Chapter Text
The Jedi Temple on Coruscant was an oasis in the desert if sand were noise. Down to its core, the world was a built up landscape of stone and metal, lights flickering with power all over. There was no true darkness on Coruscant. The population was beyond what a single planet should ever hold, those near the top living in luxury while those just a few levels below stumbled from meal to meal, hoping they'd find shelter somewhere when night fell.
The debate between a bit of food and a decent source of warmth. The indignation of a moment's delay to a man not familiar with hearing 'no'. The child's joy at a mother's embrace and another's tantrum over the lack of the latest gizmo.
Stepping into the Temple, Obi-Wan's headache was soothed in the Light that curled warmly over his shoulders. There was nothing quite like coming home.
Of course, even in the peace of home, there were duties to attend to. Duties that brought on the beginnings of a stress headache to replace the one that had been growing from all the noise outside.
He'd promised Madame Nu a conversation on a culture he'd come across on a recent mission. There was paperwork to be done for the High Council as well as a likely growing list of meetings to be conducted posthaste. Anakin had tried to comm him four times in the last hour. Quinlan Vos had sent him a series of messages the likes of which only Quin could ever find sense in. He'd offered to assist in a sparring demonstration for a group of younglings. And, of course, there was all the stuff he was forgetting.
In short, the list was long.
Obi-Wan paused, his feet bringing him to a stop as he glanced around the corridor. It was true he hadn't exactly been paying a huge amount of attention to where he was going, but he'd lived in this temple all his life; he hadn't taken a wrong turn in decades. Yet, despite aiming for his apartment, he'd somehow wandered into the Crèche.
Frowning, he turned slowly back the way he came, taking a step forward. It was enough to confirm his theory, an emptiness opening in his chest like a gaping maw. It brightened with warmth the moment he turned around again.
With a huff, Obi-Wan continued on the path, following the Crèche's main corridor at the Force's behest. Through various doors, excitable little stars fluttered about as younglings so often did, their signatures in the Force as changing as they were.
It was rather sweet, walking among them now. Their unbridled joy was inescapable thanks to their leaky attempts at mental shielding, but that also meant he had to deal with the frustration and overall upset of an entire clan sick with some fever.
That headache of his was never going to go away, was it? Maybe he should take Master Che up on that migraine medication she kept offering him.
Obi-Wan stilled. That warmth in his chest the Force had been granting him had changed. It was the sensation of a chuckle, the rumble and shake coming from somewhere deep, alongside the tug of muscles in his cheeks. It wasn't often the Force felt mischievous.
He breathed in deep, allowing himself to drift a little in the Force's currents, hoping for some further information. He found only wisps of nothing.
A physical tug pulled him from the barely-there meditation. Now fully in reality, it took a moment for him to realise the tug had come from the back of his robes and another to react by turning.
Well now, the Force certainly was up to some mischief. Empty air stared back at him.
Or maybe this was less Force mischief, and more Quin mischief. Obi-Wan knew his old friend was in-Temple at the moment and the man certainly enjoyed his pranks, especially when they involved frivolous uses of the Force. This was exactly the kind of thing he'd do.
Another tug and Obi-Wan glanced down to finally spot the true culprit. "Hello there," he greeted the youngling, no higher than his knee.
The child's head tilted, small eyes narrowing further in what he presumed was their attempt at mirroring a human frown.
A brief scan of the child with the Force showed them to be perfectly healthy and there was no sense of nervousness or fear eking out from behind their shields, only curiosity. Obi-Wan couldn't help his relief; he'd handled too many lost younglings sobbing with fear, it was highly unpleasant. He crouched down, his robe rucking up since the child's small hand was still fisted around the material. "Where's your clanmaster, little one?"
Those small eyes, almost glowing the way anything painted white did under a blacklight, roved over his face. They did not answer his question.
"I'm sure your clanmaster is very worried about where you've got to. Perhaps we should find them?" he suggested.
Yet again, the child gave no response. Obi-Wan hummed.
He wasn't entirely sure of their species (in fact, unusual as it was, he wasn't sure he recognised their species at all), while humanoid, their distinct lack of mouth ruled out most of the ones he could think of off the top of his head. It was entirely possible, at this point in their development, word-based communication was beyond them.
He supposed he could just pick the child up and search for the recognisable, semi-frantic signature of a clanmaster hunting for their lost youngling. Something curled in his stomach, churning what was left there from firstmeal— oh, there was another thing on his to-do list for today: successfully manage midmeal.
Rather than simply manhandle the little one, Obi-Wan reached out his hand, offering it to the youngling. They considered it, eyes narrowing yet again.
