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Anakin was dismissed from Watto’s shop shortly after the tall man and his strange companions left, looking grumpy and dissatisfied with whatever service Watto had tried to rip them off for this time. 

He ran home as quickly as he could, and found his mother picking mushrooms off the vaporator. “What’s got you blowing about like sand today?” she asked, amused, when he barreled up to her and crashed into her legs with a hug. 

“I think there was a Jedi in the shop today, Mom,” he said. 

Another mother might have taken this as a flight of fancy, but Shmi’s eyes widened and she gave him a once-over, as if he might have been infected by Force-magicks. “Why do you think so?” she asked. “What did they want?” 

“The man— he was really tall— had a lightsaber hidden on his belt. And he wore it like he was used to it, you know, not like he’d bought it on the black market or something,” Anakin said. Shmi had taught him to always be observant, not to look at what was obviously there but what was actually there. It came in handy a lot, as a slave. “They needed a new hyperdrive, I think, but they didn’t have the money.” 

Shmi was quiet for a moment, face drawn as it was when she was concentrating. She examined Anakin’s face with a strange emotion, one he didn’t really know how to identify. “All right, Ani,” she said. “This is your ticket out, you understand? All you have to do is exactly what I say.”

If the sandstorm had really been as bad as they said it was, Anakin would have invited the strangers over anyway. He hated to see anyone in trouble like that. It was one of so many things that made Shmi proud to be his mother. 

But a Tatooine sandstorm was navigable, usually, so long as you walked with steady steps, and carried a stick to sweep the ground in front of you— lest it fall away suddenly. Any local could have feasibly helped the Jedi back to their ship. 

They sat in Shmi’s home, eating the meal, the desert-fruits she had set out for them. 

The Jedi was, indeed, tall. The girl with them, kind but naive. The Gungan… well, he had a sweet heart. 

The Jedi had his eye on Anakin already. Shmi gave herself a sharp nod of satisfaction, and ignored the ache in her heart. 

Shmi Skywalker was not a bad woman. Not evil or malicious. 

What she was, was cunning and observant and a mother. 

This made her infinitely more dangerous. 

Qui-Gon Jinn was doing his best to be polite to her, to be a good house guest. She could not quite tell if it was genuine or not. He seemed to be a good man, solid and unmoving as the rocks of Beggar’s Canyon, but yielding at times like when he ushered the young girl, Padme, aside to help with the dishes. 

He found Shmi, as she had known he would. 

The wind in the desert got colder at night, and she felt it coming with a shiver as it tousled her hair. She knew what she had to do, but she didn’t know if she had the strength to do it. It was not too late to back out yet. Ani was her boy. Her only child. 

And he deserved better than Tatooine. 

“He has…” she said. 

“He has special powers,” finished Jinn confidently. 

Shmi didn’t have to fake her worried frown. “Yes.” 

He asked her about Anakin’s father. 

This was, of course, an impossibly rude question, especially to an obviously single slave woman, living here on Tatooine. This was not a question that ended happily, not in a place like this.

Ani never met his father, and he was the better for it. On Tatooine, families were not made by blood, and so far as Shmi was concerned, Anakin’s father was not one. But this was not what Jinn was looking for. 

She could read him, already. A Jedi Knight, hungry for adventure— how else could you be, when you got to travel the galaxy freely as he did?— looking for a story, any story. The type to pore over old books, searching for meaning in old legends. 

“He has no father,” she said, and he slanted her an askance look. “I know it sounds crazy,” she said, looking out into the distance before she could do anything so traitorous as laugh. “But it’s the truth. I carried him, I gave birth, I raised him. There was no father, you understand?” 

Jinn stroked his goatee. “Most interesting,” he murmured. 

“Indeed,” Shmi said, almost to herself.

Anakin came to her holding a little medical device. “He wants my blood,” he said, with a grimace. 

“What for?” Shmi asked, bending down to look at it. Interesting, of course, that Jinn hadn’t thought to ask her for permission. That suggested maybe it was important. 

“Dunno,” Ani said. “He said to check for diseases, but I don’t think that’s true.”

“Can you check what this device is used for?” Shmi asked. 

“Sure!” Anakin said, happy as ever to be given permission to break into something. He hopped up to his workbench and fiddled with the thing while Shmi kept lookout for the Jedi. 

“I told him I was scared of drawing my blood without you,” Anakin said, and she shot him a proud smile. 

Eventually, there was a beep, and Anakin proudly brought it over to her. “Says it’s designed to test for something called midi— umm— chlor —ians. ” 

“I’ve never heard of them. In the blood?” A nod. “Something to test for a Jedi, then.” She examined the device. “You can hack the results?”

“Mom,” Anakin said, as if she had asked him a direly embarrassing question. 

“Of course,” Shmi said, with a laugh. “How could I doubt you?” 

Jinn retrieved the device then retreated out onto the balcony. 

He called a young man with a cultured accent on his commlink, and she listened from the doorway. 

“Over thirty thousand,” the person on the other end said, with a hint of doubt to his voice. “That’s more than Master Yoda.”

But whatever fears Shmi might have had were dissolved. If anything, Jinn looked more pleased than ever. 

Anakin certainly needed no convincing to do the podrace. It was one of the things he loved best in the world— the roar of the engines, the smell of hot metal, even the thrill of each close brush with death. He was a slave. He did not fear dying. 

He supposed it was easy enough to think he had a preternatural affinity for podracing. But really, it was just that he was very, very good. Knowing to dodge out of the way before a competitor’s pod burst into flames might seem like foresight, but really it was that Anakin intimately knew the smell of leaking repulsor fluid. A hairpin turn may seem like he was using enhanced reflexes to take it with such skill, but it was just that he knew exactly the way pods could move and how he could use them. 

In short, Anakin thought it was kind of more impressive than using the Force. There was a reason he was the only human to do it. 

He won the race, obviously. 

Anakin had a moment of doubt before he turned away from Tatooine for the final time. 

“Mom,” he said. 

She caressed his face. She smelled like engine oil, from working in the shop, like spices, from her cooking. Like home. “You’ll be fine, Ani. This will be a better life for you.” She smiled, but her eyes were full of tears. “I’m so proud of you.”

“But Mom—” he said. “I’m not anything to be proud of. Not really. You know that.”

“Don’t ever think that,” Shmi said, crushing him to her chest. “We will meet again. I feel it.” 

Anakin met Obi-Wan Kenobi in the bay of the Queen’s cruiser. Obi-Wan, at first, gave him a curious sort of look, tilting his head. But then there was the red warrior, and trouble, and not much time to think about anything else. 

They took out Anakin’s slave chip on the flight to Coruscant. Padme held his hand the whole time. Her fingers were soft and warm and almost, but not quite, completely uncalloused. 

The Jedi Temple was the biggest building Anakin had ever seen in his entire life. That wasn’t much of a surprise, he supposed, because all of Coruscant seemed to be big and full of life and full of people. He thought he could wander around the Temple for a week before anyone found him. 

Padawan Obi-Wan saw him gaping and gave him a slight smile, there and gone again in a moment. 

“It may seem intimidating, but trust me, it’s not so bad as it looks,” he said. “And if you stay, you’ll find eventually that it’s as easy to navigate as your own bedroom.”

Anakin considered this. “Sometimes I trip on droid parts in the middle of the night,” he said, and Obi-Wan laughed. 

Master Jinn was walking ahead— he looked back and gave them an amused and fond look. But Obi-Wan straightened as if he’d been caught doing something naughty anyway, and clasped his hands serenely under his cloak. 

The Jedi Council didn’t like him much. He could tell. 

He stood there in the middle of the big, big room, and wondered, not for the first time, what the kriff he’d gotten himself into. Lying to one Jedi was one thing, but lying to a whole big group of them… 

They tested him for the Force. 

First Master Windu had him guess what pictures were showing up on his datapad. Jedi kids could, apparently, sense that somehow? Anakin bit his lip and tried not to burst into tears. He wasn’t sure what to do. 

But then— no way. 

It wasn’t that easy, right? 

Behind Master Windu were the huge picture windows overlooking Coruscant. It was dusk outside, dim, especially compared to the light in here. 

Anakin could see the reflection of the datapad in the window. 

He rattled off each picture, one-by-one. He was shaking even harder now, amazed by how long he’d gotten away with this and terrified they’d sell him back. Master Qui-Gon, at the back of the chambers, seemed pleased, but no one else was celebrating just yet. 

“All right,” said Master Windu. “This one’s a little different. I’m going to project an emotion in the Force, and you tell me which one it is, all right?” 

Anakin nodded. “I think I understand.” 

“It may take a moment,” said the kind-looking Togruta woman. “Just feel for the currents of the Force. You can probably do this instinctually anyway— just look specifically for Master Windu’s presence, yes?”

Anakin nodded again, slightly more confused. 

Master Windu looked at him. 

Obviously, nothing happened. 

Take a deep breath, Ani. What’s there? There’s always a way. 

He missed his mom. 

He took a deep breath. 

Master Windu was, apparently, projecting some kind of feeling that psychic people could pick up on. But to project an emotion, you had to feel it, right? 

Anakin studied Master Windu’s face. It was always a good idea, to get a very good handle on the owner’s moods, to know even before they did if they were irritated or happy or what. His mom could tell if Ani had a bad day within five seconds of him walking in the door. 

Master Windu was harder to crack, but then he was like a million years old and in charge of all the space wizards. But— there. 

“Tired,” Anakin said. 

Windu grunted in approval, and shifted in his chair; Anakin was pretty sure he was switching emotions. 

“Happy,” Anakin said. 

Master Yoda, the green one, had really expressive ears. Anakin was pretty sure all the Jedi were feeling Master Windu’s emotions, because they would all react too when it changed. That made it a lot easier. 

“Angry,” Anakin said. 

Master Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan had been told to stand way off to the side, which Anakin thought uncharitably was because it couldn’t feel like Anakin actually had someone rooting for him in this. Obi-Wan had been watching carefully the whole time, but now he had a thoughtful little frown on his face, and his eyes traced Anakin’s gaze from Master Windu to Yoda and back. 

Anakin swallowed, and almost missed Master Windu’s next test. 

“Uh, upset,” Anakin said. 

Master Windu shifted in his chair again, and this time, Anakin couldn’t for the life of him figure out what he was supposed to be seeing. He squinted, and sneaked a little peek at Master Yoda. Master Gallia, too, because lek were sometimes really expressive. But still, he couldn’t identify it. It was something, just something unfamiliar. 

“Um…” Anakin said. 

“Search the Force, youngling,” Master Windu said, not unkindly. 

Anakin bit his lip, hard. If he said something completely wrong, they’d know. Making a guess could be dangerous. “I’m really sorry. I don’t know.” 

He could see the next one. Disapproval. 

But then Obi-Wan cleared his throat, and stepped forward a little. Anakin’s heart jumped into his throat. He was going to tell them. 

“Masters,” Obi-Wan said with a polite bow. “He sees the emotion. He just does not recognize it.” 

All of the Masters exchanged looks. “Compassion, it is,” said Yoda after a moment. 

“Oh,” Anakin said. “Sorry. I don’t know that one too well.” 

He had seen it before, of course. On his mother, often. On the old man who slipped them extra rations when things were tight. On one of the girls who danced for Gardulla, who sang so beautifully at celebrations. It just looked different, on these people, in this place. He had never seen it on people in charge before. It was new. Nice. 

The Masters exchanged looks again. “Consider the matter, we will,” said Yoda, which Anakin knew meant they were dismissed. 

Whatever goodwill Obi-Wan had been feeling for Anakin when he stuck up for him was probably gone now, judging by the way he looked like he had been struck when Master Jinn offered to take Anakin as his apprentice. 

It was so stupid. The Jedi didn’t want him, and not even because of the Force, but because they thought he was angry. 

The issue was tabled. 

They went to Naboo. Anakin was pretty sure Master Qui-Gon was only taking him along because he was scared the Council was going to shuffle him off someplace else while he was gone.

Padme was there again at least, which was nice, except she seemed really tense. Anakin felt bad for her— serving the Queen probably wasn’t a very easy job. 

“Are you worried about your planet?” Anakin asked her, as they sat in front of one of the windows together. The only thing to see was hyperspace, but Anakin had never been on a ship before recently, and even that seemingly mundane thing was amazingly beautiful to him. 

“Very much,” Padme said with a sigh. “I hope my people are all right. I would do anything for them.” 

“You’re the best handmaiden I ever met,” Anakin said loyally. “I bet you’ll be the turning point in the battle.”

She smiled. “Thanks, Ani.” She looked a little lighter for a moment, and she traced the path of the stars streaking by with one finger. “Are you excited to be a Jedi?”

Anakin shrugged. “Dunno if I’m actually gonna be one,” he said. He fiddled with a loose thread on his tunic. “They don’t want me.”

“Now how is it possible that someone wouldn’t want you?” Padme asked, giving him a nice smile. 

Anakin lifted his shoulders again. 

“Here is my advice, Ani,” Padme said. “I’ve been around politics all my life. A mind can always be changed. A problem can always be solved. That’s what diplomacy’s for, what we have our rules for. You just need to find out what it is you need to do, and don’t stop until you can do it. Never let anyone get in your way.”

“You know,” Anakin said, “You sound kinda like my mom.”

She smiled. “Now that is a compliment.” 

Anakin found Obi-Wan right before they landed on Naboo. 

Obi-Wan gave him a polite but closed-off look. 

“Hi,” Anakin said, shuffling a little. “I wanted to say thanks for helping me with the Council and everything.” 

“I only pointed out the obvious,” Obi-Wan said. He reached for the long braid on his head, like he wanted to tug at it, but then visibly stopped himself. 

“Still,” Anakin insisted. “It was really nice. Um, I got something for you.” He held out the tiny container of bacta spray he’d pilfered from the medbay when he’d gotten the slave chip taken out. Obi-Wan looked at it with bafflement. “I figured that you’re gonna be fighting some really bad guys,” Anakin explained. “So I thought, if you get hurt, you could use this.”

Obi-Wan took the tube reluctantly and squinted at it. “You—” he said. Anakin gave him his biggest eyes, the kind usually deployed when he was trying to get out of trouble or trying to get second servings of something. Obi-Wan sighed. “Thank you, Anakin. I know bacta is a very, very rare gift where you come from.” 

Anakin beamed. “So you’ll bring it with you in the battle? Just in case?” He didn’t get why the Jedi relied on magic for all this stuff. Throwing stuff with your mind or whatever was all well and good, but you could also just build a robot to throw it for you. They never seemed to think about stuff like bringing medical supplies with them in the field, or carrying backup vibroknives, even though that was really just being practical. 

“Yes, Anakin. Thank you.” 

Anakin spun his fighter on the way down from blowing up the control ship, just because he could. 

Artoo beeped a complaint, and Anakin laughed. 

“Now that was magic,” Anakin whooped. 

It didn’t take the Force for this one either, just a lifetime’s worth of practice shooting womp rats and driving speeders at inadvisable speeds. The cruiser handled like a dream, and Artoo nudged here and there to help. 

There was chatter over his headset. The war was won. 

But— there was one casualty. 

Anakin looked at Master Qui-Gon, floating peacefully in the bacta tank. 

