “Generals. I see you've already tracked down our missing lamb.”

“Captain Rex, General Skywalker!” Dax's salute was a little sloppy. “Sorry, sirs, I got waylaid.”

“We heard the call for the security forces,” Rex said, glaring over at the group Mace, Depa and Adi still had against the wall and, with a couple of hand signs, the remaining troopers stepped up to keep an eye on them.

Everything seemed settled. Anakin was frowning at him suspiciously and Force, he was tired. It had been an exceptionally long day, he was decidedly somewhat drunk, and he wanted to go home. He took a few unsteady steps forwards and offered a bright smile. “Rex. Have you seen your brother?”

Rex turned his head to look at him and for a second his incredulity echoed loudly in the Force, followed swiftly by his amusement. “You're going to need to be a lot more specific, General.”

“Cody,” he answered. He'd asked Cody to discreetly check in with the 321st, hadn't he? They'd need to discuss that tomorrow, along with doing the resupply, and reorganising four battalions into three. Dimly he was aware of Anakin taking a couple of steps towards them as Rex turned away, speaking into his communicator.

“Cody, you might want to get down here. We've got your General.”

“Obi-Wan, are you drunk?” Anakin asked incredulously.

“Your powers of observation grow stronger, my padawan,” he said, making sure to properly enunciate each word.

Anakin's eyes were huge. “In front of the Council?!” he hissed, dragging Obi-Wan away by the arm as though trying to hide him.

There was something rather endearing about that. “Technically, these days, anytime I drink I'm in front of a member of the Council. Unless I'm not there, I suppose.”

“We've been with him all evening, Knight Skywalker,” Mace cut in suddenly. “I can assure you, Master Kenobi is not in any trouble with us.”

And that bought him a few seconds before Anakin turned his attention back onto Obi-Wan, hurt in his eyes. “You went out drinking with the Council? Are you alright? Why didn't you call me?”

“I thought you were with Padme,” he said, vaguely certain he'd already said that. But that wasn't the whole story anyway. He hadn't wanted Anakin to see him like this. Hadn't wanted him to see what a mess he was.

“I mean...” Anakin looked between him and Mace. “Why were you out here? Was there a mission, or is this official Council business?”

Mace sighed. “Just a night off, Skywalker. Closest we've come to official Council business was officially declaring Qui-Gon Jinn a dick.”

Obi-Wan closed his eyes. That...was a mistake. One that Mace would never have made sober.

He opened his eyes again just in time to see Anakin drawing himself up to his full height, tension radiating off every inch of him. “Qui-Gon Jinn was a great man,” he said, the storm threatening. “He doesn't deserve being bad-mouthed now that he's not here to speak up for himself. Particularly in front of his padawan.” He said that with a meaningful look towards Obi-Wan, as though Mace might have somehow missed their relationship.

Mace went to say something and Obi-Wan would have spoken up but then he became aware of a presence approaching and he turned and smiled. “Cody.”

Somehow, his Commander was by his shoulder. “Good evening, General.” He looked around, assessing the situation. “So, are we trying to help the seppie assassins by bunching all their most high profile targets in one spot?”

He smiled a little, taking comfort in the presence of most of his favourite people. He wondered if he could come up with a reason to call Ahsoka down here as well. Maybe Padme and Bail too. And the rest of the 212th. “I don't believe that was the plan, no. Just an unexpected side effect.”

Cody was studying him and he could feel the weight of his concern. “Bad night, sir?”

He hummed non-committally, glancing over to where Anakin was still glaring at Mace, though he thought there'd been another exchange or two he'd missed.

“Qui-Gon was supposed to be my master too,” Anakin snapped, fire in his eyes. “In an ideal world, he'd have raised me.”

Obi-Wan flinched, and for once it wasn't just Anakin's rejection that made his blood run cold. For a second he imagined Anakin - back when he'd been a child, back when he'd been so insecure, so desperate for affection and approval – having to navigate Qui-Gon's black moods, being ignored for weeks on end, having no-one to talk to, no-one to reach out to, tending to his own injuries while piloting the ship back to the Temple because Qui-Gon had locked himself up in the cabin and refused to be disturbed, being backhanded across the face because he'd pushed too hard at the wrong moment...being alone. Being hurt and frightened and alone.

