Chapter Text
Obi-Wan keeps a steadying hand on Anakin’s shoulder, both guiding and shielding him as they weave through the thinning crowds of CoCo Town. Since leaving the Temple, the boy hasn’t said much. He doesn’t need to speak, though, for his anxiety and disappointment to be obvious. Ever since the Council gave their final verdict regarding Anakin’s placement in the Order, his emotions have been bleeding into the Force. Even without that, his displeasure is evident by the way his brows furrow and his lips purse in thought too deep for a nine-year-old. Anakin may be considered too old to join the ranks of the other initiates, but he is still so painfully young.
The events of the day – the last fortnight, if Obi-Wan dares be honest with himself – blur a bit too much for comfort. Each breath he takes is forcibly tempered to convey the illusion of calm, and while he’s careful to maintain his mental shields, exhaustion is beginning to claw at him. Such a simple act has become pitifully strenuous in the face of recent affairs. There’s little to be done about that, now. After all, Qui-Gon was decidedly right in one matter: Anakin may be untrained, but he is deceptively strong in the Force. It’s far better for Obi-Wan to endure the bone-deep fatigue than to accidentally broadcast his own concern. That’s the last thing Anakin needs.
The key is maintaining composure until he knows that he has enough time to reflect on, and subsequently let go of, all that transpired on Naboo. If he stops to think critically about the implications of him walking through CoCo Town with one Anakin Skywalker in tow, he may never reel his thoughts back in. Obi-Wan takes yet another deep breath. Think about it later, he scolds himself. It’s become a mantra of sorts, offering some semblance of stability when he feels anxiety seeping back into his every nerve.
Later, it had echoed when he left the Temple without formality, without even stopping by his rooms. He didn’t know if he could have stomached it, not with Qui-Gon’s presence no doubt lingering and – later, it again insists at the passing thought of Qui-Gon, the Sith, his presence within the Order, his path in the Light, the supercilious air about the Council as they insisted Obi-Wan was straying from the Will of the Force. Later, later, later.
He takes another careful breath (in, out) paired with another measured step forward (match pace, don’t stutter step). The path forward is less certain than he would like it to be, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t options. Naboo would most likely welcome them back with open arms and, more importantly, without asking many questions. Or, there are any of Obi-Wan’s old contacts from previous missions. Surely Satine, long as it’s been, would understand if he and Anakin sought refuge on Mandalore. These are viable choices, yes, but they do not account for the undeniable and incessant pull of the Force dragging him back towards the Outer Rim.
It’s with practiced self-control that Obi-Wan doesn’t accidentally tighten his grip on Anakin’s shoulder, sudden tension overwhelming him. How can he trust in his perception of where the Force is guiding him if the Council doubts it? They had been quite adamant about the falsehood of Obi-Wan’s interpretation and – and nothing, no. Training Anakin is the Will of the Force, not just Qui-Gon’s desperate and final plea. Just because Obi-Wan’s path now lies outside the Jedi Order does not mean he is not still firmly rooted in the Light. He’ll meditate on the philosophy of it all later.
There it is again. Later.
He can’t fault his master for leaving Shmi Skywalker behind. It would be unfair of him. Obi-Wan wasn’t in Mos Espa, he didn’t experience the Toydarian’s less than hospitable bartering for himself. If Qui-Gon insisted that it would be impossible to free both Anakin and his mother, then Obi-Wan will have to trust his judgement. What good would it do him to linger on misgivings with a dead man? All he can do is move forward. Perhaps, if the Council had decided to grant Anakin a position as an initiate, the nagging in the back of his mind would be duller. Instead, he’s left with a brutally loud instinct to return to Tatooine. It’s impossible to ignore, much less question.
Force be with both of them. Obi-Wan is next to creditless and has very few ideas on how to go about this. It won’t matter if he has a foolproof plan to free Shmi if he cannot first get them to Tatooine. Being off planet will help Obi-Wan think clearer, anyways, getting him away from the burning bright Force signatures of old friends and mentors that currently swim in the background of his every thought.
