Archive of Our Own ^beta

1.

It's been, as far as Anakin is concerned, a pretty rotten week. If Mace Windu or Yoda had told him that he would miss being on the field, under fire, with no support, Anakin would have stripped off his robe and thrown it in their faces in front of the entire Council. He remembers that he had been relieved to finally reach the Temple communication lines. That had changed once relief arrived and he had managed to make it back before the Council.

He'd completely forgotten just how much being at the Temple frustrated him. "It's as though I am not a Knight," he grumbles under his breath, gritting his teeth as he stalks away from unobtrusive door near the Halls of Healing. The extensive debriefing when he reached the Temple was expected. The rest of it - the interrogation, the increased number of visits he was assigned to the Halls - is something else all together.

He wants quite badly to see his master again. Former master. Anakin forces himself to lower his hands and resume posture more befitting the Knight that he is. There was no part of that mission that had been standard, and it was his very first mission on his own, fresh from his Trials and Knighting. Of course the Council had every right to verify that he'd done as he should as a Jedi. Or at least, Anakin imagines that would be what Qui-Gon would say.

Or that's what he's said every time Anakin has expressed that the Council was looking far too deeply into his decisions on missions. Not that Anakin had been a Knight back then; he'd thought that now that he is one-

The entire Temple feels like it's pressing down on him, loud and crowded with so many bright and busy Force presences within it. What Anakin needs is food. He'll feel better once he's eaten something, surely. Food hadn't exactly been in abundant supply while he and the Duchess had been on the run.

It isn't, of course, that his ribs are showing or anything, but the healer he'd seen for his post-mission physical had instructed him to eat more fresh fruits from the Mess Hall. Now, that is the kind of order that Anakin can get behind; he likes the sugary Core desserts as much as any Jedi, but fruit don't tend to give him a stomachache.

The halls grow more populated the closer Anakin gets to the Mess Hall, and a glance at his comm shows it to be mid-day meal hour. He hasn't had a chance yet to check the roster to see if Qui-Gon is on mission or not, but he's fairly certain that if his former master is present, he'll likely be at the Hall. As poor as he is at routines while on mission, Qui-Gon is excellent at following them at the Temple, and shows up regularly at the Mess Hall if just to drink a few cups of tea with the other Masters.

Something, something Living Force, Anakin is certain the explanation goes.

Like a beacon, Anakin feels the presence of his former master through the distracting press of other Jedi and Initiates. He straightens, his pace quickening. He'll feel better about everything once he's had a chance to talk about it with Qui-Gon; their opinions of the Council tend to align. There will be no furrowed brows or judging eyes when Anakin mentions the ridiculous lengths they've gone to, as if he's not done everything in his power to be the Jedi they expect him to be.

He spots Qui-Gon from a distance, and then with a single once-over, finds his spirits rising. Qui-Gon Jinn seems in fine form today: he's been to bed sometime last night and even has found time to break his fast. To the untrained eye, Qui-Gon always looks put together; through rigorous years at his side, Anakin has learned to tell when he's redone his hair, and the particular way his face wrinkles when tired or troubled.

Anakin hasn't lost his ability to navigate the crowd of initiates and padawans yet. He arrives at Qui-Gon's side ready to greet his former master when he nearly trips over something. Glancing down, he moves to step over and around the small initiate - no, padawan? Padawans seem to get smaller every year - but the boy ducks in closer to Qui-Gon's side, cutting Anakin a baffled look of reproach.

It only takes an instant for Anakin to read which way the Force is flowing. Qui-Gon is already turning when Anakin says, "What's this?"

Qui-Gon glances down. The thing occupying the space at Qui-Gon's side that should by all rights be Anakin's is not dressed in the clean white of initiate tunics, ill-fitting in their 'one-size fits most' manner - but in the tan and cream of a padawan. They're cut to fit it, from the simple overtunic to the tiny boots. It stares up at him with wide eyes under the bristling padawan cut, a small braid hanging over it's shoulder.

Not as short as Anakin's had been, at that age.

Qui-Gon does not quite look at Anakin as he says, casually, in that mild and understated fashion he had when readying himself for yet another loud argument with Anakin, "That is my padawan. His name is Obi-Wan Kenobi. Obi-Wan, this is my former padawan, and your lineage brother, Knight Anakin Skywalker."

Anakin, who has not taken his eyes away from it, watches the thing's tiny mouth bunch into a stubborn moue, and its feet set themselves just a touch wider. He's going to squash it like a bug, he thinks distantly. "Really," he says aloud, and cuts a look toward Qui-Gon out of the corner of his eye. He doesn't trust taking his eyes off the thing for a single moment, not after seeing that. He's very aware that the initiates are trained to swing for a larger opponent's ankles. "I'm gone for all of a Coruscanti year, and suddenly the master who wants no padawan takes another?"

Qui-Gon, his hands folded behind his back, hums with that particularly reticent set to his brow. It's the one he gets when he's thinking that the Council is full of stubborn idiots. "The Force indicated differently," he says. "It is not your or my place to question it."

Bantha dung, Anakin thinks. That's good as a non answer coupled with ' mind your own business.' It is Anakin's business, he thinks, frowning at the thing that is flying in the face of everything that Anakin had thought about Qui-Gon.

Well, except for the part where Qui-Gon gets odd notions and tears off across the galaxy over it. This unfortunately matches that particular habit of his former master's only too well.

Qui-Gon only lingers for a moment longer before the fact that they're standing in the way urges him on. The thing follows along with him, so close it might trod on the ends of his robes, and keeps giving Anakin wary looks.

He is going to earn those if it's the last thing he does, Anakin thinks before moving his feet after them.

--

The mess hall always insists on serving Incredibly Balanced Meals for each Jedi's needs. For humans and near humans with standard dietary requirements, this means a small portion of various starchy tubers, quite a large amount of leafy greens with some red and yellow chunks from various relatives of gourds, protein-packed legumes, a piece of fruit or two, and a small bowl of pudding.

Anakin is remarkably tolerant toward animal-produced sugars, as most people of Tatooine tend to be since they rely heavily on blue milk as a source of moisture. That doesn't mean he particularly cares for them. The meal of today seems to be Corellian influenced in the most general terms possible. If Anakin had known that, he might have gone out for Dex's instead. The smell of the pudding is only reminding him of the time when he was a young padawan, and Qui-Gon stood by and watched him gorge on overly-sweet desserts and spent the rest of the day and night in misery.

The thing sitting across from him keeps eyeing the pudding on its tray with covetous eyes while stuffing the pungent stewed tubers with a sense of stubborn duty. It's completely ignoring the serving of crisp fresh fruit with butter made from some Corellian seed. There's no accounting for tastes, Anakin supposes reluctantly.

From many years of experience, Anakin knows that this whole 'padawan' thing isn't going to go away anytime soon. Remembering some of the Duchess' finer points, Anakin grudgingly thinks that maybe he can negotiate some kind of truce with it. It seems bent on punishing itself with the rest of the food on its tray, and Anakin has not had near enough to eat yet. If he helps, perhaps it'll trade its fruit for his pudding.

"Is he even old enough to be a padawan?" he asks, reaching across the table to try spearing a few bites of the Corellian snow squash off the thing's tray.

"He's nine," Qui-Gon says evenly, as it jabs out with its own fork, Force-quick. The two sets of tines tangle and Anakin's fork goes flying; Qui-Gon neatly catches it, as Anakin is too busy staring at the little horrid beast. The beast regards him back with that strange placid-aware look that all the Initiates at the Temple have, which has never failed to creep Anakin out.

Without looking away, he accepts the fork back from his former-Master. As always, Qui-Gon seems more than happy to allow those around him to fight it out, as long as no blood is drawn. Anakin grimly thinks that his hair has more than grown out long enough to be pulled by unruly little monsters.

He can tell by the bright clarity in those gray eyes calmly assessing him that this little beast is absolutely evil and soulless. Anakin stabs into his own food and lifts it to his mouth without blinking, chewing aggressively. The little beast follows suit, watching him coolly and taking dainty little deliberate bites.

Anakin wants to strangle him a little bit. He won't be outdone in psychological warfare by a nine year old.

Qui-Gon appears to take no notice of the by-play, though Anakin is only too aware that Qui-Gon doesn't allow any by-play to occur beneath his notice. "Actually, it's lucky we encountered one another so quickly," he says.

"Was it," Anakin says flatly.

Unperturbed, Qui-Gon says, "Yes, very. You see, it just so happens that the Council seems to think it would be a good idea for you to accompany us on our first mission."

"A mission," he repeats, nonplussed. With a padawan as young as Qui-Gon's? This sounds more than important enough for Anakin to ignore the dangerous little beast for a moment or two. He already has a bad feeling about this, especially considering that he's barely gotten back from his own overly-long mission.

No one has even talked to him yet, or interrogated him about it, other than the Council. He’s been to the healers but has not yet spoken to any of them about his missions, the way the Council requires him to if his missions are very long. They’re apparently overly concerned that Anakin is so 'attachment desperate' he might spontaneously bond with someone at random in the street.

With the way they act, Anakin wonders how they even managed to have masters and padawans of their own. The implication that they might have lived side-by-side with someone and formed no attachment is bewildering and unthinkable.

"A diplomatic one," Qui-Gon says. "The Trade Federation and the government of Naboo seem to be having a bit of a disagreement. Naboo's Queen herself has requested the help of the Jedi Order."

"Shouldn't one Master be more than enough for something like that?" Anakin wonders, even as he hastily eats his food. The unusual circumstances aside, Anakin welcomes the chance to work closely with Qui-Gon again. During most of his mission, he'd done little but wish that Qui-Gon were around to make the Duchess or her opponents see sense. Anakin is a knight of many accolades, but he has no patience for double-speak and diplomacy.

Qui-Gon inclines his head. "But I have a very young padawan," he points out reasonably. It’s a rarely practiced, taking a padawan so young, though Anakin himself had been nine; his circumstances were a bit different. Very few initiates excelled enough at their Temple training to be taken on that young. "Given the way missions like these tend to go-" he and Anakin share a look of mutual understanding - "it was considering wisest to have a knight along."

Somewhere in there, Anakin hears that it was perhaps not entirely the Council's decision - or that the Council's choice had not been him. It isn't very comforting. Qui-Gon has always been just as sharply aware of Anakin's tendency to get attached and is even more abhorrent of it than the Council themselves. No doubt he means to rub his new padawan into Anakin's face, chosen far too young for missions and yet going anyway.

Qui-Gon's face gives none of this away, but Anakin hardly needs it to. He's never actually needed the training bond that Qui-Gon severed over a year ago when he was knighted to sense his former master's intentions in the Force. Anakin would have never survived to be nine standard as a slave if he wasn't very adept at reading those with whom the Force interacts very little. He stabs viciously at a bite of snow squash, shoving it into his mouth.

The normally sweet and creamy flesh tastes bitter and bland.

--

Qui-Gon is, of course, perfectly right to ask Anakin to come along on this mission. Nearly immediately, things go wrong. Namely: the Trade Federation tries to kill them.

Anakin cannot understand how Qui-Gon can be so entirely relaxed when the Trade Federation is trapping them in a gas filled room and just trust that his nine-standard padawan will be able to hold his breath long enough to survive - though that's exactly what the little monster does. He's even moderately good enough with his little light blue lightsaber to deflect the droid's blaster shots long enough for Anakin to cut them down.

Qui-Gon's little monster is actually very good with a lightsaber, if held back by the fact that he's nine and therefore only has an initiate's physical strength. Anakin sympathizes. Anakin remembers learning faster than his age-mates and being paired against older, stronger initiates.

At least he takes up very little space in the vents, and keeps up reasonably when they make a dash for the landing crafts. Not that Qui-Gon seems to think to look, and it makes Anakin's back itch to bring up the back of their group; it's been too long since he hasn't led, lightstaff at the ready to fend off blaster shots.

It's even worse when they make to escape the landing crafts and get split up. Anakin wonders at the wisdom (or lack of it) that had the Trade Federation's droid ships land in a swamp of all things, when the ground is thick and soft and treacherous.

The first words that the little monster actually says to Anakin are, "I'm not sure this is necessary," and "please consider putting me down, Knight Skywalker."

Anakin does not put him down until they're thoroughly clear of the fight. He is already well versed in fighting with someone thrown over his shoulder, thanks to the magnificently infuriating Duchess. A padawan is much easier to haul in this manner, and the little monster defends his back admirably with his own lightsaber.

"There you two are," Qui-Gon greets them; somewhere in the time since Anakin last saw him, he's found himself a local guide - or the local has found him, rather. In the debrief about Naboo, the Gungans were only briefly mentioned, but the local is readily recognizable as one. Qui-Gon has apparently saved its life. It owes him a life-debt. Anakin is not impressed, and he senses that the little monster standing at his side isn't either.

It's perhaps a good thing that he spent most of his first years as a padawan learner being grounded at the Temple while Qui-Gon did missions alone. It's one thing to leave a fifteen year old padawan behind while looking for the Force to provide; it's quite another when your padawan is nine. Surely, Anakin thinks, Qui-Gon is somehow still behaving as though Anakin is still his padawan, and not this little monster of nine-standard?

