Chapter 1

Anakin's stomach growled. Begrudgingly he checked his chrono, and just as he had hoped against, it was too late at night for the Temple cafeteria to be open.

It wasn't that the Temple was cruel and shut off all supply of food at night; each apartment had a cooling unit in order for Jedi to keep their own stock of food, if they so desired.

Anakin's cooling unit, however, was currently empty. His master was the one who faithfully kept it well stocked, but he had been gone for weeks now, called away on a solo mission. The Jedi padawan was too lazy—but that's such a strong word! Rather, Anakin was just . . . "unfocused" and kept "forgetting" to stock up on food.

Sure, that's it, Anakin thought.

He kept walking down the deserted hallway toward the cafeteria even thought he knew it would be closed down for the night. He wasn't sure why he kept going; he just felt like he should for some unknown reason.

Well, maybe he could break in—

"Oof!" Anakin lost his train of thought when he bumped into something.

"Excuse me," a male voice apologized. "I did not see you."

The young man squinted, focusing his stare on the man in front of him. He wore a strange outfit, all white and all stiff.

Very strange . . .

Considering the man's age, it surprised Anakin that he had never seen him around the Temple before. And why was he up at this hour anyway?

"Don't worry about it," said Anakin, his voice tired and perhaps a little dazed from lack of food.

The man returned his gaze calmly, but curiously. "Are you alright, Padawan Skywalker?"

It didn't surprise him to know that this man knew who he was; everybody in the Temple knew who Anakin Skywalker was.

"I'm fine." But after receiving somewhat of an "uh-huh, yeah right" look from the other man, Anakin sagged his shoulders and confessed. "I was hoping that the cafeteria would be open. I'm kind of hungry."

Kind of. Uh-huh, yeah right.

The man smiled, at least Anakin thought he did. It was a little hard to tell in this lighting and with the man's beard.

"Would you like me to open the cafeteria for you, Skywalker?"

Anakin blinked. Had he heard correctly? "But won't we get in trouble for sneaking in so late?"

"It's hardly 'sneaking in.' I have the anti-lock code."

"You do?" Does that mean he is a high-ranking Master? Anakin wondered.

"Naturally," the man reassured confidently. "I'm the cook."

"You?" Anakin wished he hadn't spoken so rudely, but he had always envisioned the Temple cook as an old, overweight, female humanoid; not this handsome man before him.

Handsome . . . Anakin was surprised again by his own thoughts.

"Yes, me. Now, come along."

Anakin followed dutifully as if the man was his master. When they reached the entrance to the cafeteria, the padawan was severely delighted to see the double doors open before them. He kept his enthusiasm controlled, of course. He would prefer not to embarrass himself in front of the pleasing-to-the-eye cook.

Speaking of whom, the cook led him around towards the back and through another set of doors that led to the kitchen.

"So, what would you like to eat, Skywalker?"

"You can call me Anakin," he blurted.

The cook bowed his head. "And you can call me Obi-Wan."

"Obi-Wan." He bowed his head in turn, then considered what his taste buds were in the mood for.

"Perhaps some blue milk to start you off?"

Anakin smiled. His mother use to always serve him blue milk before bedtime. "Sounds great."

Within the minute, Obi-Wan brought him a tall cup filled to the brim with blue milk. Anakin took several large gulps and licked the blue mustache off his upper lip with his tongue.

"Thank you, Obi-Wan."

The cook bowed his head once again. "My pleasure, Anakin."

". . . Why don't I see you around the Temple? . . . If you don't mind me asking."

Obi-Wan shrugged. "I spend most of my time here in the kitchen."

Anakin nodded, but something still bothered him. He took a slow sip of his milk and asked, "What about the rest of your time?"

The cook stalled. He carefully took his time in putting the jar of blue milk back into the overly large cooling unit. Finally, he turned back to Anakin and placed his palms flat on top of the counter. "May I confide in you, Anakin?"

His question took Anakin by surprise. "Of course. You can trust me, Obi-Wan."

The cook gave him one last intent stare then, "I go to the sparring rooms at night."

Anakin saw no reason for the cook to feel so uneasy about admitting this. "That's alright. I like to go there at night too sometimes. It's nice to spar alone when no one's watching."

"I'm not a Jedi, Anakin," he said bluntly. "I shouldn't be in the sparring rooms at all."

Anakin knew the man was telling the truth, but he still found it incredibly hard to believe. Obi-Wan was definitely Force-sensitive; Anakin felt it. Not only that, but he was fit, muscled, and precise. He would make an excellent negotiator, the thought popped into Anakin's head.