It’s past lunch hours, so he has high hopes that Dex’s won’t be swamped and he won’t have to wait an excessive time to talk to him. Usually, his old friend understands the meaning of discretion, but on the rare occasion, he requires more circumstantial details in lieu of credits to obtain his resources. That’s fine. Obi-Wan can work with that. Dex has enough sense to not share what information Obi-Wan may choose to disclose to just anyone. Obi-Wan will never quite understand why information is viable currency if Dex never intends to share it, but it hardly matters. If the information broker likes to keep certain things to himself, aiding only his own understanding of galactic happenings, then so be it.
Obi-Wan doesn’t pause in the slightest at the doors, pushing Anakin slightly in front of him and into the diner before them. Thankfully, he was right to assume that there would be very few stragglers from the lunch rush. There’s a Sullustan actively arguing with FLO over the counter and a Gotal preoccupied with the contents of a datapad, utterly unbothered by the chime that indicates their arrival. Obi-Wan’s initial scan of the patrons freezes. In the far corner, in distinct Mandalorian armor sans helmet, a stranger blatantly stares at he and Anakin from over a cup of caf. The man’s eyes drift from them to the saber hilt still by Obi-Wan’s side – and really, he should have returned it to the Temple, he had meant to return it to the Temple – before his expression shifts marginally, attention returning to the drink in front of him. So, not New Mandalorian then. That much was obvious, though, given the armor.
“Obi-Wan!” His observations are interrupted by Dex strolling out of the kitchen and wrapping all of his arms around the other without permission, squeezing so tightly he lifts Obi-Wan off the ground. His feet touch back down, but the grip is not released.
“Hello, Dex,” Obi-Wan manages, trying to sound as nonplussed as possible despite the fact that his lungs are being crushed by four arms. The Besalisk, for what it’s worth, does not comment on Obi-Wan’s uncharacteristically unenthusiastic greeting. His stifling grip is instead dropped in favor of turning his attention to the next target.
“And you brought a friend!” Dex laughs as good-naturedly as always, tilting his head in the boy’s direction. Anakin stands a little straighter.
“I’m Anakin Skywalker, and Obi-Wan says that you can help us,” he states with more conviction than strictly necessary.
“Ah, does he now? Well I’ll see what I can do! Here, have a seat, have a seat,” Dex gestures towards the booth two in front of the Mandalorian and on behind the Gotal. Obi-Wan hesitates. Despite the adequate space the seat provides, there’s no doubt that the other diner patrons will hear whatever they discuss. The less anyone can possibly overhear, the better.
“Actually, old friend, I–” Dex nods in understanding, adequately cutting Obi-Wan off with an easy smile and an accent of sharp laughter to keep him revealing any further details.
“Of course! I did promise that I would show you that ledger you were asking after, didn’t I? Both of you, follow me. I’m sure little Skywalker is interested, as well,” as far as Dex’s lies go, this is an egregiously blatant one. Obi-Wan strongly doubts anyone present will believe it for a second. Still, he’s thankful for it nonetheless, following Dex back into the kitchen and then into another, smaller room that – is that a heavy blast rifle against the wall? Obi-Wan shakes the thought away as Dex closes the door behind them. It’s none of his concern.
“Jedi business, then?” Dex guesses. Obi-Wan takes a moment before he can bring himself to shake his head.
“I’m afraid not,” he manages, prompting a curious hum from Dex in means of silent inquiry for explanation. It was bound to come up at some point in this conversation, he might as well get it over with, “I’ve parted ways with the Order. This is a personal request.”
“Ah, I see,” Dex looks perplexed, or perhaps concerned – though neither word could typically be used in reference to Dexter Jettster. He is the last person Obi-Wan would classify as flappable, so concerned is not an adjective oft used to describe him. He probably has questions, is all. Questions that Obi-Wan finds himself desperately not wanting to answer. He braces himself for the inevitable. “You look tired, Obi-Wan,” Dex says instead. Obi-Wan finds himself blinking stupidly at the unexpected remark.
“I,” Obi-Wan starts, but finds he has nothing to say. He blinks down at the dirty floor and focuses instead on possible alternatives for what the dried substance looking suspiciously like blood there could possibly be.
Dex isn’t one for worrying. The comment, then, is inherently subject to suspicion. Is Dex looking for an exchange of information? Obi-Wan is perfectly capable of relaying a decent summary that maintains a delicate balance of truth and non-answers, but he would prefer to keep discussion of Naboo and the Order as far away from the diner as possible.
“Is this related to Naboo, by chance?” Dex asks instead of waiting any longer than he must. Obi-Wan nearly chokes on his own breath. Anakin looks up at him with worry plain in his expression.