That aside, Jedi training aside, Anakin is fairly certain that without him Qui-Gon's little monster would be face-down in the mud and no longer breathing. That would be - it would reflect awfully on them. He can't begin to imagine how they'd explain that one to the Council. Censure would not begin to compare.

It seems to have fallen to Anakin to prevent that. He glances down at the small padawan standing off to the side, and catches a glance back. Fine , whatever, he thinks with a scowl, marching after Qui-Gon and his guide. Anakin will keep him alive if he can.

It's not like he's worried about the soulless little monster or anything.

2.

Qui-Gon's little monster makes friends with the Gungan because of course he does: they have so much in common. At least it will be easier to keep track of them if they insist on being in the same general area; it's much more difficult to overlook two meters of red amphibian than it is one meter of padawan that tends to wander off when it isn't hiding behind Qui-Gon's voluminous robes.

He at least doesn't distract Jar Jar while the Gungan pilots the sub, but it turns out that he hardly needs to. The local wildlife seems eager to interfere; Anakin considers that they might have tried asking for a more experienced guide, given that Jar Jar is barely an adolescent. The answer almost certainly would have been 'no,' but they could have at least tried .

As it is, Jar Jar is still trained enough that when Qui-Gon accidentally Force suggests Jar Jar directly into unconsciousness, Anakin has picked up on enough to be easily able to take over piloting the sub. That's at least one purpose that Jar Jar served; more or less all human-built ships follow the same designs and layouts. Gungan submersibles are ... something else entirely.

It's not something Anakin will have fun piloting, but the sub is just quick enough and maneuverable enough that with the Force goading Anakin on, he'll be able to keep them alive.

"Relax," he says absentmindedly. Qui-Gon's padawan is standing quietly nearby, held still by Qui-Gon's hand, but he's tense enough that it's making Anakin nervous. "Didn't anyone ever tell you I was a podracer at your age?"

"Focus, Anakin," Qui-Gon tells him, and Anakin chances a glance over his shoulder at his former master. "A Gungan submersible isn't the same thing as a podracer."

Grudgingly, Anakin bobs his head in acknowledgment. "No," he allows; very little is like a podracer, to be honest. "But this isn't my first time in a submersible either."

"No, it's the second," Qui-Gon says, "and the first time, we almost drowned."

"Your confidence in my skills is overwhelming, Master Jinn," he says, stung; all he was trying to do was make Qui-Gon's padawan breathe before he passed out. "I'll be sure to pass on your compliments to my former Master."

Water is a much different medium from air or the vacuum of space, but one way or another, Anakin still manages to pilot them safely through the core and to shore.

--

Normally, Anakin would take their escape from the Trade Federation's invasion disguised as a blockade with little more than a blown hyperdrive generator as a good sign. He's not given to optimism, but there were much worse damages that their ship could have taken that might have necessitated obtaining a new ship entirely, which would have been nearly impossible.

Anakin kind of feels that he would have rather they needed a new ship. At least then they would have likely gone to Ryloth, if the ship had been able to get them that far.

Qui-Gon is busy turning his cloak inside out and slinging it around his shoulders in a manner meant to disguise the recognizably Jedi style when Anakin approaches. It's the best they'll be able to do given the circumstances, though it has been seen through before; it does nothing to hide Qui-Gon's well groomed hair or water-plump skin. Mind tricks aside, everyone will make him for the offworlder he is.

Anakin draws the thick dark weave of his own Jedi robes tighter around his shoulders, stopping just short of drawing his hood up. "Somehow, I feel that we've gone completely off course," he says, rather than commenting on Qui-Gon's disguise. He doesn't have to look native, just not like a Jedi.

Qui-Gon doesn't look up as he assures himself of his gear. "I find that hard to believe considering you were the one charting it," he says.

Anakin doesn't hunch his shoulders, though he wants to. It's a gesture that comes habitually to him, one from his childhood that he'd never strictly been aware of and never outgrew. Three weeks into his protection detail, the Duchess with words sharper than her tone said, 'Well are you man or mouse?'

He has since tried to be more mindful, to keep his head up where once he would have been immediately told: do not be so arrogant.

"I charted a route that would keep us alive," he says flatly; the words taste metallic, fall heavy on his tongue, feel unwieldy between his teeth, and foul. "Just because it got us through the blockade doesn't mean that we're on the course we should be."

"I, too, sense the disturbance, Anakin," Qui-Gon says shortly. However unhappy Anakin is to find himself where they are, Qui-Gon seems equally so. His face is remote and his eyes as cold as Hoth; the look he cuts Anakin is easily as hospitable. Faced with the blistering heat outside, Anakin would be happy to have Qui-Gon glower at some water and give them all something to cool off with. "You're allowing your feelings to color your judgment. Be mindful of those around you who are sensitive to such things."

Anakin doesn't know if he means the Queen and her handmaidens, or his own little monster. "I would hate to set a bad example," he says flatly.

It isn't as though Qui-Gon should be pitching stones given his bout of temper. Anakin wants to say something about Qui-Gon being anxious of his padawan's safety, but the throb of pain in his leg, a hot line from foot to calf to knee, discourages him. Has he not been faithful? He dislikes being here as much as Qui-Gon, who is undoubtedly sore over the haunting symmetry that continues to plague him and his padawans.

Any quips about Qui-Gon's life following the same cyclic patterns of the Living Force he's so sensitive to would leave his mouth sharper than he would mean it to. Further discussion would only end in a one-sided shouting match. They can't afford any further division between the Jedi when the Queen's opinion of them - already low thanks to the presence of such a young padawan - could easily turn to contempt.

In the end, Anakin and Qui-Gon say nothing more to one another as Qui-Gon departs the ship alone, slogging through the fine, loose sand the way only an offworlder could.

Tatooine. Why is it always Tatooine?

--

Of course the Queen's opinion of them is already so low that she must accompany Qui-Gon herself. At least they've taken an armed man with them - not that Qui-Gon himself is unarmed, but very few people this far from the Core are going to recognize a 'saber hilt as a weapon. Nearly everyone can recognize a blaster, even the fancy Naboo-styled ones that tend to be more for show than use.

The Naboo seem to prefer getting personal if they're going to draw weapons. Anakin wonders if it has anything to do with their dealings with the Gungans. As isolationist as the Gungans are, he can't imagine that there's been no cultural bleed over.

"How long do you think Master Jinn will be gone?"

Anakin doesn't entirely turn his attention away from the guts of the ship. Honestly, there isn't much he can do that the one surviving droid can't do and hasn't. The brave little unit, R2D2, had actually voiced quite the opinion when Anakin had tried muscling in earlier; he's not actually fixing anything so much as keeping himself busy.

About an hour ago, his former Master's new little beast had crawled down into the guts of the ship after him. He's proven mildly useful, in that his hands are much smaller than Anakin's and he fits very easily into tight spaces. Anakin sees no reason to unscrew any panels he can simply send a padawan scrambling up into.

"What did I say about talking," Anakin asks him, and not for the first time; his exasperation is bleeding over into real irritation. If not for the fact that Anakin would rather do anything but step another foot on Tatooine's sands ever again, he'd be insulted to have been left behind babysitting a bunch of (actually extremely dangerous) handmaidens and his former Master's padawan.

The face that peers up at him from a particularly narrow crawlspace is supremely unimpressed. "That I can go back to talking to Jar Jar," Obi-Wan says dutifully, "But Jar Jar's not a Jedi, Knight Skywalker. He doesn't know anything about missions Jedi go on. Besides, my tongue still hurts from trying to pronounce Gungan." He sticks it out a bit, grimacing for show.

It would hurt, given that human and near human tongues were nowhere near long or flexible enough to imitate a great deal of the tonality in Gungan. Even supplementing for their lacking vocal folds with the Force could only go so far. If anyone had found Jar Jar's broken Basic to be grating - Anakin hadn't, but Jar Jar has very little of interest to say so he hasn't been paying much attention to the Gungan in general - they'd found something worse in Obi-Wan's incomplete Gungan gurgling.

Qui-Gon had a lot of teaching to do if Jar Jar was able to trick Obi-Wan into trying to speak a human-incompatible language on the basis of 'Why should I learn better Basic, why don't you learn Gungan?'

"Sounds like a personal problem," Anakin says, trying to think of where he might be able to move to next. Not that it'll do any good; Obi-Wan was likely to just follow him there as well. Still, he takes the repairs kit and starts to drag it further into the guts of the ship. He's already checked over the electrical systems, might as well check the hoses. Night had already fallen and especially out on the open sands, it could be brutal. As long as life support held, they should be fine.

Behind him is a commotion of thuds and grunts as Obi-Wan tumbles free of the crawlspace and into the maintenance shaft, scrambling to keep up. "Shouldn't I be with my Master?" he wonders, a bit forlorn.

Coming to a halt, Anakin settles down against the shaft wall with a grunt, massaging his thigh. He's been on his hands and knees for hours now, and it's only gotten worse; the flesh feels angry and inflamed even though all the layers of his robes.

"Trust me," Anakin says flatly, eyeballing the little monster who settles back on his heels, watching him shrewdly. "Right now, with Master Jinn is the last place you want to be."

"But he went alone," Obi-Wan says; he's still in the initiate's habit of settling his hands over his knees where his teachers can scold him for not being mindful should his knuckles look unnaturally white. That's another thing Qui-Gon will have to teach him - to stick his hands within his robes until he can control his tells. "What if he needs me?"

Anakin doesn't point out the ridiculousness of the fact that Obi-Wan is a padawan, not even properly a Jedi yet. Anything Qui-Gon needs help with, Obi-Wan will not be able to aid him in - or so Qui-Gon had told Anakin, over and over again. To a point, Qui-Gon might not have been entirely wrong, but it wasn't like Anakin could do nothing.

"You'll know if he needs you," Anakin says dryly, "which he doesn't." He would know, too, since the Force seems to somehow hold him solely responsible for every Force sensitive within a certain distance of himself.

Obi-Wan seems to try to take reassurance in that, but the worried crease of his brow doesn't ease. Anakin has never given serious thought to training a padawan of his own, but this seems a sure sign that he shouldn't; he seems to be terrible at it.

Heaving a sigh, Anakin waves him off. "Go meditate on your lack of trust in the Force, okay? Or your lack of trust in Master Jinn or whatever."

The worried look transforms into horrified offense; Obi-Wan gives him a slightly slack-jawed look as if wondering if he really means it, so Anakin arches his brows right back.

"Well?" he says pointedly, when Obi-Wan continues to sit there.

The little monster fairly bubbles with upset and indignation, his mouth twisting back into that same moue and the hands on his knees turning into fists. "Yes, Knight Skywalker," he says with ill grace.

Anakin actually has no right to start assigning Qui-Gon's padawan meditation, especially given that he hasn't actually done anything wrong, but what Obi-Wan isn't confident (or impertinent) enough to question won't hurt him. Besides, better meditation than worrying about Qui-Gon when there actually isn't any worrying necessary.

He rubs his thigh for a while longer while the little monster scrambles out of the guts of the ship - much louder on his way out than on his way in. Funnily enough, Anakin remembers Temple-Raised padawans being much more self-contained, and this one in particular.

It's probably this planet, he thinks, pushing himself back onto his knees and getting back to work.

--

Young Jedi Padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi does not go and meditate on his lack of trust in the Force or his lack of trust in his master.

But Jedi Knight Anakin Skywalker doesn't discover this for some hours yet, when the Force rattles through his bones to let him know that some audacious nine-standard child needs his help.

It's always Tatooine.

3.

The Jedi seem to prefer to pretend that their little initiates popped into existence out of nowhere. Little to nothing is ever said of the younglings' origins, other than what may be surmised. A Jedi's home should always be the Temple, unless their circumstances do not permit it.

Anakin's circumstances do not permit it. He likes it no more than the Jedi do.

For a place that he only spent six of his twenty-five years on, there is nothing else that inspires the same weighted dread in Anakin's heart; if he could only stay away, he would, but the Force seems to conspire to drag him back. It's a curse that haunts and hunts him, nags his heels and bays like something hungry just about to catch its prey. He hates Tatooine.

("You forget yourself," his master would tell him. "Do not allow your passions to steer you. They will lead you into the Dark, and you will lose yourself once there. There is no coming back from that."

As if Qui-Gon had not dragged him hither and thither in the hunt for Xanatos, his jaw a firm line, his heart heavy and sore. As if Anakin had been able to ignore the wild turn the Force would take when Master and Betrayer clashed.)

It's the cradle in which he grew up, that rocked him to sleep with sandstorms and sang him lullabies of braying Tuskens chasing farmers across rock and sand. Anakin knows it like his own heartbeat, for all that he's rarely set foot outside of Mos Espa. He dreamed of many things as a child, but among them was the brutal truth of Tatooine: it is the all-devourer, a planetary extension of the legendary sarlacc that pocks its surface.

There is the Force here, too; a Living Force that is not gentle or passive like that of the Temple on Coruscant. It's insatiable and untamable and unreasonable, and makes its demands with cruel claws and poisoned teeth. It's fed by the unrelenting hunger and unquenchable thirst of the animals that live there, and the people pulled of the hyperspace lanes who suffer and die there, and the thorny scrubland that clings stubbornly to broken, baking rock.

