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The balcony attached to Tony’s quarters was almost too small for Tony and Peter to be on it at the same time. It didn’t stop them from meditating there together, their knees touching as they sat in lotus position, the Coruscanti air scented heavily with exhaust and pollution.
This particular morning, the rising sun cast an orange glow across the planet, a hot summer breeze ruffling Peter’s short nerftail as he sat in exhausted silence with his Master. They had just returned home from a long and stressful mission, and Tony had insisted on meditating together before they finally collapsed into bed.
Meditation had quickly morphed into thoughtful stupor, both of them nursing cups of tea. It was too warm for a hot beverage, but routine had required it.
“Master?” Peter asked quietly, breaking Tony from his circling thoughts about all the ways the mission had nearly gone catastrophically wrong.
“Padawan?” Tony replied, raising an amused eyebrow.
Peter stared ahead, refusing to be baited by Tony’s subtle teasing. His force signature was brooding and serious, and Tony instantly sobered.
His voice almost inaudible over the perpetual noise of hovercrafts, Peter spoke.
“Have you ever had a problem with attachment?”
Tony’s mouth went dry. He remembered Peter, bleeding and delirious with fever; Peter, blasters pointing at him from every side; Peter, surrounded by ice and snow, his saber lit like a beacon, his only means of defense as Tony watched impotent, fear so strong he couldn’t will it away, only live in it, endure it.
Peter, golden and perfect, joy on his face and in the Force as they sat and watched the binary sunset on Stewjon, the sweet scent of muja blossoms all around them. If Peter had asked him then, to never go back to the temple, to denounce the ways of the Jedi and stay there, with him in that moment, Tony would have said yes.
“I have,” Tony whispered. Peter nodded a little, his jaw clenched. He looked down at his quickly cooling cup of tea.
“I have, too,” he confessed. Even quieter, he added. “I do.”
Tony swallowed. This was his moment, he knew, to provide Peter council and instruction, to reiterate that ‘attachment leads to fear, fear to hate, hate to suffering.’ But… did it? Possessiveness, certainly. But affection?
Six months ago, on a mission to Shili, Peter had been abducted, along with a little Togruta boy. Together with the boy’s mother, Tony had tracked them down and saved them. He had worked tirelessly, his every thought consumed with finding them, both to save Peter and because he’d looked in that mother’s eyes and understood everything she was feeling.
Had his care for Peter not made him more compassionate, more empathetic? How could that be a bad thing?
“Perhaps,” he started, trying not to let his uncertainty bleed into their bond, “it is not the attachment that is the problem, but the prioritization of your wants over others’ needs. Do you understand?”
Peter hesitated a moment. “It’s a problem if I let others die to save someone I care about. I am a tool of the Force and must follow its will.”
He said it with a certainty Tony envied, a self-mastery that had his chest swelling with pride.
“Exactly.”
Peter’s shoulders stooped a little. He suddenly seemed much younger than his sixteen years. “So you don’t think I’m Dark because I loved Ben?”
Most Jedi would never say the word love aloud. Tony sometimes had a hard time thinking it. Peter wasn’t like that. Peter was innocent and sincere and passionate. He was the furthest thing from Dark Tony could imagine.
“No, Peter,” he assured him. Peter looked up and met his gaze. Through their bond, Tony could feel emotion, swirling and intense and bottled up for a long, long time.
“You don’t think I’m Dark because I love you?”
Tony’s breath went out of him, his fingers tingling. In his mind’s eye, he could almost see the events of last night from Peter’s perspective, see himself with a blaster to his head, a perilous fall behind him. He could feel Peter screaming into the Force, please, no!
This boy was a blessing, a gift from the Force. He was the epitome of Light, of all things a Jedi should be.
Tony loved him. He loved him.
“I think,” he said very slowly, “that it would be the height of hypocrisy to condemn you while I am guilty of the same weakness.”
Peter looked up at him, something like hope in his eyes. It was so very human of him, something that not even the Jedi Order could stamp out. He wanted to be loved. And Tony had never been able to deny Peter something he wanted.
Because there was no one there to censure him, and because he was really questioning this whole policy on attachment anyway, and had been since the moment he took Peter on as his learner, Tony gently put a hand on the back of Peter’s neck and pulled him closer to press a kiss to his temple.
His padawan was bright pink when Tony pulled away, a burning, instinctual happiness ringing in the Force no matter how much Peter tried to shield it.
The sun had fully risen now, the light golden and hot as it spilled across their little balcony.
Tony smiled, tugged lightly on Peter’s braid.
“Bedtime, Padawan,” he instructed.
“Yes, Master,” Peter dutifully answered, smiling.