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Obi-Wan slips off the eopie as the suns of Tatooine sink down below the horizon line of the Dune Sea. He looks down at the bundle tucked firmly in the crook of his elbow. Luke sleeps soundly and peacefully, which is a strange sight to behold after the violence of the last few days. The innocence of an infant cast the purple and pink glow of dusk is a strange beacon of hope Obi-Wan hesitates to let leave his arms.
Yet he knows what he must do. The Jedi Master walks slowly to the homestead, his feet dragging with every step. He blames the sand for his clumsiness and leaves it at that.
Truthfully, Obi-Wan had been having some doubts about this plan to leave Luke with the Lars. As much as he wants the boy to have a normal upbringing away from the shadow of the Dark Side, Obi-Wan cannot help but feel regretful that he did not take Bail up on his offer to house both of the twins. Is being with family more important than keeping the twins together? Could these children stand the same danger near or apart? In the haze of grief and in the shock of the Republic's fall, they made these decisions.
Perhaps they were hasty ones...
But he is here now. Standing at their front door with a baby in his arms. Obi-Wan knocks before he can convince himself otherwise.
After a long breath of silence, he knocks again.
Usage of the Force is risky, but he does briefly just to confirm.
Owen and Beru Lars are not home. There are no life forms in the general radius of his homestead, actually.
Obi-Wan finds himself more relieved than he should be. He looks down at Luke still sleeping softly and smiles.
"The Force has overruled me, young one."
Bail can't say he's surprised when he walks into his living room to find Obi-Wan Kenobi lounging on his couch. Perhaps a little curious as to how the Jedi managed to get into his well-guarded home so easily, but that is here nor there in times like these.
"Grow tired of the sand already?" the senator quips as he pads into the kitchen and turns on the caf maker. Glancing back at the Jedi he also takes the kettle from the stove and starts to fill it with water to be boiled.
"The Lars weren't home."
"Impatience is your new vice then?"
"No better time to give the concept a try."
Bail puts the kettle on, finally turning back to face the Jedi. His time on Tatooine was short but still left a mark. He's covered in a fine film of dust that makes him look paler than he normally does. The Jedi's hair is more disheveled than Bail has ever seen— even after battles he looked more orderly, which makes him think that Obi-Wan has been raking and pulling at his roots nonstop since they parted ways at the med center.
"You look like hell, Obi-Wan."
"Mm, thank you," he says dryly, demonstrating what Bail was just imagining with a ruffle of his muted auburn locks. His face softens from the hard brow that suggests wit and cynicism and into something more pleading. Bail pours himself a cup of caf, and comes closer to listen with his full attention. "I do hate to show up here unannounced... though, there was not a safe way to announce myself without putting you, Breha, and Leia in danger."
"No problem at all," Bail reassures him. "I told you, you are always welcome. That invitation was not revoked."
"I am thankful for that. And perhaps... cashing in?"
Bail glances down at the bundle lying on the couch next to Obi-Wan. Luke is barely visible from his angle, but he can see the tiny hand peeking out above the nest of robes. Reaching, with his palm facing up and opened. The sight sparks a reminiscent to his face— Leia also falls asleep with one of her hands outstretched. The opposite one to his, but Bail realizes if they were to be lying side-by-side, their hands would meet one another's.
"You changed your mind?"
"The Force felt it fit to remind me that sometimes my emotions are not out of self-interest, but in line with its will."
Of course, he ties it back to the Force. Bail doesn't pretend to understand the mystery of the energy field— certainly not after Zigoola when he saw far more than he could ever imagine. No matter the reason, to see Obi-Wan and Luke here with intentions to stay pleases him greatly.
"Know that you are very welcome here, Obi-Wan. Breha will be thrilled."
"I am... not imposing?" Obi-Wan asks carefully. The kettle starts to whistle so Bail retreats to the kitchen to pour it into the prepared mug.
"Oh no, of course not. In fact, Breha was actually quite cross with me for allowing you to slip away on your own," Bail says as he hands the steaming mug to the Jedi. Obi-Wan gives him an appreciative smile.
