Obi-Wan paused before passing through the 'fresher to enter Anakin's room. His time with Bail had hardly healed him, but it had given him time to compose himself once more. He would not resent this new responsibility that had been shoved on him. He would not resent the fact that he had no time to grieve, no time to adjust to his new status, no time to enjoy life as a solo knight. He would not resent the fact that this usurper was now his Padawan. He was a Jedi Knight. He would do his duty, come what may. Besides, none of this was the boy's fault. Anakin was just as much a victim of fate as Obi-Wan.
Squaring his shoulders and straightening his resolve, Obi-Wan entered Anakin's room. Somewhat to his disappointment, Anakin sat up immediately. Obi-Wan was hoping he might be asleep.
"Obi-Wan?" The boy's voice was pitched high with anxiety.
"Yes, Anakin, I was right here in the next room."
Anakin watched as Obi-Wan's ghostly form, tunic pale in the dark night, approached him. "Are you all right?" he asked.
"I'm fine," Obi-Wan assured him, berating himself for the fact that he had behaved in such a way as to worry his Padawan. "I'm sorry I ran out on you at dinner."
Anakin was stunned. He'd never heard a grown-up apologize to him before. "That's all right," he mumbled. Obi-Wan stood silently by his bed, and Anakin feared he might leave. As uncomfortable as he was around Obi-Wan, the Jedi was now the center of Anakin's world, and right now he needed that reassurance. "Were those really your favorite foods?"
Obi-Wan hesitated, trying to recall what had been on the table. It might be more accurate to say it had been Bail's conception of what Obi-Wan's favorite foods were, but he didn't need to go into details. "I suppose they were."
Anakin leaned back on his hands, staring up at Obi-Wan. "I liked them," he offered.
Obi-Wan chuckled softly. The boy definitely had charm! "I'm glad you did," he returned, seating himself on the edge of the bed so Anakin wouldn't have to strain to look up at him. They had not had many opportunities to talk yet.
"Papa Vil said you like to sail."
"I do."
"Will you take me?" Anakin asked eagerly.
Again Obi-Wan smiled. "Perhaps we should teach you how to swim first."
"Tomorrow?"
"If we have time. We're going to be very busy tomorrow."
"What are we going to do?"
"We will begin your training."
Anakin's shoulders slumped, and Obi-Wan sensed mixed emotions from him. "I thought I already had."
"When you met with the Masters at the Temple, Anakin, they were testing you, not training you. They were trying to discern the scope of your natural talents, to learn what you could and could not do."
"I couldn't do much, could I?" Anakin grumbled.
"Actually, you could do quite a bit." That was an understatement. The Masters had been amazed by Anakin's abilities. "But you're not trained. That's why I brought you here."
Head cocked to one side, Anakin stared up at Obi-Wan. "Why didn't we stay at the Temple?" The child's eyes, black in the dim light, challenged him.
Obi-Wan sighed inwardly. If Anakin had been tested, Obi-Wan would be as well. He had to take a completely unorthodox child and mold him into the Jedi way. Obi-Wan hated the unorthodox. He'd gone through his rebellious period early on in his training at Melida/Daan and been thoroughly burned by it. Over the years he had come to trust more and more in tradition, ritual, the Code. Not for the first time did he wonder why the task had been given to him to train the greatest misfit in the entire history of the Order.
But he could not say that to Anakin, and therein lay his test: to make this misfit feel a natural part of the Jedi. Cautiously, he ventured, "We have both been through a lot lately. I don't know about you, but I found it rather stressful at the Temple. Too many other things going on, too many curious on-lookers. I thought it would be better for both of us if we spent this period of adjustment somewhere else, on neutral territory."
Obi-Wan stopped, waiting to hear how Anakin would react. The boy looked up at him, silent for several long moments. Then he lay back down on the bed, snuggling against his pillow and, to Obi-Wan's surprise, yawned. "I'm glad we came," Anakin confessed sleepily. "I like it here."
"Good," Obi-Wan replied, inordinately relieved. He pulled the covers up around Anakin's shoulders, tucking them under his chin. "Now get some sleep. I'll be working you hard tomorrow."
Anakin nodded drowsily. "Good night, Obi-Wan."
Obi-Wan hesitated, then reached out and placed his hand on the crown of Anakin's head, the spiky hair tickling his palm. It was Qui-Gon's gesture. Innumerable times over the years Obi-Wan's master had rested his hand on Obi-Wan's head, a gesture he'd come to associate with comfort, assurance, contentment and love. To make this gesture now to Anakin filled him with unexpected emotion: joy at the privilege of making it to his own Padawan, and ineffable grief that he would never again receive it himself. Instantly he locked his shields up, so as to keep this torrent of emotion from Anakin. He didn't want to scare the boy.
Anakin only looked up at him, eyes half-lidded in sleep, and he smiled.
"Good night, Anakin," Obi-Wan whispered. He did not call him Padawan, nor had Anakin called him Master. They weren't ready yet, but they would be, soon.
Obi-Wan stood and turned to go. Anakin was asleep before the door closed behind him.