He was standing directly in front of Anakin before he knew it, his hand pressed to Anakin's cheek. “I would never have let him raise you,” he promised. “You were always far too precious.”

Anakin stared at him. “Obi-Wan...?”

Suddenly conscious of everyone looking at him, he stepped back, tugging at his sleeves and vaguely wishing he was wearing his robes. “Yes. Well.” He turned ever so slightly, and Cody was there immediately, solid, supportive, not judging. “I believe I would like to go home now.”

“Of course, Obi-Wan,” Cody said, reaching out an arm for him. “I've got you.”

“Thank you.” His eyes flickered over the assembled company quickly and he offered a genial smile. “Goodnight, all.”

He ignored everything else, leaning on Cody, trusting him to get them home.d

[rilenerocks]

I’ve been thinking along several seemingly disparate pathways the past couple of days. I’ve always been like that. The other day, I met a friend to help her sort through a harsh diagnosis her partner had recently received. After a lifetime of dealing with medical issues, starting with my mom’s lifetime health problems which frightened me when I was just a little girl, to the ones that appeared throughout the decades in other family and friends, and eventually the five year cancer trip with Michael, I’ve gotten pretty good at wading into the morass of illness. My mom always said, “I’m sorry you were exposed to all my physical troubles, but look how smart you got?” Thanks, mom.

This friend of mine I met with is a fellow swimmer. Perversely, we met outside our empty pool where we’d swim next to each other for years while swapping life stories. Outside of the summer months, we’d rarely get together. Up until last Tuesday, aside from our summer swimming, we’d had lunch together exactly twice in three years. She is an artist and photographer. I’ve purchased a few of her pieces which are unique and especially marvelous because she repurposes a lot of throwaway stuff that would otherwise be landfilled. Last year she came to my house to take pictures of me and my yard, which were to be featured in a show about women and their gardens. That show was cancelled because of the virus quarantine. Maybe someday? Who knows?

Anyway, what frequently  comes up in our conversations is how I always go off on tangents in what appear to be significant digressions from the topic at hand. But in my circuitous way,  I always wind up back on the subject. That’s what this blog is going to be like on this mild, sunny day, as I sit in my backyard with my feet kicking away in my kiddie pool. I’m watching butterflies feed while looking at and listening to birds. I’m learning a lot out here. I’m trying not to worry about Pumpkin, the female cardinal I foolishly attached myself to, despite knowing that’s a bad move with any wild animal. I haven’t seen her in two days. Carmine, her male partner has been omnipresent. And I believe I spotted one of their babies at my bird feeder yesterday, identified by a splotch of that beautiful cream color of its mom.

I can’t hear a damn thing out here except for the birds. My headphones are turned up loud. I’m in my own universe with just the natural world, music, and the always palpable sense of Michael that emanates from this space. Sometimes I catch myself staring at what I can only describe as hologram of him, weeding away in his incredibly meticulous vegetable beds. I can actually see the tendons moving in his legs which were pretty scrawny compared to his muscled upper body. It kind of reminds me of what popped out of R2D2 when Obi-Wan Kenobi retrieved Princess Leia’s message in the first Star Wars film.

The other morning, I was hurrying through kitchen chores when my son showed up in the dining room. He’s staying with me for awhile he works on a postdoc at our local university. I was chattering away at him when he looked at me through bleary eyes and asked, “ what’s up with this intense energy level so early in the day?” Despite my 70th birthday being my next, I still have almost the same high energy that I did when I was young. Apparently that’s  hardwired into me. Sometimes I think it’s dissipated over time, but only on a relative scale, I move at a faster pace than most of my family of origin. My mom, despite her ailments, was clearly the progenitor for this trait. My dad spent his time off work lolling on the couch. Everyone in my immediate family also slept more than me. The same was true for the family Michael and I made together. I was always the first one awake, back in the days we were still living as a unit. In addition to the excess energy and the need for less sleep, I have an essentially sunny disposition. I can be sad, go to dark interior places and certainly recognize them, but in me, they don’t last long. After a sad day, I’m always surprised to feel my humor and energy bubble up from somewhere in me. Even in the worst of times, that’s been consistent. Once, a very long time ago, my brother, eight years older than me, told me that the first time he felt real joy was when I was born. I marveled at that statement. My parents also told me that I was such an easy, good baby that they were worried about me. I fell asleep easily with no complaints, which made them put a mirror under my nose to make sure I was still alive. I wasn’t a fussy eater and wasn’t ever colicky. I burbled happily through my days, primarily content and effortlessly pleased.

