#obi-wan 'shh don't raise your voice at him'

[obiwanobi]

Catch me thinking about sith Anakin who got in a fight w/ Palps (did Palps cross a line? Did Anakin decide he had nothing to lose? Idk), barely managed to win and is now seriously hurting and a little freaked out winding up outside Obi-wan's quarters and Obi-wan doesn't have time to draw his saber let alone figure out how a sith lord managed to get so far into the jedi temple unnoticed and Force is that blood? before Anakin's passing out with only a murmered request for help.

LISTEN you can’t keep sending me perfect prompts, how do you know I can’t resist bloody men on their knees begging for salvation, how do you know me so well??? anyway here’s 2.3k of always-a-sith!Anakin who could have been the new ruler of the empire but said ‘no thanks, this is too much responsibility, I would like to be pampered by my favourite jedi now’ (with a bit of Ahsoka as Obi-Wan’s padawan!)

 He didn’t mean to kill him.

Well, not at first.

He didn’t mean to kill Sidious, but pulling his lightsaber from his lifeless corpse only felt like complete satisfaction. A weight on his shoulders he didn't know he carried disappeared, letting him stand up above the body of his master— former master, and gaze upon what was left of him. A shapeless form on the ground. A dark cape around an old man playing at being a god. A begging mess of futile promises when he realised it was the end for him.  

As mindless fury leaves him, his ragged breathing slows down and his fist unclenches around his saber. Sidious is dead. Now that the adrenaline rush is gone, his knees start shaking. His Master is dead. His face is wet with sweat and blood and tears. Dead and now Anakin has no one.

And then...  And then fear.

"You know," Ahsoka groans as the water starts boiling, "I don't understand how you got your reputation of Cool Jedi Master. Other padawans think I'm lying when I tell them you wear the ugliest slippers at home and gets excited by new tisanes."

"You gifted me those slippers."

"As a joke. And you still wear them."

"I'm not going to throw away perfectly good slippers." Obi-Wan wiggles his toes under the red and yellow fuzzy monstrosities, just to see his padawan rolls her eyes. "And they're really comfortable."

"So you're just going to stay there, then? Your whole battalion is out celebrating our first day of leave since forever, but you prefer to drink your tea alone and go to bed at 22:00?"

"No one wants an authority figure around when they're letting loose and celebrating, Ahsoka," Obi-Wan says, pouring hot water in his cup. He raises the kettle towards his padawan as a question, to which she shakes her head. "I thought you would be happy to see me putting sleep before work for once."

"I am, Master, but I thought it could be..." She trails off, fidgeting with the hilt of her sabers. For once, she looks like a typical padawan, just like he was at her age, dying to enjoy one night away from the temple and any kind of responsibilities.

"It's alright my dear," he sighs, "you can join them if you want."

Ahsoka suddenly perks up. "I can?"

"If you're old enough to be sent to the front, I think you can handle yourself for one night on Coruscant."

"Thank you Master! I promise I'll be careful and not come back too late!"

"You do that, and-- wait, Ahsoka," he adds as she's already halfway through the door, "make sure to stay around Cody! And no alcohol of any kind! And don't lose your lightsaber at sabacc again!"

"That was you!" she yells from the end of the corridor, "don't worry, I'll be fine! Don't wait for me to go to bed! Goodnight Master!"

Obi-Wan smiles, blowing on his cup. He already sent a message to Cody earlier to keep an eye on her, so he knows she's in good hands.

He has his herbal tea, his ugly slippers, no reports to read or write, and no immediate Separatist menace to plan for. For once, a perfectly good night to catch up on sleep and meditation.

So, of course, something has to be wrong.

The Force is bright. The Force is lighter than it has ever been for the past few years.

And Obi-Wan can't understand why.  

It's not just him that can feel it: Ahsoka has acted chipper since, more like the teenager she is, laughing with the clones and playfully teasing him the whole fly back to Coruscant. The temple has felt livelier than ever when they arrived, Jedi from all ages going about their day with a new spring in their step, greeting each other warmly in the corridors. Even Master Yoda has taken a few minutes during their Council meeting to note the shift in the Force. No Master could pinpoint the origin of this change, but all agreed that something good happened somewhere in the galaxy, and they were just feeling ripples of the effect in the Force.

Still now, the whole temple feels a bit more like it used to, before the war, and all Jedi are a bit happier without knowing why.

