TPM Tatooine Rewrite: Through Glass

by Syntyche

A rewrite of the latter half of TPM. Qui-Gon's grand podrace plan fails. Obi-Wan Kenobi steps into the gap to fulfill his Master's debt, but the young Jedi's mettle is about to be severely tested when he gets more than he or Qui-Gon bargained for...

7. fire and rain

TPM Tatooine Rewrite: Through Glass

By: Syntyche

chapter six: fire and rain

oooooooooo

I've seen fire and I've seen rain,

I've seen sunny days that I thought would never end.

I've seen lonely times when I could not find a friend

. . . but I always thought that I'd see you again.

James Taylor, "Fire and Rain"

oooooooooo

Obi-Wan Kenobi was in trouble.

Swirling coils of the frightened agony of other beings had surged through his unprepared mind, leaving streaking, open sores in their wake and lancing across his own older, half-healed aches, digging them out violently and unmercifully and cruelly exposing them to the light.

The ragged gash of his shared bond with his Master had poured the pain and terror of not only Qui-Gon Jinn, but also that of the people with him into Obi-Wan's mind with such sudden brilliance and forcefulness that it was more than the young Jedi could handle. He reeled mentally at the onslaught, which disappeared only when the last thready remnants of the bond flickered and died as Qui-Gon's connection to his Padawan abruptly choked off and severed.

The damage to Obi-Wan, however, had already wound its excruciating way deep inside him and he had withdrawn far into the recesses of his mind, away from the unexpected invasion of dread and hurt and confusion and into a dark, still place where he felt safe from the shock and could hide from the horrifying images he'd seen through his Master's eyes: twisted bodies littering the ship's hold, a leering, black-clad demon before him, a glowing blood-red blade sliding effortlessly through his chest.

He had fled to a place where none of those things: the images, the wounds and screams that were his own and others', could touch him and he was determined to stay - forever, if need be. The bond had snapped, he was certain of that, and with the horrible rending had come a backlash of pain so strong that his whole consciousness had been submerged by it. He was, on some level, aware of what had happened and was happening to him, but only his motor functions seemed to be working properly. He also recognized that Anakin had taken his hand and was leading him somewhere, but all his cogent awareness of the outside world was filtered in through a haze so thick that it was simply futile to try and understand what was going on beyond the layers of his damaged mind.

Besides, it was Safe here.

OOOOOOOOOO

Anakin had waited for some time, and still Obi-Wan's ginger head rested in his trembling hands, his slumped shoulders bowed under a seemingly incredible weight that only he could feel and carry. That the Jedi had long since ceased to make any noise was a fact for which Anakin was immensely relieved: the anguished harshness of Obi-Wan's desperate, unintelligible murmurs had worried the boy with both their pained intensity and with his inability to comfort his new friend.

"Obi-Wan?" he poked softly, not daring to break the still in the air with anything more than a whisper. "Are you okay now? What's wrong? Is there something I can do to help you, Obi-Wan? Obi-Wan?"

It had taken a little more time and much tentative, worried prodding by Anakin before Obi-Wan finally lifted his head from the defensive huddle he'd adopted atop the low crate, tilting his face just slightly to the side so that one blank blue-grey eye peered over the splayed fingers that supported his chin. Though Obi-Wan's tired eyes were dry, they carried a new bleakness and, more worrisome to the troubled young boy watching the Jedi carefully, a certain empty confusion to them, as if Obi-Wan had suddenly gone on a mental holiday and left his body behind.

Or, Anakin thought grimly, his imagination already kicking into full gear, considering the suddenness of what had just happened, maybe - maybe - an evil alien parasite had taken over Obi-Wan's body and just hadn't figured out how to work it yet, like in the holofilm he and Kitster had snuck off to see one afternoon.

Anakin bit his lip and stepped back a pace, considering. Obi-Wan was just weird enough that something like that could probably happen to him . . . but then again, Obi-Wan was just weird enough that Anakin surmised he most likely wouldn't be able to tell if a creepy space parasite had taken over Obi-Wan's body - there probably wouldn't be much of a difference.

Still . . . Obi-Wan - or whoever he was - looked pretty bad, and the confusion in his vacant eyes bothered Anakin. He chewed at his bottom lip with his teeth as he thought. His mom would be getting concerned that he wasn't home yet, but he hated to leave Obi-Wan such a mess. Anakin made a quick decision that had served him well once before.