Any foolish enough to venture into its wastes are eaten alive, some in weeks, some over decades. Gnashed apart by the treacherous, broken crust, lead astray by the endless swallowing seas of sand that do not know or care for formless notions like good or bad. The suns and arid winds suck the moisture from skin and scrape flesh from bone, bakes them and then shatters and grinds them to dust. All become the sands of Tatooine.

It is into this crucible that Qui-Gon's little monster walks.

--

Anakin is not the habit of falling asleep in crawlspaces. Or - well, he hadn't been. When one is guarding a headstrong quasi-world ruler from assassination at the hands of the planet next-orbit-over because she's decided to the indentured servitude of her people has Gone On Long Enough, then new habits might be formed. By the time Anakin had managed to call in Jedi reinforcements, the Duchess herself was a bit quick on the draw, when previously she'd never so much as held a blaster.

Crawlspaces aren't always safe to fall asleep in, but on Tatooine, in a Naboo ship, and probably not on the local Hutt's radar is about as safe as it gets. Anakin is getting the second best hour of sleep he's gotten since the three he got back at the Temple, and then the Force grabs hold of his spine and gives it a good snap, like a whip.

Jedi in general don't have a particularly clear read on the force. It isn't as if Anakin has done any extensive studying of the subject, but as far as he can tell, the ideal midichlorian count stands somewhere around twelve thousand. Less, and the warnings are too vague or come too late. More, and one starts hearing a lot more from the Force than any sane person should have to - such as personal disagreements between Jedi, stressed out initiates with particularly high counts themselves, and sometimes minor incidents like certain railings or catwalks that will collapse in a month or a year.

Anakin's midichlorian count stands at twenty-two thousand, according to the last physical he'd been given a few weeks prior to his Trials. There are no 'whispers' in the Force for Anakin: there's a constant dull roar at the back of his head, like early morning markets with a hundred voices speaking at once. Thus, when there is something in particular that requires his attention, there often comes a din like a star destroyer slamming into that market in screaming smoke and fire.

The racket that sends Anakin lurching awake and bounces his head off the roof of the maintenance shaft is no star destroyer, but a particularly shrill voice cutting through the roar upon seeing a particularly gullible offworlder.

Cradling his head in both hands, Anakin listens to Huttese curses rattle and rebound the crawlspace. It's been a long time since he's heard them or said them anywhere but inside his head. They taste familiar, but not in a good way.

By the time that Anakin has wiggled out of the crawlspace and reentered the normal living areas of the Naboo ship, he's realized that it's not Qui-Gon that the Force is reaching out to him for. By the time he's rounded up his lightstaff and some food and water, he's confirmed it.

"Qui-Gon is going to kill me," he grumbles as the ship's ramp drops, "But not before I kill that little monster."

Anakin's feet land on Tatooine sand.

--

Well, it wasn't as simple as that. Notably, whichever handmaiden that was pretending to be queen sent another to demand to know where Anakin was going. Anakin sharply told her it was secret Jedi business. She demanded to know if something had happened to Qui-Gon, given he was leaving in the middle of the night. Nothing had happened to Qui-Gon (and thus the true Queen) he assured her, it was secret Jedi business. She demanded to know if the Gungan, Jar Jar, had gone after Qui-Gon.

Secret Jedi business, he'd said.

Anakin can only hope they don't persist in following him out into the desert. He's painfully aware that his dark robes, chosen for how unlike the colors of his youth they were, will only make him stand out against the pale sand. Despite the veil of night, it would be painfully simple to track him.

Cursing the planet, cursing his fate, cursing the broken hyperdrive generator and the sandstorm that blew in early last night and his former master and the little monster with no sense of self-preservation or survival instincts, Anakin pulls the hood tighter over his head and listens to the Force. It guides both his path and his feet so that he does not slog through the loose sands.

The dunes are nothing like the packed dirt and baked clay of Mos Espa, but that doesn't slow his pace. If he doesn't find their two wayward members before the suns rise, the sand seas of Tatooine will swallow them whole and spit out the bones.

Though they may freeze in the frigid night first; the winds no longer carry much sand, the sandstorm having blown itself out an hour ago, but they still cut through the robes meant to protect from a moist chill. The back of Anakin's left foot aches fiercely, and the entire leg seems heavier than it is, and clumsy, but he clenches his jaw until his teeth ache and doesn't stumble. The Force goads him, and so Anakin pushes onward.

The Naboo ship is long behind him when Anakin hears it; the sandstorm has spent itself, but the frigid winds still stir the sand. The grains are fine here, brought to the surface by old mining companies long ago and blown by the wind; they stir with a quiet whisper, a soft shushing sound like a mother whispering her child to sleep - but here Anakin hears that there's an odd noise to the wind. Less the shushing of fine grains and more the clatter of coarser sand.

It makes the hair on the back of Anakin's neck stand on end. The Force twists, elusive and quiet, preoccupied with the chatter of that dark and foul disturbance like a storm hanging on the horizon. He traces the sound for twenty meters before he comes across signs of a battle nearly already buried by the wind. The sands here have fused into clumps and narrow streaks, coarse with caked grains. It crackles and snaps beneath Anakin's left boot, like heat had melted it and the cooler grains had stuck to the molten sand.

If Anakin has any doubt about the cause of this, it's erased when he spots a small lump almost buried in the loose sand. Prodding it with his 'staff, Anakin digs out what is unmistakably the severed half of a Tusken's hand.

He's vaguely aware that there is low-flying sand in the air going the completely wrong directly to be stirred by the wind. He thinks of how such an injury would come to be - the Raider would be pointing its weapon upward, in a swinging motion, and the 'saber would have been swung up wildly. Given the wielder's height, it was likely swung while falling or slipping on the unstable ground; Initiates were not taught to swing for limbs but for weapons.

Further on, he sees a small robed form laying on the ground. The sand hisses and grinds, clatters and tinkles like broken glass. The end of his 'staff barely touches its robed shoulder, but the still, cold form tips over onto its back, revealing a dark face and large eyes gone cloudy in death. It's not a human face, but a Jawa.

Anakin sweeps onward. The winds do not touch him.

--

He hears the disturbance before he comes upon it. Hoots and howls and shrill Jawaese, the pock and bang of the projectile guns favored by the Tuskens. There's no running in the sand, but he somehow finds a way to move faster, and crests the dune past which there are flashes.

There are more robed figures on the ground around the foot of the Sandcrawler these Jawas are living out of. Atop it, Jar Jar is flinging pieces of scrap metal at the four Tuskens laying siege, and at the foot of it are Jawas hastily trying to erect a wall from the scrap. One has a Raider gun that it's shooting back.

Before the wall, a robed figure a meter tall is engaged in a life-or-death struggle against a Tusken, 'saber in hand and burning blue, but outmatched by the taller Tusken and its gaffi stick: a two-hand grip, but for the raider missing half a hand.

The 'staff in Anakin's hand hisses to life with a white-hot crackle of sudden heat, filling the air overhead with the searing pop of flying sand burning molten. It pierces the night with cold blue incandescence, and reflects off the hungry, swirling sands of Tatooine that shush and grind through the air around him, and casts a pitch-black shadow from his feet that stretches endlessly long into the dark dunes.

Anakin descends upon the battle, and the sand seas rush down with him.

--

One of the Tuskens notices him, only too late. Anakin's blade burns hot through it before it can properly turn to aim. Flesh is vaporized, and with only slight resistance does bone crackle and cook before it, too, is devoured by the endlessly hungry plasma.

And so is the core of his heart, for no faster does his blade free itself does Anakin sweep onward, twisting with the sand that swirls through the air. The end of his 'staff dashes into another Tusken's hand. The howling noises they're making, hoarse and shrill, grate in his ears and claws at his head. His heart burns all the hotter, fierce and angry and white.

Turning, he sees the Tusken fighting the young human strike the boy back, only narrowly missing the goring strike of its gaffi stick. The boy falls with a surprised grunt, the swing of his blade wild before it flickers out, extinguished only moments before it would have sliced through his arm.

His heart feels molten, burning through him and bubbling up his throat. Fumes and plasma and star dust should be escaping his mouth when his lips peel back and something inhuman scrapes its way out. He'll rip them apart with his teeth and blunt fingernails.

The Tusken turns on him, answering with an undulating shriek; Anakin smells burning cloth and burning flesh and sweet, sticky rot, unwashed skin and hair. A body too thirsty to cry with pain or relief. Two suns that bleed the moisture out of him and steal it before it cools his skin.

He ducks beneath the wide, reckless swing the raider takes at him and lunges, bringing momentum and Force to bare. The end of his 'staff crashes into the Raider's mask so hard it cracks with a loud snap. The Raider swings again, wildly, as it falls back, but Anakin is ready for it. A twist of his 'staff and the staff is sliced in two, taking the Raider's remaining good hand with it.

It doesn't get a chance to dwell on the loss of its limb. Twirling the 'staff around, Anakin jabs, and the blade slides home, stalling the Tusken where it stands. Its body spasms, staggers, and at last falls, with most of its skull and all of its face devoured by remorseless hunger of his plasma 'staff blade.

He turns. The remaining two Raiders are in full retreat, fleeing into the night-covered dunes. Something builds within Anakin, heady and sharp, hot white and crackling, the molten heart of stars inside him and his teeth and nails so sharp -

The victory yodel that Jar Jar gives cuts through the night, joined by the Jawas yelping and babbling. It's hard to tell if it's celebration or just hectic dismay over the bodies lying still in the sand. Anakin inhales, and though there is still the smell of burnt flesh and bone and death, the smell of unwashed human fades, lost to the whispering winds. The sand barely shushes, hardly enough to hear over the commotion of the survivors, and Jar Jar leaping up and down on the Sandcrawler with discordant, loud hollow thumps.

For one lingering moment longer, he stares out into the desert dunes. The inside of his head feels sore and hot, his chest like it's been pried open and scratched hollow; raw and ragged. His feet feel both heavy and light in the sand - like he's rooted down, but any moment now might spring free and give pursuit.

Clumsy, slogging steps approach him through the loose, lazily swirling sand. "Master Skywalker," the boy says, uncertain and wavering. Anakin turns.

If not for the make of his robes and the pale face peering out from the drawn hood, he could be a Jawa in the dark of night. Not two meters distant from Anakin, the little monster stands, one hand gripping his saber so hard it quivers, the other twisted in the edge of the linen robe. More vividly, through the Force he feels brittle and sharp and sour, like blackened sugar ready to shatter with one wrong touch.

Anakin takes a step and reaches out. "Are you hurt?" he asks, and it comes out scraped and rasping.

"No, Master Skywalker," he says, but he shakes. He shakes and Anakin sees Jawas, yelping and agitated upon being approached by Tuskens, and a clawed hand reaching out to snatch at his robes. A robed body falling, horrible and silent to the sand.

It's not always within his will whether something flies apart at his touch, but Anakin takes hold of the boy by the shoulder and somehow manages to do it without anything breaking. His shoulders are so narrow that Anakin thinks he could possibly put his other hand on the one opposite and his fingers would touch. Instead of pressing his luck, he lets go and moves to increase the distance between them, where the chance of survival is higher.

Meanwhile, the Jawas have set siege to Jar Jar's perch atop their Sandcrawler. With a final, mighty push, they manage to put hands on the Gungan, hoist him into the air, and toss him to the ground. He squawks in protest and alarm, grabbing at whatever structure construes a Gungan tailbone.

"How rude," he says, climbing to his feet and pulling a rude face at the Jawas.

Anakin grabs him with one hand around the bill, jerking him about face. "Jar Jar," he says, low and annoyed. "I don't know why, but I expected better of you than to run off into the desert on the whims of a child."

Somehow he knows that behind him, Obi-Wan is nearly glowing with embarrassment and shame. Before him, Jar Jar garbles out something that would be completely unintelligible without the aid of the Force.

"Somehow I doubt that any trouble that Qui-Gon would get up to on Tatooine would be anything you could help him with in order to pay off your life-debt," he says flatly.

Other than that, though, Jar Jar's logic is surprisingly sound: had they not run into the Sand People, Obi-Wan would have very like found his Master much faster than any local could. Force bonds were helpful that manner, at least.

Releasing Jar Jar, he glances at the Jawas. They seem to expect him to take charge of the wayward duo, given the way they're quickly taking the scrap and whatever else they found on the bodies into the Sandcrawler. Anakin is good at languages - Basic isn't his second or even third language - but he's never had the opportunity to learn Jawa tradespeak. They aren't welcome deep enough into settlements where slaves might meet them - if any Jawa could gather that kind of courage anyway. They were unreliable, insincere, and too cowardly to fight back when attacked, or so it had sounded to Anakin when he listened to customers and traders talk.

He thinks briefly of the Jawa wielding a Tusken's gun. Likely the same gun that Qui-Gon's little monster cut from its owner's hand.

Well, there were bound to be some exceptions.

Turning his back on the Sandcrawler as it rumbles to life, he says, "Let's hope that Qui-Gon doesn't ask about what happened while he was gone."

4.

The trek back to the Naboo ship seems to take twice as long as it did to find Obi-Wan and Jar Jar the first time. The two at his heels force his stride shorter, but it isn't until his plasma heart cools into a misshapen lump that fits uncomfortably amongst the slagged remnants of his lungs and ribs that he realizes the others still struggle to keep pace.