“You know about Naboo?” He asks in return, trying to track where and when Dex could have possibly found information connecting Obi-Wan to the invasion.
“I know about the allegations the Queen made against the Trade Federation in Senate. I’ve heard of Jedi involvement encouraged by the chancellor – well, former chancellor, eh? I have HoloNet access after all, my friend,” he answers with an acceptable degree of lighthearted comedy laced into the cadence of the words.
“Well, yes, I have never doubted your skill in acquiring information. Still, rather presumptuous for even you to make a leap from Jedi involvement to my own,” he trails off, quickly trying to catch a train of thought that he can work with. He trusts Dex, yes, but only when he himself is in control of the conversation.
“I have my ways,” Dex explains, ever cryptic, “But never mind that. How can I help you and your friend here?” Obi-Wan has never been more grateful for a well-placed segue.
“We’re trying to get to Tatooine!” Anakin answers for him, sending Dex into a predictable fit of laughter. “Why is that funny?”
“The boy’s mother is still there in less than ideal circumstances,” Obi-Wan chooses to elaborate instead of answering Anakin’s question. The euphemism seems to sober Dex enough,“Unfortunately, without the assistance of the Order, we have very little in means of funding. We were hoping you might know someone headed that way, or at least headed away from the Core, who would be willing to take in two strangers.”
“I know better than to question your methods, Kenobi,” Dex raises his hands in mock surrender, hardly a good sign,“But you’re in luck, an old friend,” and the way he emphasizes the endearment is definitely not a good sign, “Was headed off world as soon as he can. I don’t know if he’ll be open to helping the likes of you, but given the circumstances,” Dex waves away the notion.
“Thank you, Dex. We appreciate even the possibility. Do you have a comm ID or–” Dex laughs before Obi-Wan can finish the question.
“No need for any of that. He’s the bounty hunter out front,” oh, and isn’t that just great. A bounty hunter – a seemingly Mandalorian bounty hunter, no less – is the one solution even Dex can think up for them. Suddenly, all the deliberate phrasing clicks into place.
Anakin looks up at Obi-Wan expectantly. Whether the boy is searching for a reaction or some sort of direction, he couldn’t say. All he can think to do is give a short nod in Dex’s direction, acutely aware of the way it mimics a lazy bow. That draws another laugh from Dex. He ruffles one hand through Anakin’s hair while smacking Obi-Wan’s shoulder more forcefully than necessary. He keeps laughing as he makes his way back to the kitchen. At least one of them is amused by this.
Reluctantly, Obi-Wan turns his attention back to Anakin. This might be their best option at the moment, but it doesn’t hurt to be overly cautious when approaching an unnamed maybe-Mandalorian-definitely-bounty-hunter. The less information they are able to divulge, the better. He has a bad feeling about this.
“You’re nervous?” Anakin both observes and questions before Obi-Wan can say anything about the matter himself. He forces another breath, allowing himself to close his eyes if only for a split second. Perhaps Dex had reason to comment on his appearance. Exhaustion tugs so powerfully at his every fraying nerve that he has to categorically take stock of his senses before returning to the present.
When was the last time he slept? Before the initial negotiations with the Trade Federation, he’d been kept up by the suspended tension in the Force. Meditation had supplemented what fleeting rest he was able to achieve. He knew he had at least caught a few hours here and there on Tatooine, at the very least, but between waiting for transmissions from his master and calming the handmaidens, he genuinely can’t recall if he had a full night’s sleep. He’ll rest later, once he and Anakin are moving.
Later. With that thought, he reinforces the mortar that braces his mental shields, offering as warm a smile as he can to Anakin.
“No, I’m not nervous,” he lies, because there is no emotion, there is peace, “But we must be careful with what we choose to share, Anakin. Not everyone is fond of the Jedi,” he elaborates in hope of explaining whatever emotion Anakin had picked up from him earlier. The boy nods, absorbing every word.
“Sometimes, people would come into the shop and mom would say it was better for me to stay quiet. Is this like that, Obi-Wan?" He asks, and Obi-Wan does not tense at the comment or the implications, nor does he feel a flare of renewed motivation to retrieve Shmi Skywalker. His mind starts unhelpfully supplying potential circumstances that would lead to Shmi to deliver that warning, none of which particularly palatable.