"I know two children was not what you signed up for. I am happy to raise Luke on my own and will just—"
"Nonsense," Bail interrupts, more for the best interest of his mind is still fogged with sleep. "We are pleased to have you and Luke here. Now come, let me show you to a guest suite. You look like you could use a real shower and some rest. We can discuss the details of an arrangement once you are refreshed and settled. There is no rush."
Obi-Wan does not argue with him. Bail supposes the idea of having time to make an informed decision is not a luxury he has had since this war began. Perhaps for even longer than that. They sit together in a peaceful quiet until their warm beverages are finished. Bail then draws Luke up in his arms. Despite the dusty mess Obi-Wan has arrived in, it looks like he took care to keep the infant from the harsh effects of the weather.
"I will take care of young Luke so you can sleep in peace."
"I cannot ask you to—"
"You aren't asking, I am telling you. Leia will be gracing us with her morning shriek any minute now, anyway. Perhaps Luke will set an example of peace and quiet." Obi-Wan still looks unsure, lingering in the bedroom doorway until Bail waves him off. "Sleep. Get yourself cleaned up. The clothes in the closet are meant for guests so you can help yourself. I better not see or hear from you for at least half the day."
Bail leaves before the Jedi can argue further. Just as he predicted, Leia's shrill cry starts to echo from that side of his residence, soon accompanied by Breha's groggy morning voice. Obi-Wan smiles fondly and relaxes for the first time in years.
After five months, Obi-Wan should not be surprised every time Bail shows up at his door with a bundle (or two) in his arms.
They’re neighbors, after all.
“Oh good, you’re home,” Bail says as he enters Obi-Wan’s humble quarters without so much as an invitation. He’s quick to swap Leia’s sleeping form carefully into Obi-Wan’s arms before collapsing on the couch.
“Would it have stopped you if I weren’t?”
Bail shrugs from the couch.
“Considering these are technically staff quarters... I would still knock, of course.”
The Jedi rolls his eyes, gently rocking the sleeping infant. It is true that he lives in one of the staff cottages on Alderaan’s palace grounds. Bail and Breha attempted to convince him to move into one of their guest rooms but that was a level of imposition he just couldn't stand for. His new abode is humble and comfortable. A small one bedroom with a modest kitchen and a pull-out couch for guests, should he have them. Obi-Wan does like it, though. It’s close enough that he can be with the Organa family in mere minutes if he needs to be, but far enough that he does not feel like he is an unwanted roommate.
He will be the twin’s tutor when they are old enough, as well as take care of any childcare needs they require.
“They’re teething,” Bail finally explains. “Whenever Luke falls asleep, Leia is screaming her little head off. Whenever Leia is sleeping, it’s Luke’s turn to make as much noise as possible.”
“Hence the afternoon stroll?” Obi-Wan says with a wry smile.
“Your home is the only other place they’ll sleep.”
“Is that why Breha referred to my home as the Sleep Suggestion?”
“She’s quite convinced it has something to do with the Force, yes.”
Obi-Wan laughs softly and carries Leia to the pop-up crib he keeps at the ready in the corner of his bedroom. It’s the space he would have kept a meditation mat at the Temple, but now it houses the troublesome twins when he watches them.
When he re-emerges into the living room, Bail is still lounging on his couch, but he has that look on his face like he’s about to say something that is going to greatly annoy Obi-Wan.
“I also came to speak to you.”
Case in point.
“About what?”
“The fact that every time I come by you’re here.”
“It is almost as though I’m a fugitive of the Empire,” he replies dryly.
“You know the Empire has no significant presence on Alderaan. And its citizens are no friend of the Imperials as it is.”
“I won’t jeopardize the safety of the children to sit in a public café sipping gourmet caf.”
“That isn’t what I’m implying and you know it. Keep a low profile all you want, Obi-Wan, just—”
“Ben,” he corrects him. What’s the use in having an alias if nobody uses it? Bail sighs.
“Ben. Just... We’re worried about you. Breha and I. I cannot imagine how hard this has been, but I cannot imagine locking yourself in your quarters is a healthy way to address it.”
“You’re right,” he says with a bit more bitterness than he intends. “You cannot imagine what it is like to lose your entire family and way of life in a few short moments.”
Bail looks as though Obi-Wan has punched him in the gut. Obi-Wan is immediately remorseful. Especially with all the Organas have done for the twins... and for him.