Only after a moment did a small hand curl around two of his fingers. The child had to reach up to keep hold as he stood, but if they were at all bothered then they didn't show it and their shielding had rather suddenly improved.
Obi-Wan led them forwards, steps small so the little one could keep up easily. Reaching out into the Force, he could only smile as that familiar semi-franticness he'd expected barrelled around the corner in front of him.
The clanmaster sagged at the sight of Obi-Wan and the child walking beside him. Then their shoulders squared, pulling them to a full height that Obi-Wan thought should've been rather intimidating to small younglings, and yet, the little one still only leaked curiosity. They hadn't seemed to notice their relieved but stern clanmaster had found them.
"Master Kenobi," the clanmaster greeted, bowing. "Petra," was far more chastising, the accompanying look very telling.
Obi-Wan would hazard a guess this wasn't the first time little Petra had managed to escape their clan rooms.
"Thank you for looking after her. I apologise for any disturbance our escape artist has caused."
"Not at all," Obi-Wan assured, chuckling at the child still staring up at him despite the closeness of her clanmaster. Rolling his eyes fondly, he picked the child up and held her against his hip. She wrapped her arms around his neck, head resting on his shoulder.
Opposite him, her clanmaster blinked. "How did you know to do that?"
Obi-Wan frowned, looking at the child as best he could as her breaths slowed against his neck (apparently it was naptime for little Jedi) and the intense confusion on the face of her clanmaster. "To do what?"
"Pick her up," they clarified. "It took me months to figure out when she wanted to be held."
He thought back, searching for the moment he decided to lift her even when he'd decided against it only a short few moments before. "I'm not sure." She'd simply been looking at him and it had felt right to pick her up. "I suppose I just got the feeling."
The clanmaster huffed and Obi-Wan realised it was really no wonder that Petra hadn't minded reaching up to hold his hand when her clammaster was a lasat far taller than Obi-Wan had ever dreamed of being. "Petra's species communicates primarily through telepathy. 'Feelings' is how she speaks, but it's taken myself and many of my fellow crèchemasters several months to translate what she shares with us into notions we can understand, and you just picked her up when she asked."
Obi-Wan supposed that would explain it then. He wondered what kind of circumstances could force evolution to encourage telepathy as the prevalent form of communication. There were a number of species out there who spoke through alternative means than the spoken word, but telepathy was an uncommon one. He wasn't even sure he'd realised any species used it as their primary communication method. "Perhaps she's getting better at conveying her wishes in a clearer format," he suggested.
"Unlikely. Her telepathic language is as unchanging as Galactic Basic. It only ever differs in the situational context layer, or when she doesn't know a word and later learns the official sense for it."
How intriguing. A telepathic language, entirely based in the minds of those who used it, and yet with set and official ways of conveying any meaning. Obi-Wan would've assumed a far more direct method of communication for telepathy, something flexible, subjective to each speaker and listener. Obi-Wan hummed thoughtfully, Petra nuzzling closer as his chest rumbled with it. He hummed again, starting up a faint tune, a smile growing on his face.
"I'll be Force-damned, you did it again."
Obi-Wan blinked, still humming, much to the contentment of the child in his arms. "How is she getting these feelings to me without my even noticing a foreign thought within my mind?"
"The telepathy of her species functions without the Force. She's not sneaking messages past your shields, she snuck herself past your shields the moment you came in range."
Smoothing his palm in circles over the little one's back, Obi-Wan let himself sink into his own mind, reaching tendrils out not beyond his shields, but within them. There, settled in the corner, was an easy warmth not unlike the one held against his chest. "Hello there," he whispered within his mind, letting the words drift towards the peaceful presence of the child.
The little presence unfurled just enough to release the feeling of air between fingers, and a sudden light spilling yellow. He took that as a greeting in return.
"It must be interesting to teach Galactic Basic to a child whose language is based on sensation and feeling," he said aloud.
The clanmaster sighed. "Interesting is one word. Whatever language you speak, she'll understand the meaning of what you're telling her just fine. The problem arises in her responding."
"She has no mouth to speak Basic with." She wouldn't be the only person in the Temple who couldn't speak Basic. Most of those others had their own spoken languages instead though, Shyriiwook, Ithorian. Almost all Jedi learned to understand those languages to ease communication, they were taught to anyone who wanted to learn in the Crèche and beyond. An entirely mental language like this though was very different, Obi-Wan hadn't heard of anything like it, and— from the sounds of things— there wasn't anybody at the Temple who knew the language well enough to teach it to others.
"No vocal chords, no ears either," the clanmaster added. "Sound simply doesn't carry on her homeworld so there was no point to having either." A planet without noise? Obi-Wan liked the sound of that, such a peaceful place.