Then more thoughts began to pop, like kernels under intense heat. How could the Council have overlooked Obi-Wan? Why did they discard him and chain him to the kitchen?

"It's fine, Anakin," said Obi-Wan as if reading his mind. "I'd rather be serving the Jedi in the kitchen than sent to work with crops in the AgriCorps."

"But—"

"Come on." Obi-Wan touched Anakin's arm and walked toward the door. "It's late. We should leave."

"Wait, hold on." Anakin set down his cup of blue milk and pursued the cook. "Obi-Wan, please." He grabbed the man's arm, bringing him to a halt. He waited until he captured the cook's eyes within his own. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry."

"There's no need to apologize," he responded softly. "It was . . . nice talking with you, Anakin. Thank you." Without another word, Obi-Wan turned away and left.

"No, thank you," Anakin whispered.

Anakin groaned, rolling in his sleep-couch. He breathed in deeply and settled for a position on his stomach. His growling stomach. Wait . . . what's that smell?

The Jedi padawan flew out of bed and stumbled into the kitchen. The sight of his Master making Morning Meal greeted him.

"Good morning, Padawan," said Qui-Gon Jinn.

"Master, you're back!" he smiled.

Qui-Gon smiled in return. "It's good to see that you kept the cooling unit well-stocked while I was away."

Anakin blushed. "Well, you know how responsible I am."

"Indeed," he scoffed jokingly. Then, changing the subject, "I hope you caught up on your studies as well."

Anakin mentally cursed in Huttese. ". . . Sure."

Qui-Gon cast him a calm and, unfortunately, stoic look. "Anakin."

"No, I mean: sure, you were right to hope!" Anakin held up his hands in defense. "I am grateful that you believe in the best for me, my Master."

"Just sit down and eat, Anakin."

"Yes, Master." Anakin sat down like a good padawan as Qui-Gon set a plate of food in front of him along with a tall cup of blue milk. He smiled sadly.

"Anakin?"

He mentally cursed again. "Yes, Master?"

Qui-Gon sat down across from him and folded his hands together on top of the table. "Is something troubling you?" It was spoken as a question, but both Master and Padawan knew the answer was "yes."

So, Anakin skipped the "yes" part and answered the unspoken question of "what is troubling you?"

"I met the Temple cook late last night," he said. "He gave me some blue milk too."

Qui-Gon encouraged him to continue with an affirming nod, knowing that there was more to be said.

"He's strong in the Force, but he says that he's not a Jedi." Anakin crossed his arms, tapping his fingers against his bicep. "I think that's unfair, Master."

"Not every being strong in the Force can become a Jedi, Anakin. It takes more than power."

Anakin found it strange for Qui-Gon to say that. He thought back to when he first met Qui-Gon on Tatooine and how the Jedi Master was amazed by his midi-chlorian count . . .

"But that's just it, Master. I sensed more than just power in him!" Anakin uncrossed his arms and began to tap his fingers against his thigh. "He's a very kind man," . . . with amazing eyes, soothing voice . . . "Obi-Wan would have made a great Jedi. I know this."

Anakin was quite curious about his master's response: Qui-Gon seemed to be thinking. Really hard.

"That name: Obi-Wan. It sounds familiar. You say he is the Temple cook?"

"Yes, Master. Have you met him before?"

Qui-Gon relaxed his brow after realizing how hard he was scrunching it. "I do not recall so."

Anakin sighed.

". . . What color were his eyes?"

"What?"

"The cook's eyes, Padawan. What color were they?"

Anakin closed his eyes and pictured Obi-Wan in his head. "They seemed to change colors. Maybe it was just me. . . His eyes were green and hazel, and then they turned blue with swirls of grey."

"Obi-Wan Kenobi," his master almost whispered.

"Is that his full name? You know him, then?" Anakin asked excitedly.

Qui-Gon rested his folded hands onto his lap. "I knew him when he was a child."

"Then do you know why he was rejected?" Anakin bit his tongue; he didn't like wording it like that. After all, he himself was practically "rejected" by the Jedi Council when Qui-Gon brought him before them at the age of nine. "I mean, why couldn't he become a Jedi?"

A pause for thought crossed Qui-Gon's face. "Obi-Wan had beseeched a particular Jedi Master, but he refused to take him on as an apprentice because the Master wanted to remain alone. Unfortunately, Obi-Wan's thirteenth birthday came four weeks later and he could not find another master in time."

Anakin knitted his eyebrows together. "But that feels so wrong, Master. He shouldn't have been refused as a Jedi because of the selfishness of another."

Qui-Gon had nothing to say, but for a small shrug.

TBC