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Anakin covers Ahsoka’s mouth for her as they watch Master Jinn stand in front of a child wrapped loosely in a stiff refuge blanket. He is a lighthouse with hidden glass. An obelisk in this landscape. Medicorps members move around him like ants. They crouch in mud and cracked plaster dust; they drag writhing bodies out from crevices in the bombed out rubble of buildings. There is a line of children against a metal wire fence that is bent and twisted but unbroken. It goes on for nearly half a mile and at its base, the Medicorp is lining up the little bodies they unearth.
The living ones, anyways. The dead, the corps move behind a series of canvas tarps.
This district of the city is nothing but wet debris. The sky cracks open once more as Anakin and Ahsoka hide; the water it throws down lands in pools in the pock-marked ground and begins to collect in the larger holes left from explosives.
The bandages of the line of filthy children absorb the liquid almost as soon as it makes contact with the gauze. They pay little mind. If anything, they huddle slightly closer together and return to shivering and whispering.
And then there is Master Jinn about three-quarters of the way down the line, wearing a robe that is nearly inky against the rest of the beige, exhausted landscape.
He stands unfazed by the rain landing on his neck and shoulders. Wind blows through the ruined road and Master Jinn’s cloak billows. Anakin cannot read his expression from here, but in his heart, he knows.
He can feel the throb.
He knows this throb. This presence.
He watches as, from the sick, the wounded, the hungry, and on shaky legs, a little form stands. It holds a stiff wool blanket around its shoulders and head; one of the hands is so bandaged that its shape has been lost on the blanket’s edge.
Master Jinn meets the eye of this child in silence and then, he kneels.
Before Obi-Wan, he kneels. And yet, Obi-Wan, bandaged and misshaped by heavy, inflexible cloth, does not go to him. He lowers his blanket-hooded face to the ground and stares there.
Tired.
Anakin’s master has never seemed so far gone. He looks but does not see. Master Jinn carefully brings his hand up and cups Obi-Wan’s young cheeks and chin. He looks into those eyes now and they say nothing to each other.
Then Obi-Wan lowers his face again and Master Jinn stands. He offers his hand. Obi-Wan adjusts the blanket on his shoulders and slowly, painfully lowers himself back to the ground by the metal fence. Master Jinn stands there.
Anakin doesn’t hear it, but he knows that Master Jinn speaks Obi-Wan’s name.
Obi-Wan sinks himself deeper into the masses and leaves Master Jinn to drop his hand.
His chin follows it.
Ahsoka whispers ‘no’ at Anakin’s side. Anakin keeps his grip on her tight.
“Very well,” he hears Master Jinn actually say this time.
He steps away from the refuges and begins to make his way Anakin and Ahsoka’s way. They snap to attention and stand, pretending to survey the damage on the wall behind him while he passes them by. He calls to a Medicorps member and tells them that one of the children down the line has lost consciousness and immediately, four corps members hustle past him that way.
The disgust sits at the very back of Anakin’s throat as he tries to think, think, think his way out of this. Ahsoka doesn’t help by thinking out loud. He tells her to shush.
They are here to witness, not interfere. That was the message he received in the Force.
They have to follow the Force, even if every cell in Anakin’s body screams to go to that boy sitting by the bombed fence and tell him that he will be okay. All will be okay. He just has to take the hand that offers to feed him. He has to want to eat.
Obi-Wan must live through whatever disaster has besieged this dismal place. He needs treatment for that hand of his. He needs to be awake.
“Qui-Gon,” someone says in a low voice. Anakin’s head shoots up and Ahsoka’s follows it as they watch a Master in a black robe make their way purposefully to meet Master Jinn, who has just re-entered the ship. “This cannot stand,” the person says. “There are cameras. Projectors. People are filming the children. They will see sooner or later.”
Master Jinn’s face has never been smoother in Anakin’s memory.
“So let them see,” he says.
“Qui-Gon.”
“The shame is mine to bear.”
“The holonet knows not a single jedi’s name. This galaxy knows only the institution. They will see him. He’s in a state.”
“And so he will remain,” Master Jinn says. “My offer has been rejected. The boy does not trust me any longer. All that remains of our bond is a thread.”
The other master’s face draws inward and darkens.
“And you will leave him?” he says more than asks.