"And you've mentioned that it takes time to understand her language." The little thing probably didn't have anyone who could fully understand her. A child her age needed to be able to share her needs. Writing was a little beyond the fine motor control of someone so young, and a signed language like that of the tuskans would likely come with the same difficulties.
"She needs some way of speaking to people, and we'll find it. It's just taking some time to find an idea that won't collapse the moment we iron out the kinks."
Obi-Wan nodded, feeling even breaths against his neck. Within his mind, Petra's gentle presence had practically melted. Fast asleep. "I assume it's nap time."
The clanmaster nodded, waving Obi-Wan through the corridors and through a door marked as Krayt Dragon clan. The other younglings were all fast asleep, mattresses pulled altogether on the floor. As gentle as he could be, Obi-Wan set Petra on one of the many bare mattresses as the others snuggled so closely there were as many as four gathered on one.
As Obi-Wan headed out the room, he took one last glance back. Petra had already joined the mass of arms and legs until he could barely find her amongst the others.
Sighing, Obi-Wan realised that after this brief reprieve, it was time for him to get back to the stresses of the rest of the world again.
***
"Obes, come on," Quinlan whined, crashing his shoulder into Obi-Wan's in his less than graceful attempt to lean on him.
Obi-Wan shook his head, fully aware the smile on his face betrayed any sense of irritation he was trying to give off. "Now, now, Quin."
"But if you don't come, I'll have to go alone."
Obi-Wan could only chuckle at his friend's complaints, breathing the fresh air that abounded in the Room of a Thousand Fountains. The Living Force was bright here, running warm breezes through his growing hair.
"I can't believe you'd abandon me this way."
"You've been invited to a ball by a dignitary, I've hardly thrown you to a sarlacc pit."
Quin whimpered. "Betrayal from my closest friend. He won't even stand with me through a boring meeting with-"
"Ball," Obi-Wan corrected.
"-with a group of people who only want me there to have something pretty to stare at."
And what could Obi-Wan possibly do in response but roll his eyes once more? "You know as well as I that-" He stumbled, caught only by Quin catching his arm.
"Obi?"
"Youngling in distress," Obi-Wan choked out, reinforcing his mental shields so the battering ram of a child's upset was a tad more manageable. There was a very good reason why the Crèche wasn't a central part of the Jedi Temple. Simply put, children in the Force were loud and emotional. How crèchemasters cared for younglings day and night without being driven to insanity, Obi-Wan would never know, but he admired them greatly for it.
"I don't sense anything."
Pulling Quin along in the right direction, Obi-Wan stared at his friend in open disbelief. The child was so deafening, he could hear nothing else. Their desperation had latched onto Obi-Wan's mind and was going to keep shaking until he did something to help. "How?"
Stomping through the underbrush in a manner he would never do under normal circumstances, Obi-Wan made quick work of getting to the youngling. Quin beside him, he stepped into a clearing in one of the more heavily forested areas of the room. The thick trees behind him muffled any noise from beyond, and here, there was only the shaky wheeze of a very unhappy child, almost overshadowed by the gentle trickle of a brook no wider than his handspan.
The child was curled up about as small as he thought they could get, their long limbs making any further shrinkage impossible. Tucked under the overhang of a bench, the child wept silently into their knees, hands clutching at short brown hair.
"Hello there," he greeted, crouching as he shuffled closer.
"I'll see if I can find their clanmaster," Quin offered softly, making a strategic retreat. He never was good with small children. A padawan, he could handle; a youngling no older than ten was quite beyond him.
Obi-Wan reached out with the Force, gently brushing against the child's signature in a brief assessment of their current state. Physically, they appeared uninjured. Their shields, however, were in tatters, and only seemed to be shattering all the more though Obi-Wan could see no explanation for the continuing damage.
No wonder their distress was leaking so much.
"What happened, little one?"
Eyes a startling colour he couldn't seem to fully comprehend met his. There was pain and pressure and hurt and suffering and ache and throbbing and pricking and stinging and agony and soreness and too much too much too much make it stop make it stop make it stop!
Sensory overload. A sort of mental, Force-affected sensory overload. The child was feeling too much of everything around them. Their shields weren't strong enough to handle the onslaught.
So Obi-Wan reached out, opening a gap in his shields just large enough for a youngling in a lot of pain. Both physically and in the Force, the child slumped as Obi-Wan closed his shields behind them.
A warmth near burned in his chest, an image of a barter— of a debt owed— fluttering over his mind's eye, accompanied by a tranquility he wished could be his constant companion. A slightly broken, "My thanks to you," found its way to him in Galactic Basic.