Only Obi-Wan feels like a noose tightening around him. Whatever it is, it's slowing making its way around his presence in the Force. Focusing on him and him alone. Doesn't matter how much Obi-Wan tries to hide himself, it's getting closer and never slowing down or losing interest.

Needless to say, Obi-Wan has a bad feeling about this.

But after almost three years of war, sullen faces and grim expressions, he doesn't feel like dampening the sudden good mood around the Temple just with a few words. He can probably deal with whatever it is by himself.

His tisane is cold when he finally emerges from his meditation. Nothing is clearer than when he started: the Force is deaf to his questions and inquiries, still light as a breeze. An airy unconcern for his restlessness. And yet, a thick pressure still looms around him, getting heavier each passing second now.

His fingers start pulling on his collar.

The clock on the wall indicates that he lied to Ahsoka when he said he was going to bed at a respectable time today. No diurnal Jedi would still be up right now, but he still considers going out to knock at Mace's door. Narrowed eyes and a very long sigh will be his first answer, but Obi-Wan knows that Mace would never refuse to hear him out. Yes, he finally decides when the pressure seems to creep even closer to him, it's worth waking up Mace.

He opens his door, wondering if he should take his robe with him, and instantly stops walking.

There, in the empty corridor of the Jedi Temple, at his door and on his knees, is a Sith. He knows it's a Sith only because he recognises this specific mass of hair, the large shoulders, the dishevelled dark robe. He knows it's a Sith because he has crossed path with this one enough times on the battlefield to recognise him anywhere. Outside of it a few times too. He isn't sure it's a Sith when the Sith raises his head up, bloody and bruised face torn in an agonizing expression, and his eyes are blue.

"I— I didn't know where to go," Darth Vader says quietly, with the kind of voice expected from a lost child. It gives Obi-Wan a second shock to hear his voice, making his presence suddenly real. "You said... You said if I ever wanted to, if I needed help one day, you would— I could—"

Obi-Wan remembers it. He remembers all the times he offered his help. His pleas for him to stop the violence, the appeals to reason, the multiple suggestions of a gentler path. His hand continuously outreached but never taken. He remembers the burning gold of the Sith's eyes too, and his black cape floating above the dead clones at his feet.

His laughter the first time Obi-Wan brought up the idea of lowering their blades and talking around a cup of tea. His sneer the third time Obi-Wan tried to change his misconceptions about the Jedi Order and play-flirt with him in the same breath. The silence the fifth time Obi-Wan asked him his name, his real name, the one a parent gave him.

The tears the last time he gave it to him.

"And you're always trying to save me," Vader adds more forcefully now, like the words anger him, "you're always here, showing up almost every time I'm sent somewhere with your stupid smile and stupid words, and you're always nice, and... and teasing, and disappointed when I kill someone, like you expect me to be better, and I don't understand you, but..."

Vader raises his hand towards him, and it's only this sudden move that shakes Obi-Wan out of his stupor. Before the Sith can touch his leg, Obi-Wan calls his lightsaber to him, ignites it in one fluid motion, half-expecting Vader to be up and swaying his saber in his face by now. But the Sith is still on his knees, and it's only now that the blue light of his blade is above him that Obi-Wan realises the state he's in. His face isn't the only thing bruised and battered: his dark tunic is stained with blood and ripped in more than one place, one of his arms is bent in an unnatural way, and it looks like a cut above his hairline is still bleeding, making his curls stick to his face in a mess of wet hair and burned skin.

"Vader," Obi-Wan says slowly, when his thoughts finally regain a semblance of coherence. A rapid investigation through the Force assures him that no other enemy is around and the calm and quiet of the night in the Temple isn't a prequel for a storm. "How did you get in here? What are you doing here? How—"

Vader's hand, stuck in the space between them, reaches once again for Obi-Wan. Foolishly, Obi-Wan lets him. His fingers twist themselves in the fabric of his pants.

"He made me killed them all.” Vader wobbles on his knees for a second, the hand on Obi-Wan's leg gripping it tighter. “No platoons, no battle droids. Just me. He sent me to the power station and I cut through them so easily, so quickly, they didn't even fight back, and I didn't think that..." he trails off, panting. "Until.... until I saw the electro-whips." 

"Are you talking about Naphtla?" he asks when Vader doesn't seem to be able to continue.