It feels slightly less like every grain of sand of every dune is grinding his nerves raw when he turns his head; wordlessly, the little padawan learner slogs and stumbles through the sand, struggling so hard to keep up with Anakin's longer stride that he spends much of the time flailing as to not fall face first into the sands. Jar Jar isn't faring any better but if Qui-Gon left him behind, he should have listened in the first place.

His chest and head feel like a podracer or speeder that's been run hard, hot metal ticking and clicking as it cools. He pauses the moment that it takes to bring Qui-Gon's monster into reach. Anakin reaches out and catches him by the wrist as he stumbles again, taking the pitifully negligible weight and keeping him upright.

The pale shape of Obi-wan's face in the darkness of his hood is lost and unhappy, glancing up as he recovers his feet with Anakin's help. "Thank you, Master Skywalker," he says.

Anakin's hand tightens even as his stride shortens just a bit more. "Don't call me that," he says, much sharper than he means to. "I'm not a master."

Obi-Wan ducks his head down, his breath uneven, his Force presence a dull and dark throb like a fresh bruise that goes down to bone. "I'm sorry, Mas-" he says, and stutters, and stalls into hitching silence. His small wrist feels cold in Anakin's hand, his pulse skipping and ticking. He tries again, and just miserably repeats: "I'm sorry."

It leaves a bad taste in Anakin's mouth. He remembers vaguely that Initiates are often protected and kept ignorant of life outside the Temple; Qui-Gon had once sat Anakin down and told him not to hold their words against them, as they did not understand what it meant to be a slave. They know nothing of hunger, or greed, or struggle until they're removed from the Temple and cast into the wide universe.

Still -

"Anything is better than 'Master,'" he says. His hand eases its grip until it's clutched around a small palm. It takes a few moments for Obi-Wan to grasp his hand back, fumbling like his fingers aren't sure where to fit.

"Yes, Knight Skywalker," he says, prompt but uncertain.

It'll take getting used to, given that the last two titles given to him were Padawan and then simply Jedi, but if it's 'Knight' or 'Master', then he'll take it. Besides, it was the first form of address given to him by Obi-Wan, while Anakin gave him such titles as ' usurper' and ' soulless monster.' It's only fair to return to it.

If this night was even the slightest taste of what being Obi-Wan's master would be like, then Anakin doesn't envy Qui-Gon the slightest with this one. A few hours left alone and a touch of concern, and off into the hungry wastes of Tatooine the reckless little monster went without any aid other than Jar Jar Binks. The Living Force of this place should have been deterrent enough, even to a padawan.

"You're very reckless for a Temple-raised Padawan," he says aloud. "Shouldn't you be content to sit around and wait for your Master's return?"

"Yes, Knight Skywalker," Obi-Wan says, still sounding miserable. "I shall meditate on my reckless behavior. And my lack of trust in the Force and my Master." Like he's trying to appease Anakin with the punishment first given to him.

It suddenly seems far less justified, but Anakin isn't sure how to take it back or even if he should. He's even less certain that he can trust himself not to shatter any he touches, but he reaches out in the Force anyway. Between them is the fledgeling bond he followed out across the dunes in the first place, a tentative gossamer thing stretched between two firm moorings that might tear at the slightest tug.

It's nothing at all like the bond that he'd once shared with Qui-Gon, which flowed low and high like lunar tides on planets Anakin had never seen before. When he passed his Trials, the sinking waves had dried until nothing was left. This bond is less like a sea and more like the grasp of gravity - potentially weak but ever-present, the force around which planets and stars spin and sentient-kind regularly defies.

As easily as that, he navigates through and tries to patch over the hot, bruised spot in the Force that's the youngling trotting through the sand beside him. Obi-Wan's awkward grasp on his fingers tightens.

"I allowed my fears to get to my head," Obi-Wan continues suddenly. Qui-Gon had always torn Anakin's admissions out of his mouth with stern looks and blunt questions; here Obi-Wan is offering them freely. What a good padawan Qui-Gon must consider him, Anakin thinks sullenly. "My Master and Master Yoda always tell me not to let my dreams interfere with my decisions, but I did anyway."

I caused many problems, ripples up through gauzy strands, faint whispers of remorse, and people were killed because of it.

Anakin pays no mind to them, realizing that he's come to a sudden stop. "Dreams," he echos, feeling the Force shiver around them. Pivoting, he stares down at the youngling attached to his hand. " What dreams?"

--

It's been a long time since Anakin has related his dreams to anyone. The last person to have ever listened to them with careful and critical ears had been his mother. Most mornings, if Anakin had a disturbing dream, Shmi would ask him thoughtful questions, and reveal the truth of them: simple nightmares, or something more prophetic. Qui-Gon and the Council by large are often too busy to sit by and listen to him, no matter how many nights Anakin's sleep is ruined by dreams and visions. If they dreamed as Anakin does, they couldn't possibly dismiss them so easily.

Since then, he's become something of  a collector of dreams. There are meanings in his, and even if he is the only one with real meanings in his dreams, he thinks sometimes that he can find meaning in others'.

There is no need to find meaning in the way that Obi-Wan says he dreams of a red and black humanoid. Red, and black. Red, and black. Red, black, and pocked with yellow, and endless hungry malice. It devours. Its darkness cloaks it, and it devours, and the Light that is Qui-Gon is also devoured, and extinguished, and the world's grown cold. Red, and black, and sick yellow-gold.

"Master Qui-Gon and it fight," Obi-Wan says, as if he's unaware that the echoes of his visions are coming through the Force in faint impressions. He does not say Qui-Gon loses.

It's the same kind of charm against the worst outcome that Anakin and Shmi had used so many years ago: if you don't speak it, perhaps it may not happen.

"How long have you been dreaming this," Anakin demands, and Obi-Wan says, "Some time after Qui-Gon took me on as his padawan. Every few weeks - between eight to fifteen days." He says, "He thought a mission might help distract me from the dreams." He says, "They've only gotten worse."

Anakin's leg aches, fierce and hot, the flesh swollen and inflamed while the bone aches all the way up into his hip. It's done nothing but cause him pain since they've landed, and now on one knee he knuckles the flesh of his left hip. "Have you mentioned this to Qui-Gon?" he asks.

"No," Obi-Wan says, shamefaced and exhausted. "I've been unable to master my connection to the Force as I was instructed."

It's the same sort of thing that Anakin has heard from Yoda and Qui-Gon both, and hearing it now, about this, makes his ragged heart heat again. He grasps Obi-Wan by the shoulder, staring at him intently. "The Force is giving you these visions for a reason," he says. "Don't be foolish and ignore it."

"But-" he says, surprised and uncertain, the shadows of the desert night deepening the worried frown of his face. "But Master says it's a distraction. He says I must focus on the now."

"And Master Jinn is wise in many ways, but not in this," he insists. The Jedi might not receive visions as Anakin does, but if Obi-Wan has the same power, then Anakin can not allow it to be cast aside and ignored when it could be used. Especially not with a life on the line. Especially not with Qui-Gon on the line. "If you dream it, you can stop it." And the words spilt out: "I'll help you. Tell me about them when you have them, and we'll stop them from coming true."

Between them, the Force hums. A teetering sensation, a wobble back and forth. Obi-Wan stands still and steady beneath his hands and yet he still somehow seems to waver. Anakin grips him tighter and says, " trust me , Obi-Wan. I have dreams like that, too. I can help you."

"I - I don't know," Obi-Wan blurts in dismay. "My Master has instructed me differently." He searches Anakin's face with a pleading look, and Anakin feels disappointment settle heavily in his gut.

But only for a moment. Even if Obi-Wan doesn't trust him yet, Anakin can still act on this, and when he saves Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan will see that he was wrong not to trust Anakin. He doesn't know why the Force would give this vision to Obi-Wan and not him, but once Obi-Wan knows to trust him, that won't matter.

"Fine," Anakin says reluctantly. He gives the boy a long look, and says, "Promise me you'll remember what I said."

"Yes," Obi-Wan says with palpable relief, "I will, Knight Skywalker."

"And consider keeping tonight to yourself," he adds, grunting as he forces his way to his feet. The leg moves smoothly, but his hip has grown stiff from crouching. The entire thing from thigh to foot hurts so badly that Anakin would cut it off again if he thought it would help - not that it has so far. "Qui-Gon doesn't need any unnecessary distractions, like run away Padawans."

Normally, something that obvious should go without saying, but the little monster seems prone to self-incrimination. The twinge of shame he senses is answer enough. "That goes for you as well, Jar Jar," he says, raising his voice and cutting a look over his shoulder at the Gungan. "One word and you'll wish you'd stayed in exile in the swamps!"

Jar Jar had been minding his own business in his own way until that point, emptying sand from his pockets. He looks up at Anakin's works, long neck bending with affront. "Shooie," he says, "Jar Jar is keepings to moiselfs. Muy muy scary, Jedi Knight." The entire tone of the thing is galling and insincere, proving that Gungans are either much more brave or much more stupid than they look. Given their cities and security teams, Anakin supposes it's likely the former.

"Keep that attitude up and you'll see just how terrifying a Jedi Knight can be," he says darkly, but mostly under his breath and to himself. Jar Jar must be at least somewhat clever about these things, and he won't help his own cause if he opens his mouth about this.

The pace that Anakin sets is far slower than he'd like given the time of night and the distance they have yet to go, and he doesn't take Obi-Wan's hand again. The little monster seems to keep up just fine; from the corner of his eye, he sees Obi-Wan's ducked head is turned in the direction of his feet, and he's mimicking the way Anakin's feet move over the sand.

Obi-Wan only stumbles rarely now, despite the fact that he's dragging a bit, his bruised presence gone cobwebby with exhaustion. The entire idea is unrealistic given the circumstances, but Anakin thinks about slinging the boy over his shoulder, then thinks about it some more. They'd make better time - if he were any more steady on his own feet, and weren't depending so much on his lightstaff. He also thinks about folding it down to take his weight better, but the leg is fully functional and Anakin will arrive on his own two feet or not at all. Even if he specifically designed his weapon for this purpose. He won't disarm himself on Tatooine.

But slinging Obi-Wan over his shoulder would solve at least one problem. Jar Jar is tripping in the sand no more than he was before, but he has taken to spitting the sand that gets in his mouth at Anakin's back instead of to the side. Anakin, who is a Jedi and also older than Jar Jar to boot, is the bigger person and doesn't react to the obvious provocation. Okay, he doesn't Force trip Jar Jar more than four times.

Fine, six.

He's mostly the bigger person.

--

Anakin has no initial doubts about Obi-Wan's dreams; the excursion from this ship in the middle of the night the moment the sandstorm died down suddenly becomes more understandable if a dream like Anakin's dreams is involved. There is also the not insignificant detail of the faint bond that Anakin pried wide open, and the impressions that had rippled across it.

A child dreaming red-and-black-and-malice does not prepare Anakin for the reality of it.

It tears across the sands on Qui-Gon's heels. Anakin is no stranger to the Darkside - he couldn't be, not with how Xanatos had harried his former master for years after Anakin was accepted - but the feeling that he gets from this thing is worse than any Darksider he's met before. It's worse than the creeping, sticky foulness he'd felt then. It's strange and sharp and cold, colder than any dirty iceball of a planet he's been to, colder than a ship in space. Cold enough to burn. Chemical, almost; corrosive. Something hungry that ate and delighted in the destruction of eating.

It's so much like Obi-Wan's dream that Anakin isn't surprised by the sudden surge of blind panic that shoots through their bond until Anakin wrenches it shut. Then he only has to feel it buffer his shields through the ambient Force until they get Qui-Gon safely aboard and leave the seething Darksider behind.

Winded as he is, Qui-Gon finds a moment to take his panicky Padawan by the shoulder, to draw him close. "I am fine, Obi-Wan," he says. "You must calm yourself."

The words may be a cold comfort, but Qui-Gon speaks with a tone that only too clearly betrays him; Obi-Wan himself seems to sense as much, since he settles at least a little bit. Anakin's forearms press against his ribs, which at least feel more like bone than metal. "You seem to be quite the magnet for Darksiders, Qui-Gon."

His former master levels a look at him that speaks loudly of how little Anakin's remarks are appreciated, but if it's for Obi-Wan's sake, it's wasted. The little monster at his master's side is unsurprised, watching the both of them with grim attention.

"I don't think I was its ultimate goal," Qui-Gon disagrees. "It's far more likely that he was after the Queen."

Anakin remembers suddenly that the young Queen had returned ahead of Qui-Gon; he'd been standing guard to receive her while Panaka had gone to Mos Espa to retrieve her. He'd been uneasy about what she might hear upon her return, given Anakin's excursion from the ship last night.

In the wake of the Darksider's attack, it certainly seems forgotten. Anakin decides against inquiring on how Qui-Gon got a replacement hyperdrive generator when Republic credits are less than useless in Hutt space. It certainly couldn't have been cheap, given the condition it was in, and the young Queen's harried, unhappy frown and Panaka's nervous behavior puts credit to the thought that he'd rather not know.

If they're very lucky, Qui-Gon found some kind of surprise contact there in Mos Espa. Maybe one he'd made the last time he'd had to come fetch Anakin from its jaws. He hates to think that Qui-Gon is borrowing trouble; a Darksider is enough to worry about without adding Hutts to the list.