"You're most welcome, little one," he assured. "Rest. You may stay here as long as you need."
The child now all but cradled in his own mind, Obi-Wan turned his attention to the physical world. In their relief, the child had tilted until they were lying on the grass. It was far from conducive to a restful slumber, not with their neck so awkwardly twisted.
The child was already coherent enough to help as Obi-Wan pulled them upright. He didn't expect them to immediately settle themself in Obi-Wan's lap, but he did nothing to stop them. Tugging his robes around, he cocooned the child in the physical world as much as he was mentally.
Their distress had long vanished faster than the wingbeats of a Vashnor Hummer, and the peace of the moment now that things had settled brought him the realisation that this child was familiar to him. It had been some years ago now, not long after the war had ended, and this child with no mouth to speak and no ears to hear had found him. Petra was her name, if he remembered correctly.
He hummed softly, feeling the child relax further into his hold. In his mind, Petra attended to her shields, carefully dismantling the shattered remains and starting the foundations for something new. With the brief flashes of mountains he'd never seen before, of the terrifying smallness against something so much greater, of unmatched anchorage, he suspected her new shields would be stronger.
The crunch and shift of underbrush drew his attention to the tree line where Quin had reappeared, a woman beside him who— judging by the distinct features— was the same species as Petra. The woman's eyes were hard to look at, darting wildly about the clearing in an obvious hunt. Obi-Wan opened a gap in his robes and watched as the woman relaxed so thoroughly that Quin reached out to steady her.
The woman reached into a pocket in her civilian clothes, pulling out a worn piece of flimsiplast and a stylus. "This isn't Petra's clanmaster," Obi-Wan said, directing the mindspoken message to Quin.
"Just wait," was Quin's unhelpful reply as the woman who very definitely wasn't a Jedi wrote.
Thank you for taking care of my daughter, Obi-Wan read only a moment later. He didn't quite stifle a reaction in time, his eyebrow rising.
He'd never heard of a youngling's parent residing in the Temple before, let alone a parent being so open about it. While it was hardly forbidden for a Jedi to know the family they were born into, it was rare for that first meeting to occur at so young an age.
With a smile, the woman flipped the page over. Hello, I am Stead, Petra's mother. I understand it is not usual for the parent of a youngling to be in the Temple, but I help with the language barrier.
Obi-Wan nodded. "Well met, Stead." He'd known there was difficulty with the very different mode of language between Petra's people and most others, but he hadn't realised they'd enlisted the youngling's mother to help.
Petra closed the gap Obi-Wan had opened in his cloak, either wanting the return of soft darkness or thick warmth. Considering the state he'd found her in, he wouldn't begrudge her either.
Writing something on her freshly cleaned flimsi, Stead glanced up at the slight movement from her child and smiled. The woman asked a few questions, understandable questions given the protective instinct of all parents everywhere.
So Obi-Wan explained. He'd felt Petra's distress, he'd come to help, he was shielding her so she could recover in safety. That was really all there was to it.
Thank you, the woman wrote once more and Obi-Wan rushed to tell her there was truly nothing to thank him for. Stead only underlined the words for emphasis. She's never reached out to anyone other than me for help before. Have you ever met before?
"Once," Obi-Wan answered. "Some years ago." He doubted Petra had reached out to him on purpose based on one brief interaction where, if he remembered correctly, he'd done little more than carry her to her clan room where she could sleep. The poor thing had just been very scared and very overwhelmed and he'd been within her range. "Forgive me, I understand why you're at the Temple, but I'm surprised you weren't asked to hide that you're her mother until she's older." There were perhaps politer ways of wording that. Alas, the words were spoken, and the meaning would've been clear whatever words he'd chosen.
In the language we were born to, there are no secrets.
Obi-Wan hummed, a contentedness drifting his way from Petra before the last of her new shields formed up. He almost wished more languages removed the ability for secrets, the galaxy would likely be a safer place with such a requirement for honesty.
With another mental, "Thank you," Petra emerged from Obi-Wan's mind and poked her head out of his robes only to wince at the lights and hide away again.
Her mother's eyes seemed to soften, shoulders shaking in what could only be a laugh, or the closest mimicry one could make without a mouth to laugh with. She took some time to write out her next message, unbothered by the time it took to write each word. Our telepathy makes us very empathic. Two of her clanmates got in a fight this morning which was followed by a great deal of anxiety and anticipation followed by intense celebration and disappointment throughout the entire Crèche due to the parts list going up for the upcoming Life Day children's play.
Even Obi-Wan had to admit, that did sound like a whirlwind of emotions for anyone. For a youngling (even with impressive shielding for her age) with intense empathy, it had to feel something like being shredded by a pull in a thousand directions.
