Spoilers: Major spoilers for the events of Episode I.

Disclaimer: I was practically a youngling when I first wrote a Star Wars fic (I've been on this site for 17 years as of Oct. 20th... o_0), and though I'm several years older now, I still don't own it. Maybe someday. :)

A/N: It's been quite a long time since I've read or written anything for Star Wars, so please forgive any errors with the lore that I might have missed. :) And, while I know there are likely stories out there which tackle similar themes – and probably even more have been posted in all the time I've been away from the fandom – this is my particular take on those concepts. If there are any similarities to existing fics in this piece, they are utterly and entirely unintentional.

As always, I also thank my Lord Jesus Christ for his incredible mercy and grace and his many blessings. I would be utterly lost without him.

Beginnings

His Padawan was sick again.

Obi-Wan sighed, leaning back in the chair he'd claimed in the common area of their shared apartment. His eyes, however, remained on the closed door at the end of the short hallway...the door to Anakin's quarters.

This was the third sickness the last six weeks alone. It wasn't a chronic issue, at least – the healers had said that Anakin was in good general health, and that, having lived on Tatooine all his life, he simply hadn't developed an immunity to the viruses and germs most common in the Core Worlds. The humid Coruscant air – humid, when compared to the desert air of Tatooine – was likely a factor as well. In time, the healers insisted, his body would adjust, and he would be as healthy as any other child in the Temple.

That was certainly good news for the future, but it was the present that concerned Obi-Wan most because these bouts of sickness were certainly not helping his young Padawan adjust to his new life.

He'd been at the Temple for nearly three months now, and he'd made good progress even with his frequent sicknesses, but he couldn't attend classes with the other younglings when he was too ill, and establishing any sort of daily routine became almost impossible when Anakin spent nearly half his time in bed. It left him isolated...even more isolated than he would have been already, considering how he'd come to the Order in the first place.

Truthfully, it left Obi-Wan feeling adrift as well.

He'd been so confident that he was ready for the Trials, so sure that he could succeed...but he'd always imagined having a little more time to find his footing as a Knight before he took an apprentice of his own. He'd never imagined immediately becoming a Master to an immensely gifted nine-year-old who'd been thrust into a life that was so incredibly different from anything he had ever known before.

Obi-Wan was supposed to have answers for the boy, but how could he really help his Padawan when he felt so out of his depth? Anakin's training had just barely begun, but even as determined as Obi-Wan was to honor his own Master's wishes – and as much as he wanted to be a good Master to the boy who was depending on him – he found himself constantly questioning if he was doing enough for Anakin...if he was skilled enough...wise enough...to care for this boy in the way that he needed to.

Worse yet, with each illness, Anakin had grown more withdrawn, and considering the tentative nature of their relationship so far, the difference was worrying.

Today, especially, Anakin had said very little, even when Obi-Wan had brought him the midday meal. Under normal circumstances, Obi-Wan might have tried harder to encourage a conversation, but he supposed that he never felt much like talking when he was sick either, so he hadn't pressed him.

Maybe he should have.

Then again, perhaps the boy wanted his space, and it was best to give it to him.

Obi-Wan simply didn't know.

He couldn't help feeling that Qui-Gon would have known. His Master had always had a natural instinct for such things. Obi-Wan sighed again, closing his eyes for a moment, his chest aching with his Master's absence.

He knew, deep down, that he could not carry his grief forever, that he would have to release it to the Force eventually, but healing had been slow to come. He missed his Master fiercely, especially in times like these. He would have loved to talk to Qui-Gon, to ask for his advice and hear his reassurance. Or, Obi-wan thought, smiling faintly, perhaps it was a scolding he'd be in for, the mild form of admonishment his Master seemed to have perfected...the kind that never failed to make him feel like the boy he'd once been, no matter his actual age.

Obi-Wan would have embraced either, if only because it would mean that his Master was still there with him, at his side.

It was, he'd found, his Master's steady presence that he missed most of all.

The thought gave him pause, and he opened his eyes once again, his gaze returning to his Padawan's door.