"You think it's working with the Federation," Anakin realizes, and then scowls. "Why is it always darksiders and wealth?" There's no possible way Xanatos is behind this again, Anakin put a 'saber through his gut, but it itches him the same way.

"Wealth has a way of bringing the darkness out in people's hearts," Qui-Gon says vaguely - more for his padawan's benefit than Anakin's. Anakin is well aware the things that money does to people. "The Council will have a great deal to hear about when we return."

The Council. Anakin's scowl becomes a grimace. Unless the Council, too, is distracted by the news of the Darksider, he'll have to attend the post-mission meeting he avoided by coming with Qui-Gon on this one. For the first time, it's less of an annoyance and more of a threat.

In his youth, Anakin had recklessly strengthened any bond that formed between himself and others. After all, if the Force put them there, then he should tend to them, right? Strengthening them had seemed obvious. He'd never had them before coming to the Jedi, so surely it was a Jedi thing.

He'd been informed to the contrary rather firmly, both by the Council and the people he'd bonded with, when those bonds were discovered. They acted as if Anakin had done something wrong, and then came the Council mandated sessions, and -

This time, for the first time since Anakin was seventeen, they'll actually find something: the bond that has formed between himself and Obi-Wan. Anakin certainly hadn't meant to form it, he doesn't enjoy doing something that appears to prove the Council right about him. The bond had formed all of its own, unprovoked - a true spontaneous bond the likes of which were mostly discussed in the theoretical.

The thought of them telling him 'attachments are forbidden' and forcing him to sever it is enough to make him sick. They will. Anakin knows they will - they hate everything about him that makes him different. They'll do the same to Obi-Wan if they can - if Anakin doesn't stop them.

Anakin pulls his shields tighter and tucks that feeling deep into the pit of him where it won't be noticed. Qui-Gon certainly doesn't, getting to his feet and moving to join the others in the cockpit. Obi-Wan's gaze lingers on him for just a moment longer as he follows his master. It's a strangely unnerving look, but Anakin has too much on his mind to worry with it.

All he has to do is save Qui-Gon from the Darksider and Obi-Wan from the Council, gain Obi-Wan's trust and avoid his former master's suspicion. After he's found a way to keep his bond to Obi-Wan a secret.

"Simple, right?" Anakin asks himself with a heavily feeling of impending doom.

5.

The blunt end of his lightstaff clashes loudly against the floor of the hall outside the Council chambers. Anakin wants to strike it even harder, but he is trying to avoid the masters' attention at the moment, and unseemly displays of emotion won't go entirely unnoticed in the wake of Qui-Gon's startling 'The Sith are back' announcement.

"The Council will fail us yet again," he says direly, uncaring of the Senior Padawans that bustle about beyond the door. Let them hear about the Council's failures, maybe they'll learn to place their confidences elsewhere instead of blindly following men who rarely leave the Temple. "Their resources aren't what we need, but reinforcements."

"It's difficult to accept the return of an enemy only spoken of in history records," Qui-Gon says, though notably he doesn't disagree - not that Anakin expect him to, given that they have similar opinions of the Council.

He catches sight of the little monster lurking around the folds of Qui-Gon's dark robes, giving the two of them a look that suggests he's biting his tongue but just barely. He, too, will learn that a Jedi outside the Temple is completely on their own, forced to survive by their own means and wits.

"Anakin," Qui-Gon says, turning toward him, "Look after Obi-Wan. I find that I'm suddenly quite hungry."

"Me," Anakin says, ignoring the even more unhappy face that has come over the padawan in question. "Aren't you worried what the other Masters will say, Qui-Gon? I might infect him with my 'unconventional beliefs and radical opinions.'"

Qui-Gon doesn't look impressed with the one-handed citation gesture Anakin makes. "I can think of worse influences," he says, at which point Anakin remembers that Qui-Gon has been called that and worse while arguing with other Masters over some fault they’ve found with Anakin, "and you know my opinions of the Temple's insularity already. Pretending otherwise insults us both."

He huffs, pursing his mouth. He may deserve that rebuke. "Is that why you're protecting him from lower levels cuisine?" he asks, holding his hand out toward the little monster. Until Obi-Wan has shown to know discretion, it is safer overall to keep him away from Qui-Gon's contacts - for everyone's sake.

Obi-Wan peels away from his master's heel, taking Anakin's hand and coming to rest at his side, but not without giving Qui-Gon a deeply reproachful look the entire time. His displeasure with being foisted off is both transparent and ridiculous; he can't expect to immediately accompany his master everywhere . "Come on," Anakin cajoles, "I'll show you to the speeder bay and we'll see how fast you are at starting them without secure access."

That successfully distracts Obi-wan, who reels around to stare up at him with wide eyes. "You're joking," he says.

"I'm not," Anakin says, smirking. "You know how to fix one, right?"

"I - yes - I mean, we touched on it in class," Obi-Wan stutters, "I could theoretically- but- a Temple speeder-! When would I ever -" He can't even finish an entire sentence, he's so shocked.

"More often than you'd think," Anakin says cheerfully. One day, he is going to thoroughly enjoy having his own Padawan, if only for circumstances like this. They're so woefully unprepared for the world outside the Temple. He glances up at Qui-Gon to share his amusement over his painfully proper little learner being so flustered over such a necessary skill.

Qui-Gon gaze is fixed on their joined hands, a slight bend to his brow. Anakin feels a cold rush go through him, but he tightens his grip rather than release it. He knows he senses things though the Force much more loudly than anyone else does; doesn't even (can't even) drop into a trance to feel it better. Can Qui-Gon sense their bond? It's so light right now, something easily resisted by jumping, no thrust required. If he can, what will he -

When Qui-Gon's gaze flickers up from Obi-Wan, he meets Anakin's gaze and smiles, briefly and distracted, and somehow a bit troubled. "Don't take everything Anakin has to say to mind, Obi-Wan," he says, and the smile he has for his padawan is much more light.

"Yes, Master," Obi-Wan says with a grave little face, like he's come to a similar conclusion and is undergoing some great trial by abiding Qui-Gon's wishes to stay with Anakin.

Somehow, Anakin wants to yank Obi-Wan away from him. "Pay attention at least a little bit," he says testily, "unless you'd like to be returned to your Master charred to a fine crisp. Speeder components are nothing to be careless with. Come on." He gives a little tug and turns away down the hall. He wonders if the weight of eyes on his back is real, but doesn't turn to look.

--

Obi-Wan is extremely intelligent, even for a Jedi youngling; he'd have to be for the Council to approve him leaving the creche for partnership with a Master. Although he's no where near as good at fixing things as Anakin was at that age, he's still more apt at it than Anakin remembers most of his peers being. It only takes a few minutes of reluctant puzzling before he correctly identifies a way to bypass the speeders' security systems and get it started.

It's not the way that Anakin would have done it, too likely for the systems to trip again and shut the speeder back down, but it would at least work for a few minutes. As satisfied as Anakin is, he still shows Obi-Wan a much better, faster way; without Anakin's skill, it does tend to ruin the speeder, but he's there to correct any mistakes Obi-Wan might make.

With an hour of drilling, Anakin's satisfied that the boy can get a speeder started in less than thirty seconds and without frying himself or the speeder.

Obi-Wan smiles at him for the first time and Anakin rubs engine grease into his bristling hair. Thereafter, Obi-Wan does not smile at him again, even after Anakin takes him to the washstation and instructs him on getting it out. Obi-Wan doesn't even speak to him outside terse 'Yes, Knight Skywalker' and 'No, Knight Skywalker.'

Anakin can't believe he's been treated like this by a nine year old. He has changed his mind about wanting a padawan.

Although he's fairly certain that the Council has lost track of him between the mission and Qui-Gon's news, Anakin still goes to the last place they'll think to look for him should they remember: the Room of a Thousand Fountains. Yoda will likely be busy meditating on the mysteries of the Force or falling asleep pretending to do so, or whatever, but Anakin avoids the areas of the Room Yoda prefers all the same.

His shadows continues giving him the silent treatment up until he seems to determine that Anakin's wandering is aimless. "You haven't been to the healers," he points out at last, almost reluctantly.

"No," Anakin agrees, swiveling to give Obi-Wan an arch look. "That's only regular procedure if someone gets hurt." Not that Anakin always did that, either. He almost always gets lectured about appropriate Jedi behavior and how no one else gets hurt so often on simple missions; Jedi field-aid training often took care of most of it. Not that they were entirely pleased with how often Anakin's kit needed refilling, but he'd sooner take that lecture any day of the week.

Obi-Wan looks deeply unimpressed. "Knight Skywalker," he says in the exact tone Jocasta Nu uses when she catches him asleep, "you hurt your leg, didn't you?"

Anakin definitely changes his mind about padawans. "No," he says bluntly.

Obi-Wan doesn't look convinced; not only did he use Jocasta Nu's tone on Anakin, now he's folding his hands together in front of him and tilting his head exactly the way other Masters do that drives Anakin up a wall.  He's actually arching his brow at Anakin! The nerve of the little monster! He's like a Council member in miniature.

"Regulation doesn't apply to this," he says crossly. "It's not an injury and it didn't occur on this mission." When Obi-Wan continues to look unimpressed, Anakin rolls his eyes. "The healers can't do anything about it," he says. "It's from years ago. It doesn't really hurt." Then, under the force of the boy's brow somehow arching higher, and the fact that Anakin knows he had nearly been limping, he reluctantly amends, "Only sometimes."

Only on Tatooine, actually. Mild soreness here and there was nothing close to whatever happened once he was groundside. He's not even sure what was happening on Tatooine - only that it was awful and gives him one more reason not to go back there if he could help it.

"Oh," Obi-Wan says, and frowns at Anakin's leg with a perplexed expression. He looks back up with concern and says, "it must have been a very bad injury if bacta didn't heal it."

It twinges slightly in protest. Anakin resists the urge to touch it. "Even bacta can't grow back limbs," he says, turning away. "Come on. It's meal hour, isn't it?" The Room seems less like a clever hiding spot and more like contested territory; if they find him in the Mess Hall, they probably won't make a scene of it.

Anakin hopes so, anyway.

--

They've barely gotten to the Mess Hall when Qui-Gon rings Anakin's comm to inquire to their whereabouts. A few minutes after they seat themselves, Qui-Gon joins them. Obi-Wan barely looks up from hastily forking food into his mouth to greet his master, and Anakin belatedly wonders when was the last time he ate.

Anakin will have to teach him about secreting food into his robes, because Force knows Qui-Gon is bad about keeping others fed. If Obi-Wan isn't human, he's near enough that his needs align better with Anakin's than Qui-Gon's. A reminder to his former master that not everyone can live off the Force and controversy may not go amiss; Qui-Gon would surely appreciate not having to haul another padawan to the Halls of Healing only to get lectured that growing children need a steady source of food.

"I hear that there are odd things afoot recently," Qui-Gon says, making only a slight show at eating the food on his tray. "Things I sense you may have noticed as well." He meets Anakin's gaze meaningfully.

Wealth and Darksiders, in other words. "But not the evil we knew," he says.

"No," Qui-Gon agrees grimly. "Connected, I feel, but not the same."

"Another apprentice?"

"That, I doubt. They would never be so brazen as to attack an entire planet. It would draw far too much attention. No, this is a much more subtle mind at work. There is some aim or goal here that is hidden." Qui-Gon frowns deeply, thoughtfully. He insists: "I do not feel the Federation's ploy was meant to succeed. It may be a distraction, and if so, it's a good one. I was unable to find any sign of anything else going on in the short time I had."

"And we can expect the Council to be at least as blind," Anakin says grimly, forking his food roughly and shoving it into his mouth. It tastes bland in his mouth, and sits heavy and unpleasant in his gut.

He wonders if Qui-Gon feels the same, given that he's subtly moving food off his own tray and onto Obi-Wan's. The boy doesn't seem to notice, his attention having left the table during the lull in their conversation. Anakin follows his gaze and notes a table of Initiates who are only too clearly looking Obi-Wan's way and not in a warm manner.

Qui-Gon shifts and gives Anakin a meaningful look, clearly having caught the direction of their gaze. Nothing is said of it. "I would not call the Council blind," he says mildly in a tone that suggests 'but only just.' "The opponent that we face now is much more canny than the usual extremists or obstinate bureaucrats."

Well, either way, that means that there is only one venue they have of gaining more information: the Darksider that attacked Qui-Gon. If he was correct in thinking that the Darksider's ultimate goal was the Queen, then he'll attack her again if she makes herself vulnerable. Anakin doubts the Naboo would ever agree to that now that she's safely on Coruscant and able to oversee the situation from the Senate.

They will somehow meet the Darksider again, and soon, though. If Obi-Wan has been dreaming this long, and if his dreams have gotten worse since the start of the Naboo mission, then its timeline draws near. Anakin has a very narrow window in which he can prevent the future that Obi-Wan saw from happening.

--

A slight disturbance muffled through walls and doors jars Anakin awake, the sound of unfamiliar voices and cadences of speech doing little immediately for his nerves. It takes only a moment for him to place himself as the dull roaring din of the Coruscant Jedi Temple filters in through his shields, as it did the night before. He groans quietly, rolling over onto his stomach and shoving his face into the pillow.