Naphtla. Outer Rim. Barely on the Republic radar until this afternoon, when nearby troops answered a distress signal and found a hidden Separatist power station operated by slaves. A third of them were dead, killed only a few hours before, and the survivors turned to the Republic for immediate support. Slaughtered like animals, the rescue team reported to the Council only a few hours ago, by one single man wielding a red lightsaber. According to witnesses, the darksider cut through the slaves like bantha butter, killing everyone in his path without discrimination, until he stopped for no apparent reason and abruptly left.

"You were the one who killed the people at the station there," Obi-Wan realises out loud, horrified, "the slaves from Zygerria."

Vader snaps his head up and his fingers tighten painfully around Obi-Wan's knee. "I DIDN'T KNOW!"

All Obi-Wan's senses and logical thoughts urge him to back out, put an end to this nonsensical charade, raise his lightsaber between them, get away from the dark, hungry void Vader generates in the Force.

But his eyes are looking up to him. Gripping his gaze with the same intensity as his hand on his leg. Bloodied face and pleading, on his knees. Full of tears.

Obi-Wan doesn't push Vader's hand away.

"I didn't know they were slaves, I didn't!"

"Vader."

"He never said! He sent me without telling him, he knows I don't—" A small noise sounding suspiciously like a sob swallows the rest of his words.

"Vader, who sent—"

"When I came back," he tries again, quieter. Obi-Wan opens his mouth to ask about this he, but Vader's head lolls for a second, too heavy to support, before butting gently against Obi-Wan's leg. Vader makes no effort to move, content to stay there, and after a second, a small, almost timid nuzzle against his thigh sends a series of shivers through Obi-Wan's spine. It shuts him up instantly. "When I came back, he looked at me for so, so long, before saying that he knew, he knew I was going to fail, that I was... just like them after all, and that I could never... And I was so mad, so angry at him, so I... I..."

The last words are muffled by the fabric Vader clings to. Hides into. There's blood on Obi-Wan's pants now.

"What have you done, Vader?" Obi-Wan asks, softer than he intended. "Vader," he asks again when no reply comes, without success. The hand not holding his lightsaber moves, hesitates for a moment, then settles lightly on Vader's hair, mindful not to touch any open wounds. His fingers nudge him to tip his head back, gently, carefully, and settle on his cheek to hold his face up, looking at him. "Anakin." His name, his true name, makes him blink a few times. "Anakin, what have you done?"

"I killed him," he finally admits, barely audible. He looks exhausted, more like a child in need of rest than ever.

"Who did you kill?"

"My master."

"Dooku? You killed Dooku?"

"No," Vader— Anakin frowns, like Obi-Wan should know better. "Sidious."

It's a bit much to process in one day. Another Sith Lord, Vader's master, concealed and kept a secret, now dead, killed by his apprentice —and does that make Vader the ruling Sith Lord now? Do Sith have rulers?— the lightness in the Force the same day, a half-dead Vader begging for help in the middle of the night in the Jedi Temple, and all of that while Obi-Wan is still wearing his ugly slippers.

He's so glad he sent Ahsoka away for the night.

Anakin doesn't let him time to feel the migraine coming.

"I can't do it, I can't be my master, I can't— and Dooku hates me, he will never help me, even if I let him have it all, he will never..." Vader seems to run out of steam, and lets his eyes close as his head falls once again against Obi-Wan's thigh. Closer. "You said you could help me. You said I could come to you at any time. You said you would always be there if I didn't want to... do this, anymore."

"I did," Obi-Wan assures him, his hand lightly petting his hair again.

Anakin lets out a long breath. His fingers tighten on the fabric of Obi-Wan's pants, loosen, and tighten again.

"You're the only one I trust," the Sith quietly tells the Jedi, and it's the saddest thing Obi-Wan has ever heard.

[satingrove]

improper

pairing: protector!obi-wan kenobi x princess!reader, you know the drill

warnings: very intimate, but not exactly smut

summary: your maid has fallen ill and isn’t there to help you out of that difficult dress, but obi-wan happens to be right there.

wc: 2.070k

authors note: now THIS came to me straight out of nowhere, all i know is that it got me really frickin excited. it’s sort of supposed to mirror the victorian era, where dress and corset wearers needed someone to help dress and undress them. i also just picture aotc obi in this fic bc wooow

It's unnatural to ask - isn't it? But it's a peculiar happening as well, and Obi-Wan is nothing but a friendly face, a common face.

He looms in your doorway, looking sympathetic and protective, the place he likes to be at this time of day, or any time at all. It did not matter to him. Midnight or afternoon, he liked to see you.