There was very little he could do for Anakin now...other than encouraging him to rest and ensuring he took the medicine the healers had given him. But perhaps...perhaps he could simply be there for the boy.

If he was welcome, at least.

The boy knew how Obi-Wan had felt about him originally, and Obi-Wan had repeatedly cursed his lack of foresight on the matter. He should not have been so quick to argue against him and his training...especially not when Anakin was close enough to overhear. Undoubtedly, the boy also realized that Obi-Wan's change of heart had largely been brought about by Qui-Gon's death. Anakin's own actions in the Battle of Naboo had played a role as well, demonstrating just what he could be capable of with proper training, but it was Obi-Wan's promise to his Master that truly bound him to the boy.

Would they ever be able to overcome that? Would they ever form a bond of their own, one that wasn't built on obligation?

Obi-Wan hoped so.

He'd genuinely grown to like the bright, inquisitive boy who called him Master.

In any case, Obi-Wan thought, reaching out to the boy again could do no harm. If Anakin truly wished to be left alone while he was ill, then Obi-Wan would honor that, but at the very least, he wanted the boy to know that his Master would be there when he was needed.

His course decided, Obi-Wan pushed himself to his feet, already heading towards their apartment's small kitchenette. The midday meal had a been a few hours ago, and Anakin hadn't seemed terribly hungry then.

But, he needed to keep his strength up all the same, and Obi-Wan thought he might have just the thing.

A short time later, Obi-Wan stood in front of his Padawan's door, a small tray held in his hands.

A light brush of the Force activated the door's soft entry chime, though it was answered by harsh coughing that made Obi-Wan grimace. The door opened a moment later.

His gaze landed on his apprentice right away. The boy was huddled on his bed, his shoulders hunched, a thick layer of blankets bunched around his waist, a small stack of pillows supporting his back. He was just as pale as he had been earlier when they'd visited the healers, though his cheeks were flushed with fever, and his blue eyes were watery and oddly bright.

He looked quite miserable, and Obi-Wan offered him a sympathetic smile.

"Padawan. I brought you something."

Anakin frowned, staring at the tray Obi-Wan held...and the steaming mug resting here.

"What is it?"

"Tea." He smiled faintly. "I'm not sure it has a name. Qui-Gon used to make it when one of us was sick. I don't actually know if it was his recipe, or if he learned it somewhere...but he always kept the herbs for it. It's not bad on its own, but if it's not sweet enough, tell me what you'd like, and I'll get it for you. I've always preferred mine with honey."

Anakin stared at the mug thoughtfully. "What did Qui-Gon add?"

"Cream and sugar."

(That was true, though his Master had also included a splash of Corellian brandy when he made the tea for himself. Obi-Wan didn't plan to tell Anakin that, however...not now, at least.)

Obi-Wan walked closer to the bed and handed the mug to his Padawan. Anakin wrapped his small hands around it gratefully, seeming to savor the warmth for a moment before he sniffed the beverage warily. It must have passed that particular test because he took a tentative sip a moment later.

Anakin swallowed, then drew a deep breath, some of the tension in his shoulders easing as he exhaled.

"It's good," he said softly.

Obi-Wan smiled again in answer, and he watched as Anakin took a few more sips of his tea. The boy had mentioned that he had a sore throat – hopefully the tea would help sooth that as well. Obi-Wan moved to set the empty tray down on the boy's nightstand so that he could take it back to the kitchen with the mug later, then he glanced at the empty chair in the corner of the room.

"I could stay and keep you company, if you'd like," he offered.

He waited, not wanting to presume or to pressure the boy.

Anakin frowned again, biting his lip, but finally, he gave a small, hesitant nod.

Obi-Wan reached for the chair, curling his fingers around the back of it and then pulling it closer to Anakin's bed. He sat down, leaning forward a little, resting his elbows on his knees, hoping that the casual posture might make his apprentice feel more at ease.

Silence reigned for a few minutes, but it was the most comfortable silence Obi-Wan could recall in some time, and he decided to count it as progress, small as it was.

The mug was nearly half finished by the time Anakin spoke again. "You said Qui-Gon would make this for you?"