This is a far cushier lifestyle than he expected to be leading on Tatooine. Some days, Obi-Wan is weighed down by the guilt of "I don't deserve this" as he looks out onto Alderaan's picturesque mountain ranges. There was a satisfaction to the idea of living out the rest of his days in a barren wasteland. Certainly, one that would earn him a scolding from the Organas who like to remind him that "he did everything he could". Obi-Wan knows there is nothing he can do to change the past. That makes him ever the more sure that a few decades of milling around in the sand was his destined exile.
But no, now he's found himself at a perfectly respectable level of Alderaan's society. He hides behind the alias of a silly nickname Satine gave him when they were young, and dresses in robes far more luxurious than he ever owned as a Jedi Master.
“I’m sorry—” Bail starts but Obi-Wan raises a hand to stop him.
“No, I am sorry. That was... tactless. I... well I...” Obi-Wan sighs and sits down beside the senator. “Why should I get to live a comfortable life when the Jedi are either dead or running for their lives from the Empire?”
It’s not a question Bail-- or anyone-- can answer for Obi-Wan, so it lingers between them. The gundark in the room that has been glaring at Obi-Wan as he tries to sleep finally pointed out.
“Did you ever think about what you would do if you were not a Jedi, Ben?”
The question is random and catches Obi-Wan a little off guard. “If I weren’t... I, well, we used to talk about that as padawans around exam times, of course. It was always jokes, of course.”
“Humor me, then.”
Obi-Wan admittedly remembers conversations aided by the burn of Corellian brandy well. Quinlan was convinced he’d be a part-time professional fighter and part-time model. Garen would be a galactic traveler. Bant, a doctor. Obi-Wan’s answer was always that he’d be an academic. A professor and researcher at a University.
“I’d be a journalist. Not the sort that writes fluff pieces about popular culture or gossip you find on the Holonet. The investigative type. Looking for truth and shedding light on topics that can help people.”
Bail smiles with fondness. “Seems like a profession you would excel at.”
“In another life, perhaps. Why do you ask?”
“My point is, you could have left the twins with me. You could have reinvented yourself as anyone you wanted to be. But you didn’t. You’re here, protecting these children from an enemy that may never come. You’ve given everything for the Jedi, and you continue to do so.”
“So what, you expect me to find happiness in all of this?”
“I expect nothing. Though, I hope you might find some peace. However that may come and however Breha and I may help.”
Obi-Wan swallows dryly, picking at the cuticles around his nails. It’s a bad habit, he knows. One he hasn’t done since his youth.
“I appreciate the sentiment, but I am afraid there is nothing you and Breha can do,” Obi-Wan looks at the senator with a softness in his eyes. “But there is someone who can.”
Qui-Gon is okay with waiting. Patience is one of his strengths, and there is not much else to do in the afterlife anyhow.
What isn’t one of his strengths is being trapped— particularly when the confines mean all he can do is stand and watch as the galaxy crumbles.
As Obi-Wan crumbles.
To see the mass murder of the Jedi was a horror Qui-Gon could have never imagined in his wildest dreams. It was a pain he still finds a hard time comprehending. No matter how many souls he’s welcomed with comforting embraces into the peace of the Force. No matter how often he checks in on the Jedi who managed to survive.
There are just so few.
Some days it is a solace that Obi-Wan was one who survived. Of course, he would be one of them. Obi-Wan was a survivor on his worst days.
Other days, Qui-Gon gives into the selfish wish that his boy was returned to him. Especially on days like this. Days when all he can do is sit and wait. Close, but also far enough that his presence at his tear-stricken padawan's side isn’t sensed. Qui-Gon so desperately wants Obi-Wan to feel his hand upon his shoulder. The gentle squeezes he kneads into the boy’s tense muscles, and the words of comfort he traces with the pad of his thumb.
Seeing him broken and riddled with guilt like this makes it all the more difficult to not tear a hole in the fabric of space and time. Not that he possesses that power, but Qui-Gon would be willing to try for the sake of giving Obi-Wan a long-overdue hug.
All he can do is wait. Watch and wait.
The twins have reached their first year of life now. It would be a momentous occasion if that did not mean the Empire had also stood tall for a year. Their birthday according to Alderaan public records is not for another month, but the Organa's and Obi-Wan celebrate in private anyhow. Something happy to distract them from this day.