“Just for now, Anakin. I’m sorry,” the apology feels empty, the words falling off his tongue while he’s still too busy contemplating the former sentiment. He’ll talk to Anakin about speaking up for himself and how he shouldn’t have to be afraid to interact with others later. Obi-Wan can only guess that Anakin uses talking as a direct way to understand his surroundings and process his experiences, taking that away from him feels unfair. Still, Anakin nods dutifully with that still too serious look in his eye, bouncing ever so slightly in time with the gesture of acknowledgement.
“That’s okay, honest! I’m good at it, you don’t have to worry,” Obi-Wan doesn’t have the heart to tell him that his ability to avoid conversation doesn’t even make the list of top concerns with this plan. Obi-Wan is certain that he has been in situations far more precarious than needing to rely on the hypothetical goodness in a strange bounty hunter’s heart, but he can’t seem to think of any. Potential Sith Lords and civil wars, evidently, do not take precedence over attempting to hitch hike while devastatingly sleep deprived and with a child in his care.
“I appreciate your bravery,” he says, and Anakin seems to brighten at the comment. Obi-Wan extends a hand for the boy to take, just for the short distance back to the diner proper. Anakin takes it, squeezing slightly in an effort obviously meant to reassure the both of them. Obi-Wan sighs. If this is really what Dex thought was the most accessible option, then it will have to do. Besides, if they wait any longer, they may end up squandering the lead, marginal as it may be. Cups of caf don’t last forever.
Starting this conversation is not going to be enjoyable, and he can only hope that Dex said at least something to the bounty hunter to give him adequate warning. Obi-wan can count on one hand the amount of bounty hunters who would respond well to being approached with no preface – and the number is restricted to those who don’t last particularly long in their field of employ. True to character, this particular hunter simply raises an eyebrow, incredulous, at both Anakin and Obi-Wan as they approach.
“A mutual friend says you’re headed off planet soon,” Obi-Wan says the moment they reach an acceptable distance from the table, before he can overthink a potential conversation starter. The bounty hunter only has a cup of caf with him and an empty plate, though Obi-Wan is sure that the caf has gone cold by now.
“Perhaps that mutual friend should mind his own business,” his head tilts as he says it, some degree of expectancy in the words. Obi-Wan breathes deeply, channeling the impertinent professionalism of Qui-Gon Jinn.
“Perhaps,” he responds evenly, voice adequately stable, “Forgive the intrusion, we were led to believe that you be willing to offer transportation.”
“Public transit works fine last I checked, Jedi.”
“I’m not,” Obi-Wan is unable to finish the statement. There could be a benefit in telling the stranger that he’s no longer affiliated with the Order, but that doesn’t mean he’s not still reluctant to divulge that information – if only to spare his fragile sanity. The bounty hunter gives him a critical look over.
“That right? You certainly look the part of a half-baked Jedi to me,” Obi-Wan grits his teeth. Qui-Gon was right, he is headstrong, he should be able to maintain his calm better than this.
“And you certainly look the part of a brooding Mandalorian to me,” he bites out before he can catch himself. He’s normally much better at holding his tongue, but if anything, the man seems to ease up under his commentary.
“Maybe I killed one and stole the armor,” Obi-Wan doesn’t miss the way Anakin stiffens at the comment, his grip tightening on Obi-Wan’s hand. Given the current state of Mandalorian politics, that actually seems a more likely explanation. The stranger keeps staring at him, and for some reason he’s aware if he breaks first, there will be no chance of following this lead. Bounty hunters are an eccentric breed, but their proclivities all revolve around the same two things: respect and competence. If, for whatever reason, refusing to back down is what earns him a fraction of respect, then it is well worth the discomfort and peculiarity.
“We’re just looking to reunite with his mother,” Obi-Wan elaborates, nodding in Anakin’s direction. He’s about to break his stare – intimidation tactic or not, there is nothing about it that makes this a natural seeming conversation – but the hunter does so first, looking to Skywalker for a brief moment.
“Where would that destination be?”
“Tatooine,” Obi-Wan admits. It looks like the man might laugh, or scoff, or something, but instead he just raises an eyebrow with cynical resignation.