Being back at the Temple is a mixed blessing. Anakin knows he's safe here; nothing touches the halls of the Jedi other than their own petty grievances. Still, the weight of so many bright Force signatures is nearly unbearable after his long absence, and it seems like it'll take longer than one or two nights to adjust.

He knows he used to sleep easily when he was a padawan. The skill escapes him now.

The pillow smells unfamiliar, and sterile. Most of the beds in the Knights' dorms do, given that the beds are unassigned and Knights are generally expected to fall into where-ever there is space. Anakin shifts over onto his back again and digs the heels of his palms into both tired eyes, sighing. It's looking to be another sleepless night.

The door between the communal living space and the dormitory cracks open, quiet but still conspicuous. Anakin isn't entirely surprised that there are other Knights awake at this time, given this fresh crop of unfamiliar faces newly without masters to make them mind, but he wishes they were quieter about it. He'd even chosen the dorms with the fewest taken beds, along with other Knights that prefer quiet and space.

"Skywalker," the Knight at the door says. "There's an initiate here to see you. Well. An initiate dressed as a padawan." A quiet ' don't know who he's trying to fool ' drags itself across Anakin's shields in the overly familiar way that civilians sometimes do with their hands when Anakin is meant to be working .

Anakin's first thought is that the so-called Mind Healers have gotten rather sneaky, and also a bit unorthodox and cruel if they're coming after him during the middle of the night cycle.

Only because the Knight is still lingering in the doorway does Anakin not pull the blankets up and over his head. Dragging his hands down his face, Anakin sits up and tosses the blanket aside. At least he isn't being woken up from a good night's sleep; he would have been three times as cross about it. It takes him a few moment to slip back into his robe, which he draws close to his left side, and his lightstaff.

The living area is only sparsely populated, but the few Knights still up and about at this time are gathered closest to the door where -

"-whether you believe it or not," is being delivered in a stiff patronizing manner in a high, piping voice.

"Obi-Wan?" Anakin says, catching a glimpse of the boy through the huddle of Knights. They've cornered the little monster, or at least he feels that way, judging by his ram-rod stiff back and folded hands. It's accompanied by a lofty expression of polite disinterest and a return of the bent brow that had so galled Anakin a few days ago. The entire thing, as ridiculous as it is on a nine year old, seems to be successfully charming the socks off the Knights that have gathered around him, watching him with indulgent expressions of amusement.

Obi-Wan's attention flickers away at the sound of his name, and when he sees Anakin, he relaxes - if it could be called that; Anakin has seen stray lothcats that were more relaxed than Obi-Wan is this second, in the Temple and surrounded by knights that honestly seem to like him. "Knight Skywalker," he says with relief, widening his eyes beseechingly. "Master Jinn would like to speak with you."

This only seems to amuse the knights further. One smirks, which hooks deep into a corner of her mouth, her eyes glinting as she looks Anakin's way to see how he takes what must seem like an incredibly flimsy excuse.

They don't understand that Qui-Gon Jinn absolutely would send his underaged padawan off to fetch someone in the middle of a very dangerous situation, let alone in the middle of the Temple. A mixture of exhaustion and disbelief makes Anakin sigh at being summoned in the middle of the night; he silently curses Qui-Gon over it, and doesn't acknowledge how relieved he is that this isn't a summons from the Mind Healers. In Anakin's completely unbiased and not at all sleep-deprived opinion, Qui-Gon summoning him in the middle of the night cycle isn't much better.

"Well," he says, resigned, "I wouldn't want to send you back to your master empty handed."

Obi-Wan doesn't quite smile, but his gratitude is obvious as he quickly ducks into a shallow bow. The bow he spares for the Knights could barely even be considered a nod. Anakin leads the way to the door, cutting a glance back at the Knights to see how they've taken the subtle snubbing, and smirks at their mixture of amusement and disbelief.

"Was that on purpose?" Anakin wonders once the door is closed behind them.

"I'm sorry, Knight Skywalker," Obi-Wan says, prompt and polite with his chin in the air, "I don't understand what you mean by that."

"I'm starting to see why Qui-Gon wanted to take you on as his Padawan," he says. Qui-Gon himself never wasted time being so petty, but he would be drawn to an initiate who showed social acuity as Obi-Wan did.

If only Anakin were as capable of using social cues as he is at reading them. Diplomacy has never and likely would never be his strong suit. He still doesn't understand why people can't just be honest about things.

"Yes," Obi-Wan says, "about that."

Exhaustion muddles his head; he knows that he was a little unfriendly toward Obi-Wan at first, but just because he'd never expected Qui-Gon to take on another padawan after him doesn't mean he's not fine with it now. "Don't worry about it, Obi-Wan," he says, "you both give me identical headaches. I wish you both many years of mutual frustration. Frankly, I'm looking forward to the entertainment."

"No," Obi-Wan says, a little pained. "I mean- Master Qui-Gon doesn't know I'm here."

"What," Anakin says flatly, coming to a sudden stop and turning around.

There's no scrap of the Jedi in miniature left in evidence. Obi-Wan looks every inch his nine years, small and awful and a bit desperate, looking up at Anakin with a hopeless gaze. "I've had the dream again," he says. "The one where Qui-Gon dies."

"He's not going to die," Anakin says sharply, a reflex like twisting his wrist just so with 'saber in hand to cut a weapon in half. Now that he looks, Obi-Wan has a drawn and hunted expression about him, like he hasn't slept since Tatooine - or technically before that.

It occurs to Anakin abruptly that he'll have to petition the Quartermaster Panel to assign him a room. They won't like it since newly branded Knights were rarely in the Temples long enough to make good use of a solitary room, but he'll convince them to pass it somehow. He certainly can't join Obi-Wan in the quarters he shares with Qui-Gon given that their master is very unlikely to approve.

He'll do it in the morning.

"How familiar are you with the Halls of Healing?" Anakin asks.

--

Anakin is an unfortunately recognizable figure, even among the Jedi halls. He's tall for human and near-human species, and his lightstaff is singular given that he'd had to design it himself based only loosely on historical accounts he'd read. By design, Anakin takes them through halls that their nocturnal members avoid, and the few they do encounter are exhausted day-dwellers like themselves. A loosely projected suggestion to find them unremarkable, with the unexpected presence of Obi-Wan at his heels, and Anakin is fairly certain that they'll only be remembered as a random Master and Padawan pair.

Though Obi-Wan had initially seemed as excited about the Halls of Healing as Anakin usually feels, he relaxes once he sees the shape of the room. There are a few comfortable chairs meant to accommodate different body shapes, and a soothing display up on one wall that hums pleasantly. More importantly, there's a small kitchenette, which Anakin immediately gravitates to.

He wonders briefly if there's a particular purpose to warm blue milk, but hopefully a tea of some kind will work similarly.

"I've never been in one of these rooms before," Obi-Wan says. He sounds somewhat betrayed that there are secrets to the Temple that he wouldn't know.

"I should guess not," Anakin says dryly. Obi-Wan is a little young for massive Force related breakdowns. With any luck, he won't become familiar with the rooms. He suddenly realizes that he doesn't know how strong Obi-Wan is in the Force, visions and spontaneous bonding aside. "Do you know your count?" he asks, glancing over his shoulder.

"Seven thousand," Obi-Wan says promptly. Anakin remembers that it was the kind of thing that used to be talked about a lot, always comparing numbers and becoming competitive about it. Not with Anakin, of course - it was 'never any use' comparing to him, even when they did believe him. A few were too stubborn to ever believe him, no matter how fast his powers outpaced their own.

Seven thousand is a decent count, Anakin thinks while staring blankly at the canisters of tea and condiments in the cupboard; well within youngling averages, and nothing particularly impressive. However it is Obi-Wan came upon his visions, it isn't thanks to his midichlorians. Anakin hadn’t truly expected them to, but it would have been a nice, neat explanation.

For a moment longer, he dwaddles in front of the cupboard. At one point, Qui-Gon had required him to memorize the most common blends and how to prepare them, but Anakin hadn't seen the point at the time and seems to have forgotten what he learned since. Everything in the cupboards might as well be alien anatomy to him.

He brings the hot water and the biggest canisters to the small table. Obi-Wan comes over with good timing, just as Anakin has sat everything down but before Anakin himself has sat. His manners are well drilled and impeccable, giving everything an interested, studious examination - as if Anakin intends to quiz him on them. Given their common background, Anakin probably shouldn't be surprised.

"It's not a test," he says. "It's for drinking."

Obi-Wan flushes and reaches for a cup.

"Has there been any change in the dreams?" Anakin asks while Obi-Wan carefully assembles his tea, certain but still a little unpracticed. The way he carefully rotates both canister and cup as the dried leaves move from one to the other has Qui-Gon written all over it.

"Yes," he admits, and bites his lip. "I thought, maybe, on Tatooine - but the fight wasn't right. That wasn't what I was dreaming."

"Is there anything else? Anything more? A location - or a sound? A feeling?" Anakin demands, shifting forward. He'd felt the same - that the fight between Qui-Gon and the thing with the red lightsaber wasn't what had leaked across their bond, but if Obi-Wan knew more -

"I- I don't know," he says, uncertain and frustrated. "Maybe there was someone else? A dark man, I think. Or a man wearing dark clothes."

That could be anyone, that could- "A third man?" Anakin asks, and then, "That could be me."

Obi-Wan frowns pensively into the steam rising from his cup. "Maybe," he says dubiously.

"It could be," he says. "You should hope that it is. If I'm there, I would save Qui-Gon."

"He dies in my dream," he says seriously. "Besides, the man in dark clothing isn't very nice."

"No one is nice when they're fighting Darksiders," Anakin says defensively. Obi-Wan just looks at him judgmentally and takes a sip from his cup - and immediately grimaces. Apparently he's learned the skill of tea-making, but not the taste for it yet. Anakin passes over the honey and cream, saying, "You have a lot to learn, Obi-Wan."  

"I feel like I've learned more about tea than most people have forgotten," he says, giving the honey spoon a longing look. He doesn't put it in his mouth, but it's clearly a near thing.

"A necessary survival skill when Qui-Gon's padawan," he says. "Don't worry, as soon as you're knighted, you can forget all of it. I did."

"Sometimes I have nightmares about tea," Obi-Wan says seriously, with solemn eyes, "did you want to hear about those, too?"

Obi-Wan is not nearly as charming as he seems to think he is. Anakin will disabuse him of the notion that just because other knights and masters like to coo over him, Anakin ever will. Anakin doesn't find the little monster likeable at all.

"If I cared about those kinds of nightmares, I'd just have to remember my own time as Qui-Gon's padawan learner," Anakin says, channeling the spirit of Tatooine - or at least the less bloodthirsty side of it. "Focus, Obi-Wan. There's nothing else that changed? Nothing new?"

"No," he says. "Or I don't think so. I think it's in some kind of - it's a big empty room. There's a lot of - a sensation of falling? Maybe? I'm sorry," he says unhappily. "I don't know. I just - I dream. I dream of lightsaber duels. It's sharp and loud, not like when fighting with training 'sabers. And. And Darkness. And it's cold, like it was on Tatooine. So cold it hurts. It's awful, Mas - Knight Skywalker."

It's frustratingly unspecific, but that did tend to be the nature of visions, Anakin has discovered. He never knows precisely what he's going into when he moves to stop one.

"It's okay, Obi-Wan," he says, even though the boy looks smaller than ever, shrunk into himself and tense like he'll begin to shiver. The table and chairs both are low enough that he easily reaches over them to take Obi-Wan by the shoulder. "I will stop it from happening. No matter what."

Obi-Wan smiles at him weakly, and only too clearly comes: I don't think it can be stopped. Aloud, he says, "Of course, Knight Skywalker."

This notion - that there is a 'Will of the Force,' that there is a Fate, that they are hapless puppets at the hands of something greater - is one, too, that Anakin will destroy. He has been too long at the mercy of things beyond his control. With proper leverage and a firm place to stand, Anakin can and will make entire systems and galaxies move.

But for now, he's a Knight who doesn't yet have his own room. He's come far already; there is no distance that lies outside his reach.

Anakin tousles Obi-Wan's hair, the short bristles of the padawan cut tickling his palm. "Finish your tea," he says, ignoring the boy's indignant protest. "If," he peers over into the honey-colored cream, "you want to call that 'tea.'"

"Yes, Knight Skywalker," Obi-Wan says grumpily, giving him a mighty scowl that could one day scare children. If he's very lucky about it. It's impossible to take seriously as it is.

Anakin lags behind after Obi-Wan is gone, mixing himself a cup of caf before he leaves. He still has to find a pad he can use to to type up his petition to the Quartermaster Panel. He won't be getting any more sleep, anyway.

6.a.)

The young Queen of Naboo does not seem to be overly invested in being polite or neatly out of danger's way.

Anakin is running off much less sleep than he'd like when he - along with his former master and his brother-padawan - are summoned by the Jedi Council and informed that they'll be escorting the Queen back to Naboo.