Don’t get me wrong – I’m certainly not that sweet saccharine type that you might want to punch in the face. I’m just relentlessly not difficult on a daily basis. Michael always said I was a cheap date, easily pleased and satisfied without a lot of effort. In other words, I’m not high maintenance. There’s just a lightness in me, sometimes despite all my efforts to the contrary. I’d like a maudlin wallow that lasted longer than an afternoon. My recovery time is so fast, I always feel like no one ever feels sorry enough for me. Maybe a more dramatic show of angst would get me more attention. Oh well. I think it’s mostly biology that’s running my show, modified by life and experience, but fundamentally locked in. I was twenty when I moved in with Michael and he often told me during our 45 years, that I was the singularly most unchanged person he ever knew. I took that as a compliment. He didn’t mean that I hadn’t evolved during our life together, but rather that my fundamental self was consistent. Since his death, I find that taken together, these essential traits of mine are both beneficial and problematic. My behavior indicates to the outside world that I’ve adapted fairly well to losing my partner. I do a lot of different activities. My brain is still active and I’m perpetually curious. I can have conversations about virtually anything. But inside of me where my intangible substance lives, I feel like I’m just fabricating a life to occupy my time. After all, I’m still alive.  My instincts tell me I have to do something. But in my depths, I often think this is all filler, placeholders for what my real life should be, a real life which still feels like my old life with Michael. I don’t know if or what a person is supposed to be in this world. You hear all these quotidian lines – “she’s a born mother,” “he’s a born grandfather,” all these “born” descriptors which seem to define some essential bent that we’re all expected to have. I suppose if that’s true, I’m a born life partner. Except I’m still here being that while my partner is gone. I don’t want another one. I can’t find a shred of evidence in me that would indicate I want to team up with anyone else. So basically, I’m using my essential traits and making up the current me on a daily basis. I don’t much like this. I simply don’t see another choice.

I guess that focusing on transience is the best coping mechanism I can employ to deal with this piece of time. Like the 18th century Dutch painter Rachel Ruysch, whose still lifes show the influence of the Vanitas movement, which display the inevitability of death and the loss of earthly things, I know that ultimately everything and everyone will disappear, if not completely, then certainly by changing form at the very least. Her painting above shows flowers reaching the end of their prime. I can relate to that.

  I’ve now lived in my town for almost 52 years. First I was a student with my life centered mostly around campus. After a time, I moved into the community at large. The places I spent time in over these decades, vary in terms of their continued consistent  physical presence, a modified presence or their complete disappearance. I rarely go through the university campus any more.

But the other day, I drove through the heart of what is known as Campustown, very near the main quadrangle where I attended classes in beautiful old buildings, many of which were constructed in the late 19th century and the early 20th century. Of course there have been many renovations and updates to those over the years. They are still recognizable. But Campustown is completely changed. High rise buildings dominate the landscape, mostly businesses on the first floors and apartments above. Green space is noticeably absent. Many of the places I frequented have vanished. I have vivid memories of them.

The Record Service where both Michael and I worked, he for 27 years, had several locations in the heart of that place. No trace of it exists. The corner drugstore which sold sundries and the like, but also had a few booths and a kitchen where for a modest price, you could get a hot roast beef or turkey sandwich with gravy and mashed potatoes. My friend Fern and I went there a lot. There was the Spudnuts doughnut shop and Follett’s bookstore. The Co-Ed movie theater and McBride’s plus the Art Mart which now exists in a new location far from campus.