“Tatooine?” He repeats after a second. Obi-Wan nods, Anakin’s tighter hold on his hand not going unnoticed. He squeezes back in affirmation. The bounty hunter shakes his head and rolls his eyes. “Sit down,” a beskar-clad hand gestures to the other side of the booth. Obi-Wan looks to Anakin and nudges him to the side to follow the instruction.
“Might I ask your name?” If they’re having this conversation in earnest, then he ought to know who it is exactly it’s with.
“You might,” is the curt response. Obi-Wan blinks back at him in disbelief.
The bounty hunter turns to Anakin, never one to shrink from attention, who perks up and returns the eye contact. The boy grew up in the Outer Rim, having spent time under Gardulla the Hutt and then dealing with the likes of whoever passed through Watto’s. Of course he wouldn’t be easily intimidated by some strange bounty hunter. The stranger asks something in rapid Huttese, clearly directed towards Anakin alone. Obi-Wan suddenly wishes that he had spent more time actively trying to learn the language. Literacy does not conversational fluency make, it so happens. Anakin’s knowledge of Huttese would not be a hard conclusion to reach. After all, looking for his mother on Tatooine assumes that Anakin himself is from the planet. It would take a fool to live in Hutt-space and not learn the language.
Anakin nods quickly in response, though he refrains from speaking in return. Evidently, he had been quite serious when he informed Obi-Wan that he was good at remaining silent. It doesn’t help Obi-Wan feel better about the situation. The bounty hunter doesn’t seem content just yet, though, and asks the poor boy another question. Anakin nods enthusiastically, this time emphasizing whatever it is that he is answering with a verbal response. The quick yes that he throws out in the language is followed by the subsequent desertion of silence with the beginnings of some colorful story – Anakin’s face lights up when the rambling begins in that already familiar way. The bounty hunter nods along with him.
As much as it pains him to do so, Obi-Wan doesn’t dare interrupt them. There’s no way that Anakin knows how to adequately deliver selective truths or parse out what exactly is best to be maintained as private information, but he’ll just have to deal with it later.
Whatever it is that Skywalker has decided to divulge makes the hunter’s expression relax into an easy half-smile. Obi-Wan awaits a verdict or continuation of conversation with bated breath.
“Jango Fett,” the introduction comes suddenly, the moment after Anakin stops talking. Obi-Wan recognizes it as what it is: a peace offering of sorts, just as the invitation to sit down had been. What exactly did Anakin tell him?
“Obi-Wan Kenobi,” he offers in return, accepting the give and take for what it is. Fett nods in recognition, but quickly turns back to Anakin.
“And you’re Anakin Skywalker, right?” He asks. He must have overheard them with Dex. “Hm,” Fett eloquently concludes the sentiment with.
“Unfortunately, we don’t have much in means of compensation,” Obi-Wan confesses, in case it hadn’t already been obvious.
“I’m a really good mechanic. If you have anything you need fixed up–”
“Anakin,” Obi-Wan cuts him off, and the confusion on the boy’s face makes him realize that Skywalker probably doesn’t understand why his offer is unnecessary, “You shouldn’t need to barter your skills,” he explains, suddenly struck by the memory that his master had Anakin do just that. Well, that’s something that he’ll pick up the pieces of later. Later.
“But I’m good at fixing, I wouldn’t mind,” Obi-Wan is aware of Fett’s intense stare on both of them as the quick aside seems to bubble into a possible argument.
“Yes, and you’re very talented, but you’re also a child. Let me handle this.”
“But–”
“Anakin,” Obi-Wan urges, shooting him a look he hopes successfully conveys that they can talk about this later. He bites back a groan, later becoming a much more daunting prospect on the horizon of his mental capacity.
Fett takes a moment to look between the two of them, as if weighing his options or perhaps measuring their worth. Then, he promptly downs the rest of his caf. He nods to himself.
“We’ll take Corellian Run. It’ll get you to Tatooine fast enough, provided we don’t run into trouble,” he stands with no preamble, and Obi-Wan is much too busy trying to think of what trouble he could possibly mean to try to figure out how, exactly, this worked. Dex has never given him a bad lead before, but surely even he would be surprised by this interaction. “Well?” Fett asks expectantly.
“What, now?” Obi-Wan questions in return dumbly, chalking it up to sleep deprivation and forgiving himself for the painful social stumble. Not that Jango Fett seems to care much for social aptitude.