“I will make no one act against their will,” Master Jinn says.
“He will die here. His wounds will fester. There are no supplies in the city for them; if we leave now, they will starve. And the galaxy will watch one of ours starve with them.”
Anakin’s teeth ache in his jaw.
“Then ask him to cut off his braid, Master Low,” Master Jinn says. “He will not allow me to be the one to do it.”
“I will do no such thing. He is your apprentice.”
“Was my apprentice.”
“He is their strategist, Qui-Gon. People will talk to him.”
“You fear so badly how it will look for the Order, but you do not truly fear for Obi-Wan.”
Master Low tucks his hands into his sleeves.
“He is not my padawan,” he says pointedly.
Master Jinn concedes the point with a tip of his head. He bids the other Master a good day and leaves him standing, glaring after him.
Anakin and Ahsoka trip-fall-stumble after Master Jinn with as much stealth as they can manage. He walks with purpose towards the metal fence. It has been transformed now, by rustling tarps that provide meagre shelter from the rain. A long tent-tunnel covers the children. They sprawl on top of each other, sleeping in shifts with their wounded limbs hugged to their chests. There is not one of them who looks older than sixteen. Their clothes do not match; not even their shoes.
Master Jinn’s eyes pass over them, searching through their bodies for Obi-Wan.
He stops at the very end of the tent-tunnel, where water is pouring off the edge of the last tarp in a stream that sounds like a rattle. Obi-Wan sits there on the ground, no longer wrapped in a blanket. The bandage on his hand has darkened with smears of dirt. He lays his head on his knees and from behind his ear, Anakin can finally see the tangled, scraggly braid whose end brushes Obi-Wan’s cheek. Obi-Wan sleeps there. The tip of his right boot is wet; its bottom is caked with mud. The boot on the other foot is slimmer and a dusty tan in color.
In his sleep, Obi-Wan lets out a wet cough. His shoulders rise with it; his back expands and collapses.
He sleeps on.
Master Jinn watches him with his hood up against the rain.
“Obi-Wan,” he says.
Obi-Wan’s lashes flicker.
“Obi-Wan Kenobi.”
His eyes open. He coughs lightly to clear his throat, but it turns into a full-throated one. Only when it passes does Obi-Wan look up into Master Jinn’s face.
His eyes are as blue as Anakin has ever seen them, bluer than is natural against the color of his skin.
He blinks slowly.
“They call me ‘Ben’ now,” he says in a craggly voice. “You can call me ‘Ben.’”
His head appears as though it is too heavy for his neck to bear. Master Jinn collects his cloak and moves it aside so that he can squat down. The water from the tarp’s edge is all that separates them.
“Your name is Obi-Wan Kenobi,” he says.
“Someone else’s name,” Obi-Wan creaks. “Give it to someone else. I’m Ben.”
“You are not Ben,” Master Jinn says.
“I could be,” Obi-Wan says quietly.
“Come home with me.”
Obi-Wan’s eyelids dip dangerously closed for barely a hair of a moment. He seems to be swaying.
“There’s no room for Ben,” he mumbles.
Master Jinn produces a hand from his dark robe. He passes it through the water to press its knuckles against Obi-Wan’s plaster-smeared cheeks.
“Ben is not at fault here,” he says.
“No room,” Obi-Wan repeats. His head is lolling. He is going to pass out.
“Obi-Wan,” Master Jinn says, gentler this time. “This is not your doing. This is not your fault.”
“No room here. S’all gone now. S’nowhere to go.”
“Listen to me, padawan.”
“Maybe I’ll sleep.”
“Obi-Wan. Listen to me.”
“Don’t feel so good. S’cold, Master Jinn.”
“I left you here,” Master Jinn says firmly. “I should not have done that. I am your guardian—your master. I am responsible for you. I should have made the decision for you; you could not have known that this would happen.”
“When’re you going home?” Obi-Wan asks blearily.
Master Jinn’s mask begins to bleed.
“Whenever you’re ready to,” he says.
“Don’t feel so good, Master. Don’t feel so good.”
Master Jinn sighs at the drenched edge of the canvas tarps thrown down on the ground for the refuges to lay on. This edge is bunched up to escape the rain, but the water’s splattered on the ground next to it for so long that it has become nearly the color of the mud on Obi-wan’s larger boot.