"Obi-Wan? Hey, Obi-Wan, come on." He stepped forward and took the Jedi's slackly unresponsive fingers in his hand, coaxing and cajoling for Obi-Wan's attention. Obi-Wan blinked a few times, looking slightly dazed and irritated at being bothered, but he said nothing and merely regarded Anakin passively. Anakin shuddered at the absolute lack of recognition in the Jedi's stare and tugged harder on Obi-Wan's hand, forcing Obi-Wan to uncurl himself from his knotted position and slam his feet to the floor to keep from toppling over. This time Obi-Wan made a sound of displeasure, but no cognitive gleam pierced the veil of haze that shrouded his eyes.

"I'm gonna take you home with me tonight, so Mom can help you," Anakin continued, trying to sound calm, while in truth he was very worried about Obi-Wan's pallid features and lack of response. This behavior wasn't at all that of the dry, cheerful, teasing, overly polite, and stodgy Obi-Wan he'd become accustomed to having around. Perhaps it really was an evil parasitic space slug...

Cool, Anakin thought.

OOOOOOOOOO

He and Anakin were walking. They walked and walked, and Obi-Wan stayed huddled in his mind, hiding from the torn edges of the bond he'd shared with his Master. It wasn't easy because he was tired, but somehow he managed to do it. He knew that he'd have to get past it to reach the outside world again, but it really hurt so very badly, and if the bond had snapped it meant that his Master was seriously injured - or worse - and if this was how the rest of his life was to be, did he really want to come out?

In his Safe place, Obi-Wan Kenobi cowered. The frightened teenager that he'd been before Qui-Gon Jinn had entered his life and taught him to quiet his mind had completely overwhelmed the calm young man that he'd become with the help of Qui-Gon and their training bond, and the old but freshly exposed demons were eager to pounce and plunder and remind him of the sadness and horrors that had permeated his young life.

Nevertheless, the Force wasn't about to let one of its beloved servants perish, afraid and abandoned, on the brutal sands of Tatooine. Not when there was much work to be done yet by Obi-Wan Kenobi. So after little Anakin Skywalker, the child whom the Dark tempted delightedly with the fervent expectation of eventual success, carefully and worriedly guided the unresponsive Jedi to the slave quarters and the warm, inviting lights of the tiny Skywalker home, and after Shmi Skywalker had carefully examined the young Jedi and laid him in her son's bed to rest for the night, warm tendrils of the Light wrapped themselves around Obi-Wan's damaged mind, healing and soothing with aching gentleness and carefully closing over the wounds that the rupturing of the training bond had left in its wake, calming and caressing and infusing with light and love. Gently it cradled the suddenly weeping body and stroked the rough cheek.

Time would help heal this beloved servant, but there were some things that needed to be . . . forgotten, for the moment. Compassionately, the tendrils finally nudged closed Obi-Wan's actual memory of the bond breaking and covered it over with a soft veil that would discourage all but the most persistent efforts. Then they withdrew quietly from the exhausted mind, settling the apprentice gently into a healing slumber.

OOOOOOOOOO

Warm sunlight teased playfully at his eyelids, coaxing and cajoling him to rise and greet the new day, and he reflexively reached up a hand to swat it away. He was unsuccessful in his effort, but it didn't prevent him from trying once more, batting at the offending intruder with as much vigor as he'd used to hack the battle droids of the Trade Federation into pieces before the crash landing on Tatooine had effectively thrown a hydrospanner into the works.

When this approach failed a second time, he tugged the blanket up over his head and tucked it around himself firmly, knowing that if he was stubborn enough - which he was - he could secure at least another ten minutes of sleep before his Master started threatening to break the door down.

That was when reality crashed down upon him and Obi-Wan's eyes flew open as he realized there was no waiting Master looming ominously outside the door, and he certainly wouldn't get any more sleep because he was supposed to be working for Watto, probably at this very minute. He was still stuck on this dusty rock Tatooine, and Qui-Gon was returning the queen to Coruscant.

But he didn't remember this bed or this room, and come to think of it, he had no clear memory of what had transpired since he'd been working in the shop last night. There was also a bewildering fuzziness in his head that he couldn't quite place the cause of . . . it wasn't unpleasant, but it was confusing as hell.

Obi-Wan grasped the edge of the rough blanket that scraped against his skin, prepared to throw it aside, leap from the bed, and demand answers as to what exactly was going on here.