Obi-Wan had dark circles under his eyes, and his hands were shaking, but he’d tucked them into his robe to try to hide it. “The Healers say it will take a while, but he’ll be okay,” he said. “It was— Anakin, that bacta kept him alive for minutes— seconds— just until the medics got there.” 

“It was almost really, really close, huh?” Anakin asked in a small voice. 

Obi-Wan closed his eyes, and breathed in a long breath through his nose. When he opened his eyes, he looked a little calmer, and he rested a soothing hand on Anakin’s head. “It was. But by the will of the Force, he survived.” 

Master Qui-Gon was still stuck at the Healers, unconscious, when Obi-Wan marched Anakin in front of the Council again.

“Our decision has not changed,” said Master Windu. 

But Obi-Wan had set his jaw, and though Anakin still didn’t know him that well, he kind of feared anyone who got in the path of the stubbornness he could see there. 

“This was Master Jinn’s dying wish,” he said. “The boy will be trained.” 

“He did not die,” said one of the Masters. 

“Regardless,” Obi-Wan said, “He thought it was worth devoting his last breaths to. I will leave the Order myself and take Anakin on as a temporary padawan if I must, and I’m sure Master Jinn will join me when he is recovered.”

The Council glared at him. Obi-Wan glared back. 

Anakin knew he ought to be frightened, but honestly he was kind of fascinated. He looked back and forth like he was watching a Huttball match. 

“Your Master is rubbing off in all the wrong ways, Obi-Wan,” said Master Windu. 

Obi-Wan looked rather pleased with himself. 

“Trained, the boy will be,” Yoda said, at last. He turned to Anakin. “Watched carefully, you will be.”

Anakin grinned. “Yippee!” 

Obi-Wan stifled a snort behind a hand. “Yippee indeed. Thank you very much, Masters.” He gave a deep bow, which Anakin copied. 

When they left the chambers, a great sigh released from Obi-Wan. “Go visit Qui-Gon, will you?” he asked, scrubbing a hand over his face. 

“What are you going to do?” 

“I,” Obi-Wan said, “am going to take a very long nap.” 

The next time Anakin saw Obi-Wan, he wasn’t wearing the braid any more. 

Obi-Wan had asked him to stay in the creche for a little while. It turned out that was because Obi-Wan was emptying out his own room for Anakin to sleep in. 

Anakin was kind of worried about the braid, and about the four boxes stacked up by the door in Master Jinn’s quarters. 

“Obi-Wan?” he asked. “What’s the matter?”

Obi-Wan looked surprised. “Nothing,” he said. “I’ve been Knighted. Knights have their own rooms.” 

“What about Master Qui-Gon?” 

Obi-Wan’s mouth twitched downwards. “Qui-Gon is currently not awake, and thus could not cut my braid himself.”

Anakin considered this. “You couldn’t have waited for him to wake up?” 

Obi-Wan shifted his shoulders inward a little. “I don’t think it mattered to him to see the ceremony. Besides— it means you get your own room that much quicker. I’m sure you’re tired of sleeping with the other younglings by now.”

“Not really,” Anakin said cheerfully. “They’re really nice. They’re teaching me all sorts of stuff about how to get around the Temple, and how my classes are going to go, and stuff.”

He was watching closely. It was important to have all the information possible. He was well-aware exactly how tenuous his situation was here, and that a single wrong move might give the whole game away. He needed to be prepared. 

“Ah,” Obi-Wan said. He bent down under the couch and unearthed a brown robe, which he tossed to the top of his pile of boxes. “Well, you can stay there if you like, until Qui-Gon gets back. It’s probably a good idea for you to make friends your own age anyway.” 

Anakin shrugged. “Want me to help you carry boxes?”

Obi-Wan paused. “Yes, a little company would be nice.” 

Healer Vokara Che was really nice, even though she seemed kind of angry at Obi-Wan for not taking him in for a checkup earlier. 

Obi-Wan pinched the bridge of his nose. “I had thought Qui-Gon brought him in,” he said. “I see now that was a foolish assumption.”

Vokara Che harrumphed, but when she turned back to Anakin, she had a much softer look on her face. “This is just a routine check for the files, and to update your medical records,” she said. “Nothing invasive or anything like that.” 

“Okay,” Anakin said, dangling his feet off the side of the examination bed. 

She drew blood. Anakin had kind of known that was going to happen, but still he winced. 

She misinterpreted; she patted the spot where the needle had pierced and apologized. Then she put a colorful bacta patch over the spot. “All better,” she said with a smile, and plugged a datastick in the terminal. “Your data just needs a moment to compile.”

“In the meantime, Master Che, I was wondering if you could give me an update on Master Jinn’s status?” Obi-Wan asked.

“Of course,” Master Che said, with a nod, indicating for him to follow her. “If you wouldn’t mind waiting just for a moment, Anakin?” 

Anakin nodded slightly more vehemently than he had meant to. 

The second they were gone and the door had slid shut behind them, Anakin shot up from the bed and went to the data terminal. It was password-protected, but that wasn’t much trouble for Anakin. Glancing nervously over his shoulder, he poked around until he found his file. There it was: Anakin Skywalker, Age 9. Human. 

Midichlorian Level: Low. 

Anakin quickly changed his midichlorian count to reflect the one he’d faked on Tatooine. It was embarrassingly easy. Maybe later on he’d tell them to check their security protocols. 

A lot later. 

He managed to close out of it, turn off the monitor, and dart back to his seat just in time for Obi-Wan and Healer Che to come back in. 

“His color is much better,” Obi-Wan said, looking relieved. 

“Yes, I think he should wake up from the Force coma soon,” said Che. “The bacta tank took care of most of the injury, but we did need to put some cybernetic enhancements in several parts of his spine. It will still be a long recovery process.”

“Good luck getting him to sit still that long,” Obi-Wan said, and turned to Anakin. “All right, Anakin?”

“Uh-huh,” Anakin said. 

Master Che went over to the data terminal, and she frowned at whatever she saw there. Anakin worried. He’d thought he did a good job— 

“Have you had any vaccinations?” she asked. 

“Yup!” Anakin said proudly. “Once. There was a really bad flu going through town, so Mom saved up and got me an inoculation for it.” 

Obi-Wan and Che exchanged weary looks. “Well,” she said, “The good thing is you’ll get to wear a lot more of those bacta patches.”

Anakin showed off his arms to his friends in the Initiate dorms. 

“Wow,” said Aayla jealously. She was a couple years older than him, but she was really nice, and she and the other Initiates had kind of taken him under their wing. 

“I wish I had that many bacta patchesss,” said Nryk. He was a Trandoshan, and he was always working to keep his lisp out of his voice. “I got all my vaccinations slowly, like an idiot.” 

“Hey, maybe you could invent some new diseases that you need to be protected from,” said Kirsha, consoling. Kirsha was mostly human, Anakin thought, except for the extra arm. Out of politeness, he didn’t ask about that. 

“Maybe!” Nryk said, perking up. 

Anakin flexed his arms. “I am immune to everything,” he said. 

Master Qui-Gon woke up. 

He didn’t seem to super appreciate Anakin leaping up onto his bed to hug him, but he did laugh. “Give an old man some breathing room,” he said, gently shoving Anakin off to the side. 

“Sorry,” Anakin said, somewhat unrepentantly. “We’ve been waiting forever for you to wake up.”

“I have that understanding,” Qui-Gon said, running a hand through his hair. They’d had it braided out of the way while he was sleeping, but he must have taken it down when he woke up. “It seems much has changed.”

“They’re gonna let me be your padawan!” Anakin said. 

Qui-Gon seemed pleased. “Yes. I suppose I’m more persuasive than I thought.”

“No, Obi-Wan yelled at him a lot until they agreed,” Anakin said. “I think they were scared of him.” 

Qui-Gon blinked, looking surprised and proud. “It seems I’ve missed a few parts of the story.”

More than a few, probably. 

“Is it true you’ve got metal in your spine?” Anakin asked, trying to poke his back. “What happens if you run into a really big magnet?”

“Something very unpleasant, I imagine,” Qui-Gon said. 

“I bet it would be cool,” Anakin said. “Well, actually, probably not for you.” 

Qui-Gon laughed again, but then put a hand to his stomach. “Probably not,” he said. 

“Padme— well, the Queen, I guess— sent you a get well message. There was a really big celebration on Naboo but we missed it ‘cause we were flying you back to Coruscant,” Anakin said. 

Qui-Gon leaned tiredly back against the pillows. “How are you settling in? Tell me everything.” 

Well. Anakin probably wouldn’t tell him everything. But still, he grinned, and settled in for the long haul. 

Now that Master Qui-Gon was awake and getting better every day, he could make a more specific training schedule for Anakin. Obi-Wan, who had made sure Anakin was taken care of before, had put him in mostly diplomacy classes. Qui-Gon seemed to take this as a personal affront. 

“I don’t mind ‘em,” Anakin said. “Well, they’re kind of boring. But you learn all sorts of interesting stuff, like how to convince people about crazy things. We learned about you one of the days! They said you bluffed a whole planetary leadership into giving all their money away.”

“Well,” Qui-Gon said, and coughed. “You still ought to be learning more practical skills.”

“Slicing?” Anakin asked hopefully. 

“I was thinking practice with the Living Force.” 

“Oh,” Anakin said. “I’m not that good with the making plants grow thing. Couldn’t even get one plant to flower in the garden when Master Bii was testing us out there.” 

Although, come to think of it, maybe he could build a machine that could do that. Couldn’t be too hard, right? All you needed to do was kind of accelerate the growth. Worth experimenting. 

“I’m at least going to put you in classes that focus more on application of the Force, less on theory,” Qui-Gon said. 

“Oh,” Anakin said. For someone who almost never knew what his friends were talking about— had no way to conceptualize the kinds of connections they felt— it was interesting to see how the Force worked empirically. How it could be measured, and what people thought about how it functioned. “Could I stay in at least a few?”

Qui-Gon looked like he was getting tired again. Anakin gave him an angelic smile. He sure was learning a lot at the Temple. 

Anakin spent a lot of time with Master Qui-Gon while he was recovering. He got up and about pretty quickly, but then he had to do a lot of physical therapy, getting used to his new metal spine. For a while, he walked kind of like a newborn eopie. 

Obi-Wan spent a lot of time there too. When Qui-Gon stumbled and looked like he would face-plant, Obi-Wan caught him under the arms and hauled him back to bed. He also forced both Anakin and Qui-Gon to eat regular meals, which he kept on bringing them. Anakin typically had no trouble with clearing his plate, but Qui-Gon often turned his nose up at the healthier fares. He, like the Council, got glared into oblivion. 

Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon spent a lot of time with an awkward sort of tension between them, a stiff kind of politeness except when Obi-Wan was bullying him into taking care of himself. Anakin was taking notes. He was pretty sure he was gonna need to learn how to control Qui-Gon Jinn eventually too, and he was also pretty sure this was not going to be an easy task. 

But then one day Anakin came from his classes and found Qui-Gon looking a lot happier, and wearing Obi-Wan’s braid as a bracelet around his wrist.

Anakin beamed, and bounced up to where Qui-Gon was doing his therapy on one of the Healer’s meditation mats, slowly trying to work his way into a sit-up. 

Qui-Gon saw him and huffed a soft smile. “Don’t suppose you’d be willing to cause a distraction with Vokara while I make a run for it, would you?”

“Nope,” Anakin said. “Mostly because I don’t think you can run yet.” 

“Which is getting old very quickly,” Qui-Gon said. Anakin took pity on him and moved so that Qui-Gon could kind of pull himself up using Anakin’s shoulders as a lever. 

“Maybe this is time to meditate on patience,” Anakin said, with his best approximation of Obi-Wan’s accent. 

Qui-Gon laughed. “Don’t you start,” he said. There was a lessened tension around his shoulders today, some of the stressed lines on his forehead smoothed. 

Anakin was really, really glad they made up.

Aayla and Anakin’s other friends were trying, once more, to teach Anakin how to play toss-ball. This was, apparently, a game where they threw the ball around in the air with the Force without touching the ground, trying to get their friends to drop it when it was thrown at them. They were in the Room Of A Thousand Fountains, the green and the life of it which never ceased to amaze Anakin. 

“I just don’t know why we can’t show you how to catch it,” Nryk said, frustrated. “I wish we could help you.” 

“They think maybe ‘cause I came in so late I have more difficulty with consciously manipulating the Force,” Anakin said. “I’m good with other stuff.” 

“I know,” Aayla said. “I just feel bad playing without you.”

Anakin tried not to look at them like he thought they were a little slow. “Um?” he said, and plucked the ball out of the air with his hand. Then he tossed it over to Kirsha. 

“Oh,” Kirsha said, when she caught it. “Right. I kind of forgot about that.” 

Anakin laughed. 

“Shut up!” Aayla said. She stuck her tongue out at Anakin. “Come on. You know any fun games from Tatooine? You can teach us.” 

Of course Anakin did. He could probably modify them a bit. Most Jedi games didn’t seem to involve very much risk of death at all. Weird. 

Qui-Gon was still in the middle of healing when Obi-Wan asked for permission to take Anakin to go get his lightsaber crystal. 

This was the first Anakin had heard about this, and his eyes widened to about three times their normal size. He had been looking forward to that forever, and he hadn’t wanted to make Master Qui-Gon feel bad by reminding him that they couldn’t go.

Qui-Gon frowned. “Normally the Master would take the padawan to Illum,” he said. 

“I’m his lineage-brother,” Obi-Wan said. “It’s close enough to count while you’re still on bedrest, anyway. Most younglings go as a group when they’re still in the creche, anyway— might as well get him on track.” 

Qui-Gon looked at Anakin. “What do you think?” 

Anakin was trying his best not to bounce out of his seat. “It would be okay with me,” he said. 

Qui-Gon smiled. Maybe he hadn’t been that subtle about his excitement.

“The Council already approved,” Obi-Wan added. He looked a lot happier too now that they’d worked out whatever they were fighting about. He was holding his back a lot looser, and he’d finally started letting his hair grow out. Anakin wondered how long he was gonna let it get. He didn’t blame Obi-Wan for immediately going for a new hairstyle— now that Anakin had the padawan cut too, he understood how ugly it really was. 

Qui-Gon snorted. “Thought of everything, have you?” he asked. “I don’t even know why you’re bothering to ask me before taking my padawan.” 

“We respect you, Master Jinn!” Anakin said. 

“Yes,” Obi-Wan said. “That’s why we save you from the burden of making decisions.” 

Qui-Gon threw a pillow at both of them, then winced. Helpfully, Obi-Wan and Anakin put the pillows back on his bed for him, because they were kind to the elderly like that. 

The ship they had taken to get to Ilum was big and lonely. Obi-Wan told him that it depended on who went— sometimes, big classes of younglings would go together, or just one or two, or Masters and Padawans. It was called the Gathering, and apparently it was pretty intensely personal for Jedi. 

Anakin stood in the ice cave, shivering, and wondering if he might have made a mistake. 

For one, he had never, ever been in a place so cold before. Oftentimes the nights on Tatooine were cold, especially in the winter, but nothing ever froze, and he had never seen snow before. He had not been prepared for the way the wind itself could freeze you, the way it almost hurt to take a breath. 

It was beautiful here, though. 

Obi-Wan had bundled them up before they went out, and he stood now with a gloved hand on Anakin’s shoulder, sturdy and warm. 