“I’m so sorry, my boy,” Master Jinn says in so quiet a voice the rain almost consumes it.
“I think I’m going to sleep,” Obi-Wan says like he heard nothing. Like he is speaking through Master Jinn to himself in a mirror.
“You get some sleep,” Master Jinn agrees. He curls his fingers in the greasy hair behind Obi-Wan’s ear and pulls them away. Obi-Wan shuffles away from him and lays down on the ground. He holds his bandage up awkwardly and uses the bicep of the same arm as a pillow. He curls his knuckles closer to his chest.
He coughs tremendously, with his full lungs, through three shuddering series before clearing his throat and resettling himself.
Master Jinn stays where he is, just watching. Water rolls down the peaks in his cloak.
Anakin sees his decision in the roll of his shoulders as he moves to stand in a stoop. Medicorps people have begun walking down front line of the tunnel, handing out rations bars that are passed back and from circle of children to circle of children. Master Jinn squats and digs a hand under Obi-Wan’s armpit, waking him from his descent into unconsciousness. He puts up no fight as Master Jinn tips his body the other way to fit his arm under his knees.
He doesn’t fight one bit. His eyes are opened only to cracks. When Master Jinn hefts him up and adjusts his grip, the only movement Obi-Wan makes is to tuck his injured hand into his chest, otherwise, he closes his eyes and goes back to sleep.
Master Jinn carries him to the front of the tent tunnel and lays him down in front of one of the medics. The medic winces.
“Infection,” he says.
“He’s feverish,” Master Jinn says.
“Yeah, that’s the infection. Put ‘im down here. I’ll keep an eye on ‘im. There you go. All is alright, Master Jinn. We’ll keep ‘im warm.”
Master Jinn stands and hesitates.
The medic waves him off more insistently, and this time, he goes. Anakin lingers, however, watching the medic turn a pitying face onto the bony cheeks of his future master. The man looks around and finds a twisted up blanket that he shakes out one-handedly and lays over Obi-Wan’s shivering body. It consumes all but his bandaged hand and face and somehow makes him look healthier.
“You’ll make it, little soldier,” the medic murmurs. “Get through tonight and you’ll make it.”
Obi-Wan remains still as a corpse.
Anakin can look at him no longer. He takes Ahsoka’s shoulder and walks her with him back to the Jedi’s vessel.
Master Jinn is out at the crack of dawn. Anakin wakes Ahsoka to help him tail him. Today, he walks with purpose. It is not raining outside yet; although water continues to drip steadily from the edges of rebar and the tent tunnel’s edges.
Master Jinn approaches the place where he left Obi-Wan that night. The child is there no longer. The medic doesn’t know who Master Jinn is referring to when he asks her for the padawan child with the fever. She tells him that every kid on the block has the fever at the moment. He’s going to need to be more specific.
He repeats that this is a padawan child.
She still shakes her head. She explains that the children have woken during the night and reshuffled themselves so that none are in the same place that they were before. He may as well be looking for a needle in a haystack, and if he intends to find it, he’s going to have to be quick. The media are arriving soon.
And sure enough, as soon as it is bright enough to see, the vultures descend. Master Jinn ignores the shuttering of holoimagers as he methodically goes from group to group of young people. As he approaches, they all look away, at anyone and anything that isn’t him, until finally Master Jinn catches on and kneels all the way down beside a little girl who cannot be older than seven or eight. He asks her where Ben is, and shakily, she points.
Not down the tunnel of tarps, but out of it entirely, across the street into the remains of the city. Master Jinn thanks her as he stands.
Master Jinn walks through the empty city as the rain starts up again. He checks the streets as he moves down the vehicle-less road. A few blocks away, in a large vacant area with soaked, yellowed, dried grass there is another tent city. The Medicorps have set up another camp on the grave of a playground. This one is a large square shape. Children sleep huddled together in line formations on one part of it and in tangled heaps on another. There is a quarter of the tent that has been blocked off with additional tarps. It is a medic’s station.
Master Jinn steps deftly through the gaps in children to the station and pushes its wavering wall aside. The medic from the night before sits on the floor with a rasping child in his lap. He bounces them as they gasp for air.
“Where is he?” Master Jinn asks.