That was when he realized, belatedly, that the rough blanket that was scraping across his skin was scraping roughly across an awful lot of his skin. Obi-Wan frowned the frown that Qui-Gon had once privately classified as Kenobi Frown 22: Disgruntled, Confused, and Just a Little Bit Worried.

Disturbed, Obi-Wan added up the facts as he knew them to this point: he was in an unfamiliar room, clad in . . . well, very little, and he had a monstrous headache. He was coming to the rather unpleasant conclusion that he was somehow reliving the time on Ota II when the Queen Mother had decided that he was the perfect candidate for consort of her only daughter and had had him drugged, seized, and 'sufficiently prepared' for the arrival of the princess.

Despite his current confused state, the memory elicited a dry smile from Obi-Wan. It had taken some intriguing diplomatic maneuvers by Qui-Gon to recover his detained Padawan. In fact, the Jedi Master had almost stormed the Queen Mother's castle, lightsaber swinging, to rescue his apprentice.

The thought of Qui-Gon made him feel unexpectedly unsettled, and Obi-Wan wondered why. It would be another few days yet before Qui-Gon could possibly make his way back to Tatooine; there wasn't any reason to even fathom worry over his Master's absence. And yet, the thought of Qui-Gon set off a spark of distress deep in his mind . . .

"Hey, Obi-Wan!"

The voice was bright, youthful, and seemed to resound throughout the room in incredibly loud waves that reverberated through his headache and set off tiny explosions of pain before his eyes. Anakin Skywalker peered around the doorframe, his bright gaze kindled with curiosity.

"How ya feelin' this morning?"

Regardless of the fact he seemed to be capable of coherent thought, Obi-Wan found that his mouth wasn't quite working in tandem with his brain to form recognizable words, and it was rather mortifying to the young Jedi when his begging entreaty to Anakin, "Don't speak any louder - !" came out sounding like, "double cheeseburger," and Anakin actually looked enlightened and like he understood Obi-Wan's garbled message perfectly, while Obi-Wan really hadn't a clue as to what exactly a cheeseburger was.

Obi-Wan held up a hand to forestall Anakin's next rush of questions, closed his eyes, and concentrated on forming his next sentence. "Where is this? And please speak quietly, Anakin," he added hastily as Anakin drew a deep breath to respond, no doubt in preparation for belting out his answers in a manner he must have learned from a mostly-deaf Hutt somewhere.

Anakin paused mid-breath. "Oh, okay. This is my house," he explained, pronouncing his words very softly and slowly. "And this is my room, actually."

"How did I get here?" Obi-Wan questioned curiously. "Why don't I remember?" he mused, more to himself than Anakin, then directed at the boy, "Why did we come here?"

"You were acting kind of funny," Anakin answered promptly, "And I was worried about you so I brought you home so you wouldn't be alone."

Obi-Wan's eyebrow lifted. "'Funny'?"

"Well, yeah. You don't remember, huh?"

Obi-Wan sighed, hating the nagging feeling that poked at him, demanding he remember what he had happened last evening. In reply to Anakin, he shook his head carefully, as if he could displace the memory of whatever was bothering him by simply shaking it out. There had been something . . . something that he should remember, should know . . . His last conscious memory had been working on a cooling unit for one of Watto's wealthier customers, but he had no clear recollection of what had transpired in the past few . . . well, however long he'd been out of it.

And there had been something else too though, in that time, two very separate somethings actually that he nearly feared to try and remember. The one he knew vaguely was the feeling of warmth and comfort that hovered in the background like a gentle memory, like the times he achieved completely peaceful meditation within the Force. The other 'something', however, hinted at shadows and pain and confusion, and made his already roaring headache want to spiral out of control.

"I don't know, Anakin," he finally admitted, bringing long fingers upward to rub weary circles at his temples. "I really haven't any idea."

Anakin wasn't completely convinced, bouncing from one foot to the other in his enthusiasm to help. "It seemed pretty serious - " he began, but Obi-Wan's sudden sharp look halted his further questioning. Not that the Jedi appeared to have the energy to do anything more than glare, but Anakin was perceptive enough to see that additional prodding would be quite unwelcome. Unfortunately, it was also obvious that this probably was actually Obi-Wan, and not a parasitic space slug. Anakin had to confess to being slightly disappointed.

"Um, okay, then," he offered with a small smile. "Hey, Mom's bringing breakfast - do you think you'll feel strong enough to go with Delian today?"