That was the other problem. 

The barrier thing separating the cave from the outside was starting to slowly melt. It wouldn’t stay that way for long. It would refreeze, eventually. 

Anakin was too scared to go in. 

Obi-Wan crouched in front of him. “Anakin,” he said. Anakin made an inquiring noise. “I don’t know if you’ll be able to find a crystal in there.” 

Anakin startled, backing away. He’d thought— well, he suspected Obi-Wan might know— he didn’t— 

This was, maybe, the closest Obi-Wan would ever get to admitting it, what they both knew about Anakin. 

“I don’t know if you’ll find a crystal,” Obi-Wan said. “But the Force works in ways none of us truly understand. If it’s meant to be, it’s meant to be.”

“Really?” Anakin asked. 

“It brought you this far, didn’t it? Trust it.”

Anakin wasn’t sure if that was the question he had really been asking or not. He looked down and scuffed his foot on the snow. “I can’t hear it.”

“That doesn’t mean it isn’t there, little one,” Obi-Wan said. 

“Oh,” Anakin said. Suddenly, he felt a lot warmer. 

He turned, and with a single look back, went into the cave. 

It was like an entirely different planet inside. Lights glimmered everywhere, shiny and natural. He didn’t know ice could come in so many different kinds— clear, shiny, opaque. It was bitterly cold but at least it was sheltered from the wind. 

None of the other Initiates or Padawans would talk about their missions to find their crystals. That was annoying for Anakin, who usually had to work twice as hard just to be at the same level as his peers, and who was always looking for any advantage he could get. 

He wished Obi-Wan had come in with him. 

He took a deep breath. Okay, think about this logically. 

There were plenty of ice crystals on the walls. Anakin had never seen a kyber crystal, but he supposed it was possible they just grew common, like mushrooms, and he could take one at random. 

Anakin walked a little further around, squinting at the walls. There was one at a good enough level that he could reach it, and looked small enough that it would fit into a lightsaber. He shrugged and drew out a tool from one of his pockets. He used it to chip at the ice piece on the wall. 

The wall collapsed. 

“Oh, kriiiii—” Anakin’s words were whipped out of his mouth as he fell, and he screwed his eyes shut, knowing he was doomed. The Force-sensitives back at the Temple could use the Force to soften their fall, to land correctly, to know exactly when and where to reach out and grab the wall. 

He had no such luck. He was gonna die here. 

But he didn’t. 

He landed in a soft pack of snow, almost gentle, and though the wind was knocked out of him and he had ice down his pants, he was okay. “Wha—?” he said. He sat up and looked around suspiciously. 

It looked like just any other part of the cavern. A random cave-in? It didn’t seem likely. 

He had lost his tools in the fall. Great. 

“Hello?” he called. 

No answer, not even the echo of his own voice. 

“Hello?” he called, increasingly alone and afraid. Again, there was only silence to greet him, and Anakin scowled. Everything was empty. 

He scooped a chunk of rock-hard ice off the floor and hurled it at the wall. “Stop messing with me!” he called angrily. “If you don’t want me here, you can just say so!” 

“Hello,” said a voice from behind him, and Anakin whirled, half enraged and half relieved to just hear anything at all. “You’re an impetuous one, aren’t you?” 

He found the man who was talking. It looked like a Jedi, kind of— long hair, dark tunics, and a lightsaber hanging at his belt. He had a scar across one eye, and one of his hands was made of metal, which honestly looked pretty wizard. 

“But then,” the man said, “We always were, weren’t we?” 

“What?” Anakin asked suspiciously. “Who are you? How’d you get in here?” 

The man smiled at him. 

“If you hurt Obi-Wan—” Anakin threatened, and now the man threw back his head and laughed. 

“Believe me, your Obi-Wan is fine,” the stranger said. “As for your other question… well, maybe I should ask this in the Jedi manner. Who do you think I am?” 

Most of what Anakin thought about this guy was not polite to say out loud. “I don’t wanna play games,” he said. 

The man had been leaning on one of the walls; now he folded himself down and into a cross-legged meditation position. “All right,” he said. “I’m you.” He saw Anakin gaping. “Well, I’m a version of you. The Force-sensitive one.”

“Oh,” Anakin said, feeling small. “You look like you grew up into a really good Jedi.”

“Well, debatable,” said Old Ani. 

“Hold on,” Anakin said. “Then how come I can see you? I don’t… I don’t have the Force. I never have.”

“The Force has you,” Old Ani said kindly. “You’re in one of her hearts— you really think she couldn’t talk to her child here, of all places?”

Anakin sat down in front of him, and saw his own face reflected there, distorted, sharpened by time and something else. 

“You’re me,” Anakin said. “You must have had a way easier time.”

“I didn’t,” Old Ani said. “Honestly, it’s not all it’s cracked up to be, being all-powerful in the Force and stuff.”

Anakin glared. “You can’t say that! You don’t know how lucky you are that you were born with the Force.” 

Old Ani snorted, leaning back on his wrists. All the meditation teachers said not to do that. Bad for the posture. “You misunderstand, kid. I’m not the ideal to aspire to. I’m the cautionary tale.” 

Anakin looked at him again. He looked… powerful, looked strong, looked like the perfect Jedi. “I don’t see how that can be true,” he said. 

“Youngling, I hurt so many people,” said Old Ani. “We have the capability to make so much hurt.”

Anakin suddenly found the blue of Old Ani’s eyes too intense. He looked at the floor. “Everyone has that capability,” he said. “But we have the capability to create good, too.” He locked gazes with Ani again. “Right?”

Old Ani laughed. “The young are often underestimated, indeed,” he said. “I suppose you’re right. I guess neither of us has the advantage in this life. Just our own difficulties.” He leaned forward and tapped Anakin’s chest. Anakin hadn’t been expecting it, and the man’s touch was like ice, leaking through his tunics and into his bones. “The real problem is here. In the heart. We’ve got too much of it, maybe. That’s what’s gotta be controlled. Our anger.”

“I’m not angry,” Anakin protested. 

“Yes, you are,” Old Ani said. “Ever since we can remember. Ever since we saw people hurting our mom and they were allowed to do it just because they wanted to. Since we had a chip put into our arm that meant we didn’t belong to ourselves. Ever since we realized we have no real control over our own destinies.” 

“I control my life!” Anakin said. “I make choices.” 

“That’s right,” Ani said. “We do. Make sure you make the right ones, kid. Let go of the anger. Don’t let it fester and eat you up inside. That’s the killer.” 

Anakin swallowed. “I’ll try,” he said. 

Old Ani tapped him again, this time on the forehead. “Do or do not,” he said.

Anakin blinked, and the apparition was gone. 

There wasn’t so much as a disturbance in the snow where Old Ani had sat, where he had walked. It was as if he’d never been there at all. 

Anakin blinked again, finding his throat thick and his eyes on the verge of tears. The water cleared from his lashes before it could freeze, and he suddenly saw a glimmer against the wall. 

The rock he’d thrown. 

It had broken open, and there was a kyber crystal inside. 

Anakin came absolutely barrelling out of the cave, and launched himself into Obi-Wan’s arms with such force that the man stumbled. He had looked worried, Anakin registered, and was trying not to show it. 

“Obi-Wan! Obi-Wan!” he said. “Look! Look!” In front of Obi-Wan’s nose, Anakin thrust his new crystal. 

It was beautiful in the light, shiny and brilliant and his. “Isn’t it great?!” Anakin said. 

Obi-Wan took it in, and smiled, much brighter than Anakin usually saw coming from him. “It is indeed, Anakin,” he said. “I am very proud of you.” 

Anakin beamed. 

“Shall we go home?” Obi-Wan asked, and Anakin nodded.

Master Huyang was really, really interesting, and not just because he was a droid. 

He didn’t seem put out at all to be on a whole ship with just Anakin and Obi-Wan onboard. In fact, he seemed eager to help Anakin to make his lightsaber. 

Obi-Wan sat a distance away, politely observing but not interfering for the moment. 

“Hmm,” Huyang said, looking at him closely. “You’re one for mechanics, aren’t you?” he said. 

“Yep!” Anakin said cheerfully. 

“Already studied a few lightsaber schematics, have you?” Huyang asked. 

“Maybe…” Anakin said, and Huyang rolled the grabbers on the ends of his arms cheerfully. 

“We’ll start you out with a metal base then, certainly, certainly,” Huyang said. “What are you thinking for the power regulator?” 

“Mid-strength,” Anakin said shyly. “I don’t think the higher-level ones will hold up as well with the light-weight metals I was looking at.” 

“Oh-ho ho!” Huyang said. “A padawan who knows what he wants. Finally!” he went to his sets of drawers and started throwing things around willy-nilly. Anakin ducked a flying piece of metal and turned around to give Obi-Wan an incredulous look. Obi-Wan’s mouth ticked up, but he offered no help. “This one?” Huyang asked, but then he turned back without waiting for a reply. “No!” Another piece thrown. 

Eventually, Huyang came forward with an exciting-looking tray of parts. He had Anakin approve each one, down to the smallest bolts. When Anakin suggested something different here or there, Huyang seemed more than pleased to switch it out for another. 

“That’s all you’ll be needing, then,” Huyang said. “Knight Kenobi, if you wouldn’t mind demonstrating a lightsaber in full use for our young Anakin?” 

“Of course,” Obi-Wan said, standing and placing his lightsaber down on the table for Anakin to examine. Then he gestured, and the lightsaber floated up from the table and started to slowly disassemble itself. 

Rotating in the air, it was easy to see why some people thought the lightsabers were mystical and sacred. Each piece pulled apart and slotted into each other, everything in its own space. Nothing was misplaced, and Obi-Wan seemed to know the inner workings of his lightsaber so well as he knew himself in the Force. The kyber crystal gleamed in the middle of all of it. 

Then the lightsaber put itself back together, and dropped gently into Obi-Wan’s hand. Working with his lightsaber like that had seemed as easy as breathing to Obi-Wan, as natural as tying his shoelaces or combing his hair. 

“Wow,” Anakin said. 

“That is traditionally the method a Jedi uses to put together their ‘saber,” Huyang said. “Connection between the weapon and the Jedi.”

“Anakin was hoping it could be adapted,” Obi-Wan said. “To use less of the Force, I mean.”

Huyang looked at Anakin. 

“I have trouble manipulating the Force like that,” Anakin said. This was not a lie, technically. He did have trouble with that, because he had trouble with all aspects of the Force. 

Huyang stood there and whirred for a moment, clearly thinking. “All right,” he said. “Let’s see what we can do.” 

Obi-Wan had been shuffled out. Huyang had set Anakin up at one of the workbenches. 

“Typically, a Jedi connects with their lightsaber through the Force,” Huyang told him. “They can feel the… hm, the resonance between the crystal and their own presences. This is what lets them fight as one with it. It is also what lets them assemble and disassemble their lightsaber. The harmony of the parts in the Force, each in their correct places, precisely as they need to be, make the lightsaber work.”

Anakin tried to hide his dismay. “So what?” he asked. “Does this mean I’m doomed?”

“Of course not!” Huyang said, sounding miffed. “I aim to ensure all of my students walk off my ship with a lightsaber that they can be proud of.” He clicked some of the appendages on his arms. “You will just have to get tricky with it, and be very, very smart.

Anakin looked at the gathered connection of parts. He couldn’t feel whatever it was in the Force that everyone else did, but he knew machines. Could read them like lines of code. “How do I do that?”

“To replicate that level of connection, I believe you will have to know your lightsaber inside and out,” Huyang said. “You should know each part, each movement, why everything goes where it goes. Eyes closed, backwards, blindfolded.” He tapped his chin. “You must know it so well that you can feel instinctively when there is even a slight variation within the saber, do you understand?” 

“Actually,” Anakin said, “I think I can do that.” 

He smiled, and it seemed to him Huyang was smiling back. 

“Huyang?” Anakin asked. “How come you’re helping me? Even though I’m not, um, like a normal Jedi.”

“Young padawan,” Huyang said. “I have been doing this for thousands and thousands of years. I think I can assure you, with some authority, that there is no such thing as a normal Jedi.”

Strangely, that really did make Anakin feel better. 

Huyang didn’t eat meals with them, of course, so Anakin ate alone with Obi-Wan in the mess hall. It was just nutrient cubes, at least until they could get back to Coruscant, but at the moment it was the most wonderful thing Anakin had ever eaten. 

He had had a much better day than he could have anticipated— the excitement on Ilum, and now his own lightsaber. It worked, and everything. Anakin had spent hours and hours just getting a feel for each of the components, clicking pieces into place and then taking it apart again. He was ravenous by now. 

He hoped that Qui-Gon would be proud when they got home. 

Obi-Wan had reacted with appropriate enthusiasm to the new lightsaber, which shone blue like Obi-Wan’s. The hilt gleamed almost the color of his own hand, from that strange future vision. But now the Knight looked thoughtful. 

“You know,” he said slowly, when they were done eating and he had brought out a pot of tea. “You don’t have to stay with the Jedi. There are other places you could go.” He looked at Anakin, surprised and caught mid-sip of tea. “Sometimes, when we try to shove ourselves into a box where we cannot fit, we hurt ourselves.”

Anakin bit back the instinctual refusal. The Jedi were always telling him to calm down, to think about it, to decide before he acted. 

“I don’t think I’m hurting myself,” he said slowly. “I think I’m just reshaping to fit the box.” He drank more of the tea. Obi-Wan didn’t seem overly pleased with this answer. “Besides,” Anakin said, “I don’t think I actually do have a choice. It’s not like I can go back to my mom. She’s still a slave.”

Obi-Wan’s mouth went round, like an o. “She’s a what?” 

Quinlan Vos was finishing up an extended undercover assignment on Tatooine, and was really looking forward to getting off the rock. The damned suns could fry a man’s tattoos off. Then he got the call from Obi-Wan Kenobi, of course, because the guy had the worst timing. 

“Sure,” Quinlan said anyway. He couldn’t ever say no to Kenobi. “I can find her for you. Shmi Skywalker, you said?”

Obi-Wan sighed. Even in miniature form in the holo, Quinlan could recognize the very specific Master-induced headache in him. “Apparently. Remind me to send Qui-Gon to Debriefing 101 again.” 

“As if that would ever work,” Quinlan said cheerfully. “Okey dokes. I’ll find your woman for you. Might kick up a little fuss, though.”

“No,” Obi-Wan said. “Do not, under any circumstances, kick up a fuss.” 

“What?” Quinlan asked, squinting at him and waving the holoprojector back and forth. “Oh no! I can’t hear you! Nooo!!” And then he hung up. 

“So,” said Obi-Wan, walking on Anakin assembling his lightsaber a final time. They were about an hour away from Coruscant. “My friend Quinlan kicked up a fuss.”

Anakin gave him a curious look. 

“I sent him to free your mother,” Obi-Wan admitted, looking a little guilty. Anakin shot up, wide-eyed. “It seems he…”

“What?” Anakin asked, worried. 

“He freed everyone in Mos Espa,” Obi-Wan said. “I think it was mostly an accident.”

“Qui-Gon told me Jedi don’t free slaves!” Anakin said. 

Obi-Wan frowned. “He was, as usual, generalizing. That’s beside the point— here.” He handed Anakin a small holoprojector. 

