Abril: Hello guys, I have been super busy as of late and I'll continue to be throughout this summer, the only reason I'm managing to post now is by grace of this chapter being all but done when I came to work on it. So don't hold your breath for the next chapter okay?
BUT, next time I post wont be inside this fic, I'll be posting the first story extract/connecting story to this one, it's a Qui-gon centric one, if you're interested, keep your peepers pealed.
Obi-wan fits smoothly in the well oiled machine that is Jango's life aboard The Fury. Missteps aside, they coexist in tandem like they have done so for years: it's a very pleasing thought to the Mandalorian.
Sitting in the common room, Jango prepares for his bounty; it seems an easy enough job. He takes a moment to wonder again if he should be teaching the teen about any of the important things in life like shooting a blaster and the quickest way to kill a man; he's quite sure the Jetiise teachings are sorely lacking in some very essential areas with their so professed pacifism –however much of a facade it may be.
While he writes down on his datapad, he spares a look at the kitchenette with a little apprehension, because he had bought food to cook and while he was never bad at preparing a meal, it has been a while. He sighs and gets up, no use in postponing it he supposes.
He remembers then, the little bag of seasoning of all things.
·~·~·~·
Obi-wan is napping. He does that too often these days; his body is constantly tired and mind foggy with exhaustion. He breaths in, rubbing his face against the pillow as his senses awaken him from a sluggish rest. He blinks slowly in confusion, something's different.
There's a… smell… and a sound in the ship that seems unusual, like metal being moved and just… things happening. That's definitely not the sound of Jango training or fixing things in the ship though. It's enough of an odd occurrence that he gets up from under the warm covers of his bed to investigate. He shivers, the floor is cold beneath his bare feet.
The ginger walks into the common room to find something that is not a common thing at all. Jango stands at the small, unused kitchenette. He's cooking. Jango Fett is cooking. The smell rising up from the pan invades The Fury with the richness of spice like an intruder, a very welcome intruder at that. Obi-wan inhales deeply by muscle memory, and blinks bewildered a couple of times. It smells divine.
The Mandalorian turns to look at him and raises an unperturbed eyebrow, like this is an everyday occurrence.
Obi-wan would weep from happiness if he was the kind of person inclined to that sort of thing.
·~·~·~·
Jango is quite proud of himself when he sets down the meaty dish. It has a beautiful orange color, courtesy of one of the seasoning pellets, and it smells good enough to enjoy; he can give himself that at least. He didn't think he still had it in him, but once a skill is learned it's hard to forget.
He wouldn't say Red is excited, the boy is too emotionally subdued for that, but it's a near thing. His eyes have not moved away from Jango's cooking, from the second he came into the room to the moment the dish is set down in front of him. Despite all that though, the teen hasn't touched the food.
"Dig in," Jango prompts him, and the kid's about to but he stops, looking up to him and down the man's own plate, expecting.
For a moment Jango's confused, but then he presses his lips together. He… he really hopes Red doesn't think him capable of poisoning him, he thought they were better now, after Jango's horrible actions, but... He feels a small pang in his heart, he gets it, it's understandable that the kid does not fully trust him yet. So without making a fuss about it or even commenting on it he takes a bite into his own dish first, ready to take one off the kid's plate after, but the moment he starts chewing Obi-wan follows his example with abandon.
Satisfied the kid doesn't think he'll murder him in such a dishonorable way like that anymore, he enjoys his first self made food in ages. He should have a talk with Red though, that's no good way of checking if someone has poisoned your food. Jango stops that train of thought though when he sees the teen angle his face away from the man for some reason. The redhead has discreetly placed a hand beside his temple to cover it and is subtly breathing very carefully from what the Mando can hear.
Jango listens to an ever so soft sniff then.
"Red?" He asks concerned, did he dislike the food that bad? Is there something in the dish he hates? Or even worse yet, that he can't eat? Jango stands up from his seat immediately and walks to the other side of Obi-wan to check on him.
"Red'ika, what's wrong?" The man kneels in front of him but stops because… because the teen is crying, he's crying.
The kid shakes his head a couple of times and then gathers breath.
"I'm okay," he says softly, his voice a little wet "it's just… it's good." Obi-wan's eyes are directed away from Jango, there's shame on his face from his out of proportion reaction.
"You don't have to eat it if you don't want to," the Mandalorian says out of his depth, remembering Jaster telling him to sit down and finish his food.
Jango had never cried because he didn't want to eat something though.
"No!" Blue gray eyes snap back to him, hands going down to his plate to hold it. "It's really good Jango I just…" the boy scoffs and cleans his face with the edge of his palm, "I just… It's been a while since I've had something so nice to eat." He looks pointedly at the man's dark eyes, he speaks the truth and he wants the other to know and leave it be "That's all."
Jango barks a laugh, startled by this, and relieved too. And, wow, Obi-wan just held a full conversation with him, the man is going all soft inside.
"I'm glad you liked it then," he pats the teens leg which makes the teen jump a little, but Obi-wan chuckles with him. "Cause it's going to be home made midday meals from now on."
He hadn't thought that far ahead, he'd just decided it right that moment on the spot. He doesn't want the kid crying because of something as basic as getting decent food, he should have it whenever he wants. Being a slave had taken the joy out of food for Jango, but seeing Obi-wan get so much out of one single, okay-ish meal? Jango is going to cook every single day for the teen if that's what it takes to see the ginger a tad happier.