“I believe our mutual friend already informed you of my travel plans. Unless you have business elsewhere, I would prefer to get off this planet as soon as possible.”
“Not a fan of Coruscant, then?” Obi-Wan asks, only to receive a harsh glare in return. He’ll take that as a no, then.
. . . .
The Jaster’s Legacy is an old gunship whose precise model is unknown to even Anakin Skywalker. That alone is enough to concern Obi-Wan about the voyage. Anakin is practically vibrating with excitement, formulating questions at an alarming rate and talking a mile a minute with little regard for volume. It draws attention. Anakin doesn’t seem to notice, but it makes Obi-Wan wary.
The lingering stares of passerby’s feel more threatening than they would under usual circumstances. Every sentient passed makes his nerves stand on edge. He tries to school his paranoia, Qui-Gon’s voice somewhere in the back of his mind reminding him to focus on the here and now. The here and now, though, just so happens to be completely drowned out by an oppressive sense of dread. Even without the passing stares he feels like someone is breathing down his neck. He tries to instead occupy his thoughts by focusing on the ship as they approach it. There isn’t much to it, just a crest that Obi-Wan can’t even begin to identify.
“Watch your head,” Fett breaks his silence with a degree of bitterness Obi-Wan can only guess comes from having smacked his own too many times on the door.
“I like machines, and I’m usually pretty good at ship builds, but it’s bothering me that I can’t figure out what this one is,” Anakin rambles on, looping back on conversation topics as they enter the Legacy. Obi-Wan indulges his paranoia one last time, checking to see if anyone is actually tailing them. No one. He must just be high strung from all of the antics these past weeks. From inside, Fett shuts the door and shoots him a look he can’t quite interpret.“How old is it?” Anakin asks as he runs a hand along some of the dented siding.
The interior of the ship is about as disparaged as the exterior – though clearly not for lack of trying on Fett’s part. There’s very little, if any, clutter.
“Don’t know,” Fett answers flatly. It doesn’t seem to discourage Anakin at all.
“Normally, Watto would get suspicious when he heard a gunship of this class was around. He was antsy like that, would refuse service. It’s a bummer, because I really wanted to take a look at the hyperdrive. I haven’t been able to fix a hyperdrive yet,” Anakin trails off, attention fixing on some loose paneling and beginning to half-heartedly finagle with it. Obi-Wan is about to open his mouth to scold him when Fett asks a question in return.
“What did you normally fix?” It’s an obvious effort to pull Anakin away from the panel and works much more gracefully than Obi-Wan’s snapping would have.
“I usually did basic droid repairs. I didn’t do a lot of ship stuff because we were far enough from the bigger spaceport hangars. I was able to look over some of the spare parts, but if anyone needed help installing the repair, Watto’d have Mom go with them. They’d have to wait for after store hours, though. I don’t think they trusted me because I’m so young,” for the first time since meeting him, Obi-Wan clearly picks up on Fett’s emotions without meaning to. His anger, clear as day and potent, quells as quickly as it surfaces. Anakin’s brows crease, obviously picking up the same emotion. Fett hums in recognition, posture easy, if on edge. Obi-Wan can only assume that’s a learned vigilance.
“That happen a lot?”
“The droid repairs? Yeah. Lots of pit droids, although sometimes we’d get an astromech or protocol. I fixed speeder engines too, but they weren’t as fun. Not anywhere near as cool as making my own podracers from scratch, anyways,” Anakin keeps rambling and Jango shoots Obi-Wan an inquisitive look, not that Obi-Wan can do anything but shrug in response. Anakin’s past, and certainly the past of his mother, is a mystery to him.
Fett turns his attention to something on his comms as Anakin starts recounting the process of building his pod in overwhelming detail. He assumes that the bounty hunter has someone he needs to update on his current trajectory, hence the necessity of revisiting his comms. Obi-Wan finds himself wondering just how far out of the way Fett is going for the two of them. After all, Dex had only mentioned that he was headed of planet. Obi-Wan is not naïve enough to believe that Jango Fett happened to be headed to Tatooine, as well. Is he postponing a job for them? If so, what is there to be gained from this? It’s too late to change course now, but his train of thought hitches on the question. He needs to remain cautious.