Waving at him from the other side was his mother. 

Anakin, immediately, burst into tears. 

Obi-Wan quickly and discreetly left the room. 

“My smart boy,” Shmi said, when they were done catching each other up. “You have done it.”

“I learned it from you,” Anakin said. 

“And they don’t suspect—”

“No,” Anakin said, deciding not to mention Obi-Wan at the moment. “They’re really nice, Mom. They say I can be a Jedi, if I want.” 

“I always wanted you to have a better life,” Shmi said, reaching out a hand as if she could touch him. “Oh, I am so proud of you. I love you.” 

“I love you too, Mom,” Anakin said. He discreetly wiped a tear. “What are you going to do now?” 

“Knight Vos offered to take me to Coruscant,” Shmi said. “Or anywhere. But I think I will stay here.”

Anakin’s eyebrows rose. “On Tatooine?” 

She smiled. “Is that so strange? This town may be free. But the rest of the planet is not.” 

“You’re really good at getting people to do what you want them to,” Anakin said skeptically, “But a whole planet?” 

“It might be a good challenge,” Shmi said, eyes sparkling. 

“The podracers are all pretty fast thinkers, and good on their feet,” Anakin told her. “A lot of them are enslaved. I bet if you needed people with you…”

“A very good idea,” Shmi said. “There is much to think about, and a lot of work to do.”

“There always is,” Anakin said. 

“It is worth it. Tatooine is where I can do the most good in this galaxy. I think I must stay here and see this through.” 

His mother, somehow, always knew the exact right thing to say. 

Obi-Wan looked over when Anakin joined him in the cockpit. “You know,” he said, “We can still divert the ship to Tatooine.” 

“I had it wrong before,” Anakin said. “I’m not squeezing to fit into the box. Sometimes when the box won’t fit us, we shape it into something that does. That’s why the galaxy invented tools, right?”

It was possible this metaphor was getting away from him. 

But Obi-Wan seemed to understand perfectly. “Right,” he said. 

“Very nice,” Qui-Gon said approvingly, deactivating Anakin’s lightsaber and turning back to him. He dropped it into Anakin’s hand. “A good balance.” 

The lightsaber had turned out blue, like Obi-Wan’s. It had a little bit of a greenish tint, though, and Anakin liked to think that was Qui-Gon’s influence. 

“I am sorry I couldn’t be there,” Qui-Gon said. 

“You can come next time,” Anakin said. “Huyang said I’ve got the look of someone who’s gonna lose a lot of sabers.”

Qui-Gon laughed. “I don’t think that’s a compliment.”

“Of course it is,” Anakin said. “It means I’m going to go on a bunch of really big adventures.”

“Of course,” Qui-Gon said. “My mistake.” 

Qui-Gon looked a lot healthier, and he had put back on some of the weight he’d lost when he was convalescing. While they had been gone Qui-Gon had apparently been able to walk the whole length of the hallway and back, and Master Che said that now it was only a matter of a few weeks until he could start doing pretty much everything but sparring. Obi-Wan had warned him he would try to spar anyway. Anakin was supposed to do anything possible to stop that. 

“You think when you get all better you can teach me how to lightsaber fight?” Anakin asked. 

“Of course,” Qui-Gon said. “Just… slowly.” 

Anakin fought very hard not to pout. That, it seemed, was how the Jedi did everything. 

Eventually, Qui-Gon was released from the Healer’s Halls. There was a small party to celebrate in the quarters that were now Anakin and Qui-Gon’s. When he first stepped inside, Qui-Gon had seemed almost surprised to find out Obi-Wan was no longer living there. Then he’d had to go take a nap, because apparently having most of your spine made out of metal kind of hurt. 

Obi-Wan did come over for the party itself. That was also where Anakin finally met Quinlan Vos, who he immediately found a hero and a role model in. For some reason, a lot of the other Masters at the party seemed dismayed by this. 

Everyone came over to congratulate Qui-Gon. “Welcome to the land of the cyborgs,” said a Master who’d been introduced as Tholme. Tholme tapped his own leg and gestured to what was clearly a prosthetic eye. “We all knew you’d be too stubborn to die.” 

“Not me,” Master Windu said. “My bets were always that you’d die of being stubborn.” 

Anakin had never really seen the Jedi relax like this— he stared, fascinated, until Aayla found him and brought him over to where a handful of other padawans and Initiates were gathered, playing sabacc. 

Anakin grinned when he saw the game they were playing. He had been sure the Force-sensitives would have a major advantage when it came to bluffing, but it turned out most of them relied really heavily on reading your emotions in the Force, and Anakin was unusually hard to read. Add that to his excellent face-reading skills, and Anakin neatly cleaned house almost every time. 

“What are we playing for?” he asked. 

“Not credits,” Obi-Wan said, breezing by and flicking Anakin on the ear. 

“Ow!” Anakin said, turning to watch Obi-Wan go. He hadn’t even broken stride. “How does he always know?” 

“You think you can get him to put in a good word with Master Vos?” Aayla asked. Obi-Wan and Quinlan were, indeed, talking now, and Quinlan appeared to be trying to get Obi-Wan to drink a glass of something bright green. 

“You’re sssstill trying to get him to take you as a padawan?” Nryk asked. 

“He’s gonna,” Aayla said. “It’s the will of the Force.” 

“That’s what Qui-Gon said about training me,” Anakin said, and Eera, another of their friends, started dealing cards. 

“Yeah, that’s ‘cause he thinks you’re the Chosen One or something,” said Ferrus Olin. 

A stab of guilt went through Anakin at that, and he scowled. “We gonna play?” 

“Sure,” Aayla said. “Let’s make the stakes…” She cast around the room and found a bowl full of candy— she took the whole thing and spilled it out in front of them. “Sweets.” 

“You’re on,” Anakin said. 

They played until late in the night, because the adults didn’t seem in any mood to stop either. Anakin had noticed that the ones who could touch the Force had kind of infectious emotions; when one was happy, the others could all feel it. Just from the atmosphere of the room, Anakin could guess that they were all relaxed and probably relieved; the Sith attack had scared them all more than they liked to think. 

Eventually those of them who had Masters shuffled them off to bed, though, and the rest of them, yawning, took their leave. 

Qui-Gon stumbled over only afterwards, looking slightly tipsy. “I thought you were in bed,” he said. 

Anakin had snuck a sip of the green drink Quinlan and Obi-Wan had left behind, and then immediately spat it back out, sputtering. He had spent the next few minutes desperately chugging fizzy drinks to get the taste out. 

“Nope,” Anakin said, taking a long sip. 

“It’s just that—” Qui-Gon said. But Anakin heard what he didn’t say. Obi-Wan probably always put himself to bed, right on time. He probably first brushed his teeth for precisely two minutes and washed behind his ears too. Anakin raised his eyebrows, daring him to finish. “Never mind. Off to bed, you.”

“Okay,” Anakin said, hopping down from his chair. He threw his can of Drink-Pop in the trash. “You should go to bed too, old man,” he said. “You have a Council meeting tomorrow.”

“What!” Qui-Gon said. 

“I think that’s why Master Billaba was trying to get you to do shots,” Anakin said. “I’m pretty sure she’s more evil than I thought.” 

“She is,” Qui-Gon said. Anakin waved, and went into his room. The door slid shut behind him. 

His classes turned out to be a lot less difficult than Anakin had feared. 

Sure, he still got nasty looks from his peers, and even some of the Masters, when he couldn’t seem to lift even the smallest object. They seemed unimpressed by his lack of the Force there. 

But he kept up in most everything else. 

He learned not to read the Force currents of a room but the social ones; the slight shifting of the atmosphere as people started to turn angry or frightened, the way that people would stand and talk and move when they had something to hide.  

Anakin did other things too. He learned how to make the plants grow, not with the Living Force but with proper soil and water and care. He sat through endless meditation classes, trying to learn how to clear his mind without touching the Force. He knew that when you couldn’t understand people with the Force, you needed to learn how to do it in other ways, so he took endless language classes and studied up on his own. 

His friends taught him all the secret passages, all the rites and inside jokes that he never learned as an Initiate. Master Qui-Gon recovered in leaps and bounds, still not yet up to full strength but healthy enough to bend over to water the flowers in his quarters, to take Anakin on walks around the Temple. 

Anakin spoke with his mom a lot, sometimes when Qui-Gon knew about it but often when he did not. 

Life in the Jedi Temple was actually… happy.  

Obi-Wan came to the door one day with a bag. 

“I’ve been assigned a mission,” he told Anakin, making tea for the both of them, seemingly having forgotten he didn’t live there any more. “I’m not sure how long I’ll be gone. A few weeks, at least.”

“Oh,” Anakin said, inexplicably disappointed. He’d gotten used to having Obi-Wan around. He was emotionally constipated, but not as much as Qui-Gon. He was also a reassuring presence. “Are you going to bring me a souvenir?”

Obi-Wan grinned and stroked his chin, where the beginnings of a scruffy beard were beginning to grow in. “I think I’m going to be too busy to go shopping.” 

Anakin took the tea Obi-Wan gave him. “How come they’re making you go?"

Obi-Wan smiled again. “They’re not making me do anything, Anakin. All Knights get sent out into the field alone to start out. It’s how we learn.”

Anakin slanted him a suspicious look. “Well then, how come you didn’t go earlier?” 

Obi-Wan shrugged. “We agreed I should wait until Qui-Gon awoke.” 

“Because they wanted you to, or because you yelled at them again?” Anakin asked, but he wasn’t given a suitable answer— the door slid open and Qui-Gon came through. 

“Hello,” he said, at seeing them together at the counter. He came over and Obi-Wan poured him a cup of tea. 

Qui-Gon spotted the bag on the floor. “Going somewhere?”

“Felucia,” Obi-Wan said. “Negotiation between a couple unions.” 

“When do you leave?”

“Less than an hour. Thought I’d come say goodbye first.” 

Qui-Gon clapped him on the shoulder. “Good luck, Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan tossed him a sly smile. “Why, Master, there’s no such thing.” 

“May the Force be with you, Obi-Wan,” Anakin said, and Obi-Wan looked genuinely touched.

He left not long after. 

The training salles were big and intimidating, but Qui-Gon had blocked off a whole room just for him and Anakin. He was finally, or at least mostly, cleared for sparring by the Healers. 

He still winced sometimes when he reached for something on a tall shelf or stood around for too long, but he seemed mostly good. Anakin, however, had the sneaking feeling he’d waited for Obi-Wan to go off-planet for this. 

“Step one;” Qui-Gon said, as Anakin picked up the staff and tried to get used to the balance. His lightsaber was nearly weightless on the blade except for a very subtle energy of some kind. This was different in a weird way. “Treat each weapon as if it can kill.”

Anakin rapped his knuckles on the weapon, listening to it thunk. “It can’t, though.” 

“Ah, but even the smallest creature can change the galaxy,” Qui-Gon said. “A small blaster can kill just as efficiently as a large one. A knife can kill as well as a lightsaber. Properly motivated, a civilian can kill better than a Jedi.”

Anakin spun the staff, slightly more impressed now. “You’re gonna teach me, then? I wanna do the flippy things you do.”

Qui-Gon grinned. “That’s going to have to wait, I’m afraid."

“Aw, don’t worry,” Anakin said. “You’re not that old. I’m sure you can still do it.”

Qui-Gon lightly swung for him with the staff, and Anakin dodged easily. “We’re not going to start with Ataru because we have to do the basics first, Ani.” 

“So no flippy things?”

“No flippy things yet,” Qui-Gon confirmed. He went a few paces away from Anakin, arm’s length, maybe, and demonstrated striking forward with the staff. 

It looked simple, but when Anakin tried to replicate it, he found his limbs unwieldy and the weapon stubborn, refusing to go where he told it. Master Qui-Gon’s movements had been precise and controlled, as if the staff going where he wanted it to was an inevitability, as if his hands were barely needed for the task at all. 

Anakin frowned. 

“Not so easy after all,” Qui-Gon said, demonstrating the kata for him once more, at a slower speed. 

Anakin watched him with an eagle eye, tracking each movement as carefully as possible. It was important when you were someone like Anakin to adapt and to learn very, very quickly. 

He tried it out again, a little less confidently but a little more successfully. Qui-Gon made an approving noise in the back of his throat, and helped Anakin position his hands on the staff, keeping it steadied out. 

He got the move, or at least mostly. Qui-Gon did not say, “Good.” He said, “Let’s try again.” 

Anakin practiced. Anakin practiced a lot. 

It was like what Huyang had told him. He couldn’t do this like the rest of the Jedi, use the Force to guide where his strikes needed to go or put extra power into his swings. Instead, he learned each of the moves inside and out. Like a lightsaber, he knew precisely what each curve of his finger would do, what the slightest movement of an elbow would do to his lightsaber forms. 

In a way, it was like what his mother had told him, too. Do what it takes to survive. Watch. 

Learn, in your heart, how each thing with moving parts works. Then learn how to work them. 

It was Anakin’s first-ever mission. 

Anakin was trying not to bounce from excitement, attempting to take in every single detail. 

The Minister of Plaxis didn’t seem to notice Anakin’s laser-focused attention, anyway— he was pretty focused on sucking up to Qui-Gon. 

“We’re honored to have you here, Master Jedi, most honored,” he said. “I’m sure you can sort out this whole embarrassing matter in no time.” 

“We shall see,” Qui-Gon said, suitably mysterious. Anakin tried to adopt an expression to match. 

Anakin had read and reread the mission briefing. He didn’t particularly care for that kind of boring minutiae— action was most definitely where the interesting stuff was at— but of course he needed every advantage he could get, like always. 

They still weren’t getting the most exciting missions ever, because Anakin was new and Qui-Gon had barely gotten off of medical leave. But from what Anakin heard about missions from the other padawans, even the simplest— or maybe especially the simplest— assignments could go crazy at any moment. This one was supposed to be pretty easy; they had been called in to figure out who had been sabotaging the factory lines in their biggest manufacturing plant. Apparently it was messing up the supply chain, causing shortages and stuff all over. 

“We can take you straight to the plant, if it pleases you,” said Minister Briup. “You can take a look at our operations.” 

They agreed, and Briup hailed a shuttle for them, which they boarded to fly high above the city. 

It was pretty. Lots of mountains and snowy peaks. The actual city itself was located in the valleys, nestled up in the protection of the rock. The factories, noisy, smelly things by Anakin’s experience, were the furthest away you could get from where the people lived. 

Anakin pressed his nose to the window. He had never been much of anywhere besides Tatooine, Naboo, Illum, and Coruscant. It was endlessly fascinating to him how much the scenery could change from just a quick jump in hyperspace. 

“Remember to observe carefully, padawan,” Qui-Gon told him in a murmur, joining him at the window and putting a hand on his shoulder. “Watch me, watch the Plaxian government, and watch the people. It’s the first step to learning.”

“Of course, Master,” Anakin said, because that was what he always did anyway. 

“We’re almost there,” the Minister said, clearing his throat. “I hope you can clear this issue up quickly, Master Jedi. This is harming our planet. Whatever insurgents or whoever is doing this must be dealt with.”

“That is the plan,” Qui-Gon said mildly, and the ship bumped gently up against one of the factory’s docks. “You said that the sabotage has been happening irregularly?” 