The medic lifts his chin the direction of a corner of the space. The children in this section have been laid in neat lines.
Anakin knows from the smell that these are the ones who are dying.
He and Ahsoka stay back, peering only through the crack in the station’s tarp walls as Master Jinn journeys to the corner and gathers Obi-Wan up from the floor. He is rasping almost exactly like the little one wasting away in the medic’s arms.
Master Jinn walks with purpose into the rain and back towards the jedi ship.
It is easier, inside, to keep track of the two. Master Jinn lays Obi-Wan down on his own bunk in open quarters. He removes his cloak. It is the first time Anakin has seen him without one. He and Ahsoka go and ‘lay’ on their bunks while watching as Master Jinn fetches a bowl and a cloth. He goes outside and holds the bowl up to one of the ship’s edges for water and returns, already dousing the cloth.
He sits on the edge of his bunk at Obi-Wan’s side and begins the slow process of soaking the grime on his face. Obi-Wan’s throat makes a moaning noise every now and then, as he tries to breathe. Master Jinn gives no sign of hearing it. He washes Obi-Wan’s face, then his hand and as much of his wrist as he can reach. His fingers dig through the rumpled, sweat-stained clothing that covers Obi-Wan’s chest until he finds an opening in it and starts to peel back the layers.
First an arm-less jacket. Then a tunic, and under it, a more familiar set of robes that are browned and yellowed. The layers are stiff as they come off and Anakin picks up the stench of them, even from bunks away. Master Jinn takes them outside and sets them by the ship’s ramp. While he’s gone, Anakin looks back and gags to see his master’s young body laid out and laboring with all its might to fill its lungs.
Obi-Wan’s stomach is sunken and pale. His sternum is visible through the skin on his chest. There are red, scabby pimples all across his torso and thighs.
He gives little sign of noticing them, too busy as he is, just trying to take in enough air to get to the next gulp of it.
Master Jinn returns to collect the basin of water. He leaves again to throw it out and refill it.
This time, when he sits, he is more liberal with the cloth, soaking it and Obi-Wan’s skin and scrubbing lightly. Obi-Wan’s bandaged hand protests his movements. It tries to grab for his own.
“Sh, sh,” Master Jinn says. “You will be okay, little one.”
Obi-Wan makes a soft, half-hearted whine.
“Be still. You will live through this,” Master Jinn tells him, tucking an arm behind his back to gain access to the skin there.
Master Jinn scrubs Obi-Wan from top to bottom once, then again. And then he scoops him up and takes him outside and uses the basin to pour rainwater over the top of his head to rinse the scoured skin. Obi-Wan doesn’t fight him; nor does he stand on his own. His head is floppy until Master Jinn places it against his chest and holds him steady through the wash of cold water. The only sign of displeasure he gives is a little shake of his hair. Master Jinn lowers him to the ship’s ramp and produces a small bottle of soap.
Obi-Wan starts to wake up during the third scrub; he is disoriented and his head follows the circles that Master Jinn makes with the soap to lather his body.
“S’cold,” he finally creaks after Master Jinn douses his head.
“I’ll bet it is,” Master Jinn says.
“S’cold.”
“Mm.”
Obi-Wan shudders through the next pour of water.
“S’cold!” he cries out.
“Sh, sh, sh. You’re alright.”
Master Jinn tucks Obi-Wan’s head into his chest and lets him shiver there so that he is at least still through the rest of the rinsing. Once he’s done, he coaxes Obi-Wan to standing on his bare feet. He looks like a sick ghost. He coughs in deep, wracking strings that seem to cause his diaphragm to sink and protrude.
Master Jinn leaves him standing, shaking, outside to procure a towel from inside. He wraps it around Obi-Wan’s grateful body and asks him if he thinks he can walk.
Obi-Wan buries his face into Master Jinn’s robe. He is so small that, even standing, the crown of his head only comes to Master’s breastbone. Master Jinn ruffles the towel across his back and down his body in fluttery motions until Obi-Wan coughs hard again.
Only then does the master take him back inside—but not to bed. To the communal refresher and its lines of sonic showers.
He hands Obi-Wan a toothbrush and leaves him to the task, with only Anakin hiding along the edge of the room as supervision. Obi-Wan stares down at the brush in his non-dominant hand in exhaustion. But, to his credit, he lifts it to his face only moments later.