Anakin keeps talking, preening under the vague and seemingly disinterested questions Jango asks. They’re just engaging enough to keep Anakin talking. Fett has apparently quickly come to the same realization that Obi-Wan has: so long as Anakin keeps talking, he keeps his hands to himself. On a ship so close to falling apart, or hiding who knows how many secrets, it’s probably for the best.
Obi-Wan knows better than to look too critically at his surroundings. Years of friendship with Dexter Jettster – frankly, years of apprenticeship under Qui-Gon Jinn – have taught him enough about when to poignantly ignore particular things. Plausible deniability, Padawan, Jinn’s voice echoes in his mind. He instinctively places a hand on Anakin’s shoulder as Jango rummages through a drawer for who knows what. If we do not know we’re going against our mandate, then there is no reason to report it. It takes all kinds in the Galaxy. There was a reason the man was known as a maverick in the Order. Considering Dooku’s sudden departure and Qui-Gon’s constant conflict with the Council, it was only a matter of time before Obi-Wan solidified his position in the disastrous line and deserted, himself. He subconsciously reaches towards the training bond in the Force at that thought, only to be harshly reminded of the fraying edges of a connection abruptly severed.
It’s against his will that he intakes a sharp breath and fights the urge to keel over, pressure bursting behind his eyes.
Anakin stops talking, looking up at him with so much concern in his expression it almost aches. He wonders absently if Anakin can feel the emptiness, too, knowing Qui-Gon for such a brief time, or if Obi-Wan is projecting still. Later. Jango’s analyzing gaze is impossibly loud.
“Do you want to help me run some astronavigation calculations, Anakin?” He asks instead of mentioning the stab of pain that just visibly cut through Obi-Wan. There’s nothing quite like the discretion of a bounty hunter.
“I’ve never tried to do that before! I’ve only seen it automated. Doesn’t it take a lot of time to do it by hand?” Anakin asks in return. Despite Fett’s grumpy disposition, he certainly goes to great lengths to appease the boy. Though in this instance, it’s clear that it’s for Obi-Wan’s benefit, not Anakin’s. He doesn’t know what to make of that.
“Not if you’re good at it. Always better to do it yourself, just in case,” Fett elaborates. So, another particular bounty hunter idiosyncrasy. It’s not unheard of for people to trust their own calculations more than a machine-run analysis, though Obi-Wan can’t say that he’s met anyone with the same proclivity. Fett makes a point of maintaining eye contact with him. If he were more awake, or more present in general, he might be able to know what the other man is trying to communicate. As it is, the more time he’s spent standing aimlessly in the hull of the ship, the more aware he becomes of just how tired his body feels.
Apparently, it’s occurred to the other that Obi-Wan is not catching the message. Fett sighs.
“Head on up to the cockpit,” he says, nodding in the general direction of said location. Anakin practically beams, but immediately looks up at Obi-Wan expectantly. This unspoken question reads loud and clear.
“Go on,” he encourages. If Fett is offering, then he might as well let Anakin live out his piloting dreams with adult supervision. Though perhaps someone who has taken it upon themselves to kill a Mandalorian and take the armor as a trophy is not the most apt to supervise an adrenaline loving nine-year-old.
Obi-Wan moves to follow Anakin, but his shoulder is caught and held firmly in place. The stare that greets him is oddly less critical than before.
“You should get rest. There are three spare cabins, just choose one.”
“Anakin–” As soon as the name slips out of his mouth, Jango’s stare turns cold again, like he’s regretting this decision already.
“I can watch the kid. I’ll get you two to Tatooine, you have my word,” Obi-Wan wants to contest, be contrarian and assert that Jango Fett’s word means close to nothing to all parties involved. If he sleeps now, then who knows what the bounty hunter may do. Obi-Wan’s been on far too many missions that go awry to trust an offer like that. He opens his mouth to retort, posture rigid, and Jango finally removes his grip to wave off whatever he thinks Kenobi was going to say. “You look like you were kicked off a two-story building. Sleep.”
“I–that…actually may be a bit on the nose,” Obi-Wan admits, suddenly remembering the pain in his chest from getting kicked off a handful of platforms on Naboo. Another wave of brief panic washes over him. He draws a sharp breath through his teeth; the echo of pain from reaching out to someone no longer there lingers more presently than it ought to. Later thrums in his head with greater intensity, turning from a soft reminder to a shriek that rings in his ears and makes him want to rip out his hair. He tries to swallow down the thought. That would hardly be a professional display.