“Yes,” Briup said. “Day and night, unpredictable areas. It’s making him very hard to catch.”

“It means there may be more than one,” Qui-Gon said. 

Briup paused, confused. 

“There’s not just one worker sabotaging when they happen to be there,” Anakin explained. “If the attacks are on different shifts, that means there’s a different person doing at least some of them, or it’s not a worker at all.” 

Qui-Gon gave Anakin an approving look. 

“Most troubling,” Briup murmured, still talking to Qui-Gon. 

The doors slid open and they stepped out. It was pretty cold out, making Anakin wrap his new robes around himself and the little braid behind his ear sway with the breeze. 

There was the sharp smell of metals when they stepped outside. The plant manufactured circuitry, which went in everything from droids to holopads to children’s toys. Trading their circuit boards accounted for most of the economy on this planet. 

The factory foreman met them at the door and gave them a swift tour of her factory. 

She seemed surly at the fact that they were there at all, brusque as they walked through the floor. It was an interesting place, about half droid workers and half sentients, constantly at work like paltanxs in a hive. She took them to the machines that had been sabotaged. 

Two of them had already been repaired. “Got to keep moving,” grunted the foreman. “Can’t afford to keep the machines down, or else we won’t meet quota.”

“But one was unfixable?” Qui-Gon asked, and she nodded. “Take us there.” 

The machine in question was one of the huge scrap sorters, where scrap metal went down the conveyor belt and droids or automatic arms took them apart. 

“Something got in the works,” the foreman said. “Wouldn’t come out.” 

“Can I check it out?” Anakin asked. 

The foreman glanced down at him, surprised. “It’s not a place for a kid.” 

“I’m not a kid. I’m a Jedi!” 

Qui-Gon grinned. “Be careful,” he said, and boosted Anakin up so he could reach the top of the machine. 

Anakin carefully checked to make sure all the power running to it was disconnected, then cautiously poked around the broken conveyor. It was all ground-up, like something big and metal had gone through when it wasn’t supposed to. 

“Are you sure it was sabotage?” Anakin called down, his voice echoing. 

Briup was annoyed. “Of course it was,” he said. “This is not the first machine this has happened to.” 

“What are you seeing, Ani?” Qui-Gon asked. 

Anakin poked his head back out, covered in grease, and Qui-Gon lifted him back down to the ground. “Looks like a big piece of the plating came loose and fell in,” he said. “It’s why you couldn’t get the machine back up, because the plating was kinda important too.” 

Briup frowned deeply. “The saboteur knows what they’re doing,” he said. “This is costing us a lot of profit. Can’t you Jedi figure anything else out?” 

Anakin bristled, but Qui-Gon folded his arms inside his robe serenely, looking unbothered. 

“The Force often does not move at the pace we like, but it does move,” he said. “We’ll continue fact-gathering here. May we see the rest of the factory?” 

The foreman sighed. “Right this way.” 

They didn’t find anything new at the factory, and the security footage was pretty useless. Most of the sabotaged machinery wasn’t covered by the cameras, and either no one had seen what had happened or they were pretending not to. 

Anakin and Qui-Gon went to their accommodations in town, rooms the Plaxis government had provided for them. There weren’t the nicest rooms ever, dull but at least clean.

Anakin huffed as he flopped onto the bed across from Qui-Gon’s. 

Qui-Gon smiled, tossing his small rucksack on the bed. “Not as exciting as you were hoping?”

“We spent most of the day wandering around a factory, then the rest of it going through employee files,” he complained. “Where’s the action?”

“You’ll not find yourself so eager for action once you finally encounter it,” Qui-Gon said. “You may someday find yourself actually relishing the quiet moments.” 

“Sure,” Anakin said, though he very much doubted it. 

He pulled out his datapad and began to scroll through it, bored, as Qui-Gon began to unpack his things. Anakin didn’t bother; hopefully they wouldn’t be on this planet long enough for it to matter, and he’d rather be ready to go when he needed to.

He had a few messages from his friends in the Temple, and an extremely quick update from Obi-Wan, who seemed to be having a lot more adventure on Felucia than Anakin was here. Anakin grinned and responded to the text comms, pointedly ignoring the mission report and his few outstanding assignments. 

There was a huff from the other side of the room after a while. 

Qui-Gon rifled through his bag, looking increasingly frustrated. Finally, he gave up with a sigh. “I seem to have forgotten to pack extra socks,” he said. “Anakin, can I borrow a pair of yours?”

“I’m ten, Master,” Anakin said. 

“Oh,” Qui-Gon said, looking down at his own, bare, feet, then to Anakin’s much smaller ones. “Right. I suppose I got used to borrowing off of Obi-Wan.”

“Obi-Wan also has smaller feet than you,” Anakin said, swiping through his datapad as he balanced it over his face. 

Qui-Gon’s nose scrunched in confusion. “I’m sure he doesn’t,” he said. “I’ve borrowed from him many times.”

“What I think happened here is you forgot your socks so many times Obi-Wan started carrying your extra pair,” Anakin said. “That’s kind of pathetic for you, if you think about it.” 

“Oh,” Qui-Gon said. “Ah.” 

Anakin lowered the datapad at last. “Hey, you want me to run down to get you some? I saw a store on the corner as we were coming in here.”

Qui-Gon gave him a suspicious look, wary at Anakin’s sudden extreme helpfulness. 

Anakin had been told many times that he was very hard to read in the Force, so he didn’t bother masking his actual intentions, just made his face innocent and guileless. He had, indeed, seen a shop that sold all sorts of odds and ends like socks and spare toothbrushes, but he’d also spotted several interesting-looking model ships in there. 

“Yes, all right,” Qui-Gon said. “Hurry back.” 

Anakin gave him a sunny smile, and no promises. 

Anakin, cheerfully, took in the sights as he walked. Really he was just keeping an eye on the people, like Qui-Gon had told him to. A little exploring could only help the mission. 

It was a very pretty planet, though Anakin noticed that there wasn’t a lot to do. There was a bar and a coffee shop, and of course the little convenience store Anakin was heading to. 

But other than that people weren’t just wandering around shopping for no reason, no holo-game arcades or even a lot of other restaurants. So, what, the people here didn’t like to have fun? Or maybe they weren’t allowed to. 

A little unnerved, and resolved to actually listen to Qui-Gon for once, Anakin hurried to duck into the shop. 

It was nice inside, at least, some kind of a general store, holding all sorts of odds and ends as well as assorted groceries. There was a Plaxian employee sitting boredly behind the counter, chin propped up on his fist. 

He gave Anakin a friendly smile, but otherwise let him do as he pleased. 

Anakin wandered, first finding a pair of socks for Qui-Gon— bright pink and patterned with tookas— then looking for anything else interesting. The model starships which had caught his eye as he was walking past proved to be just as interesting close up. 

He stood on his toes to look at them, careful not to touch. 

They were pretty wizard— even a Nubian starfighter— but Anakin could already see a bunch of ways he could improve them. Maybe improve their self-propelling mechanisms to the point where they could float around for a while longer. 

“Thinking of getting one?” asked the shopkeep, suddenly behind. 

Anakin jumped, but recovered his cool quickly. “No, my— dad would kill me.”  

The man grinned. “Well, you’re welcome to look as long as you like.” 

“Thanks,” Anakin said, then, on a whim, “Where are all the customers?” 

“Working,” the shopkeeper said. “And/or too poor to afford things. Are you new here?” 

Anakin knew well how to blend in with new people. He’d gotten practice at the Temple, of course, but mostly on Tatooine. Life there was very transitory, especially for slaves, and Anakin had taken to making new friends quickly, lest they be sold away before they could get to know each other. 

“My dad got a job at the factories,” Anakin improvised, and the man’s face did something interesting. 

“Ah,” he said. “Well… new workers there will never go amiss.” 

“Is it bad?” Anakin asked. 

“No, no!” the shopkeeper hurried to say. “The work is just hard. Tough for a man with a kid.” 

“How tough?” Anakin asked suspiciously. 

“I brought socks!” Anakin announced, bursting into their rooms. “I also figured out the mission.” 

Qui-Gon looked like he had been about to fall asleep; he squinted at Anakin. “I can’t leave you alone for five seconds,” he said, which was rude but fair. 

They gathered the next day at the factory. 

Anakin had seen a holodrama once which suggested that he should have kept his theories to himself and then only revealed them dramatically at the factory itself, possibly standing on a balcony above the workers or something. Instead Qui-Gon made him tell him the reasoning behind his ideas, and then they’d dug around for further concrete evidence, a boring practice which apparently was a Jedi staple. 

Either way, Qui-Gon had agreed in the end that he was right, and Minister Briup and the foreman and a few other workers gathered around in one of the factory offices. 

“You’ve found the traitor,” Briup said eagerly, upon seeing Qui-Gon. 

“Actually, no,” Qui-Gon said, with that serene look on his face that Obi-Wan called insufferable and which Anakin hoped to be able to replicate someday. “My padawan figured out this particular mystery, actually.” 

“The boy,” Briup said, confused and a little condescending. 

“Yup!” Anakin said. 

“All right,” Briup said slowly. “Then who’s sabotaging the works?” 

“No one,” Anakin said. 

Briup scoffed and scowled, but the foreman appeared interested, and several of the employees were watching closely now too. “Someone has been sabotaging our products, making us go behind on the quotas—” Briup said. 

“Nope,” Anakin said. “You’re working the machines too long every day. They’re just wearing down.” 

Briup looked really mad now. 

“We checked your work schedules,” Qui-Gon said. “Your employees have been working illegal unpaid overtime for more than a year now.”

“And a guy in town told me that the workers here never ever get breaks, or else they get fired,” Anakin added. “Excuses made up so that they don’t have to get paid severance, and sometimes they get into trouble if they raise a fuss.”

“All of which, of course, the Republic will be concerned about,” Qui-Gon said. “You’re running your machines far over the allotted time, which makes it unsafe to even operate many of them. Your employees, I’m sure, will have even more complaints for the formal inquest.” 

Briup had started to seem as a man who wanted very much to run away. “This is not what we called you for.” 

“No,” Qui-Gon said. “But it is what we have been called to. And regardless, once the truth has been found, it cannot be reversed.” 

“And besides, we figured you out, so there!” Anakin added. 

Qui-Gon looked exasperated, but he sounded fond. “Indeed.” 

The workers there were grateful for the Jedi’s help. The foreman agreed to take over the factory for the time being, and she promised to give them even more evidence of Briup and other corporate interests’ wrongdoing on the planet. 

They were, now unimpeded by the government on their planet, forming a union. Anakin anticipated another incredibly boring mission in a few months when the Senate decided it would be a good idea to send someone to check up on the aftermath. 

Being a Jedi was so far not exciting. Anakin hadn’t even gotten to stab anyone with his laser sword. 

But, in the end, Anakin had to admit it was kind of fun. 

In the shuttle going home, Anakin craned his neck up to grin at Qui-Gon. 

Qui-Gon huffed, a very bare smile playing at his mouth. He put his hand on Anakin’s head and used it to turn his gaze back towards the viewscreen. “Don’t get too cocky, padawan,” he said. 

Anakin failed the practical test in his Mastery of the Force class. Anakin hated Mastery of the Force. It seemed like all they ever did was work on pushing blocks or balls or feathers or whatever back and forth, letting all the other kids learn refinement of their powers. Mostly, Anakin sat around and watched or read books. 

Qui-Gon had told him lots of times that he could catch up with the others in the class, that his humble beginnings shouldn’t stop him. 

Obviously, Anakin failed him again. 

Straight after the class session, Anakin went to Obi-Wan’s little Knight apartment. 

Obi-Wan answered the door already frowning. “What’s the matter, Anakin?” he asked, brows furrowed with concern. 

Anakin chewed on his lip, trying not to cry. “Nothing,” he said. 

Obi-Wan opened his mouth, then closed it again abruptly. “Why don’t you come in?” he said. “I’ll make you some tea.”

Gratefully, Anakin ducked in the door under his arm. “I don’t really like tea that much,” he said. 

“Hot chocolate, then,” Obi-Wan said, using the Force to wave the door shut and ushering Anakin further into his apartment. “I think I still have some.” 

Anakin, much cheered by the prospect, hopped up to sit on the counter, which made Obi-Wan sigh at him. Anakin gave him a cheery look. 

But Obi-Wan made the hot chocolate anyway— on the stove, all fancy-like, because that was who he was, and told Anakin to get the mugs out of the cabinet behind him. 

Anakin sat on the counter for a while, swinging his feet and watching Obi-Wan wince at each bang of his heels against the lower cabinet. Obi-Wan leaned on the counter, drinking his own hot chocolate, apparently in no particular hurry. 

Anakin swirled his drink around in his cup and the words burst out of his mouth. “I failed my push-pull test,” he blurted. “Really bad.” 

Obi-Wan took a sip out of his own cup, watching Anakin. “It’s not the end of the world,” he said. 

He felt the tears coming again. “Master Qui-Gon’s going to be mad,” he said. 

“No he isn’t.”

“He’s going to be disappointed,” Anakin said. “He thinks I can do better.” 

“You can do what you can do, Anakin,” Obi-Wan said. “You mustn’t get discouraged.” 

“Well, that’s easy for you to say!” Anakin said. “You can do this. I can’t. I tried really, really hard. I even measured the force of Kirsha’s push-pull exertions, to see if we could quantify the levels of the Force being used, you know? I thought maybe that could count. But Master Puk didn’t care. Then she said I was disrupting the class, and if I couldn’t do it, I had to leave.” 

“So you left,” Obi-Wan said, pouring him more hot chocolate. 

“So I left,” Anakin said, scrubbing frustratedly at his eyes. “It’s not fair.”

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow. “Who ever said it would be?” 

Anakin scowled darkly at him. 

“You chose this, Anakin,” Obi-Wan reminded him, in that annoyingly gentle way he had. “It was always going to be difficult.” 

“It shouldn’t be,” Anakin said. “I have to work three times as hard, five times as hard, just to be half as good as everyone else. I’m not like them. No matter how hard I try.” 

“It’ll get easier, Anakin,” Obi-Wan said. 

“I’m not Force-sensitive!” Anakin cried out, angry and sad again. He didn’t normally admit that. “I never, ever will be.” He kicked his feet harder against the cabinets. “I’m so dumb compared to everyone here. I’m useless. I’m as Force-sensitive as a tree. Or a rock.”

Obi-Wan laughed. 

Anakin glared, kind of pulled out of the sulking by indignance. 

“Oh dear, sorry, sorry,” Obi-Wan said. “I’m not laughing at you, I promise. Wait here a moment.” 

He ducked out, and Anakin, curious despite himself now, scrubbed off a lingering tear and craned his neck to look where Obi-Wan had gone. He finished his hot chocolate, then swiped Obi-Wan’s mug too. 

He was drinking the dregs when Obi-Wan reappeared, and held out his hand, obviously expecting Anakin to do the same. 

He did, and Obi-Wan dropped something round and smooth into it. 

Anakin looked down at it, then back up at Obi-Wan. “It’s a rock,” he said, unimpressed. 

“It is indeed,” Obi-Wan said. 

Anakin picked it up and turned it over, looking at it in the light, trying to find the trick. “It’s kind of warm…” he said doubtfully. 

“It’s Force-sensitive,” Obi-Wan said. 