He leaves the doorway, taking slow, polite steps. His robes sweep the floor and he almost appears to float, arriving by where you sit on the love seat.

"I'm very sorry to hear about your maid, your Highness." He sits down beside you, mentally replaying your distressed voice over the comlink, which explained to him the events of a fainting maid and a frantic medic who simply pushed her onto a repulsorlift gurney and left without a word.

You don't catch his gaze. Your eyes stay set on the floor beneath your feet, but perfect posture is still accounted for; impropriety isn't something you'd like to convey to the Jedi Knight, although you were much more than mere acquaintances.

A vague memory of his sunshiny face dances through your mind; the time he had brought you flowers in the early morning of a hot day. You hadn't forgotten the boyish grin on his face, even though he was far past his Youngling days (he had explained the ranking system to you at a boring banquet - one that you both contemplated sneaking out of, except your manners kept you there). The gesture was remembered in a happy golden tint and centered around a sleepy, lazy kiss to your forehead. More than acquaintances, yes.

He gingerly shifts his robes.

"I hope she'll be alright." You murmur, a minuscule smile managed in his direction.

"I'm sure she will be, although it's strange how quickly she seemed to fall ill. The medics are taking great care of her, I assure you. I checked before I came to you." His words provide relief, but the image of the maid's coughing and pale face before she thumped to the floor confuses you still. "You must be frightened, princess." His gentle hand brushes over your back, modestly, and you draw in a slow breath.

"I don't understand... that's all." The upset returns to you a moment, and runs away quickly by the soothing hand of Obi-Wan. "As long as she will be alright, as you say. She is a great friend to me." You watch him with a melancholy expression.

Obi-Wan hums in comprehension, the tone soft and nearly melodic, never ceasing his calming back-and-forth motions upon your back. It's comfortable. He promises once more that your cherished maid would return in due time, and in his well-mannered reserve, made to bid you goodnight.

It was no different than any other time he had done so; his lips brushing your hand as he held your gaze, softly whispering that he wished you a good night's sleep. It earned him a smile without fail, and the thought occurred to you as he neared the door.

Instead of calling for a Jedi, a protector, you use his name. You could count the times you had done this on your fingers.

"Obi-Wan, wait," You call timidly, speeding fast to catch up to him. He turns, a loose strand of hair falling close to his forehead. He finds you already standing incredibly close.

He lets out a sigh in the form of an "oh", and he chuckles, "Yes, my dear princess?"

The words are on the tip of your tongue, hanging on for dear life and too afraid to be turned into a voice. You stand a moment, looking up at the Jedi who waits patiently. There, you both breathe into an invisible sheet of tension. Chests puff and deflate with the lungs that work hard to stay normally paced.

"Well, it's just that-", you're struggling, your shyness a great barrier between what you need and what you're afraid to request.

Obi-Wan's hands are clasped in front of him.

"I'm listening." He encourages you with a murmur, nodding and feeling fond of you. The sheet of tension thickens.

"My dress..." You continue in segments, incapable of stringing all the pieces together in a smooth sentence. Your palms press against the skirt, wiping down the little perspiration that had accumulated. It's quiet now, as Obi-Wan begins to understand what you're asking him to do. His eyebrows raise a little as it dawns, but he needs to hear the rest from your own lips.

"My maid isn't here to help me out of it tonight." You babble, fast, but steady. Obi-Wan knew the words were coming, but hearing them makes it all the more different.

It's impossible how quick he is to blush, and unspeakable the way his eyes darken.

"You want me... to undress you." It's not a question but a statement, and you can tell that he's not afraid of the prospect. His voice had deepened the way his eyes did, romantic and not without lust.

You find it hard to affirm this, but all the same, a weak "mhmm" noise comes from your throat, pitiful compared to your established and habitual tone.

Obi-Wan looks at you. He's unreadable, blank but still blushing, and then he intensifies. He grows more confident.

"Darling." Hands grace your shoulders and turn you to face the other way, your back against his warm chest and his cream coloured robes. You’re heated and feverish and melding to his body while he ushers you gently forward, creating more space for the two of you away from the closed door.

You thought it laughable, but in your mind you had thanked whoever thought of making clothes that you needed help to put on and take off. It was annoying, up until now, an utter nuisance to have to wear such extravagant pieces.

The thought was cut short by the sensation of his fingers starting at the top of the bodice, washing away any meandering thoughts of apprehension towards the clothing you wore. They skillfully slipped one, two, three buttons and it was enough to tug the sleeves moderately down your arms, exposing your bare shoulders to him.