We have a name for it, but I think you'd call it sensory overload.
Obi-Wan only hummed again, knowing it would act both as an acknowledgement and something soothing to Petra who probably wouldn't appreciate anything too loud if her mother's explanation was accurate— though, perhaps volume wasn't an issue to a child without ears. "Should we take her to the Halls of Healing?"
Stead shook her head sharply. Her clanmates are now in lessons so she can rest peacefully in her clan room.
"How does that sound, little one?" Obi-Wan asked before realising there was no way for the child to read her mother's flimsi. However, judging by how she wrapped her arms around his neck, tucking his robe in at various points to keep her hidden from the world, she understood well enough that they were moving and she'd seemingly decided Obi-Wan was carrying her. "Alright then," he told her with a chuckle, careful to keep from pulling his robes free as he stood, cradling her to his chest. "Lead the way, Lady Stead."
Warm creases around her eyes, Stead turned back towards the trees behind them.
"I really wish I had a holocam right now," came Quin's teasing. Honestly, Obi-Wan was impressed by how long his respectful silence had lasted.
Obi-Wan sent a glare his way, but otherwise did nothing, not with the youngling in his arms. A youngling who probably wouldn't appreciate any strong emotions or reactions right now.
"I'm telling you, Obes. You've been adopted."
Obi-Wan rolled his eyes, nudging Quin out of his head to the mental equivalent of hearty laughter and softer giggles. Feeling the child's shoulders shake, he presumed they'd had an unintended eavesdropper. Petra tucked the robe in tighter with one hand, the other taking a firmer hold around his neck.
"The youngling has spoken. You're hers now."
***
He had nightmares sometimes. He'd always had nightmares. The only thing that had changed over the years was the topic, and it hadn't even changed all that much. He'd spent too much time in war zones, starting younger than most. It was the life he'd lived, as the Force willed it.
On nights like these (mornings, really) he wished the Force could be kinder.
Then he remembered how selfish that was and he released those feelings to the Force. It wasn't his place to demand of the Force. The Force knew best, knew the bigger picture, knew who and what a person could handle and what they couldn't. The Force understood.
Obi-Wan lifted his cloak off the hook at his door. Normally, his tossing and turnings in the throes of his terrible dream would've woken Cody who'd make them tea and keep him company until his hands stopped shaking and his breathing evened out; Cody who Obi-Wan did the same for when he suffered nights like these. What was between them had no name— or wasn't something they'd tried to name, at least— but there was kindness and a shared care and an understanding that ran deep. They'd been at war together, fought side by side and back to back. Without one, the other could not have made it. So they'd stayed together, the war thankfully well and truly over.
His old commander wasn't here now though. Cody was with his brothers, celebrating the anniversary of the day the clones were formally recognised as sentients. So Obi-Wan was here alone, tucking his hands into opposing sleeves and gripping his forearms tight as tighter footsteps led him to the Room of a Thousand Fountains.
He'd just go on a walk, try to clear his head. He could meditate, even. That would be good. The tranquility and the quiet and the Living Force was so overwhelming in this place, he could soak it all in and find peace.
He stumbled, finding soft grass between his fingertips far faster than he'd planned to. That was alright, he could meditate here, he could do that. Every place in this room was beautiful and calm and perfect. Here was as good a spot as any.
It would be a nicer spot if it would stop spinning for a moment. Oh, was that a wall he felt? Good, he could lean against that while he meditated. Then the spinning wouldn't be a problem. Wonderful.
Goodness. Perhaps he shouldn't have left his room. There were black dots like ash from a blaze and his chest was feeling rather tight.
Then came the hum. It wasn't something he heard, it was something he felt. The Force itself was singing, the tune soft and steady. It drew him in, wrapped him up, settled over his shoulders. Just like that, it wasn't so hard to breathe. Just like that, the room was still around him. Just like that, he opened his eyes, not sure when he'd closed them and not minding it so much, and in front of him was a youngling.
She was sat in front of him, thumbs rubbing his palms, eyes closed, the lower half of her face covered by a scarf. When her eyes opened, a colour he struggled to focus on, she pulled her hands from his to settle in her lap and her hum quieted until it stopped.
She reached into her robes, pulling out a painstakingly bound book of flimsi. Are you alright?
Obi-Wan nodded softly to her. "Thanks to your help, little one. That's an unusual skill you have. I'm grateful for it."
You're welcome. She flipped to a page early on in the book, it's corner folded over to make it easy to find. Hello, my name is Petra. My species primarily communicates via telepathy. Please nod if you are comfortable with me speaking to you in this way. I won't hear anything of your inner thoughts. you will only be able to hear what I send to you.