“Oh,” Anakin said. “Awesome. So I’m not as Force-sensitive as a rock, I am, literally, less Force-sensitive than, again, an actual rock.” 

Obi-Wan chuckled. “That’s not actually the lesson I meant for you to take away,” he said, and he reached forward and closed Anakin’s fingers around the stone. “Master Qui-Gon gave that to me. I want you to see that small things have big potential. That the Force runs through everything, Anakin, rock and tree and river and small, bratty little blond boys.” 

“Hey,” Anakin said, halfhearted. 

“It’s what holds this galaxy together,” Obi-Wan said. “Whether we can see it or not.” He withdrew his hand, leaving Anakin with the rock. 

Anakin examined it, feeling a little better, despite the way that Obi-Wan’s attempts at showing emotion were always awkward at best and painful at worst. 

“Keep it,” Obi-Wan said, when Anakin looked up at him questioningly. 

“I couldn’t—”

“Go ahead,” Obi-Wan said. He poured Anakin the last of the hot chocolate, but Anakin didn’t take the cup yet. 

“Is Master Qui-Gon going to be mad at me?” he asked again, turning the stone around and around in his fingers. 

“Why would you think that?”

Anakin shrugged. 

“There is nothing to be ashamed of,” Obi-Wan said. He sighed. “Why don’t you spend the night here? You know my couch is always open.” 

“Really?” Anakin asked hopefully. 

“You know where the blankets are.” 

When Anakin awoke the next morning, Obi-Wan was gone, but there was a protein bar, a cup of muja juice, and an orange on the counter. Anakin rolled his eyes but took all three, then folded up the blanket and put it on the back of his couch. 

He checked the chrono— not long until his first class of the day.

He sighed, but resigned himself to go. He’d need the textbook, which he had on a holopad back in his and Master Qui-Gon’s quarters. 

He trudged there, still gnawing on his breakfast. At this time, the Temple was starting to come to life, the diurnal species beginning to wake up and go about their businesses for the day. But he knew Qui-Gon would still be asleep— he didn’t have any meetings or anything today, and it took nothing short of a miracle to wake his Master up at an early hours when he had the day off. 

Or at least he had thought Qui-Gon would be asleep. But as Anakin approached their apartments, he heard arguing, muffled through the door. 

Anakin paused, different instincts warring through him. On one hand, getting involved in peoples’ business could be dangerous, and often meant that the ire would turn on him, instead. But on the other, this was the Temple, not Tatooine, and Anakin liked Qui-Gon. 

He compromised, darting forward and pressing his ear to the door but not going through it just yet. 

Then his eyebrows flew up. Qui-Gon was being yelled at, by Obi-Wan, and it did not sound like he was winning. 

“You need to be easier on him,” Obi-Wan was saying, in a stern tone Anakin had rarely heard from him before. “You’re pushing him too hard.”

Qui-Gon snorted. “Anakin is my padawan, Obi-Wan, not yours.”

“Indeed,” Obi-Wan said, supremely stuffy. Anakin winced. Where other people got less coherent the angrier they were, Obi-Wan elevated into talking like he was having a nice chat with the Supreme Chancellor. “Which is why I have an outside perspective.”

“He can handle it.” 

“Not if he’s crushed by the weight of your expectations,” Obi-Wan said. “Anakin is a bright boy. He really is. But he is not the Chosen One, and you need to stop treating him like he is.” 

“He is,” Qui-Gon insisted stubbornly. “Just because you don’t like Anakin—”

“Stop it,” Obi-Wan said. “I care for Anakin very much, you know that. He is dear to me. I can see what you’re doing to him. He worries every moment that you might cast him away if he isn’t perfect. It’s not good for him.” 

“I know what I’m doing,” Qui-Gon said. It sounded like now he was kind of arguing for the sake of it, caught up in the spat. “He’s mine to train.”  

“Remind me, Master,” Obi-Wan hissed acerbically. “How many functional padawans have you raised to Knighthood?” 

There was a thick, wounded silence. 

“I should think you turned out pretty well, Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon said, fight gone from him. 

“I did not,” Obi-Wan said. “But thank you.” 

“Anakin is very capable,” Qui-Gon said softly. 

“I know that, and you know that,” Obi-Wan said. “Does he?”

“Yes?” said Qui-Gon, sounding unsure. 

“Does he?” Obi-Wan said. “Anakin is not the Chosen One. You must stop pinning your hopes and dreams on him. If he was the Chosen One, what do you think trying to live up to that would do to him? What do you think being expected to be the very best Jedi alive would do to a man?” 

Anakin pressed a hand over his mouth. 

“I’m sorry,” Qui-Gon said, after a long period of quiet. 

“Not to me,” Obi-Wan said. “I’m sure even you can pluck up enough social skills to help your very young padawan.” 

Qui-Gon laughed. 

Anakin backed away from the door. He’d share a textbook with Nryk today. 

It turned out that Anakin didn’t get home until late that night, a study session gone over. 

He came in, rock in his pocket, hoping that Qui-Gon wasn’t too upset by Obi-Wan’s scolding, but it turned out that his Master wasn’t even home. Anakin shrugged and went to the kitchen to make something for dinner. 

He was eating a sliced bagel smothered in meiloorun jam and scarbnut butter when Qui-Gon came in, looking tired and smelling like the incense from Master Yoda’s quarters. He looked like his prosthetic back was hurting him a little again. 

“Hi!” Anakin said, muffled around his food. “You want some? We still got some bagels.” 

“This is a monstrosity,” Qui-Gon said, leaning over Anakin’s shoulder to get a look at Anakin’s nutritious meal. 

Anakin pointed to their nanowave, where another bagel was waiting for Qui-Gon. Qui-Gon used the Force to press the button to heat the bagel, then sat down at the kitchen table next to Anakin. He turned to Anakin and pressed a warm, heavy hand to the top of his head. 

“You know I’m proud of you,” Qui-Gon said. 

“Yeah?” Anakin asked hopefully. 

“Yeah,” Qui-Gon said. “It seems I should have said this earlier. I’m sorry.” 

“That’s okay,” Anakin said. 

The nanowave dinged. 

“Come on,” Qui-Gon said. “I have some softmallows socked away somewhere. Let’s see if we can make this dinner even worse than it already is.” 

Anakin grinned, and went with him. 

They got sent out on another mission, and this time Obi-Wan was there to see them off. 

“Try not to get into any trouble, will you?” Obi-Wan said. 

“Only if you do,” Qui-Gon said. 

Obi-Wan laughed. 

“All right, all right, can we go already?” Anakin asked. 

The mission was fun. Anakin liked going on Jedi assignments a lot. They were like the adventures in the stories his mother used to tell him. They got to help people, too, people who needed it. 

Anakin managed to sneak off during a particularly important part of the negotiations, climb into an air vent, and overhear a grand conspiracy to take out the whole government at one time. He also managed to learn how to reprogram bombs within a minute of them being set to blow, which was great fun. 

“Do you think that perhaps you could restrain from giving me something to worry about for at least a couple minutes each day?” Qui-Gon asked, wiping dust from Anakin’s face with the hem of his cloak. 

“Not really,” Anakin said. “I can’t help the way that I am!” 

“This is true,” Qui-Gon said, and ruffled his hair. 

It wasn’t until the whole mission was over and they were on the way back home that Anakin got a comm message from Obi-Wan. 

“Obi-Wan says he has some friends we should visit while we’re in the system,” Anakin said, plopping down next to Qui-Gon in the pilot’s seat and letting him read the message. 

Qui-Gon frowned. “It’s out of the way.”

Anakin shook his head. “I checked,” he said. “Less than an hour off our flightpath. I guess that’s why he suggested it. He keeps track of us while we’re out on missions, I think.” 

Qui-Gon sighed. 

“Please?” 

“All right, all right,” Qui-Gon grumbled. “How come it’s like pulling teeth when I try to get you to do something, but Obi-Wan’s word is law?” 

“Because,” said Anakin cheerfully, “I don’t have to listen to Obi-Wan.”

Jedha reminded Anakin unpleasantly of Tatooine, with its sandy deserts and huge rock formations. But there was something subtly different about it, a colder air that whipped at the lungs, a slightly different gravitational pull. 

The markets were interesting, full of cloths and foods and jewelry. The Holy City was a popular pilgrimage destination, so it wasn’t strange for the locals to see new people about, even still dressed in their Jedi clothes. 

The path to the Temple was lined with flowers, so that visitors might more easily find their way. 

Anakin and Qui-Gon shed their hoods at the entrance to the Temple, and the red-sashed guard beamed at them and welcomed them inside. “You’re expected, Esteemed Jedi,” they said. “You’ll be attended to in a moment.”

They were left in a big hall that looked nothing like the Jedi Temple, a huge vaulted ceiling with little art or mosaics, mostly just openings that let the sun in and played in interesting patterns. 

“I never heard of the Whills before,” Anakin said. 

“They’re a bit… eclectic,” Qui-Gon said. “Many of the Jedi would have you believe they’re heretics.”

Anakin scrunched his nose. “Are they?”

Qui-Gon laughed. “No. Not in my opinion, at least— you may form our own conclusions.” 

They were interrupted by two sets of footsteps; one heavy, and one accompanied by someone with a cane or a walking stick. 

Suddenly exceedingly curious as to what a friend of Obi-Wan might look like, Anakin twisted his head quickly to look at the newcomers. 

A strange pair, to be sure; a giant man with long hair, and the man with the walking stick, who must have been blind. They were both wearing black and red kasaya, flashes of bright color under the darkness of their clothes. Anakin guessed they were barely younger than Obi-Wan, obviously lower-ranked at this Temple. 

The smaller one, the blind one, flashed a brilliant smile also when they approached. 

“Hello there!” he said. “You must be Master Jinn—” he bowed lightly to Anakin— “And little Anakin.” Here he nodded at Qui-Gon. 

Anakin choked on a giggle, and the broader man elbowed his friend in the side. 

“He is joking with you,” he said, longsufferingly. “I am sorry. He’s insufferable.” 

“Well, how am I supposed to know who is who?” the other said, and turned back to Anakin and Qui-Gon cheerfully. “I am Chirrut Îmwe, and the killer of fun over here is Baze Malbus. You are welcome to the Temple of Jedha.”

“Thank you for having us,” Qui-Gon said, and he and Anakin both bowed. 

“Think not of it!” Chirrut said. “Any friend of Obi-Wan’s is a friend of ours.” 

“Obi-Wan is insufferable too,” Baze said, folding his arms, and Qui-Gon finally smiled. 

“He’s so mean to me, do you see this?” Chirrut asked. “I understand that you have some interest in prophetical texts, Master Jinn.”

Qui-Gon perked up, and Anakin almost groaned aloud. He could foresee a lot of dusty, boring reading ahead. “I have made a study of it, yes,” Qui-Gon said. 

“You must see our library, then!” Chirrut said. “My friend Baze here will take the little one while I show you the way.” 

Qui-Gon frowned. 

“Obi-Wan said he would like to watch some of our techniques,” Baze said. “We will take good care of him.” 

Qui-Gon looked to Anakin, raising an eyebrow. “Well?”

“Please?” Anakin said. 

“Very well,” Qui-Gon said. He looked to the Guardian. “Don’t let him at your cleaning robots. I learned that the hard way.” 

Anakin grinned, and set off in one direction with Baze while Chirrut and Qui-Gon went off in another. 

Baze was big and intimidating, but only in size— up close, he wasn’t actually that scary at all. He noticed Anakin looking up at him, and Anakin looked away quickly. There was a deep rumbling sound, and it took Anakin a moment to realize it was a laugh. 

“Ni hao, little brother,” Baze said. 

“Nin hao, Master Malbus,” Anakin said shyly. 

Baze laughed again, not as open as his friend Chirrut, but nice to listen to all the same. “I am not a Master,” he said. “Call me Guardian if you must, but Baze will work just as well.” 

“I’m Anakin.”

“Come, Anakin,” Baze said. “I will show you our gardens. They are very beautiful.” 

The gardens were, indeed, very lovely. 

They were different from the ones back home in the Temple— for one, these were actually outdoors, not like the Room of A Thousand Fountains’ huge greenhouse. For two, a lot of the plants here looked like they were being grown for food, not prettiness. There were rock gardens off to the side too, intricate patterns and shapes. 

Baze saw Anakin looking. “We grow the food for the Temple and for large parts of the Holy City,” he said. “Medicinal plants, too. Sometimes dyes, for our cloth.” He indicated the red sash on his waistband. 

“Wizard,” Anakin said. “We don’t have the space to do that on Coruscant.” 

“I cannot imagine living in a city so crowded,” Baze confided to him quietly. 

“It takes some getting used to,” Anakin said. They passed through the garden and into a circular arena-type thing in the center of it, made out of a soft-looking red sand. 

“This is often where we train,” Baze said. There was a section of weapons on a rack off to the side, wooden staffs like in the training salles back at home, and different exciting-looking ones. “When there’s good weather, anyway.” 

“You don’t fight with lightsabers?” Anakin asked. 

“No. The kyber tells us what it wants us to make of it. Sometimes weapons. Sometimes not.” 

“You’re Force-sensitive?” 

“No. Not really,” Baze said. “I cannot manipulate the Force. I can… hear it. Sense it sometimes, like a soft and quiet music. Chirrut is much better at listening to it, working with it.” 

“He flatters,” Chirrut said, coming up beside them and whacking for Baze’s shins with his staff. Baze didn’t need to look as he moved one step to the right and missed being hit by centimeters. “I ditched your Master in the library,” Chirrut said. 

“Lucky,” Anakin said. “I never get to escape helping out with the research.”

“Lucky for me I have a very good excuse,” Chirrut said, gesturing to his eyes and giving another mischievous grin. Anakin smiled back automatically in response. Baze did too, though he huffed and tried to hide it. 

“Lazy,” Baze pronounced him. “And also, distracting us. We are supposed to be training.” 

“Don’t let me stop you,” said Chirrut. He sat on one of the benches scattered around, cane between the spread of his legs. “I’ll just watch.”

Anakin stifled another giggle. 

Baze rolled his eyes, but guided Anakin gently into the center of the ring. 

“Obi-Wan says you are very talented,” called Chirrut from the sidelines. 

“Oh,” Anakin blushed, “I don’t know about that.” 

“Often what is clear from far away is not so clear close up,” Chirrut mused philosophically. 

“That makes no sense,” Baze said, and gave Anakin a staff like the ones they used for basic training back in the Temple. 

“Maybe not to you,” Chirrut sulked. “I think more spiritually than you, Baze Malbus. I am a deep thinker. You ever seen a zen garden from the top of a roof?”

“I will push you off the roof,” Baze said. “Hush.” He turned to Anakin, who watched attentively. “Several of the Whills have no connection with the Force. Many of our Guardians cannot touch the Force at all.” He pulled his long hair back into a ponytail, and tied it with a strip of cord. “Though, of course, the Force touches us all, whether we can feel it or not.” 

“So you know how to fight without the Force,” Anakin said. 

“Of course,” Baze said. “Shall we begin?” 

Baze was a good teacher. So was Chirrut, who called suggestions from the sidelines, his head tilted to listen to their fight. 

They showed him how to predict what an opponent would do next, not through any prescience or magic, but by watching the way they moved their weight, by listening to the creaks of their weapon. 