It sounds insane. The reality turns out to be even worse. While the Jedi were trying to investigate the matter of the Darksider that seems to be set on either capturing her or killing her - capture seems more likely, given that the Sith attacked Qui-Gon, who is not fourteen or female (at least not as far as Anakin is aware) - the young Queen has cast the Senate into chaos by ousting the Chancellor. Anakin only discovers this after some days have passed, but once he knows and knows to look, he can sense that the ripples of this are strangely far-reaching.

There is not love to lose between Anakin and the Senate, but the unease is contagious. He tells himself it is merely his lack of sleep speaking when he feels like some kind of unnatural darkness (hungry, always hungry, sometimes feeding but always destroying) has grown stronger, and stretches long into the shadows.

On the surface, the disturbance must not seem like much to the young Queen. She is neither Force Sensitive or patient with the troubles of Coruscant when her own planet - an admittedly very beautiful planet - is under siege. Her heart is set on returning to share the fate of her people.

On one hand, it's a very admirable heart that beats inside her chest. From what Anakin's been able to learn of her, she's one of the 'good ones' who are far too few in the galaxy. Anakin is bound by his own moral rules to do whatever he can to help her, especially if her cause is noble and good.

Even if he weren't ordered to by the Council, the young Queen Amidala would only have to ask, and Anakin would be at her side.

On the other hand, the shadows her light casts plant misgivings in his heart. She is being hunted by a Sith that the Force itself forewarns to be Qui-Gon's executioner. The Jedi Council is using her as bait; if not for their visible reluctance to act, Anakin would almost think they put her up to this plan to return to Naboo.

The quickest way to the heart of the matter is through the Sith's chest, after all. It will certainly solve a lot of Anakin's problems. At least then, he and Obi-Wan will be able to sleep easy.

"Master," Obi-Wan says after they're a respectable distance from the Council chambers, "Why did Master Windu and Master Yoda seem troubled by the news that the Chancellor had been removed?"

Anakin glances back at him somewhat incredulously while Qui-Gon hums beside him; he'll definitely have to work on his sabacc face where it comes to the little monster. Was reading Council faces a skill taught in the creche or something? Anakin himself had barely noticed a difference - not that he tends to stare at the Council. He hardly needs to look closely to find the disapproval they always hold toward him.

"You were taught that the Jedi are beholden to the rule of the Chancellor of the Republic?" Qui-Gon asks, and Obi-Wan gives the affirmative. "While we largely rule ourselves, we still answer to the Chancellor. Any decisions the Council makes when there are no Chancellors may be called into question by the Senate, or the newly elected Chancellor, should he so choose."

Politics, Anakin huffs internally. Why the Jedi should answer to anyone is an utter mystery to him. Their teachings speak only of helping people. As far as Anakin has been able to tell, answering to the Republic has only hampered and complicated their efforts. Lift any corner of any world, and scum would scurry away from the light.

"But the systems don't come to a halt just because there isn't a Chancellor," Obi-Wan says, perplexed. "Naboo still needs our help."

"That's true, and so we are going to help it," Qui-Gon agrees approvingly. "Yoda and Windu are troubled, however, because the new Chancellor might be less understanding of the needs of the Order. There have been Chancellors before who treated the Order as their own private guards. Others as a threat to levy against those who disagreed with their policies."

"It was mentioned in the supplementary reading," Obi-Wan says with the face of someone who has just recalled something unpleasant. "But the Republic and the Order are at peace now, right? Shouldn't it be fine?"

"Sometimes times of peace are more fraught than times of unrest," Qui-Gon answers vaguely. Obi-Wan looks a bit daunted, and not a bit reassured.

"It'll be fine, Obi-Wan," Anakin says, setting his hand on the boy's narrow shoulder. "You'll see. Even if the new Chancellor is some Joh Sleemo."

The Knights are still teaching the Padawans curse words on the sly, judging by the offended expression Obi-Wan levels at him. Qui-Gon affects not to notice, or he still has selective deafness when it comes to Anakin's foul language and isn't up for another arguement about all of Huttese being a 'foul language.'

Just wait until Anakin has a chance to give him an earful about feeding Padawans and not on a diet of trepidation and fear.

--

Qui-Gon sweetly says that their mission is to 'protect the Queen' - they can't just storm the control base or overthrow the Trade Federation's blockade. They were assigned as negotiators, not as mercenaries to win wars for whomever they judge have a good cause.

Politics, Anakin huffs again with feeling. One man - or one Jedi - can't win a war, but they can upset or tip it dramatically.

Still, their mission is only to 'protect the Queen' - and for very specific reasons. It calls the Sith out of hiding, and he comes - so chemical-cold that he should be casting mist in Naboo's temperate climate. It chills Anakin only briefly before his plasmic heart churns, roiling and filling him with harsh energy.

"Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon says mildly, "Our mission falls to you. Let Anakin and I handle this."

"Master," Obi-Wan protests; his voice is high and quavers slightly, and his face seems pale when Anakin glances. He smiles reassuringly, but Obi-Wan only has eyes for Qui-Gon; the fine threads of Force that tie them together as padawan-brothers strum and strain with the stress of the boy's fear. Anakin wonders what the bond with Qui-Gon might look like, given that Qui-Gon doesn't look back.

Whatever doubts Padme Amidala has about the Jedi's methods, she seems to have recognized in a very short time that Obi-Wan is no simple child - no more than she is. Still, she must also know what Qui-Gon and Anakin already do: that Obi-Wan stands a better chance of surviving blaster fire than a Darksider.

"Obi-Wan," she says, gently but with urgency. "I entrust my safety to you."

And still Obi-Wan hesitates, though he too must know this - or: of course he hesitates. The Sith grins at them, awful and sharp and wide. The Force swirls and eddies, disturbed, and the clouded filth that escapes the creature makes the hairs on the back of Anakin's neck stand on end. Sick whispers of promises tease his ears: cut down the old man. Cripple the knight. Maybe the whelp will live? Maybe spit the whelp. Drown them when they're young. Get the Queen.

All for my Master. A galaxy all of our own.

A thousand suns 'round which a hundred thousand planets spin - extinguished. Forever in darkness.

( It devours )

The hot hum of Anakin's lightstaff blade cuts through the numbing Darkside static. Their opponent clearly knows so little of them: the loss of his leg hasn't slown Anakin down at all. This is not some mythical boogeyman from Jedi history, but another sentient addicted to the Darkside trying to terrorize them. It looks like it can bleed, and if it can bleed, then Anakin can kill it.

"Go!" he says impatiently, not daring to look away from the Sith. He'd like nothing more than to cut it down and leave it dead at Obi-Wan's feet and say: there, see? We are Jedi. We do not die.

But they can't afford the distraction: the Queen and Obi-Wan have to leave, or otherwise Qui-Gon's death becomes a certainty.

For one moment longer, Obi-Wan lingers. Anakin hears him inhale, and he says, "Of course, your Highness. Immediately." The pitching fear isn't gone, but controlled and buried. Anakin's chest burns hotter, and he feels his mouth curl.

The Sith seems entirely unconcerned with his quarry's escape. This is between the Sith and the Jedi - and Anakin and the dream he will shatter into a thousand pieces and melt with a welder's torch and leave forgotten but for a charred mark that many will wonder at but none will fear.

There is no death, there is the Force.

And the Force is with them.

--

Qui-Gon -

--

The swirling plasma of that heart goes supernova

--

- falls

--

devours everything in its path and destroys whatever is beyond that

--

(and so does Anakin)

--

and collapses under the weight of its own destruction

--

--

--

It's the sensation of someone else screaming that brings him out of his fugue.

No one is actually screaming, young Queen Amidala calling "Knight Skywalker?" with carefully controlled worry aside. Her words are barely a blip on Anakin's senses. He rouses from his fugue and hears her, but it's the walking wound she's hurrying to keep up with that commands Anakin's complete attention.

Obi-Wan's eyes are round holes in his shock-white skin. He has freckles. Anakin never noticed before. Maybe they weren't there before Tatooine burned them into his skin. True-green Twi'leks freckle up under the suns, too, and go for high prices to the right buyers.

Much like the suns, the wretched, horrible sensation of someone screaming directly into his ears is doubled. Dual. Anakin stares across the walkways at the boy staring back (not back, but down) and remembers with a sickening lurch that Obi-Wan had been bonded to Qui-Gon when -

Anakin wrenches their bond shut. Obi-Wan stumbles, tearing free of the young Queen's restraining hand - she's seen, she sees where Anakin kneels on the floor, she let's him go - and Anakin lurches to his feet. The body tumbles over onto its side and his lap is cool against the air, and Obi-Wan says "Master! " It's an awful sound. It crackles and snaps and shatters like kyber crystals and ice shelves. Something vital and solid giving way. Someone is saying "no" like a glitched holo caught on repeat.

Obi-Wan's feet are fast but Anakin is faster still; he intercepts the boy meters before the body, hooking his arm around his stomach when the boy tries to duck past. Anakin scoops him up off his kicking feet and clutches him against his chest. A bony elbow glances off his cheek. Obi-Wan struggles, wild and skilless, calling, "master! Master!" over and over again.

Anakin is distantly aware of the young Queen standing not far from them. His mouth is numb and it's not until he moves to say something harsh against her - how dare she bring Obi-Wan down here to this - to this - to this -

It's only then that Anakin realizes it's him - he's the one saying it. He's the badly compressed holo glitching on repeat, pale and distorted and barely even discernible as human. The boy in his arms struggles to reach his fallen master and yet - and yet - and yet - and yet Anakin stands in his way. More than prevents him, but actively removes him from his goal.

Two handmaidens and a guard are only a little behind the young Queen, but Anakin sweeps by them all. The Sith is dead - the sith is little more than a jumbled pile of burnt cloth and burnt flesh, red-and-black-and-dead. But a moon has suddenly crashed from the sky and fear claws up Anakin's throat because if the ground is stolen from beneath his feet as well, then -

Something awful is twisting to life inside him, clawing at his guts and ribs.

"Don't look, Obi-Wan," he says to the silent boy in his arms (tiny fists locked into his robes). "Don't look." They are nearly hallways distant already, and no one has followed them, but Anakin says, "Don't look."

Don't look. Don't see. There's nothing to it. Nothing to see. No reason to grieve. Jedi don't die. They don't. They don't. They don't.

("I wish that were true," Qui-Gon said so many years before.)

6.b)

It's some time before the Queen finds time for them again, and Anakin is called before her. Well, a handmaiden finds him and brings him to what Anakin can only assume is a private sitting room; it's finely done, but not nearly so lavish or understatedly decadent as the other rooms he's been to - still on mission duty. As if, with the sith dead, there could be another threat to the Queen's life.

Of course there is. Sith come in two. Someone taught him. Somehow, capturing a Queen and working with the Trade Federation seems more advanced than what the creature was capable of; certainly not the whispers that Qui-Gon heard when he set his ear to the Coruscanti underbelly.

"A great many lives have been lost in this struggle," the Queen says after they've observed the social formalities. "Too many lives. Naboo and Gungan alike. It's most unfortunate that we find Master Jedi Qui-Gon Jinn among them."

The young Queen Amidala is pretty and clever and has quite the sabacc face. It really isn't shown here; her sincerity is transparent, despite the prettiness of her diplomatic words. Strangely, Anakin remembers that she and Qui-Gon had not seen eye-to-eye. His heart, nebulous as it is, somehow sits askew in his chest.

"We have yet to establish contact with Republic space," she says into his silence. "As soon as possible, we will open a channel for you to reach the Temple with news." She hesitates, and looks young and small and uncertain. She's not much older than Obi-Wan, Anakin remembers with some difficulty: scrambled signals from far off towns coming in over the comm he repaired at five with rusted wires cleaned with spit and sand.

"Thank you," he remembers to say. He feels a bit like he's been shut in for days, and finally a storm has passed. His mouth his dry and his throat hurts. "That would be - um. Acceptable."

The young Queen seems to draw strength from his response, even though it sounds awkward. Inadequate. "Please," she says, more confidently. "If there is anything I can do - for either of you -"

Anakin doesn't follow her darting gaze downward to his side. His head feels confused and disjointed and filled with static, but his senses are as sharp as ever. He doesn't need to look to know that Obi-Wan seems to be calmly examining the elegant cut of a nearby archway. He has been dutifully studying the architecture for two days now, as if his life's passion has become Naboo Nouveau. He hasn't strayed out of arm's reach of Anakin since the moment Anakin had finally sat him down in the jumbled, war-torn streets of Theed outside the palace.  

"We," Anakin says and pauses. He forces his mouth to smile at her. "Jedi take care of their own."

The Queen nods and seems a bit disappointed. She takes a shallow breath and says, "If there are any rites that we could help you prepare for, we would be most willing to help."

Rites. Funeral rites. Anakin finds himself staring blankly at her. He's seen funerals before - and some of the rites she speaks of: those appropriate for strangers. Where Jedi are called to, there are always deaths. But on Tatooine, there have never been any rites for people like Anakin and his mother - moments of silence, perhaps, or closed eyes. For particularly well loved slaves, maybe the rest of them would join together and eat something. Speak of them as if they were still alive perhaps.

But those aren't rites. And if the Jedi have any, then they were not taught to Anakin.

Obi-Wan might know.