Delian? Obi-Wan's mind helpfully clicked the right piece of that puzzle into place. Oh. Right. The insane Corellian who wanted him to race for her even though he hadn't any idea how to race anything or anyone but his Master to the shower in the morning to see who would actually get the hot water - that Delian.

Huh. Qui-Gon seemed to be on his mind a lot this morning. That was odd.

Besides, there was something slightly more pressing than his absent Master that demanded his attention. Obi-Wan's eyebrow flicked upward and his face crunched. "Umm ... Anakin, where are my clothes?" And, of more immediate panic - "Where's my lightsaber?"

"Your lightsaber's here. And so are your clothes; Mom washed 'em," Anakin informed him, suddenly reminded of why he'd come into the room in the first place. He began collecting his own clean clothing for the day. "They were awfully grimy."

"Uh, yes, I suppose they were," Obi-Wan admitted. He'd done his best to wash them in the tiny fresher in Watto's shop, but to be honest it hadn't turned out very well. You never really appreciated the modern conveniences in life until you had to go without them; things like clean clothing and - he sighed - hot water showers. "However, they're all I have, and as I most likely ought to leave this bed sometime today, I'll need them back."

The boy smiled. "Uh, yeah, I guess you probably will. Oh," he turned to gesture to the dark-haired woman who had entered the room bearing a covered tray, "this is my mom. Mom, this is Obi-Wan - Master Qui-Gon's Padawan." He announced Obi-Wan's title with some relish, obviously proud to have secured at least one kernel of information about the inner workings of the Jedi Order.

Obi-Wan, despite his long cultivated diplomatic poise, could think of absolutely nothing to say to this woman, Anakin's mother. His discomfort only increased as he realized that he was lying in bed mostly naked, and that she had been the one who had taken his clothes. It made for a rather awkward first meeting.

He tried a smile, but it wobbled just a little. "Obi-Wan Kenobi," he offered, hoping that it sounded sufficiently polite, but he faltered after his simple introduction over what to say next. 'Thank you for your hospitality'? 'I'm sorry, I have absolutely no idea where I am or what happened, but could I have my clothes back, please?' Actually, that one hadn't worked too well the last time he'd used it.

Fortunately, she saved him the trouble of saying anything else. "I'm Shmi Skywalker." Her expression and voice were filled with concern as she regarded him. "Are you feeling any better this morning?"

"Uh, yes, thank you." Obi-Wan was trying very hard to focus on what she was saying and not on the delicious scent wafting from the cloth-covered tray. It had been days since he'd had anything to eat but the odd mush that Watto favored, and though the ache in his head protested him doing anything but finding a dark corner to curl up in and hide from the rest of the galaxy, his stomach rumbled a noisy reminder that he was accustomed to eating . . . not mush.

But immediately feeling guilty for his obvious - albeit unexpected - intrusion into the Skywalker house, he hasted to add an apology. "I am so sorry. . . " The remainder of the sentence hung in the air because Obi-Wan had no idea how to explain what had happened when he didn't even know himself, but again, she rescued him with a nod.

"There's nothing to be sorry about." She settled the tray on a tiny workbench beside the bed. "Please eat this. It's not anything exquisite, but it will give you strength for the day. Anakin?" she directed toward her son, still hovering at the foot of Obi-Wan's bed, "run along to the shop and tell Watto what happened, please."

"But - "

"Tell him I'll be along in a moment," Obi-Wan interrupted, anticipating Anakin's hesitation. "You can keep Delian busy till I get there," he added with a tiny smile, and received one in return before Anakin obligingly scuttled off. Shmi also left him long enough for him to dress, but she had returned before he was halfway finished with the fresh fruits and spiced coffee she'd prepared. When she re-entered, Obi-Wan immediately noticed the change in her demeanor that signified she was troubled.

"You're Qui-Gon's apprentice." It was a statement, not a polite question to confirm Anakin's earlier announcement, and hung flatly in the still air between them. Obi-Wan glanced up from where he was seated cross-legged on the bed, the breakfast tray balanced across his knees.

"Yes," he said simply. For the moment.

"And do you," she continued, a hint of frostiness creeping into her tone and overriding the concern she'd displayed just moments earlier, "do you indulge in the same kind of risk-taking as your Master?"

Obi-Wan shifted, his blue-grey eyes narrowing as he surveyed the woman. It was a difficult question to answer since he wasn't fully aware of what Qui-Gon had done while in Mos Espa and in the Skywalkers' home. "A Jedi never indulges in risk for its own sake," he said softly, but with underlying steel in his voice. "But if the risk is absolutely necessary to an eventual success, then, yes, of course."