The Whills had a pretty interesting fighting style. Anakin liked it— even though Baze was huge, he fought like someone much smaller and lighter on his feet. It was hard to believe he didn’t use the Force to move, he was so fast and so good. 

Anakin, obviously, was never going to be able to win, not at his size and not without his lightsaber, but Baze let him keep going for a little while before he swiped his staff and knocked Anakin’s stick out of his hand. 

“Very good,” he said. 

“Very good!” Chirrut echoed. “You are a natural.” 

Anakin blushed again. He tucked these new moves away into his head, remembering how each one went and what they were supposed to accomplish. Unlike most of the stuff he learned at the Temple, this fighting style had been designed for people exactly like him, and that was pretty useful. 

Eventually, Baze determined that they should take a rest. 

Chirrut handed Anakin a canteen of water, and patted him on the head. “I don’t suppose you want to spar me now?” Chirrut asked Baze hopefully, looking slightly over his friend’s shoulder but conveying the sad tooka eyes very well anyway. 

“No,” Baze said. “You are supposed to be working a shift in the kitchens, and you are going to be late.” 

“How do you know my schedule when I don’t even know my schedule?” Chirrut asked.  

Baze scoffed. 

Chirrut smiled, and stood, leaning on his stick. “All right,” he said. “Learning to make dumplings is at least as important as learning to fight. Care to come, Anakin?” 

“Sure,” Anakin said. 

In the kitchens— Baze followed— several round-faced Guardians pinched Anakin’s cheeks and tugged at Chirrut’s ears for being late. 

“I was showing around our guest!” Chirrut laughed, ducking them. “I simply did not wish to be rude.”

The head cook harrumphed, but she let them go, fluttering her hands. 

Chirrut led them over to one of the counters, and Baze lifted Anakin up so he could sit on it. 

“You know how to make dumplings?” Baze asked. 

“Nuh-uh,” Anakin said, shaking his head. 

“A day where you can learn something is always a good day,” Baze said, and gave Anakin a bowl of flour. 

Together he and Chirrut showed Anakin how to mix together the flour and water with his hands, how to make the dumpling skins and then fill them from the bowls someone else in the kitchen gave them— spicy-smelling and full of vegetables. 

Anakin stuck his tongue out in concentration, carefully wetting the corners of the dumpling with his fingers to fold it together. 

“How are you so fast?” he asked in despair as they each filled two bowls to his half one. 

“A lot of practice,” Baze said. 

“We have to give them something to do to stay out of the way,” said another Guardian, breezing by and handing Chirrut another bowl of filling. “Otherwise they get underfoot.” 

Baze and Chirrut both scoffed, offended, and Anakin grinned as the Guardian gave Anakin a piece of cooked meat, impaled on a chopstick, to sample. It was very, very good. 

The Guardian seemed pleased and retreated again to terrorize the kitchen. 

There were a lot of Guardians, and they always fed the needy in the Holy City too, they told him, so there was a lot of cooking to do. Anakin was not a patient person, but there was something almost meditative about the work. Eventually, though, as he always did, he got a little distracted. 

Chirrut noticed him looking and smiled. “You are interested in my echo box,” he said. “Here.” He handed it to Anakin. 

Anakin, flustered, tried to juggle it without getting any flour on it. Dismayed, he attempted to hand it back. “Oh, no, Mister Chirrut,” he said. “I can’t take this.”

Anakin would more or less take anything apart if it could be, but even he drew the line at messing with accessibility aids. 

Chirrut laughed. “You were curious,” he said. “Go ahead and look.” 

Anakin wasn’t dumb. When given the chance to learn about something new, he took it. He turned the echo box around and around in his hands, sussing out all the different components. The echo box was built so Guardian Chirrut could get a sense of his surroundings, a kind of echolocation of where various objects were, how things were moving, stuff like that. 

He didn’t go so far as to disassemble it, but he did take the back off so that he could look at its inner workings. “You oughta replace some of these wires with crylythium,” Anakin said. “Would conduct the sound through the sensors better.” 

“Yes?” Chirrut asked thoughtfully, somehow holding out a hand unerringly as Anakin passed it back. “Well, it’s something to look into, at least.” He hooked it back up to his belt but didn’t bother turning it on. 

“You have more questions,” Baze said, without looking up from his dumpling-making. 

Anakin felt himself blush. “Master Qui-Gon says that I need to mind my tongue sometimes.”

“And what does Obi-Wan say?” Chirrut asked, grinning. 

“That if I’m going to say something rude I should at least learn how to say it diplomatically.” 

Now they both laughed. “Go ahead,” Chirrut said. “Ask your questions. Consider this an exercise in restraint.” 

Anakin chewed his lip. “How come you don’t get prosthetic eyes? They’re a lot more reliable than the echo box.” 

“Oh boy!” Chirrut said. “Straight to the hard questions, huh?”

“Sorry—” Anakin said, flushing, but Chirrut was still ever-smiling. 

“No, no. All questions are good questions.” Chirrut tapped the echo box. “I was born with no sight. I’ve never known different. I know why others choose to get replacements. They are good for some, and I am happy for them. But for me— this is how I see the world. Why should I change that because people expect it of me? I am happy with the way I am. It’s on everyone else if they think it’s not enough.” 

“Oh,” Anakin said. It sounded nice. 

“The first batch is ready,” Baze said. “Why don’t we take some hot dumplings and find Master Jinn?” 

“Okay!” Anakin said, hopping off the counter. 

They did find Qui-Gon, halfway to buried alive in the Whills’ Archives and looking very pleased about it. They had enough, after all was said and done, to share with Master Jinn, and plenty to bring home as well. 

The Senate was one of the most boring places in the whole universe. Anakin had only agreed to come with Qui-Gon because he was hoping Padme might be there, but it turned out that she wasn’t even on-planet. 

He was waiting for Qui-Gon to get out of some meeting in one of the many lobbies of the Senate dome. 

All the waiting rooms here were designed for fancy diplomats and stuff, at least, so the chairs were comfy and there were various holonovels and gossip magazines scattered around for something to do. Anakin’s legs swung as he boredly tried to hack into one of the holos, attempting to access something more interesting. 

“Ah, young Skywalker!” someone boomed from in front of him, and he jumped. 

He looked up and saw Chancellor Palpatine, smiling kindly at him. 

“Oh,” Anakin said, attempting to hide the jailbroken holopad behind his back. “Hello.” 

“I didn’t get much of a chance to talk to you after Naboo,” Palpatine said. “You left so quickly.”

“Qui-Gon had to get to the Healers,” Anakin said dubiously. 

“Ah yes, of course, of course, your Master,” Palpatine said. “We owe you all a great debt of gratitude. How are you adjusting to living with the Jedi? I imagine it must be challenging for someone of your… background.”

Anakin narrowed his eyes. Was that a threat? Palpatine didn’t know Anakin was faking it, right? That was impossible. “It’s great,” Anakin said pointedly. “I got a lightsaber and everything.” 

“How excellent!” Palpatine said. “You must be a powerful Jedi indeed. I hope that they appreciate you.” 

“Yeah…” Anakin said. That sure sounded like he knew. 

Palpatine gave him a faux-friendly wink. “Well, I should hate for your talents to be wasted. I will be watching your career with great interest.” 

He walked away after giving Anakin a cheerful nod, robes swishing behind him. 

Anakin glared after his retreating back. 

Oh yeah. 

That was definitely a threat. 

Anakin’s mom always told him that if he couldn’t solve a problem head-on, there was almost always a way to go at it sideways. 

But of course he couldn’t ruin a man’s life without being totally sure he deserved it. 

To be really sure, he would need an ally. Someone trustworthy. Not someone too intuitive, like Qui-Gon, who would realize that something was wrong, or too smart, like Obi-Wan, who would know right away if Anakin was lying. He would have to do this perfectly right, without anyone else the wiser. 

Hmm… 

“Meesa would be so glad to help yousa!” Jar-Jar Binks said, giving Anakin a beaming smile. 

“Yeah?” Anakin asked, grinning back. 

Jar-Jar was vastly taller than Anakin, but it was simply impossible to find the Gungan intimidating. He was, at the moment, wearing some kind of official Senatorial robe, very fancy like everything else the Naboo wore. He had also apparently put it on backwards. 

“Ofsen coursen!” Jar-Jar said. “Messa loves Chancellor Palpatine!” 

“Yeah, he’s great,” Anakin said, handing over the potted plant he’d dug from the garden just for this occasion. The plant was a little finicky, and it required a glow light, so any electrical transmissions coming from the thing would be easily dismissed. “And you remember what to say, right?” 

“Oh yes!” Jar-Jar said. “The Jedi cannot give gifts, even to berry good friends! They have to show im-par-ti-al-ity.” 

“That’s right,” Anakin said, pleased. “So you have to pretend it’s from you, okay? I want to make sure he has a pretty plant but I don’t want him to know it was me.” 

“Meesa got it, Ani!” Jar-Jar told him cheerfully, ruffling Anakin’s hair. “Meesa will make yousa proud.”

“I’m sure you will, Jar-Jar,” Anakin said, laughing as his entire head was enveloped by Jar-Jar’s hand. “Thanks a lot. And remember—” Anakin said, putting a finger to his lips. 

“Okeyday!” Jar-Jar chirped. “Meesa will be sooooo sneaky.” 

“That’s a good plan,” Anakin said. He was starting to empathize with how come Master Windu always looked like he had a headache— this planning thing was a lot of work. 

Anakin settled into his bed upside-down, feet up against the wall. The audio transmitter he’d hidden inside Jar-Jar’s plant was fully functional, and transmitting directly to his device. If Anakin had built this thing right— which he always did— it would be pretty much undetectable unless someone was specifically looking for it. 

To be extra safe Qui-Gon didn’t find out, Anakin had procured a headset so he could listen to Palpatine’s audio quietly. He anticipated a lot of boring politician stuff. Hopefully some embarrassing burping, or something. 

Anakin had set it up to record as well as transmit, so he rolled back the recording to when Jar-Jar had first given Palpatine the plant. Hopefully Jar-Jar really had been able to stay cool about it, because if Palpatine was trying to blackmail Anakin, then he would definitely know it was suspicious for Anakin to give him a present. 

But Jar-Jar, somewhat surprisingly, pulled through. 

Maybe it was because Palpatine was too annoyed to really listen to Jar-Jar, or want to be around him for long, but Jar-Jar managed to pass the plant over without too much disaster. Well, besides spilling a large pitcher of water all over the floor, and trying to catch a bug with his tongue. 

But eventually, Anakin heard Palpatine usher him out, ignoring Jar-Jar’s profuse apologies. He didn’t seem in the mood to deal with Jar-Jar’s usual attempts to ‘help’, but he stayed nice all throughout the interaction, only a little tension in his voice. 

But as soon as Anakin heard the door to Palpatine’s office chambers shut, Palpatine let out an annoyed huff. “Stupid creature,” he muttered, in a voice a few octaves lower and raspier than usual. 

Anakin scowled. Hey! Jar-Jar may have been a little dumb, but he was Anakin’s friend, too, and he had a good heart. That was what his mom always said was most important. 

There was a sound, like Palpatine walking over to his desk. Anakin supposed it would be too much to hope for an immediate confession, something along the lines of, ‘I knew Anakin Skywalker was faking it this whole time! I’m going to use that information to blackmail him and/or do something nefarious.’ 

Anakin sighed, and settled in for a long listen. 

It took several hours, and a break to eat dinner with Qui-Gon, who was getting better at cooking, but finally Anakin hit on something promising. 

The sound of a holoprojector turning on. 

Most of what Anakin had heard was very boring, but pretty ordinary. Meetings discussing new bills, or allocations of funds, or making appointments to do other, dumb, politician-y things. But now… 

Well, Anakin had a bad feeling about this. 

“My Lord,” someone said from the other side of the holo, slightly staticky but still audible even through two layers of digital communications. 

“Stop simpering,” Palpatine snapped. “Is it done?” 

“Yes,” the person on the other end said. “Republic trade routes will be choked for weeks. The Senate will be gridlocked.”

“Excellent,” Palpatine said, and Anakin froze, pausing from where he had been idly tinkering with his lightsaber. This didn’t sound like regular Senate business. “I will convince the Senate to send out a minimal response— you must finish stripping the local population of their resources before they actually manage to put a stop to the blockade. By then, you and your men can escape.” 

His— employee? Underling? Minion?— sounded pleased. “Not everyone will be able to make it out,” he said. 

“So use some as scapegoats,” Palpatine said dismissively. “They will be mistaken as pirates. I will make sure they do not make it to questioning alive. No one to spill our secrets.”  

Anakin blinked several times. 

“It will be done, My Lord,” said the minion. 

“See that it is,” Palpatine said, and Anakin could hear him abruptly shut the holo off. 

There was no more noise for a while after that. But Anakin… well, Anakin had a lot of ideas. 

“Can you tell me what you know about blackmail?” Anakin asked his mother. 

“Hmm,” his mother said, over the holo. She was drinking a cup of tea, and she took a thoughtful sip before answering. “It depends on who you’re blackmailing. Or who’s being blackmailed, I suppose.” 

“I was planning on doing it,” Anakin said. 

“Well, then, you have to be careful,” Shmi said. “Not everyone is receptive to being threatened.”

“What if I already know they blackmail other people?” Anakin said. 

“Ah, well, then, you’re off to a good start,” Shmi said. “A man like that will always be paranoid. When you spend your time convincing others to trust no one, you begin to do the same yourself.” 

“Oh, wizard,” Anakin said. 

“That kind of greed makes a person dangerous, Ani,” Shmi said. 

“I’ll be careful, Mom, I promise,” Anakin said. “I always am.” 

“Anakin!” Shmi scolded. “You know better than to lie to me.”

Anakin grinned. “The Jedi call that creative interpretation of the truth,” he said. 

Shmi laughed. “All right, I suppose,” she said. “Just so long as you know you will never fool me.” 

“No one can fool you,” Anakin said. 

“That’s right,” Shmi said, pleased. “Now, if you’re going to be blackmailing someone, be sure that the suspicion does not fall on you. Never make a threat which you are not willing to follow through. And don’t get greedy.”

“I knew I could count on you for advice,” Anakin said. “Thanks, Mom! Love you.” 

“I love you too, Ani.”

Anakin carefully spliced together some of the more interesting moments from the recordings. 

Of which there were a lot. Palpatine really liked doing evil things in his offices, for some reason. Anakin was definitely getting his money’s worth from that little plant. Palpatine had his fingers in a great many pies, ranging from illegal import/export to, disgustingly, the slave trade. If Anakin didn’t trust him before, he definitely didn’t now. 

There was also something Anakin dubbed Sith Business, because that was the word Palpatine mentioned whenever he was doing something with his particularly evil voice. The people he talked to then always seemed especially scared of him. 

Anakin didn’t know what a Sith was, but he assumed it was probably boring, gross, or both. 

Once his little collection was complete, Anakin loaded it up onto a datastick, wearing gloves to eliminate traces of his presence both in standard DNA measures and in the Force. 

Cleaning droids were everywhere, they had access to everything, and no one ever paid attention to them. The Temple had about a million of them, identical to everywhere else and very easily hacked. 

