Chapter Text
I have seen from my window
the fiesta of sunset in the distant mountain tops.
Sometimes a piece of sun
burned like a coin in my hand.
Pablo Neruda
They gathered in the shuttle Swiftstar’s little galley: six living, breathing Jedi.
A casual jumble of Order colors around the scarred, fold-down table – beige and black, brown and cream – punctuated by Obi-Wan himself and Anakin in wretched grays. Obi-Wan almost shivered. Familiar to the point of surreal, it was, and it wasn't familiar at all.
With Micah Giiett, Depa Billaba, and Garen Muln here, now, on Tatooine, it signaled the end of the almost charmed span of time Obi-Wan had had with Qui-Gon and Anakin, and Shmi. The rest of the galaxy was bearing down on them. Bearing down on him. Rapidly. Like the headache threatening behind his eyes.
Qui-Gon took the chair at Obi-Wan’s right side, serene and unshakable. One deep breath found Obi-Wan his own center, there so close against the other man’s deep-well Force-calm. The incipient headache retreated, too, praise all the little gods. The air he breathed in smelled achingly familiar, like hard use and old fabric and a hint of 'sabre blade ozone.
At Obi-Wan’s left elbow, Anakin appeared as calm as any Jedi child could reasonably be expected to be. Inwardly, though,he was humming like a piece of struck metal, practically vibrating in their bond. Obi-Wan couldn't help but remember the first time Anakin had been before members of the Jedi Council.
~If you wind any tighter, you're going to snap something, and that's not the first impression you want to make,~ Obi-Wan sent, along with a wash of support and affection.
The sense of jittering eased a bit. ~I'm fine,~ Anakin sent back. ~It's just – something's gonna happen. I feel it.~
~So do I,~ Obi-Wan confided, and felt Anakin “lean” against him, and center, and release much of his agitation.
~This all – sorry, Master, I'm just having an 'is this real?' moment.~
~Shall I pinch you?~
Startlement, bright amusement. ~You do and I'll tickle you, and we'll both make a great first impression.~
Obi-Wan nearly smiled. Funny how reassuring Anakin also soothed himself.
“All right, we’re as secure in here as we’d be anywhere on this planet, I think.” Micah settled his heavy shoulders back into the bench seat’s worn back-padding.
“Jammers are running and the spy bug sweep didn’t show anything,” Garen said, the deep timbre of his voice a fraction too stiff for comfort, bouncing off the metal walls. He was making no effort at all to disguise the fact that he was watching Obi-Wan. And Qui-Gon, but mostly Obi-Wan. “So, will somebody please, finally, tell me what we need it for? On a Jedi ship?”
“Patience, Padawan,” Micah said, thwapping two fingers against the synthleather sleeve of Garen’s pilot's jacket. “Everything in time.”
“With respect, Master? It’s time,” Garen said.
Micah breathed out through his nose and turned his hand toward Depa, palm up. “Master Billaba?”
Depa regarded Obi-Wan with the same Masterly, serene expression he'd seen her wear for celebrations and catastrophes alike. A model of dignity, out of place in this somewhat scratch-and-dent shuttle and yet perfectly in place. Obi-Wan suppressed the abrupt urge to straighten tabards he wasn’t wearing.
“You are Ben Lars,” she said. Her voice was light but resonant, with the musical cadence Obi-Wan remembered, and the harsh galley light sparked warmth from her head-jewels. “And you are Obi-Wan Kenobi.”
Something inside him did shiver at that. “I am,” Obi-Wan said.
“The being whom Master Jinn has claimed as padawan for this last near-decade.”
Obi-Wan gave her a brief, respectful nod. Both of his braids shifted, sliding across his neck, and he noticed Garen's startled twitch.
“You don't feel much like a padawan, Obi-Wan,” she said, extending another gentle push against his shields.
Obi-Wan's mouth tilted. “Didn't feel like a padawan,” indeed. After four decades of Mastery, he shouldn't, even with his Force-presence damped down. “No, I don't suppose I – ”
“He's what?”
Micah turned a raised eyebrow on his own padawan, but Garen didn't see or didn't care. “Master Jinn's padawan? He said that before but Master Jinn doesn't have a padawan, they wouldn't let him, not since – ”
“Garen Muln,” Micah said, feather-soft and heavy as stone, and Garen snapped his mouth shut.
Obi-Wan watched in a sort of bemused horror as Garen dropped his gaze to the table-top, color running violently right up to the tips of his ears, exposed by the merciless padawan haircut. Embarrassment, suspicion, and worry swirled briefly and were swamped by remorse before they were all shielded away.
