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Anakin’s first actual dinner in the Temple cafeteria did not go entirely as planned.
It had taken a lot of work to even get to this point. It was months after he had come to the Temple, at least a month since his birthday—
(he didn’t even know the exact date, neither did his mom, they had moved around so much when he was a baby that the days were always different, on Sleheyron, and on Nal Hutta, and Tatooine, all he knew that it was in the eighth month of the Hutt calendar, which was the tenth or eleventh month in the Republic calendar)
—and most of that had been spent with Master Obi-Wan, easing him into the new routine at the Temple. It never helped calm his ever-working, ever-thinking mind, the only thing that seemed to do that was picking up old droids that the Temple was going to throw out, dragging them back to his quarters and working on them. But he knew Master Obi-Wan was trying his best. Even if he knew there was so much pain in those eyes.
Oh. Right. Dinner. Anakin hated his mind, sometimes.
Obi-Wan was off on some assignment for the Council, overseeing a labor dispute on Foerost with some older Master—(Sinube? He wasn’t entirely listening)—and Master Siri, she was always so nice to him, told him he should get dinner at the cafeteria. It sounded like a great idea, the way she put it. Maybe he would meet some friends.
It was not a great idea, about eight minutes in.
Anakin had taken maybe two bites out of the nerf-steak they’d provided him, and had drunk very little from the cup of water. The padawans were always talking around him, looking at him, but they never talked to him, there was a ringing in his ears, he didn’t know what they were saying, but the way they looked at him—
(The freeborns in Mos Espa looked at him much the same. An outcast.)
—it didn’t make him feel any good. He wanted to cry. But Jedi don’t cry. Jedi were supposed to release their emotions , whatever that meant, but he didn’t know how . All the padawans were older than him. So they were better at all the Jedi stuff.
When he was on Tatooine, he could get angry at the slavers. But never lash out, because that meant punishment. A shock. Or, for the expendable ones, he had seen what happened.
He would never forget that Togruta’s blood in the city square.
(His chip was still in his neck.)
The padawans were still talking. He heard them occasionally, broken words in sentences, sometimes they were talking about things kids talked about, like drama, and what Masters were on what missions, he heard one of them mention Obi-Wan, but the ringing was growing louder , he heard almost got left behind , he heard worthless , he heard just because Qui-Gon died , he felt like he was about to go supernova —
“Hey.”
And, all in an instant, the ringing stopped. He looked around the table, they were still talking, but they weren’t giving him those side-eye glances anymore. Were they ever? Anakin turned to his left, where the source of the sudden interruption of his thoughts originated from, and sitting at the table right next to him was a Twi’lek girl who looked to be a few years older than him, if he remembered how Twi’leks age right. “Hi,” he said, shyly and cautiously. Nobody had actually talked to him, not anyone his age at least. She had what looked like a padawan braid wrapped around both of her lekku, so she was a padawan—immediately, his mind went to the worst possible scenario, she was just going to insult him—
“My name’s Aayla,” she said, “What’s yours?”
Oh . “Anakin. Anakin Skywalker.”
Her blue eyes widened a fraction, almost imperceptible, but he knew how to read facial expressions. When to know when your master was angry or pleased, or when to know his mom was sad or happy. Did she know what Skywalker meant?
“You’re a slave,” she said, a bit lower than her other words, but it wasn’t condescending, it was like stating a fact. Before he could stop it, a confused look formed on his face. Sure, people knew that he had come later than usual, and Mister Qui-Gon had wanted him to be a Jedi, but nobody knew he was a slave . Seemingly sensing his confusion, she continued. “I grew up near slaves. My uncle Lon thought I was worthless after my dad died. They all had a little scar, on the back of their neck at their spine. Where the chip was. I saw yours.”
He didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing in response, just stared at her.
Aayla’s eyes narrowed. “But it wasn’t a fresh scar. It was old. Older than when you got here. Did… did they get rid of it?”
Get rid of it?
“Th...they can do that?”
“Of course they can!” she said, a bit louder. “The best surgeons in the galaxy are on Coruscant. And in the Temple. So… wait, they didn’t ?” Anger seeped into her voice, and she grabbed Anakin by the hand. Before he could protest, she had lifted him out of his seat and begun to drag him out of the cafeteria.