His breath came hot upon your right shoulder, delicate, fresh, and his lips ghosted from the edge of it, trailing slowly to the crook of your neck where he placed a sultry, loving kiss. The passage of time is changed, the slim hands of all clocks caught between seconds and failing to tick fast enough. 

"You're so tense..." His hands sweep the length of your arms to rest on your shoulders where his lips had been, rubbing attentively, cooing the words into your ear. It unwinds you at the same time that it sends shivers from your spine to manifest in your stomach. A whimper is the only manageable response.

"Shh," Obi-Wan hushes you, working circles with his fingers and undoing your stresses, "relax, it's alright."

He can hardly believe what his hands are doing. He's enamoured, wholly and completely, and that's just about all he knows in this moment of intimacy.

The next button slips through the fabric, exposing more of your skin and awakening more of his fanciful thoughts. Obi-Wan leans down again, finding a higher point of your neck between his lips, careful not to leave a mark. He's being delicate for your own sake. You inwardly chastise yourself for how easily he allures you.

Four more buttons are undone, leisurely, Obi-Wan bending to leave kisses where they used to touch your back, leaving a thrilling line of pecks. He reaches the last one and his knee touches the floor. He slips it and parts the fabric to place a final kiss on your lower back. It's thoroughly intoxicating, your breath coming in and out to the rushed beating of your heart. You feel that shyness evermore, though it's being overshadowed by something else, something rousing.

The Jedi is still kneeling when he reaches up to grip your waist and turn you back around to face him. You look down and he appears so sweet, so enchanting and dark. From above is a view you hadn't been graced with until now, but he rises, eyes fixed on yours, and reaches behind you.

The two sides of the bodice are in his grasp.

"Is this okay?" He's earnest and wary, knowing he could be stripping you not only of your dress but the modesty you still held with him. He had served his purpose. The buttons at the back were all that you needed help with.

"Yes." It leaves you in quiet, breathy desperation. Obi-Wan pulls.

Your arms come out of the sleeves and your chest is bare. The garment falls without your body to hang on to, pooling around your feet.

"My, my..." Obi-Wan is lost for his smooth remarks, letting his hands talk as they grace your hip and trail up your back. His lips are parted. To be bare in front of him felt oddly safe, comfortable - normal even.

Then a flow of words comes out.

"That dress was charming, my darling, but you," he sighs, "you're bewitching." He looks ardently to every part of you that he can see, features softening in his awe. A hand moves to cup the side of your face and he shakes his head in disbelief to the beauty before him.

"Will you let me help with the rest?" He's eager but still adamant to be respectful. You nod, gaining poise, and he fetches the silk nightgown draped over the chair sitting in front of the vanity. He sets it neatly on the edge of your bed, upon the fluffy sheets.

Shedding his cloak, feeling too hot for the extra layer, he rests it beside the nightie and pulls back a corner of the blanket on the side which he knows you sleep, and sits there.

"Come here."

You're nervous again, but let your feet take you to him. They whisper on the floor, silent and light, and you arrive in between the spread of his legs. Finding your waist again, he comes forward and spreads his palms over your skin, his touch flaring and welcoming.

His actions are ones you wish would only repeat themselves for the coming hours - so affectionate, tender, encompassing. His lips press dreamily to your stomach. You ruffle his hair and he purrs - he likes it all too much. It's then that he switches places with you, standing to turn, peering at you in adoration, sweet and intense. He gives a ghost of a push to sit you down in his old spot, drawing lines down your arms with his fingers, and briefly gracing your thighs.

The night gown is held high, Obi-Wan watching it fall delicately over your head as he guides it down. You raise your arms to poke through the straps and the length of it gathers at the juncture of your hips and thighs.

Obi-Wan tucks some hair behind your ear, his cheeks red but his disposition suave. Two kisses are placed on either thigh as he bends a final time and his face comes to the level of yours. He stays a moment, burning the sight into his mind. Once he's satisfied that details are right, he aids you to lay, bringing the sheets over your shoulders. Your chest fills to your throat with admiration, swelling and blooming there.

A last, velvety kiss is given to your cheek, where his lips linger, and he wishes you goodnight anew with all the tenderness he can muster.

"I trust you'll sleep well, princess."

"Thank you, Obi-Wan." He closes his eyes to relish the way your hand reaches, touches and falls from his cheek. Humming a dulcet sound as if to say "you're welcome", he retrieves his cloak, draping it over his arm. "I'll see you in the morning, then?"