There was Mabel’s, the music venue on the second floor of a building on the main drag, with an impossibly steep staircase even when my knees were good. The Deluxe, home of the best fish sandwich I’ve ever eaten. The Cellar, a basement “head” shop, Thimble and Threads, an alternative clothing store, The Leather Shop and Marrakech Clothing Imports. The Campus Florist, The Art Coop and the camera store way before digital cameras existed. Bailey and Himes sporting goods store. Chin’s restaurant and The Brown Jug. All these places and more exist in my mind. I can feel myself in them, feel what I’m doing as I jiggle my favorite pinball machine, Drop-a-Card, a little tipsy from beer which I never liked. I see my view of the stage from the good tables at Mabel’s where you could listen without getting too squished and sweaty and still get up to dance if you were so inclined. I can see my friends and remember conversations there. And of course there is Michael with me. As I drove down that strange but familiar street, I realize that when I’m gone, along with others in my peer group, all that energy from that time will spiral out into the universe somewhere, vanished from sight but yet alive in a context I can’t fathom. I believe that science will one day bear out my feelings about those mystical ideas.

A year or so ago, I had the presence of mind to drive around town to take pictures of every place I lived in before Michael and I bought the house I still currently occupy. Two places were demolished but I found photos of one of them. The other I hope to describe before that memory disappears. In my head, I can still walk through all those houses, turning into the kitchens, the bedrooms, the bathrooms. I can feel the  doorknobs in my hands. I navigate the past, parallel to the present. So much has happened in my life already. With the grinding repetitive routine that the coronavirus has required of me, these filler assignments that I concoct to occupy the present vacant time, aren’t as much fun as what’s already behind me, or next to me, or floating around somewhere in these difficult-to-comprehend wavelengths that are the stuff of physics and string theory and other befuddling concepts. I’ll take these scientists at their word while wishing for concepts easier for me to understand.

The other day, my son told me that my daughter didn’t want to sell our house after I die. Actually, she’d already told me that. He doesn’t really want to sell it either. I think I get it. Our home is like their ancestral shrine. People tend to move a lot in this country. When I came here in 1968 I was a 17 year old college freshman. Ten years later, after living with Michael and bumping around for six years, we bought this house, never dreaming we’d live here forever. But that’s how things worked out. I am anchored here, where so much of my adult life happened. My kids were conceived here and stayed until they went off to college. But they came back and brought their friends. We hosted 35 Thanksgiving dinners here with a wide assortment of family and stragglers. People who needed a place to stay intermittently shared our space. My mother lived here in a room that still smells like her. Michael and I did every conceivable activity that passes between friends and lovers here, up to and including his death. I am never uncomfortable or unhappy with our memories in this space. I wondered if I would be but instead it’s my gift and comfort to be here. If I’m lucky, I’d like to die in this place, just like Michael, although no one can predict what awaits us. If I could choose it, though, this is where I’d be.

When we moved in here, there was major reclamation to be done on this structure built in 1893. Daunting work and still it never ends. But the house emitted these wonderful feelings immediately, and we often wondered what good things must’ve happened that lingered in the walls and drifted out, enveloping us in the warmth of home. I imagine we’ve added to that deep resonance of succor which is palpable to me. I’m not surprised that my kids intuitively understand that their history still resides here. Not  something they’re likely to quickly cast aside once I’m gone, to hopefully commingle with whatever is Michael, who is out there afloat, still pulling on me daily, while I make up my current daily existence. All these changes I’ve experienced, internally and externally. My, my. I muddle along, creating a space around me that seems to pass for a full life. Maybe filler is too negative a connotation for what I’m doing now. Some days are better than others. I am confident that I still have value in this world and my intellect is fully operative which helps immeasurably. But the draw of my partner still dominates me after three years and change. If that alters, maybe I’ll redefine my current perceptions of this iteration of me.

Filler I’ve been thinking along several seemingly disparate pathways the past couple of days. I’ve always been like that.