My chip is still in my neck.
The ringing in his ears was back, the tempest was roaring in anticipation of the oncoming storm, he thought he heard thunder, did he see lightning in the windows? It wasn’t raining, rain was precious, it never rained on Tatooine, he felt water in his eyes—(don’t cry, don’t cry, water has to be preserved)—he saw Gardulla’s face grinning cruelly at him, the Weequay with the whip, so much pain, the Togruta’s blood in the city square, my chip is still in my neck, my chip is still in my neck,
I’m still a slave, I’m still a slave, never free, never gonna walk the skies, never gonna be free, all a lie, still a slave —
Unceremoniously he was pushed into a seat as a fourteen-year-old Padawan demanded to see a healer, pointing at him, but he didn’t hear a single thing over the ringing, and the thunder, and the tempest…
There was a glass vase shaking on the table next to him, just a background noise to his mind’s rage. Aayla moved in front of him again, and forced him to look up at her.
“Anakin,” her voice cut through the storm, “come on. I think Master Che understands the problem, she can help.”
The winds died down, just enough for him to stand up and let Aayla lead him further into the Halls of Healing, where an older Twi’lek woman, flanked by an older Padawan, was standing, talking to a hologram—of Obi-Wan?
“ I understand, Master Che, the talks are almost over, I’ll be back on Coruscant as soon as possible. ”
“Obi-Wan. This isn’t your fault. If anything, it’s mine. When we did the initial checkup when you arrived at the Temple we should have known to check there.”
Even from Anakin’s position, far away from the hologram, perhaps thanks to Foerost being so close to Coruscant, he saw so much pain on Obi-Wan’s face. “ I know. I just wish I could have done something. Please, express my greatest thanks to Padawan Secura .”
“You’re welcome, Master Kenobi!” Aayla yelled, and at least a smile came to Obi-Wan’s face. A fake one. He had seen his mom’s fake smile so many times .
With a traditional bow, both of them cut the connection—(the storm is receding, but he fears it will come back soon enough)—and the older Healer turned to look at the pair of Padawans. Anakin remembered her! She was the nice woman who looked him over when they first arrived and said that he needed to eat more. Or something. Obi-Wan definitely gave him a lot of food.
“Alright, Anakin,” she said, tiredly, “Healer Rengas will be here soon. Follow me, we’ll get you ready.” Healer Che brought him into another wing of the Halls, with a lot less people in it, to a little side room which was attached to a larger room that had a big transparisteel window looking into it. He tried to get a good look of what was in that room, seeing a big hovercot in the middle with various medical tools, but he had no clue what any of them were for.
Healer Che had him strip down to his underclothes then wrapped a gown around him. It was cold at night in the desert, and it was cold here, but he felt like there were presences wrapping him in their warmth. Before long a tall—(well, with their heads they had to be tall)—Cerean wearing a labcoat walked into the room, who Anakin identified as the Healer Rengas that Healer Che had mentioned.
“Alright, Padawan Skywalker,” he said, kneeling down in front of him, “I’ve done this procedure before. With our tech, it will be routine. But we’re going to have to anesthetize you, alright? So you don’t feel anything. You’ll wake up after we’ve finished with everything.”
(He had seen far worse pain than what they were about to do.)
Anakin nodded, and Healer Rengas patted him on the shoulder. “We have Knight Kenobi’s consent?” he asked Healer Che, who nodded, “Alright. Padawan Nema,” he addressed the padawan who he had seen following Healer Che. Whatever he said next was a mess of medical terminology Anakin didn’t understand, but before long he was laying down on the bed, and it felt like sleep.
Anakin awoke on the same bed that he thought he went asleep in, feeling… different . Something definitely had changed. As he oriented himself to the dimly-lit room, blinking his eyes a few times to adjust to the light, however dim it was, and to a hand only a bit bigger than his grasping his. He turned to his left, and saw Aayla, sitting on a chair at his bedside. Asleep. He tried to release his hand from hers, but as soon as he moved a muscle she darted awake, and as her eyes focused in on him, she was half-standing and wrapping her other arm around him in an attempted hug, even though he was still laying down. “You’re awake!” she exclaimed, the noise making him flinch a bit, “Sorry. I’m just happy you’re awake. I have to go tell the healer.”