"If only it were sooner." He replies, disembarking from the presence he so desperately yearned to stay within.

He makes a generous point of folding the discarded dress, and winds up the music box at the vanity, twisting the silver knob. Its lovely tinkle plays a pretty song, a lullaby, and Obi-Wan leaves with a final glance toward you in your bed, wondering why he hadn't kissed your lips and wishing he had more time before the length of his stay could be considered "improper".

[ironhoshi]

quinlan and obi + 23 (if you're still taking ficlet prompts!)

This...came out angstier than planned? No, that isn’t quite right. The song is:

We Have It All by Pim Stones

This is a bit of a disclaimer to just let you know I was bleeding my emotions into this because over the weekend my aunt passed away. I haven’t really talked about it much, but this prompt response I wrote is 100% fueled by the song and by my own emotions.

I apologize for the angst.

The reflection in the mirror was mocking him. 

The way his eyes were red and raw, the way his very flesh seemed to be paler than normal, the way he just didn’t recognize what he was seeing. How had the person looking back at him not been fast enough and somehow also fast enough? Why hadn’t-

“Obes,” the voice cracked through the small fresher like a bolt and Obi-Wan tensed. He jerked his gaze away from the mirror and raised an eyebrow in question. “You can’t spend all day staring at yourself, even if I do agree that you have a wonderful face. You've got a kid to wrangle now…"

Anakin, he had Anakin to take care of now. He had promised Qui-Gon. 

Obi-Wan felt another wave of emotion hit him and before he could release the trauma into the Force, well, Quin acted. Arms encircled him and he was yanked into a hug.

This was all very unbecoming of a Jedi.

"He-" His voice cracked before dying off for a moment. Qui-Gon had been the closest thing he had ever experienced as a father figure. His Grandmaster had left the Order a long time ago and he didn't want to bother Feemor or Master Yoda with his problems. Problems, when had grief become problems?

Losing Qui-Gon wasn’t a problem, no, it was a wound.

"Shh, I got you," Quinlan whispered before pressing a kiss to his temple. "I know, I know."

When he closed his eyes he could still see the burning amber, the black lines etched in red, and he could see the pure fury. It was hypnotizing. That brilliance had struck down his Master and, so in turn, he had forced it to fade violently. 

He had returned the favor.

"What if I can't-" Limbs shifted and then Quin was grabbing his face, forcing him to stare with stinging eyes. 

"Nothing is forever, he is claimed by the Force, but you are still here. Can you hear me? I'm begging you, Obes, hear me. You aren't him, you are you, and you are going to walk this path with me by your side. I am going to corrupt little Ani so much that you'll spend your days as his Master swearing at me." 

"I don't want to drag you down with me in my failure-" Words died on his lips as he found them suddenly bruised under Quinlan's. He froze, he felt pain, he felt like crying, but most of all- he felt loved. Obi-Wan threw his arms around Quin's neck and leaned into the kiss. 

He barely had anything and yet, somehow, he had it all. He had Quinlan and he had Anakin. The rest he would figure out once he walked out into his apartments. There was a boy, who was probably terrified, that needed him to be stronger. 

"There you go," Quin said softly as he pulled back from the kiss. "We will manage. We always manage. Now come on, Kenobi, your padawan needs a hug as well."

Obi-Wan nodded slowly and shifted just enough to rest his forehead against Quinlan's shoulder. He wanted to scream his apologies to his Master. Could Qui-Gon forgive him for not being good enough yet again? Could he forgive himself for taking on yet more blame? His heart spasmed and he wasn't that surprised when another body barreled into the fresher. 

"Obi-Wan," Anakin's childish voice filled his mind. "I'm sorry!"

What? He blinked hard as he pulled away from Quin so he could glance down at his new padawan. Why was he apologizing? He untangled himself from his partner and knelt down and before he could even complete the action Anakin was clinging to him.

"No, Ani, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have left you waiting-" Tiny arms tightened painfully around his neck and he winced ever so slightly. "How would you like to go get a treat? Quin will come with us. Just us...three." 

Qui-Gon would never step through the door at Dex's again, but Obi-Wan could at least honor his memory there. He glanced up at Quin and felt his cheeks flush faintly. The look of affection and sadness struck him straight in his heart. He smiled ever so faintly and mouthed a simple sentiment.

Forgive me. I love you.