The words had been written out neatly, every letter painfully drawn to ensure absolute clarity. No soul could misunderstand what was written here. Obi-Wan nodded.
"You helped me once, when I was overwhelmed," she said into his mind, the words in crisp and clear Basic, no feelings or imagery accompanying them. "I am honoured to help you now."
"Your Basic has improved quite well," he complimented. "Your teachers must be impressed."
"And relieved," she tagged on. "The language of my homeworld can be hard to handle, especially over long periods. I carried headache medication for them for years."
"Well that's very sweet of you." Thoughtful. Kind. Compassionate. He wondered how young she'd been, if her empathy had meant she'd felt their pain. Crèchemasters were incredibly skilled in handling their emotions, knowing the children around them may be able to pick up on feelings, even feelings kept behind seemingly perfect shields. Still, Jedi were people, they couldn't stop themselves from experiencing emotions. Had little Petra ever felt frustration directed at her? Anger? Resentment?
"You need food and water," she told him, straightforward in a way he wasn't used to with his fellow Jedi.
Obi-Wan shook his head, giving her a warm smile he hoped wouldn't look as plastic as it felt. "That's quite alright. I think I just need some sleep."
She raised an eyebrow. He could only see half of her face, but it was enough to understand her expression. Utter and absolute disbelief. "I've been told I can be very persistent when I believe someone isn't taking care of themselves properly. I'd recommend going along with it, I don't want to get mean."
Obi-Wan chuckled, raising his hands in surrender. "Far be it for me to argue with a determined youngling. I know better."
She nodded in that self-assured way only a youngling could, standing and offering a hand to him. He stood mostly on his own power, but he still took her hand, putting just enough of his weight on her that she'd feel like she was helping.
When he returned to his room, sugar in his system from an unusual stash of sweets (one, he suspected, of many that Petra had around the Temple) and water from the refectory gulped down, he was far more settled than he'd been when he left. Debating on whether to attempt more sleep or simply meditate until the morning, Obi-Wan realised he'd failed to ask Petra what exactly she'd been doing outside of her clanroom at so late an hour. He'd have to find her sometime tomorrow and ask.
Nodding to himself, he decided to brave an attempt at sleeping. He woke up hours later, smiling.
***
There were reasons he hadn't seen the initiate tournaments in several years. There was work, of course, always. The life of a Jedi was never quite stationary. They came to serve, always. Then, well, last year he'd taken a few days to himself (himself and Cody, actually) and it had happened to coincide with the tournaments. It was as simple as that.
Honestly, he didn't care much for watching younglings fight each other. And besides, the tournaments were almost entirely in place so initiates could impress a master or knight enough to take them as a padawan. Obi-Wan was not looking for a padawan right now, despite the pointed comments he'd been getting from more than a few people.
Today, unfortunately, he'd failed to come up with a good enough excuse to be allowed to enjoy his day and was bundled into the training salle they were using for today's tournaments by his supposed friends. They hadn't even been kind enough to find Cody and bring him along too to mitigate their cruelty— it was one thing to be stuck here with Cody at his side and quite another to be without.
"I told you Little Miss Persistence would be back this year." Quinlan turned a smug look on Garen.
Bant rolled her eyes while Garen rubbed his, squinting down at where the students had been lined up. The group they were watching included the oldest initiates, close to aging out and being sent to one of the Jedi service corps— a noble career path that aided the galaxy but was sadly met with disappointment by most initiates— rather than being partnered with a master. Looking at the line up, there was one child distinctly older than the others. "I don't get it. She's sixteen, she's spent the last three years in the medicorps, surely she realises no master is going to take her on this late?"
"She knows that," Bant said. "She doesn't particularly understand it either, but the Force keeps telling her to come back and she listens. I've worked with her before and I can tell you now, she's not going to stop being here every year until the Force tells her otherwise."
That was a lot of faith in the Force for a teenager. "You've worked with her?"
Bant nodded. "Petra's a good kid. She does a lot of work with mind-healers, has this really quite incredible way of soothing people."
Obi-Wan nodded, remembering an all-encompassing hum that had brought him down from a panic attack five years ago now.
"Don't nod like you know when you avoid mind-healers even more than the Halls of Healing."
Obi-Wan cleared his throat, turning his attention to the initiates being split into partners for sparring. Obi-Wan had to admit, it was unusual for an initiate to come back from the corps for the tournaments. They were welcome, of course, but it simply didn't happen often. Most initiates found their place in the corps and decided there was no need to come back, or they only came for the first year before they settled into their new life. For Petra to be here at sixteen, to have returned to the temple for three tournaments, the title of 'Little Miss Persistence' had seemingly been earned.