Maybe it’s that glimmer of hope that pushes him. Obi-Wan returns from the party with frosting in his beard and a genuine smile that lingers on his lips. As he does every night, the Jedi settles at his meditation mat and sinks into the Force.
“Master”, Obi-Wan calls out to him. Qui-Gon takes his place across from his padawan, their knees nearly touching if he were able to take a physical form.
“Padawan,” Qui-Gon projects back. It’s a message that has never found its recipient, but he always tries.
“I need your help. Your guidance. The twins are growing so quickly and I... I want to do right by them.”
“You doubt yourself so needlessly,” Qui-Gon reaches for him yet is unable to touch him. “The only help you require is to see that in yourself. To see the man that I see you as.”
Every time they have this conversation, Qui-Gon dares to hope he will hear.
“I am torn. A part of me believes training them in the ways of the Force would be essential. The other part of me...”
But alas, this day is the same as the rest.
“...believes they are better off without me.”
Qui-Gon’s head bows. “That is not true, and you know it.”
Usually, Obi-Wan would fall down the tangent of why he should leave. How he’d just mess them up as he did Anakin. How he’d only make things worse. Qui-Gon can only wait until he is done. Watch with great sorrow, and wait.
“But I wish you could meet them, Master,” Obi-Wan’s jovial tone makes Qui-Gon’s head snap up in surprise. “They’re so strong in the Force. It is like basking in the warmth of a thousand stars. Only one year old, and I already have to nudge their little shields closed,” his small smile grows to a grin. “Luke called me Baba today. One his first words and...” his voice is meant to be just a whisper in the Force, but it comes across as a yell with the way he radiates such affection. “...and it’s for me.”
Qui-Gon marvels at Obi-Wan’s light. The openness of his Force presence hasn’t been so free since before Naboo. He’s so entranced, Qui-Gon almost does not notice the tingling sensation spreading through him as the Force pours into his bodiless soul.
Obi-Wan’s eyes slowly open as a blue glow is cast upon his face. The same blue as his eyes that are now wide with shock.
Qui-Gon smiles. This time when he reaches out to lay a hand upon Obi-Wan’s shoulder, it does not move right through him.
“I am so glad you have them, padawan mine,” to hear his voice in the living world again without the echoes of the afterlife is a thrill he’s been waiting for since he communed with Yoda on Dagobah. “And that they have you.”
"Master!" Obi-Wan gapes. He stays frozen until his eyes trail from where Qui-Gon sits to his hand atop his shoulder. Then his tearful face scrunches and he hesitantly reaches to place his hand over Qui-Gon's. "You're... here. This isn't... a dream??"
"I do not recall you laying your head down to sleep," he chuckles.
"Neither do I but-- but," a tear rolls down Obi-Wan's cheek. "I didn't think I'd ever find you."
"It was never a matter of finding me, Obi-Wan. I've been right here all along. It was about positioning yourself into that particular window of the Force to see what lies beyond your normal bounds of perception."
A smile crosses his reddened features. "I should have known finding you would include a certain level of dramatics."
"You can take up that critique with the Force, not me. If I had my way I would have revealed myself to you much sooner."
Qui-Gon goes on to explain the dynamics of this ghostly state. How when he returned to the Force he did not fully give himself to the Force. There was more work to be done-- he just knew.
"A maverick against the natural order even in death," Obi-Wan chuckles.
"I did say you still had more to learn, did I not?"
"Somehow I doubt you had that much foresight that day."
Qui-Gon stifles a grimace. He has many regrets from those days after finding Anakin. A conversation for later-- especially now that they have plenty of later.
"Indeed," Qui-Gon says, "but it's true. Your role continues to be instrumental, Obi-Wan. Everything that has happened has been for a reason, whether it makes sense to us, or not. You surviving, Anakin's fall--"
"The Lars not being home?"
"The Lars not being home," the ghost master nods. "It's all brought us here and now."
Obi-Wan's fond smile returns. "Here and now."
They have a lot of work to do and much to discuss, but Qui-Gon is perfectly content basking in the here and the now with Obi-Wan as long as he can manage.