She let go of him, and started towards the door when Healer Rengas opened it, holding a datapad. Aayla nearly ran into him, and the door, but managed to jump out of the way. “Padawan!” he shouted, in surprise and a little bit of admonishment, “Slow down. You know, we can feel when our patients have woken up.”
Aayla said a quiet “ yes, Healer Rengas ,” and moved back into the seat at Anakin’s bedside. Rengas plugged in his datapad with something, typing away at it as he looked at the screen. “Alright, Anakin. Everything looks good vitals-wise,” he turned to him, “Do you feel any pain along your spine?”
“No, Healer,” he said, “Should I?”
“No, no,” Rengas replied, chuckling a little, “that’s good. I advise you to get something to eat and drink,” he looked at the digital clock, then back at Anakin, “although it is oh-one-hundred. You’ll just be eating with the nocturnal species. Aayla, could you fetch Anakin’s robes? I’ll go tell Knight Kenobi that his padawan is awake.”
Aayla did so, because they weren’t very far away, and Rengas left again. She held on to his hand again as he sat up on the bed, putting on his pants then undershirt, before putting on his layers of Jedi robes. He felt Master Obi-Wan’s presence before he heard his boots against the tile floor, and then he was in front of him, kneeling on the ground, unshed tears in his eyes. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered, pulling his padawan into an embrace, something he hadn’t done until now and felt awful for not doing. For not remembering slave chips .
“Healer Che said it’s not your fault,” he said, letting go of his master, “and I don’t think it is either. Mas-”
“Just call me Obi-Wan,” Obi-Wan interrupted, yet another thing he hadn’t thought of. “ Please .”
“Obi-Wan,” Anakin repeated, a smile forming on Obi-Wan’s face as he said that. A genuine one. “You’re very sad. I don’t want to be a burden for you.”
“No, Anakin,” Obi-Wan said, “you’d never be a burden. Come on,” he pushed Anakin’s boots in front of his dangling feet. “Put on your boots, we should go get something to eat.”
As Anakin did so, he turned then to Aayla, thanking her, to which she responded by hugging him too, an embrace Obi-Wan awkwardly accepted. “He’s right,” Anakin heard his new friend say to Obi-Wan, “you are very sad.”
“I’m ready,” Anakin interjected, standing up out of the bed as Aayla took his hand and led him out of the room, this time with a bit less force. Waiting outside was Healer Rengas, a warm smile on his face, who waved as they passed by, out into the waiting room. There, there was a Jedi Knight who Anakin didn’t recognize—evidently, Aayla did, because as soon as she saw him, she shouted “Master!” and bounded over to him.
“Glad to see you too, Aayla,” he said, as she attempted to leap into his arms, “oof, Aayla, you’re a bit too big for me to carry you,” His brown eyes trailed down to look at Anakin, “This must be Anakin Skywalker. My name’s Quinlan Vos. No Master title, just call me Quinlan. Or Uncle Quinlan, if you like,” he said, with a laugh.
“Quin—” Obi-Wan started.
“It was a joke, Obi. Although not entirely.”
Anakin looked over to Obi-Wan, who was smiling. “He’s an old friend of mine, Anakin, ignore him. And don’t believe any of the stories he tells.”
“Woah, now,” Quinlan started, letting go of Aayla, “I’ll have you know all of my stories are very true and not exaggerated even a little. Like that time that you let a feral ranphyx loose—”
“It was not feral, Master Qui-Gon domesticated it, and I did not let it loose…”
As the two of them argued, and Aayla wrapped an arm around his shoulders, not too tight against the scar on his back, Anakin wondered if maybe this was where he was meant to be. Maybe he was meant to be a Jedi. He had friends now, he wasn’t alone, he was free . He had a family . He had to introduce them all to his mom! One day he would go and free all of the slaves in the galaxy. He knew it.
Maybe that tempest was fleeting.