"She's not even going to do that well, it's been three years since she had proper lightsaber training," Garen argued. "It's arrogance for her to think she can gain a master this way."
"All will be as the Force wills," Obi-Wan reminded his clanmate of so long ago. Force, they'd grown old. There were far too many grey hairs among them.
The matches started, lightsabers lit and set to training mode. Petra's glowed a yellow-orange, dawn and dusk and damn near gold. Her handle was unusually long, even for a double-sided lightsaber. Watching her fight, he tried to figure out why that might be.
Garen was right that three years away from the temple and the intensive lightsaber training here should've left Petra rusty and very much at the mercy of the younger initiates who trained every day or close to. Instead, Obi-Wan was watching her run circles around her sparring partner.
She was quick. She'd grown into her long limbs, her figure filling out into lean muscle that moved fast. While her opponent repeatedly launched at her, she dodged or blocked at the last moment, her movements minimal to conserve the energy her opponent was so blatantly wasting.
It was an impressive show of efficiency, and would likely mean she'd still be standing tall when her competitors were barely on their feet in later matches. Honestly, with her skills, he was surprised she hadn't been put into the padawan tournaments. But then, Petra wasn't a padawan.
Not yet.
The officiator called an end to the first round of matches, and Petra jumped back from her opponent, flicking her lightsaber off. Unfortunately, it appeared her opponent either hadn't heard or had chosen not to listen.
Seemingly unbothered, Petra merely continued to dodge. Her movements were as quick and precise as before, no sense of desperation or fear as she faced a lightsaber while her own was inactive. Why didn't she reactivate her own?
The officiator called again, but the mirialan continued, pressing Petra closer and closer to the salle's walls. She didn't have much ground left to give.
Somebody needed to stop the fight before she ran out of room. Even on the training mode, a lightsaber could still do damage.
Obi-Wan's hands tightened around the rail running around the training salle's viewing balcony. He leaned forward, waiting for someone to step in.
So busy looking for someone to help, he almost missed Petra move. Hearing her opponent growl had drawn Obi-Wan's attention back to her; she'd hit the wall, she was vulnerable. She couldn't step back anymore, and her opponent knew it, the whole room knew it. Of course, they were all so focused on her inability to move backwards, they'd forgotten she could move in any other direction she liked.
She stepped forward, ducking under the swing of a purple lightsaber, and pressed her palm to the mirialan's forehead. She caught her opponent rather than let them hit the ground. Their lightsaber was off before it clattered against the floor.
Without fanfare, she carried her opponent out of the salle. She missed her second match, but was back in time to be paired up for a third. Only, the odd numbers now were proving an issue. It was meant to be a three way match, each fighter for themselves. It ended up being two initiates against Petra. Her fighting style didn't change.
Despite her speed, her movements were unrushed, each motion reaching its zenith at the proper time before flowing into the next action. Clearly, she'd found some way to practice even as part of the medicorps. Obi-Wan might even go as far to say that some of her style came from experience, but why a fresh face in the medicorps would find themselves experiencing combat when those older should've been their defence, Obi-Wan couldn't fathom.
She handled the smaller of her two opponents first, a human intent on the flashy tricks found in Ataru that weren't always to his benefit. Once she no longer had to worry about two opponents, she could turn her focus on the more troublesome one. The twi'lek was just fast enough to keep up with Petra when she was dealing with two opponents, but not quite fast enough to do more than block and evade. With the human now dealt with, the twi'lek didn't stand a chance. They yielded, their lightsaber skittering across the ground and a yellow blade at their throat.
The three initiates bowed to one another and waited for the other spars to come to an end. Yes, Obi-Wan decided as the two opponents clipped their lightsabers to their belts while Petra's remained gripped securely in one hand, she'd had experience, real experience, somehow.
"Quin, what made you so sure she'd be here this year?" Obi-Wan asked, trying to flick back through his memories for mentions of incidents involving the medicorps. He wasn't all that involved in the corps but he kept up to date on most things involving any Jedi so he would've thought he'd know about it if a young medicorpsmember had found themselves caught up in something.
Garen grumbled to himself and Obi-Wan could practically feel the mischief in the air when both Bant and Quin smiled. "Well, let's just say we've met too."
Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow. Curiouser and curiouser. What would cause a young corpsmember to cross paths with a Shadow? Quin almost solely took undercover missions these days, often long term. They involved the dark sides of the galaxy Obi-Wan was quite happy not to be involved with. Give him a politician any day.
"There are two highly redacted reports in the archives of some kind of occurrence on a medicorps cruiser now marked as destroyed," Bant spoke up, sharp eyes on Obi-Wan. "The dates listed on the reports and the day of the destruction line up rather nicely."