“You ready, MOUS-E?” Anakin asked, and the little cleaning droid beeped and rolled back and forth cheerfully. It would be untraceable back to him or to the Jedi if it was found, but Anakin was betting that it wouldn’t even come to that. Like he said. No one ever looked at the little guys. 

“Okay,” Anakin said, and put the datastick and a piece of flimsi into one of MOUS-E’s cleaning compartments. “Take that straight to him, okay?”

It beeped another affirmative, and took off at high speeds, that efficient little roll that only that kind of droid could pull off. 

Qui-Gon came through the door only a moment later, looking bemused. “Did I just see a mouse droid taking off out of here like a mynock from hell?” he asked. “It almost knocked me over.” 

“No,” Anakin said. “That would be weird.”

The recorder in the plant was still running. 

Upon receiving the blackmail demands, it picked up a very satisfying scream of rage, then a lot of clattering and glass breaking, as if the art had shaken itself off the walls. Anakin tried not to be too smug. 

He wasn’t relying too much on actually receiving what he’d asked for. He was really just worried about making sure that Palpatine was too busy to think about Anakin and his non Force-sensitivity. If he was worried about some mysterious blackmailer, he wouldn’t be going after Anakin. 

It seemed like it was working. 

Palpatine was more agitated than ever, and though his holo-calls had thinned out— probably paranoid about those being overheard as well— the ones that Anakin could still hear were getting increasingly desperate and angry. Palpatine was really trying hard to figure out who was blackmailing him. 

Perfect distraction. 

Anakin was proud of himself. 

After a while Palpatine begrudgingly transferred some funds into the untraceable account a very suspicious Obi-Wan had helped him set up. Anakin had told him, eyes shining and lip wobbling, that he wanted a failsafe— due to his Tragic Past, You See— and a way to continue fending for himself even if the Jedi kicked him out. 

Obi-Wan had still been begrudging, but there had also been a spark of pity and understanding in his eyes that meant in the end Anakin had an offplanet banking account that was completely off the grid. 

Anakin’s primary goal had not been to get money from Chancellor Palpatine, but growing up the way he did he would also be pretty dumb not to take advantage of what he had. He was sourcing prices for a really nice speeder. Just in case. 

Anakin was sure he had gotten away with it for a long time. 

But then, he and Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan went to the Senate for completely unrelated reasons. Obi-Wan had arranged some kind of boring tour of the political process for credit in Anakin’s Politics and Etiquette Class. This was, possibly, because Anakin needed extra credit due to an incident involving his friends and a prank and a very small explosion, but who was to say, really. 

Either way, Obi-Wan was apparently friends with a Senator named Organa, who’d agreed to do the tour, so they’d all come along, Obi-Wan included. 

“Thank you again, Bail,” Obi-Wan said, as Senator Organa concluded the tour and led them out onto one of the open-air arrival and departure platforms just above the Senate. “We do appreciate it. I’m sure Anakin learned a lot.” 

“Like that I don’t want to be a politician,” Anakin muttered under his breath, but apparently not quietly enough because Qui-Gon said, “Anakin,” and Senator Organa laughed. 

“It’s not for everyone,” Senator Organa conceded. “But I hope you’ve gotten at least a little insight into the way our Republic functions.” 

Mostly inefficiently, in Anakin’s opinion, but he didn’t say that. “Yup,” he said. “Thanks.” 

“Aniii!” a voice called, and Obi-Wan, Qui-Gon, and Senator Organa all winced. “Obi! Mister Qui-Gon!” 

They turned and Jar-Jar was almost tripping off a speeder, having just arrived in time to cross paths with them. 

Anakin was swept up in a slightly fishy-smelling hug. “Jar-Jar!” he laughed. “What are you doing here?” 

Jar-Jar released him and hugged Obi-Wan, who stiffened, and Qui-Gon, who awkwardly patted his back. 

“Meesa very important Senator now,” Jar-Jar said. “Bombad Chancellor Palpatine wants meesa to meet him! Weesa probably going to talk about very important things.” 

“I’m sure you are, Jar-Jar,” Qui-Gon said. 

“That’s a little strange,” said Senator Organa, frowning. “I didn’t know the Chancellor was taking meetings today. I didn’t even think he was on-planet.” 

“Really,” Obi-Wan said, with a strange look on his face. “You know, I’ve been getting a bad feeling about him lately. I couldn’t pin it down.” 

“Chancellor Palpatine creeps me out,” Anakin added, sensing his chance to stir up the suspicion pot in Palpatine’s direction— away from him. 

The idea seemed to disturb Qui-Gon, who stroked his goatee. 

The turbolift doors that led into the actual Senate dome slid open. Chancellor Palpatine emerged. “Senator Binks,” he said kindly. “I had thought we had a meeting scheduled. Over an hour ago,” he added, somewhat pointedly. There was a weird tension to his shoulders. 

“A bird flew into meesa engine,” Jar-Jar said sheepishly. Which, considering how few birds there actually were on Coruscant, was a miracle of bad luck that really only Jar-Jar could achieve. 

“Chancellor Palpatine,” Qui-Gon said, shifting a little so that Anakin was behind him. “It is a surprise to see you here.” 

Palpatine’s gaze turned shrewd. That tension grew. “Is that so?” 

“We were just talking about you,” Obi-Wan said pleasantly. Anakin, confused, peeked out from Qui-Gon’s legs and saw that Obi-Wan was slowly interposing himself between the two Senators and Palpatine. 

“Ah,” Palpatine said. “You’ve been talking to Binks.” 

Technically, true. But Anakin, though he didn’t exactly know what this was all about, was starting to get a bad feeling that this maybe had to do with a certain bug planted in a certain office. 

“Extensively,” Obi-Wan lied smoothly. 

Palpatine laughed, and it sounded suspiciously wheezy and sinister. Senator Organa, who had let himself be shepherded to the back of the group, sidled up to Anakin and put a protective hand on his shoulder. 

“You think the power of a simpleton Gungan and two Jedi are a match for me?” Palpatine said. “You bring an unimportant Senator to try to bring me down? Don’t you know the power of the Sith?”  

Things were rocketing rapidly out of control. 

“What’s heesa talking about?” Jar-Jar asked, one hand to the side of his mouth. Anakin shrugged, trying to portray innocence. 

But Palpatine’s declaration seemed to have brought Anakin’s master and lineage brother to the defensive. 

“Sith Lord,” Qui-Gon hissed, hand going for his lightsaber. 

Palpatine cackled again. It was possible the weeks of psychological tormenting via incriminating recordings had not done him any good. Anakin was becoming slightly worried about his sanity, as well as some other things.  

“Your petty blackmail proves nothing,” Palpatine said. “I discovered Binks’ plan in time, and I apparently discovered your plot as well. I had planned to quietly kill him, but—” he ignored Jar-Jar’s offended gasp, and smiled nastily as he drew a pair of lightsabers. “Plans change.” 

“Ohhhh,” Anakin said. “Like the red guy with the horns.” 

“No one will ever know what happened to you,” Palpatine taunted. “An attack on the Chancellor. Perhaps one Jedi went rogue and the other died killing him. Yes. I like this story. Two Senators, caught in the crossfire.” 

Organa’s grip tightened protectively. 

“And a kid, right?” Anakin asked suspiciously. He knew Palpatine was onto him. Probably he wanted Anakin’s advice on how to trick people, or something. Anakin was really good at that. 

“Young Skywalker,” Palpatine said, gaze zeroing in on him. “You do not have to die. I believe you have a destiny— stronger in the Force than any of these Jedi who claim to be your masters.” 

“What the kriff,” Anakin said. 

“Meesa still very confused,” Jar-Jar added. 

Palpatine’s lightsabers ignited, bad-guy red, and were answered by a pair of green and blue sabers. “You have met your doom, Jedi,” he said. 

Anakin was still being shoved to the back by pretty much everyone, Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan starting to step forward, inevitably to fight to the death and possibly to get stabbed through the stomach again. Well, kriff that. Anakin had just gotten his footing with the Jedi. 

Anakin stepped backwards a few steps, then again when no one noticed. 

There was a control panel for the speeder platform right behind him. 

Anakin sliced into it quickly, gaining control. He pressed the button. 

“The Jedi will fal— ack!” Palpatine said, as the platform beneath his feet suddenly receded. He stumbled, and tried to catch himself on the nearest surface. Unfortunately, the nearest thing was Jar-Jar, who tried to help Palpatine back up but ended up pushing him down further. 

Palpatine fell. 

Silently, they all watched him fall down and down into Coruscant traffic, yelling obscenities and spitting lightning all the way down. 

Qui-Gon turned to look at Anakin. 

“The Force told me to do it,” Anakin said. “What’s a Sith?” 

“I think Chancellor Palpatine really didn’t like our plant,” Anakin told Jar-Jar, later. 

“Meesa agree,” Jar-Jar said quickly, and they went to Palpatine’s office and dumped the plant and hidden bug down a garbage compactor before anyone else could find it. 

Everything had been caught on holo-surveillance. Jar-Jar was hailed as a hero to the Republic for uncovering the traitor. Senator Organa backed up their report of the events, and apparently he was a pretty respected guy. He was in the running for Chancellor, last Anakin heard. 

Anakin, for his part, vowed to spend more time paying attention in his history classes. It turned out those Sith guys were pretty important. 

The Jedi, those of them who could feel the Force, seemed amazingly relieved now that Palpatine was dead. Apparently he’d been poisoning the Force waters, or something like that, and it spread and spread until they could all feel it. 

Anakin was very popular in the Temple. 

His friends were impressed at his role, now matter how indirect, in revealing Chancellor Palpatine’s treachery. Aayla had even given him a high-five.

It seemed like most of the Temple had forgotten about Anakin’s shaky grasp of the Force— it seemed that once you had taken down a Jedi boogeyman, they expected that you had the skills to back it up. 

He was more popular than ever. 

He called his mother to tell her the real story of what had happened. She was busy, as she always was these days, but she always made time for Anakin. 

She put a hand over her mouth as he explained, but if she was trying to pretend at being horrified she should have tried not to smile with her eyes so much. In the background, he could hear some of her freedom fighters, blatantly eavesdropping, laugh. Especially when he mentioned he more or less tripped Palpatine off the platform. 

“Oh, Ani,” Shmi said, with a sigh. She gave him a fond and proud look. 

“Maybe we can have a visit soon,” Anakin said, trying not to sound too hopeful. 

“Earlier than you think, perhaps,” Shmi said, smiling. 

“How come?” 

“We’re coming to petition the Senate,” she said. “There’s a new slavery act in the making, and that queen of yours, Padme? She’s helping us quite a bit…”

Anakin beamed. 

Qui-Gon picked Anakin up and put him on his shoulders. Anakin laughed, his ever-lengthening padawan braid flying behind him. 

“You know,” Qui-Gon said, “We may not have a traditional apprenticeship. But I think we’re going to have a very, very memorable one.” 

“Agreed,” said Anakin. “Let’s go find Obi-Wan. I want hot chocolate.”  

SOME YEARS LATER

Anakin had been a Knight for a while now, braid cut and all, and taller than Obi-Wan for even longer than that. But sometimes he still felt like that lost youngling tagging behind Obi-Wan’s robes, hoping that no one would realize he didn’t know what he was doing. 

When he got the assignment from Master Yoda, he went to Obi-Wan for advice straight away. 

Qui-Gon was still kicking around the Temple, of course, but these days he mostly spent time causing trouble in the creche, or bothering Jocasta Nu with his newest study of extremely arcane and rare Force philosophies. 

Besides, no one in the galaxy quite got Anakin like Obi-Wan Kenobi did.

Anakin let himself into Obi-Wan’s quarters without knocking. Obi-Wan— the old man— was reading something on a datapad and drinking tea. Anakin launched himself onto the couch beside him, jostling Obi-Wan’s cup and earning him a death glare. 

“Hello, Anakin,” Obi-Wan said pointedly. “Did we have an appointment?”

Anakin had never, ever needed a reason to bother Obi-Wan, and they both knew it. “Master Yoda assigned me a youngling to look after— Obi-Wan, he says she’s my new padawan.” 

Obi-Wan made a face. “Like, to keep?” 

“No, I’m renting her,” Anakin said. “Yes to keep! I don’t even want this.” 

“He has upgraded since I was young,” Obi-Wan said. “In the old days, Master Yoda would just manipulate his preferred Master/padawan pairs together. Now it seems he’s just going straight for the kill.” 

“Oh, ha-ha, you’re very funny, old man,” Anakin said. “I love how you sympathize with my plights.” 

“Most of your ‘plights’ are of your own making,” Obi-Wan said, which was fair but rude of him to say. 

“Obi-Waan,” Anakin complained. 

“It’s not like I’m going to take her off your hands,” Obi-Wan said. “I am not looking for a padawan. You were traumatizing enough.”

Now that was a blatant lie— Obi-Wan had lately had his eye on a youngling called Katooni, too young for padawan training but apparently not for being spoiled to death by Obi-Wan, who was going soft in his old age. 

Anakin snorted. “You wish I was your padawan.”

“I do not,” Obi-Wan said. “I’d be twice as grey as I am now, and the only reason I even have this many wrinkles is because I had half-custody of you.”  

“Half-padawans isn’t even a thing,” Anakin said. “Anyway, what do I do? I’m too young for a padawan! Also, who in their right mind would trust me with a kid?”  

“That’s a very good question,” Obi-Wan said. 

Anakin gave him a pleading look that was slightly more honest than he had meant it to be. 

Obi-Wan softened, as he always did with Anakin in the end. “You’ll be a good Master. An unconventional one? Certainly? Irresponsible? Probably.”

“If you’re just going to list all my faults—” Anakin said. 

“You are the only Master like you in the whole galaxy,” Obi-Wan said. “Just as your padawan will be the only one like her  in the galaxy. Your uniqueness is just another of your skills. You can use them to do great things, and you can teach others to do the same.”

Anakin digested this. “Wow,” he said. “You’re getting embarrassingly sentimental.”  

“Oh, be quiet,” Obi-Wan said. “Get out of my quarters.” 

Of course that was when Qui-Gon came bursting through. “Excuse me,” he said. “I’m about to get a grandpadawan and no one told me?” 

“Mind your own business, old man,” said Anakin and Obi-Wan nearly simultaneously. 

Over the years, Anakin had developed somewhat of a reputation for amazing negotiation skills, sometimes backed up with his lightsaber and sometimes backed up with a rapier wit he had obviously cribbed off Obi-Wan. Anakin was the best at bluffing in the whole galaxy, and on his missions, you never could tell if what you thought was happening actually was. 

He knew perfectly how to twist a situation to his advantage and, almost always, the right thing to say. 

But it felt nice to be here with his former Master and his lineage-brother, where he could be, all things considered, fully himself. 

Maybe he wasn’t exactly ready for a padawan. 

But when had Anakin Skywalker ever not jumped into things head-first?

“I want to be as powerful and as strong as you someday, Master Skywalker,” said Ahsoka Tano, eyes big and blue and totally trusting. Anakin sighed, completely endeared despite his own self. 

“Power is not the only way to greatness, little one,” Anakin said. 

“No?” said Ahsoka, pointing her little chin up at him with a snippy attitude. “Then how do you do it?” 

“Well,” said Anakin, “You start by being very, very smart. You always keep your eyes up. Learn how things work. Then, well, you can do anything.”