"And if it puts others in the path of harm," she continued, undeterred by his quiet answer, "what then, Jedi Kenobi?"

Obi-Wan's brow furrowed. "A Jedi would place himself in harm's way before involving anyone else in a dangerous situation. It would be against the Code to not do so."

"But what if there were no other options? When is it right to allow someone else to take your place?" She was still calm, but there was an ache in her solemn eyes that betrayed the emotion behind her questioning.

"It's . . . it's never right," he answered, confused. He set the breakfast tray aside and rose to face her sincerely, a little wobbly on his feet but managing to stay upright. "There are times when it cannot be helped, when nothing else can be done - "

"And a child, then?" Her dark stare locked firmly with his, allowing him to easily read her own hurt and confusion. "When is it acceptable to risk the life of a child?"

Oh.

All of the fight left Obi-Wan as he saw with crystal clarity the track that Shmi's questioning followed. Suddenly, she was no longer a woman clinging to the notion that it was all right to risk her only child's life in a dangerous race because he had been meant to do so, meant to help Qui-Gon. Suddenly, she was the mother of a child who was hurting because he felt he'd failed the Jedi and his beloved Padmé when he'd lost the race.

But what could he say? He'd felt the same shock when Qui-Gon had introduced him to Anakin and Obi-Wan had seen that his Master had risked nearly everything on a child. Obi-Wan's broad shoulders slumped a little and his eyes closed. She felt, he realized, as lost and hopeless as he had that dark night when he'd questioned whether or not the Force had led him rightly - without a sense of duty to cling to, he'd nearly driven himself insane questioning and re-questioning his actions, Qui-Gon's actions, and the Force itself. He still questioned it.

There was nothing he could say. Shmi's hand rested briefly on his arm before she rose and left him alone with his thoughts.

OOOOOOOOOO

He sighed and pushed his way back into the shop, noting with a grimace that Delian Ani-Suru had already arrived and was deep in conversation with Watto. She gave him a leer by way of greeting, but there was a hint of teasing in it that pulled any real lust from the intimation. The frank appreciation in her eyes, however, was a little harder for her to disguise - and he really doubted she tried, anyway. He threw a wary, stretched smile at her, and wandered over to check his list of assigned projects for the day. It was, as he'd expected, blank; apparently Delian's payment for his "services" provided Watto with much more compensation than any meager repairs or shop work that he could do.

Obi-Wan braced a hand against the counter and used the other to scrub futilely at his eyes. Damned headache. As if he didn't have enough to worry about without the constant distraction, Shmi Skywalker's pained gaze still lurked in his memory.

"Hey, hey, Obi-Wan."

Obi-Wan glanced down at a tug on the hem of his tunic into the bright eyes of Anakin Skywalker. There was a momentary oddness wherein he felt that something about Anakin was ... off but his worry subsided and he smiled a little when he realized that it was due to the fact that Anakin was, for once, still and quiet instead of the noisy, boisterous nine-year-old he was slowly adjusting to having underfoot.

"Obi-Wan, can I talk to you for a minute?" Anakin darted a quick look at where Watto and Delian continued to haggle over how much, exactly, Obi-Wan was worth in a monetary sense. "In, in, um, private?"

Obi-Wan, who had been unrepentantly trying to eavesdrop on the heated bartering taking place, was a little wary about leaving the safe distance of hearing range. "Sure," he agreed, a touch reluctantly, but he gamely followed Anakin to the tiny space that Watto had designated as the padawan's and settled down lightly next to Anakin on his cot. The makeshift bed creaked alarmingly under their combined weight and Obi-Wan winced, hoping it would hold together. The dirt floor was an incredibly unappealing place to sleep.

"What's on your mind, Anakin?" he asked, without trying to sound like he was hurrying the boy along. He could just make out Delian's strident tones and the monotone buzz of Watto, and he was admittedly morbidly curious as to what price they would decide to ... lease him for.

Force. Obi-Wan rolled his eyes. How in the blazes had he managed to get himself into this situation? Things never worked out in the simple, practical way he planned them. He certainly hadn't factored being "leased" to an insane Corellian in his original plan.

"Um, I'm not really sure how to say this, but, uh, ... " Anakin mumbled, looking down at his hands anxiously.

"Go on," Obi-Wan prodded. "I'm listening, Anakin, but I may not have much time," he reminded the boy gently.