Obi-Wan nodded. "Yes, he did."

Anakin traced a finger around the rim of the mug, his gaze meeting Obi-Wan's briefly before it darted to his tea again. "My mom would tell me stories when I got sick. Things she made up, mostly. Adventures. Legends, sometimes."

He drew a shaky breath, and Obi-Wan realized that the sheen in his eyes wasn't due to sickness this time.

"I miss her."

The longing in his voice was tangible enough that Obi-Wan seemed to feel it in his own chest, and a moment later he realized why.

Anakin was mourning his mother.

He wasn't, perhaps, mourning her in the same way that Obi-Wan was mourning his Master, since Shmi Skywalker still lived. But she would no longer be a part of Anakin's life either, and that was its own kind of loss.

Any other time, Obi-Wan might have reminded his Padawan that learning to let go of attachments was a necessary part of a Jedi's life, but that could wait for later in the boy's training...later, when his own grief was not quite so raw, and he could speak of such things without being so keenly aware of his own failings.

"I'm sorry," he told Anakin instead. "It isn't easy when we are separated from those we care for most."

The boy looked at him with too-knowing eyes. "You miss Qui-Gon, don't you?"

Obi-Wan couldn't deny it. "I do. Very much."

Anakin studied him for a long moment, as though weighing the truth of his words. Obi-Wan held his gaze steadily, and his Padawan's mind tentatively reached for his own, the touch so subtle and unpracticed that Obi-Wan wasn't even sure that the boy realized what he was doing. But, he deliberately lowered his mental shields, nonetheless. Perhaps the boy needed the reassurance that he was not alone in his grief.

Whatever Anakin sensed, it seemed to be enough, and his eyes filled with reflected sadness. "I'm sorry, Master."

Obi-Wan swallowed hard, the simple words meaning more than he had expected. "Thank you, Anakin."

"I wish I could have known him better."

"As do I," Obi-Wan answered.

The silence that followed this time was heavy, but it gradually eased, leaving a new sort of peace in its wake, and Obi-Wan let it continue.

Anakin finished his tea a few minutes later, and Obi-Wan leaned forward to take the mug from him, replacing it on the tray.

"Would you like anything else?" he asked.

Anakin shook his head. "No, thank you. I'm still not very hungry."

He burrowed a little more deeply into his bed, pulling the blankets higher, dark circles now visible under his eyes, and it was Obi-Wan's turn to frown as he watched him.

"Perhaps you should try to get some sleep, Anakin."

His apprentice sighed, slumping back against the pillows behind him. "I don't want to sleep anymore, Master. That feels like all I do!"

Though Obi-Wan's heart still ached faintly with remembered loss, it was difficult not to smile at Anakin's petulant tone. He managed it, if barely. He couldn't blame the boy for being frustrated. When he was healthy, he seemed to be in almost constant motion, always working on a new project, collecting droid parts, or exploring the reaches of the Temple. Channeling that energy was going to be a challenge, Obi-Wan knew, and he already dreaded trying to teach the boy advanced meditation techniques.

He would have begin thinking of ways to keep his apprentice focused.

For now, though, if it was a distraction his Padawan needed, he could provide that much, at least.

He leaned back a little in his chair, bracing his hands on his knees.

"Very well. It would not be the same...but I do know a few stories if you'd like to hear them."

Anakin stared at him in surprise for a moment, then tilted his head curiously. "What sorts of stories?"

Obi-Wan reached up with one hand to stroke his chin, pretending to give it some thought. "I suppose I could tell you the story of the three-armed snorggleriff."

Anakin blinked. "The three-armed what?" The nine-year-old gave him a skeptical look. "There's no such thing...is there?"

Obi-Wan allowed himself a smile this time. "Well, Padawan, when you're feeling up to it, you'll just have to catch up on your anthropology studies and find out, won't you?"

The soft laugh he got in return wasn't very loud, but it was welcome just the same.

Fin

A/N: Thank you so much for reading, and please let me know what you think!

Take care and God bless!

Ani-maniac494 :)