"How unusual," Obi-Wan remarked, watching as the younglings were switched up yet again. While everyone was still sparring, two of the matches had been moved further away to separate them from the others, marking them as the semi-finals for the tournament.
"It should also be noted that the report dates each span over three months."
Now that caught Obi-Wan's attention enough to miss the start of the matches. What Bant was saying suggested Petra had found herself working with a Shadow for three months. It was unheard of for something like that to happen. Obi-Wan wasn't entirely sure what his face was doing but he turned some kind of look on Quin and it was enough for the man to raise his hands. "I would've brought her back to the Temple sooner if I could've but it was easier said than done, ok?"
That just made it all the worse.
"I'd give you all the juicy details if I could, Obes, you know that, but..." They all knew Quin couldn't share everything that he got up to as a Shadow. They were a secret part of the Order for a reason. "I can tell you she handled herself well. Really well."
"I'm surprised you didn't ask her to be your padawan."
Quin opened his mouth but-
"She rejected him," Bant explained just a beat sooner.
"We both recognised that the Force had other plans for her, thank you very much," Quin corrected, expression the epitome of affronted.
By the time Obi-Wan glanced over at the matches, Petra was watching to see who would be facing her in the finals. Her opponent was sulking, frustration and bitterness well-hidden in the Force but not well enough.
"You two would get on like a pair of tooka kits, if you're curious." Despite his position as a Shadow, it seemed Quin still had yet to learn subtlety.
Obi-Wan turned a dry stare on his friend. "As I have made clear to all of you, I am not looking for a padawan at the moment."
"Oh hey, the finals match has started."
Obi-Wan snapped his gaze to the arena, only to find Petra still waiting for the other semis match to finish. Garen's face was far too smug.
"Isn't she the kid who adopted you, like, a decade ago anyway? She's practically your padawan already."
If murder were more socially-acceptable and less morally-incorrect, Quin would've died by Obi-Wan's bare hands a long time ago. As it was, Quin's ongoing existence was a miracle.
"I am not looking for a padawan at the moment. And it was eight years."
***
The trouble with saying things like 'I'm not looking for a padawan at the moment' was that the Force didn't often care what a person thought or felt. The Force saw a galaxy of jigsaw pieces and slotted them into place, whether you agreed or not.
Naturally, that meant Obi-Wan ran into young Petra not once, but eleven times in the two days following her tournament. She'd be shuttled back to a medicorps station at the end of the tenday, but— for now— she was wandering the Temple. The third time they ran into each other, Obi-Wan decided a conversation was due and asked her what she was getting up to. Apparently she'd been running between the Crèche as an extra helping hand they could always do with, assisting in the Halls of Healing with distressed patients, and listening to the discussions and debates among mindhealers on topics of the mind that eluded his understanding entirely— though she seemed enthralled as she explained. Somehow, between all of that, she was also finding time to join workshops on various lightsaber forms.
Meeting each other in an elevator at their sixth meeting, Obi-Wan was fairly certain Petra had caught on to the likelihood this wasn't entirely natural. Obi-Wan was currently debating whether his so-called friends were manufacturing these collisions or the Force itself was getting frustrated. She said nothing of it, however, until their eleventh meeting.
She went to lift her flimsi as she always did when there was time for conversation. Sharing the only free table (the other tables were taken by some rather unhappy cleaning droids) in the refectory an hour after latemeal had ended, there was only time for conversation. He nudged the notebook down, catching her attention so she'd see him nod.
Permission granted, she spoke directly into his mind, "It seems we cannot avoid each other."
"So it seems," Obi-Wan had to agree.
It also seemed neither of them had any idea what to say next. The Force was bringing them together, repeatedly. It had done so more than once over almost sixteen years and was now getting rather insistent. They could not simply ignore it. This wasn't mere coincidence. They were Jedi and Jedi listened when the Force spoke.
Mystifying, the Force's messages usually were. The one it was trying to share now couldn't get much clearer.
"I wasn't looking for a padawan," he admitted.
Petra shrugged, pointing to where a plain scarf hid what he knew was only smooth skin on the bottom half of her face. "I never imagined my master would be famous for diplomacy."
That made him bark out a laugh. No, he could imagine political negotiations wouldn't seem like the calling for a child who could only speak directly into the mind. It was a problem they'd have to discuss; politicians didn't generally appreciate Jedi in their heads. "I don't even have a bead for your braid."
"There'll be time for that," she said, the words like a promise.
So for now, they sat, padawan and master though there was nothing yet official about it. They didn't notice the training bond settle into place, warm and bright and so perfectly belonging, and the Force sang.