Still Anakin refused to look at him, twisting his fingers nervously, playing with the hem of his pullover, scraping his boots across the floor - anything to keep from looking at Obi-Wan. "It's just, um, kinda important for you to do good in the Games, uh, if you can."

The uncharacteristic hesitation in the boy's voice finally pulled Obi-Wan fully from his eavesdropping on Watto and Delian and he directed his unwavering attention on Anakin. "Why?" he asked curiously.

"Because, because, um - "

"Anakin, look at me," Obi-Wan interrupted, carefully but firmly taking the boy's chin within his callused fingers and tilting it up so Anakin's dread-filled eyes reluctantly met his. "Now. Tell me what the problem is. I can't guarantee I'll play any of Delian's games."

Any of them, he averred to himself resolutely. She may have won the first battle and secured Watto's agreement to rent him out - Force, how humiliating - but he would not permit her to treat him as if he were indeed, 'property,' as she had claimed earlier.

Anakin's expression contorted into rapid panic. "You have to! You have to, Obi-Wan!"

"Then tell me why, Anakin," Obi-Wan shot back firmly. "Tell me why."

"Because!" Anakin sighed explosively, but made a visible effort to look at Obi-Wan as he mumbled slowly, "Because Watto, um, heard what I said to Delian about you, about how good you would be in the Games and all, and ummm . . . "

"'And, ummm,' what?" Obi-Wan prompted.

"And he bet me in the race," Anakin finished quietly.

"You're playing in the Games?" Obi-Wan asked, stunned. From what little Anakin had known and all-too willingly shared, they were far from fit for . . . Well, for anyone, really, Obi-Wan's sensible voice kicked in, and a child far less than a rejected Jedi Padawan.

Anakin actually laughed at Obi-Wan's naïveté, and Obi-Wan felt a little insulted. "I don't understand, then," His brow scrunched. "What do you mean?"

"As a wager," Anakin explained carefully. "On you. If you win, I can stay here with Watto and he makes a lot of credits. If you lose," he hesitated, and forged on, "if you lose, they'll take me to the slave block and sell me to whoever bids the most. Please, Obi-Wan - please win! Mom would just die if they sold me without her, and I don't want to go, Obi-Wan - please." His wide eyes met Obi-Wan, and the earnest pleading in them tore at the young Jedi's heart. An unbearable weight settled over his shoulders and tightened around his chest as, in shock, he hopelessly surveyed the small face that begged him so desperately.

"Anakin, I . . . I'll do what I can," he finally promised. As he watched Anakin nod and slowly trudge away to start his morning work, Obi-Wan had to resist the urge to drop his head into his hands. Things were spiraling far beyond his control - how had he managed to bungle this up so badly? Was he really that incompetent? Was this how Qui-Gon had felt when Anakin had lost the podrace?

Delian meandered over, draping one hand over his arm. Anakin glanced over and swallowed hard, at the moment no longer interested in the woman, the Games, or even racing. Obi-Wan pitied the boy, but it was Anakin's unbridled braggadocio that had gotten them both into this predicament with Delian. And, Obi-Wan had to admit, his own frank comments to Delian during their initial meeting about not being able to provide what he needed had probably fueled her on as well. He should have known better than to say anything remotely competitive to a Corellian, and a gambling one on top of that.

"Obi-Wan?" Anakin was before him again.

"Yes, Anakin?"

"I'm sorry I got you into this," the boy apologized, and even Delian's triumphant gaze softened a little.

"I'll take good care of him, sweetie," she promised. "You trust me, don't you?"

Anakin allowed a tiny grin and a nod. "Yeah, I do. Be careful - he gets grumpy."

Obi-Wan frowned, but cautiously, carefully, he dropped his hand onto Anakin's shoulder. It was a gesture he'd always treasured when given by his Master, and he hoped that it instilled some measure of confidence in Anakin, though he had none of his own. A flash of a memory from the night before slid through his mind and he smiled reassuringly at the boy as Watto handed over the transmitter to Delian. "It'll be fine, Anakin. Don't worry. And, Anakin?" He paused as Delian shepherded him toward the door, ignoring her indignant squeak of protest.

The boy's head lifted from his despairing slump.

"Yeah, Obi-Wan?"

Obi-Wan allowed his smile to blossom into a teasing grin. "I'm really not an evil parasitic space slug. Just terribly stodgy."

Anakin's genuine burst of surprised laughter was as warming to Obi-Wan's heart as the bright sunlight he followed Delian into.

OOOOOOOOOO