He can not ask Obi-Wan, who still seems to be politely ignoring the conversation, playing the part of the dutiful padawan who does not speak unless addressed by his master -

Anakin inhales. He says, "Master Jinn would be pleased with the rites practiced on Naboo." Or at least Qui-Gon would not hate them - wouldn't be angry with them. Qui-Gon always believed in the Force more than the Order; their rites and ceremonies would not have been so important - could not have been if he had not taught Anakin.

Something awful and sick and hot lays in the center of his belly, somewhere below the pulsing, deathly star his heart has become. He's gently pulled upon, like his feet to the ground, and Anakin swallows-swallow-swallows and packs that wretched thing away, and places it within the center of his star-heart to be crushed and consumed.

"I see," Amidala says. For a moment longer, lashes lowered, she weighs her words. It's a strange world, Anakin thinks, that a Queen - even one so young - has the timidity of a servant. "If I may speak freely, without causing offense?"

The absurdity of it wrings something twisted and not-a-smile out of Anakin. "I am very hard to offend," he says.

She nods. She does not appear to believe him. She says, "Until now Naboo has mostly known Jedi by reputation. I see now that the galaxy must ask a lot of the Jedi. What we offer you - what I offer - is freely given. It's okay to accept help sometimes."

It's a bit skilless. Earnest. Almost naked in its sincerity. She reminds him a little of his mother then, and the awful spewing of the star in his chest begins to calm a little. His not-smile does not budge, but Anakin dips into a shallow bow, because he does like the young Queen Amidala, and he does respect her. "Thank you, your Highness," he says. "I will keep that in mind."

Though in Anakin's experience, nothing comes freely.

--

It takes longer still before Naboo can reconstruct the communication relays that the Trade Federation disabled during their so-called blockade. It's up to Anakin himself to gain access to the secure lines back to the Temple, but thankfully his codes have not yet been changed.

He asks one of Amidala's handmaidens to look after Obi-Wan while he makes his report in a secure room, standing before the projections of Windu and Yoda. He's somehow not surprised that Yoda announces his intention to come to Naboo to oversee the rest of the mission.

Qui-Gon, Anakin belatedly remembers, was Yoda's grandpadawan. They do - did - take after one another in some ways. He's never met the Jedi Master who links the lineage from Yoda to Qui-Gon, so he can only imagine what the man must be like. Another frowning Jedi like Yoda, perhaps, who Anakin can't see eye-to-eye with.

Anakin's suddenly grateful for the lavish communication booth; he's accustomed to making his reports in the open, with whatever means are available - usually a droid. After the line is closed, Anakin stands in the silent privacy of the booth and takes a moment to let the grim reality of the situation settle in.

He's been his own Knight for nearly a year now, by the Galactic Standard calendar. That hasn't changed. But now he feels awfully alone.

When Anakin leaves the booth, it's to the hubbub of the Queen's people scurrying about, struggling to reassert normality in a Post-Invasion of Naboo world. Not far off, he spots Obi-Wan and the handmaiden; his mouth twitches. It's an interesting tableau of two people politely entertaining one another. The handmaiden persists in trying to make small talk with Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan continues to express polite interest in that comical way of his that isn't quite finished, stolen from adults around him and not yet practiced and natural.

It should be comical. Would be, but Anakin hasn't seen him without it in days.

It certainly wouldn't fool one of the Queen's handmaidens, but she plays for ignorance until she catches sight of Anakin. "You've made contact with the Jedi?" she asks as he reaches them.

"I have," he confirms. "One of the Council members will be arriving within the next few days to take over given the - circumstances."

"I understand," she says. "Is there anything else the Queen may help you with?"

"No," he says, "It's all Jedi from here on out." He gives her his best Jedi Business smile; it earns him only a hitched brow before she dips into a shallow curtsy and takes her leave.

Though this area of the palace is fairly busy with the Queen's people, no one bother them, scurrying around them without giving lingering looks. Whatever curiosity the people of Naboo had felt toward the Jedi has been forgotten in preparation of the wakes, and also the celebration of Naboo's continued freedom. Anakin feels strange and disconnected from it. Obi-Wan must feel the same.

"Come on," Anakin says at last, and mutely Obi-Wan follows. They've had time to familiarize themselves with the palace, and as Obi-Wan hasn't ventured from his side, they navigate it with ease. "I've contacted the Temple," Anakin says needlessly as they arrive at a less populace corridor. "Do you know Yoda? He'll be here in a matter of days."

"Oh," Obi-Wan says. "I'll be going back to the Temple then."

It's the first words that Obi-Wan has said since that day down in the reactor - other than 'no, thank you' and 'yes, thank you' as manners dictated. Anakin tries not to startle at them. He can't quite help swiveling to look at the boy. "We both will," he says.

"Of course," Obi-Wan says, accepting the correction gracefully. He begins to frown, and then, distantly, asks: "Knight Skywalker, what happens to Padawans whose Masters die?"

"What," Anakin says.

Obi-Wan's brow grows more tense; if he were an adult, it'd have lines in it. "It suddenly came to me, that's all," he says. "I don't know what they do with padawans like me. Do we go to the service corps?" He looks up at Anakin, perplexed.

"No," Anakin says. He knows it like he knows electrical currents, like thrust, like wind shear and gravity.

"Oh, okay," Obi-Wan says, as easy as that, as if ever in the short time that Anakin has known him he has ever taken an answer at face value. "Will you still visit me? I know knights are busy, but when you can, will you?"

The thought that a new master might not want Anakin to spend time with Obi-Wan - likely won't, for any of the many and varied faults all the Masters seem to find with him - suckers Anakin in the chest. It makes it hard to breathe for a moment, and his deathly star-heart flares and spins wildly, spewing plasma and radiation.

They'll be within rights to insist that their bond be severed, and they'll tell Obi-Wan to ignore his dreams and they probably won't teach him to make tea from eleven different cultures and to sneer if someone adds too much cream or honey. And if Anakin wants to come visit, they'll be within their rights to tell him to sit on his lightstaff and flick the switch.

"No," Anakin says, low and vicious, and when he sees Obi-Wan's face go pale and stricken he says "no" again, and "Obi-Wan, I'll take you as my Learner."

The harsh shock of rejection lingers around the edges of Obi-Wan's expression. He blinks slowly at Anakin without comprehension. "You will?" he asks weakly. "But I -"

Anakin waits for a moment but Obi-Wan doesn't continue. "I will," Anakin repeats with certainty. This is right - he feels that this is right. They've already formed a bond, not through slow and tedious means but easy as breathing. "I can teach you so much," he says. "I won't fail - not again. I swear it."

"But you've never had a learner before," Obi-Wan says. "Will they really let you do that?"

"I won't give them a choice," he says fiercely. Qui-Gon defied the entire Order to take Anakin as his learner. Obi-Wan is already a Jedi but they'll fight it - they will fight it, because Anakin won't ever be good enough for them, but they'll ruin Obi-Wan if they get their hands on him and Obi-Wan is still alive right now and he's going to stay that way. Anakin can't trust that to anyone else.

"I don't think the Council works like that," Obi-Wan says, but the words waver and he starts to shake.

It takes a stupidly long moment for Anakin to understand what has Obi-Wan trembling, and then he stands back for a stunned, uncomfortable moment. The only time he's seen a Padawan cry, he was one himself, and his awkward attempt at comforting her had been sternly rebuffed.

He still can't do nothing, not when it's Obi-Wan. Anakin stoops down, and after one more moment of hesitation, pulls the boy into a hug.

Obi-Wan squirms briefly, then reaches up and around, finding places for his arms and clutching into the hood of Anakin's robe. His shoulder digs into Anakin's throat, but Anakin doesn't shift while Obi-Wan shakes against him, breathing harsh and shallow, swallowing again and again.

"Will you really?" he asks, thin and wobbling. "Can you really be my Master?"

"I'd like to see them stop me," Anakin says through his teeth.

--

"Approve of you training the boy, we do not," Yoda says severely.

He seems much older than Anakin remembers him being, and given that Yoda himself gave them their assignment to continue protecting the Naboo Queen, that's saying quite a bit. Cynically, Anakin considers the possibility that Qui-Gon's death has had an affect on him.

It seems unlikely. Yoda has done little but grunt and groan since he's gotten here, shaking his head and looking disappointed and put out. A Grandpadawan is not like a padawan, after all. Where, Anakin wonders, is Qui-Gon's master then?

"Forgive me, Master," Anakin says, "You misunderstand me. I wasn't asking permission. I was announcing my intent."

"Not your decision to make!" Yoda says sharply, rapping the gimer stick on the clean, Naboo marble. "Not only a matter of deciding, Master and Padawan partnerships are. Also a matter of consideration for the Council."

"Then I will announce it to the rest of the Council as well," he says flatly. "The fact remains that I will be taking over Obi-Wan's guardianship."

"Qui-Gon's obstinance, you have! But no favors it does anyone in this instance, Knight Skywalker," the old master says. He has yet to look directly at Anakin this entire time. Something within him is bitterly pleased about it. "Young is Obi-Wan Kenobi. Time to recover from the loss of his master, he needs - not a quick replacement in you! Hmm? Think, do you, to so easily replace Qui-Gon Jinn?"

As if Qui-Gon Jinn knew the first thing of what to do with Obi-Wan! As if he knew what to do with Anakin , he thinks. Anakin did more for Obi-Wan over the last few weeks than Qui-Gon had in the months that Anakin was gone.

"No, Master," Anakin says. "I don't seek to replace him. But Obi-Wan and I - there is so much I could teach him, so much he could learn. We work well together, Master Yoda. I don't think it would be good for him if he's suddenly sent back to the creche after this."

Yoda paces with agitation. The bend of his back looks uncomfortable. Anakin wonders if it's natural for his species, or if for them, too, it's a sign of declining health.

"Know you what is best for Obi-Wan, suddenly?" Yoda asks archly. "Remind you, I would, of requirements assigned to you by the Council! Capable of taking care of yourself, you have not yet proven. Take care of a Padawan, you think you could!"

"What better way to remember to?" Anakin questions sharply. "I seem to remember my 'healers' suggesting I take in some pathetic creature to regulate my routine."

"Padawans are not for such purposes," Yoda says, matching him tone for tone. He brings himself to a stop and folds both hands over the knob of his stick, sighing heavily. "A promising youngling, Obi-Wan Kenobi is. Young he was to be taken from the Creche and entered into a partnership with a master. Too young. To the Creche he will return until another Master chooses."

Hot plasma licks against the pathetic durasteel struts that make up Anakin's ribs. "He has already been chosen," he says. It feels like the radiation and heat of his deathly star-heart is surging up his throat and lending extra bite to his words. " I chose him. He's chosen me. He doesn't need any other master."

"Accept this the Council does not," Yoda says - no longer with emotion, but with firmness and fact. As if it's so easy to decide the fate of two people - it's not. It's not that easy, or else Qui-Gon would still be alive and this conversation never would have taken place. Yoda, too, will learn this, Anakin thinks heatedly. "To the Creche, Obi-Wan will return. Another master, when he is ready, he will take."

"And if he does not?" Anakin demands. "He chose me. He will refuse any other."

Yoda looks grave, and doesn't respond for a moment. His wrinkled face is a bit drawn, and finally, finally he looks at Anakin. He's tired, and wary. "Young he is, and changeable, children are. Let go of your attachment to him you must. Another Master, he will choose."

Yoda is underestimating them both. "And if he does not?" he persists. "If at thirteen, he hasn't taken another master?"

The old master looks worn around the edges. He casts his gaze down, grumbling softly like some kind of brooding krayt dragon. "Review your petition to become Obi-Wan's master, the Council will. But ask yourself, a good master you would be to him? Things, you could teach him, yes - things he should know?" Yoda sighs heavily, rocking on his feet for a moment before looking back to Anakin - judgmental. Reproachful. Never satisfied with Anakin no matter how hard he tried to be the best Jedi. "Satisfied the Council must be before accept your petition they would."

In other words, Anakin has a four year deadline to convince the Council that he was the best Jedi to train Obi-Wan. Fine , he thinks, tasting dying stars on the back of his tongue: he's always worked best under the worst conditions.

"I understand, Master," he says mildly, dipping into a respectfully low bow; he has never forgotten how to bow his head and pretend subservience. The Jedi hadn't let him. "I assure you, I will become Obi-Wan's master. The Force wills it."

The look that Yoda gives him is sharp, but he doesn't argue the point, lifting a hand to wave Anakin off. The dismissal puts pinpricks of heat in Anakin's cheeks, but it's not he isn’t accustomed to. He pivots on his heel and leaves Yoda to his brooding - or whatever it is he intends to do in the lavish room that the Queen gave him.

Four years. Anakin can most definitely prove the Council wrong in four years. He's proven them wrong in less , when Qui-Gon dragged him back from Tatooine and before them, short his leg. They said he'd never be field-ready again, but Anakin has never let others decide when he knows . He tweaked his prosthetic and designed a better weapon, and passed his Trials and became a Knight.

He can become a master in four years. If most knights take about eight before they're ready for a Padawan, then Anakin has always known that the sticks his peers are measured against are useless to him.

Anakin's hand tightens around his lightstaff. Perhaps he'll start with hunting down the master of that sith creature he cut into a dozen pieces.

Surely master and apprentice prefer to share the same fate. Anakin will only be too happy to oblige.