Obi-Wan's own confusion grew. ~Master, what is that about?~
Qui-Gon sighed in their bond. ~Later, Padawan, if you please?~
“Master Jinn, I offer you my most sincere apologies,” Garen said quietly, meeting Qui-Gon's eyes. “My words were utterly unworthy of a Jedi.”
Qui-Gon inclined his head but chose not to speak, and Garen went back to staring at the table.
Micah's gaze hardened. “We'll discuss this at a later time, Padawan.”
“Yes, Master,” Garen muttered.
Depa had been waiting, the Force around her exuding patience and curiosity, well-controlled, and a kind of regret?
Obi-Wan turned back to her, his own questions shelved for the moment. “Master Billaba. Master Micah has told you then of myself, and Anakin? Everything?”
Depa nodded. “In closed Council, I believe he has. It's quite a tale, of the kind that no-one has heard outside of fabulous stories for a thousand years or more, if you're to be believed. That you are more than you appear is obvious to me now, you and young Anakin both. Whether you are what Master Giiett has said?” She tilted her head.
Obi-Wan half-smiled. “I did not ask to become something out of legend, Master Billaba, please believe that, if nothing else. Fame is much over-rated.”
Anakin snorted. ~There's a mouthful.~
“I do believe, however, that Master Giiett is correct in his assertion that you need to be brought to Coruscant and before the Council, and sooner rather than later,” Depa said.
Coruscant. Home. “It is one of my dearest wishes to see the Temple and the Order again, but you understand that I cannot, will not, leave Tatooine without both Anakin and Shmi Skywalker?” Obi-Wan asked quietly.
Depa's mouth curled slightly at the edges. “Master Giiett said as much.”
“Strongly,” Micah drawled, and Obi-Wan felt the wash of Qui-Gon's warmth and gratitude. “Fortunately, Depa has agreed to assist us with implementing my cunning plan.”
The feeling of gratitude acquired an “edge.” “Micah?” Qui-Gon asked.
“Yes!” Anakin exclaimed, in the softest little crow imaginable. “I knew you'd have something!”
~Now you're taking shameless advantage of your physical age to emote, aren't you?~ Obi-Wan sent, wryly amused.
~You bet; I've made my impression. There's control and then there's stodgy, y'know.~
Garen was watching closely again, amber-brown eyes intent, first on Anakin and then on his own master. Micah didn’t smile, but his eyebrows – and the feeling of his aura – did.
~The start of a 'terrifying friendship,' indeed,~ Qui-Gon's mind-voice felt rather ironic, and Obi-Wan couldn’t decide whether to sigh or groan. “Don’t keep us in suspense, Mic,” Qui-Gon said out loud.
“You’re no fun,” Micah grumbled, but his eyes gleamed. “It’s quite simple: Depa is going to buy them.”
Obi-Wan's jaw dropped.
“Buy them?” Qui-Gon echoed. “With what monies? You're telling me the Council actually approved that?”
Micah crossed his arms over his chest, the brown folds of his cloak sleeves shifting as he did.
“Micah,” Qui-Gon said.
“He can't tell you that because it wouldn't be true,” Depa said, a shade too solemnly for the sparkle in her eyes.
“Sure it is,” Micah retorted. “They're my credits, I'm on the Council, I approved it.”
“Mic,” Qui-Gon breathed, his shock clear through the training bond. “What have you done?”
Micah regarded him calmly, the corners of his mouth just barely lifting. “What needed to be done, Qui-Gon, that's all. That stipend's just been sitting all these years. I forget it's there, it's not like I have a use for it. Until now. It became obvious to me that this is the reason I have it. I onl – ”
He paused as Anakin moved, slipping down from his chair and going to stand in front of Micah. Anakin's aura shone, so bright with joy that he might not have been shielding at all. An utterly Force-blind being probably could have seen the glow.
He gripped his elbows and bowed, deep and slow and perfectly correct, the gesture one made to a most respected Jedi elder. When he straightened, his eyes were bright. “Master Micah, I … ” A hard swallow; an adult firming of the child's mouth. “Thank you.”
Micah's face softened. “I'm doing what the Force wills and what any decent sentient would do, Anakin; no thanks are necessary.”
“Well, I'm thanking you anyway,” Anakin replied shakily and stepped in close, reaching up.
Micah's expression flashed from startled through bemused and into touched, even as his arms went around Anakin in return. “You're welcome. I only hope that what we've – what I've brought will be enough.”
“It will be,” Obi-Wan said, finally finding his own voice. Half-dizzy with joy – his own, Anakin's, Qui-Gon's, all of it swamping the bonds because evidently nobody was shielding worth a damn. The rightness of this in the Force was unmistakable. “Added to what we've come up with here, it will be enough.”
* * *