Anakin is amazed by how perfunctory the action is. The tooth brushing. The dressing (when Master Jinn returns with a set of spare, oversized robes). And finally, the way that Obi-Wan lifts his arms to encircle his master’s neck when Master Jinn finally stoops to take his weight. Obi-Wan eyes are open as Master Jinn shifts his weight in his arms to something more comfortable; he drapes his elbow over the master’s shoulder and follows the motion with his cheek until it comes to rest against Master Jinn’s neck.
He coughs.
Master Jinn shushes him—not a scolding sound. A soothing one.
Tears finally slip out of Obi-Wan’s eerily blue eyes.
“You came back,” he whispers.
“For you,” Master Jinn says, standing still now, just holding his apprentice in the white light of a communal refresher.
“You came back,” Obi-Wan hiccups.
“For you,” Master Jinn says again. “Will you forgive me?”
Obi-Wan sobs and chokes on it.
“I can’t,” he hiccups.
Master Jinn rocks him back and forth in his arms.
“I understand,” he says.
“I want to.”
“Sh, sh, sh.”
“When are you going?” Obi-Wan asks through garbled breathing and obvious distress. “Will I see you again? I’m sorry, Master. I’m sorry.”
“Sh, sh, sh.”
“I’m so sorry. I’m sorry.”
Master Jinn presses the back of Obi-Wan’s head into his shoulder to muffle the distress sluicing off of him.
“Let us go lay down,” he says. “You’re unwell.”
The wracking cough that answers him is proof enough of this. He carries Obi-Wan back to his bunk and strips it before ushering him to lay down. Obi-Wan is hesitant; Master Jinn herds him forward until he has no choice but to crawl onto the mattress and lay down.
Master Jinn goes around to the other side of the bunk and lays down behind him. He becomes a crescent and gathers Obi-Wan to his chest. Obi-Wan clutches at his hands. Tears again begin to fall from his eyes. He tries to roll over to face his master.
“When are you going?” he asks.
“I am not going,” Master Jinn murmurs to him.
“Will I see you again before you leave?”
Master Jinn sighs.
Obi-Wan struggles to turn over until Master Jinn relinquishes his hold and allows him to face his accuser. He strokes the side of Obi-Wan’s newly wet face.
“I’ll miss you,” Obi-Wan says. “You can take it with you.”
He holds up the tail of his padawan braid. It is tangled and barely long enough to scrape his shoulder.
Master Jinn pushes his hand down.
“I’ll miss you,” Obi-Wan insists, desperate now and breathing harder.
“Obi-Wan.”
“They call me Ben.”
“Obi-Wan Kenobi,” Master Jinn says firmly.
Obi-Wan drops his eyes; he fidgets with the end of his braid, notices, and tears his hands away from it.
“I’m sorry, Master,” he says. “I should have—”
“You are my responsibility. You trusted me. And I failed you. I did, Obi-Wan. You are not at fault here. And I will not force you to return to the Order if you do not wish but leaving you here will be one of the most difficult things I will ever have to do.”
Anakin swallows back a tide of emotion that blurs his eyes.
Obi-Wan lifts his head timidly. His eyes bleed streams down the sides of his face.
“Can I go back?” he asks.
“Yes,” Master Jinn says. “You can always come back.”
“Will they be angry?”
“I won’t pretend they will understand.”
Obi-Wan lowers his face.
“What will the others here do?” he asks.
Master Jinn tightens his arms until Obi-Wan is more or less melded to his chest and shoulder. Obi-Wan allows the touching and closes his eyes.
“They will finish what they started,” Master Jinn says.
“I failed them.”
“I’m sorry, padawan. You tried harder than anyone could have asked you to.”
“I fail every test.”
“This was not a test. And you are a child, Obi-Wan. To fail is to learn. To learn is to grow. Even Master Yoda grows older still.”
Obi-Wan appears moments from falling asleep now. He nuzzles his face into Master Jinn’s hair.
“I missed you,” he says.
“I missed you, too.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry.”
“Can I still be your padawan?”
“Only if you will have a fool for a master,” Master Jinn says. Obi-Wan sniffles.
“I like him as he is most of the time,” he mumbles.