“Do you… need anything?” Fett asks, squinting in his direction. The words sound forced, like he doesn’t know why he’s asking them at all. Obi-Wan can’t fault him for that, he finds he’s rather perplexed by the offer, himself. Pain still pulses at the base of his skull and radiates behind his eyes. It’s a testament to how sleep deprived he is that he can’t separate which sensation is coming from where. Obi-Wan’s mouth feels dry all of the sudden, a too long blink weighing on him far more than it should. He thinks about the question and swallows his pride. Anakin has already proven that he can read Obi-Wan with disconcerting accuracy, and if he can’t get his thoughts in order it will by the boy who suffers.
“If you really don’t mind keeping an eye on Anakin,”
“Go ahead and claim the first on the left,” Fett says, before leaving Obi-Wan standing there. It’s a lot of faith to place in someone. Kenobi knows perfectly well that he could wander and snoop, and if he’s thought of that possibility, then certainly Fett has. For the time in hyperspace to be manageable at all, they’re going to have to have some degree of trust. This is another barter: Obi-Wan is trusting Fett with Anakin, and Fett is trusting Obi-Wan with his personal space.
“You know, I’ve been to three planets!” Obi-Wan hears Anakin comment from the cockpit with far too much excitement.
“Three, huh? Which ones?” Is the far quieter response. It’s a completely different timbre than Jango had addressed him with. Despite the circumstances, Obi-Wan can’t find it in him to think that Jango Fett would hurt the child. With that thought, he glances in the direction Jango advised him.
He doesn’t stick around to hear Anakin’s answer, following Fett’s vague directions to be greeted with a small standard cabin. Without really thinking, he sits on the bed and foregoes turning on a light. Obi-Wan clutches his chest to ground himself, feeling his own rapid heartbeat and uncontrolled breathing. The dark of the room is a welcome comfort, he hadn’t realized how painful the artificial light of Coruscant was. A meditative trance would be better than sleep, at least that way he could hear if Anakin needed anything. His grip tightens on his tunics. Something doesn’t feel right. He can’t ignore the stifling feeling of being observed. There’s literally no way that someone trailed them without any of them noticing. So why does he feel like a cornered animal?
He had thought the sensation would let up when he returned Coruscant, but if anything, it’s only intensified. It feels so inherently wrong that there’s little he can do to keep from second guessing all of his actions. In truth, there’s no way to know if he’s made the right choice. All he can do is listen to the steady hum of the Force that presses into his senses. Leaving the Order was necessary, he would not have – could not have – deserted Anakin. If he were stronger in the Living Force, perhaps he would be satisfied. He would be mindful of the present enough to not let the concern of some phantom menace haunt him. He would not be reluctant to thank the good fortune both he and Anakin have received thus far.
But, no. He isn’t imagining the overwhelming sense of dread. He knows he isn’t. The encroaching darkness of nearby Sith may be a relatively new sensation to him, but it’s a distinct one. Jango Fett feels uncertain in the Force, but not hostile – a depressingly superior alternative. Maybe in another time, in another place, that uncertainty would turn hostility, but onboard his ship with the child, Obi-Wan realizes that he feels calm. If he had waited to flesh out the specifics of his departure with the Council, there’s a good chance that they might have convinced him to stay. So, while he feels utterly lost in the present, he indulges in the confidence that leaving when and how he did was the right decision.
Qui-Gon would know what to do from here. He was always particularly adept at improvising when he followed his instincts in the Living Force. But Qui-Gon isn’t here. Qui-Gon is dead. Obi-Wan allows himself to wallow for a moment, to let the guilt well up in his chest and threaten to burst, and then releases as much of it as he can into the Force.
Perhaps meditation alone won’t cut it tonight. He lays down on the bed, tries to release his tension into the Force or, at the very least, relax the muscles in his face. When they do get to Tatooine, how is he supposed to go about freeing Shmi? And after that, if the Skywalker’s decide that Obi-Wan is not wanted, that Anakin should not be trained by him in the Force, where is he to go? He feels more adrift and uncertain than he has in…well, a long time. Alone in the small room, he groans at the ceiling and runs a hand over his face. After he rests, he should feel more equipped to handle everything. As for now, his thoughts are reeling still when he closes his eyes.
The sleep that greets him is not gentle.