They eat in companionable silence after that; the food is good, the company better. Red's words swirl around Jango's head on repeat like little twirling birds. He turns them up and down and tries memorizing the lilt of his accent and the softness with which the boy speaks. Jango tries pushing down the smile that keeps trying to creep up his face. He's not very successful though.
·~·~·~·
Finding and apprehending his bounty is so easy Jango has to hold in the urge to slam his head against a sufficiently hard surface, at least then the concussion he might get from that would give him more of a challenge than this. The human man is a sad excuse of someone who believes they're more than they're kriffing worth. Walking big and talking even bigger as if they were some big shot for the Hutt clans. It'd be infuriating if it weren't so dull.
He drags the man yapping and wriggling like a spoiled pet to The Fury. A mop of long reddish locks peak from behind the way to the quarters and freshener, looking warily at his new captive and wincing at the ruckus. The Mando would punch the bounty in the gut to quiet him down but he won't do it in front of Red, that would frighten his poor field mouse something mighty. So he waits once he's inside the weapons storage in which he has fashioned a small holding cell. People might think it stupid to keep his bounties and weapons so closely, but he likes to think the amount of krak he has in there scares the balls off of them more than anything else.
Once he's in with the door tightly closed behind him, he punches the human with powerful effortlessness. It shuts him right up. The little weasel is wheezing behind the glass on the floor.
Despite how laughably easy the job had been, Jango feels good. He likes his job, even when it's this kind of annoying. It's good to be back. In a few hours he'll have his credits and he'll be rid of the pest.
·~·~·~·
Obi-wan's head is pounding. Jango had just dropped off his bounty and The Fury is once again blessedly void of a strange presence.
Having another person on board had not been pretty. He knows the only reason his head is not in a constant state of agony is because he only has to share space with one person. He doesn't want to think about what living in the temple with his force connection so unbalanced and his shields as flaky as actual flimsy would do to him. But he can imagine it. He dreads it.
The stop on Parato had left him shaking in the sonic. With Obi-wan hiding, pathetically curled up beneath the blast waves and trying not to cry. He'd shuddered with the effort, trying his very best to create a bubble around himself so that the thousands of souls at the port wouldn't crush his mind with their own. Hoping Jango wouldn't find him like that.
It frustrates him that he can't handle the presence of others now, even two people seem to be two too much for to handle -the bounty had been an unpleasant addition that thankfully hadn't lasted very long. But Sith hells, sometimes he can't help getting dizzy from the company of one. It's just the two of them alone again, which is good, but his head is still pounding so he sits and commits himself to breathe. It's… hard to meditate these days, it had never been so before his capture, most of the times it had been almost always as easy as breathing. He can barely concentrate enough on a good day now, the threads of peace slipping from his fingers ever so often. And even harder still meditating while keeping out of sight from Jango… He doesn't… Obi-wan's heart shakes a little when he thinks of the Mando watching him do anything Jedi like.
But, the teen's decided to get better in spite of his apprehension about Jango and all the other things that deter him from achieving peace and connection to the Force. He must try again and again until some semblance of balance returns to his mind, until he can build up his mental defenses more solidly than a cloud.
Perseverance, he remembers, just like old and beloved lessons at the temple. He concentrates, pushing the thought away.
Obi-wan sits on one of the metal crates in the cargo hold, legs crossed and eyes closed. He wills himself to drift away just like The Fury does. Now that's an idea.
He breathes in.
He is The Fury, nothing tethers him to the ground.
He breathes out.
There are no currents that pull him.
In.
Just chance that leads him softly away through space.
Ou-
Concentration slips away from him. Jango has entered the room and is looking at him.
Obi-wan hadn't heard him come in, but he can feel it now; Jango's presence in the force is ever slightly more intense than usual when the man directs his attention to anything at all.
The teen doesn't open his eyes but his hands are shaking slightly, perhaps only Obi-wan himself can tell that they do for it's such a small motion. And Jango… he won't do anything to the ginger, not again surely…
That's, such a stupid thought. It was the kind that had gotten him into trouble the first time around but… the Mando had apologized. Obi-wan's insides churn with anxiety, he doesn't know what he should feel or think.
The boy stiffens furthermore. He feels it now, if he gets any more agitated, soon there'll be things shaking around the room and he absolutely can't have that. Jango is there, what would he do? What would-
He takes in a deep steadying breath. Then another.
'Perseverance,' he remembers like a distant dream, 'we try and try and try again until we get it right.' His crèche master used to say, patience and love in her voice. Obi-wan steadies himself and speaks through his anxiety.
"It's just meditation Jango," he says softly, even a little meekly. He doesn't need to have his eyes open to know the man is frowning.
Obi-wan knows how the Mando feels about anything Jedi related. Jango's emotions swirl in the space around them, strong and pure like always, and they sting. The ginger scrunches his eyes, forcing himself not to see. He shouldn't trust this but there's something within him telling him that Jango is not going to do anything to him. Obi-wan wants to trust this feeling but he's been wrong before, he-
The Mandalorian says nothing and continues on to whatever thing he was on his way to do. The sting eases a little, but doesn't go away, it never really does with how intense of a man Jango is and how off kilter Obi-wan has been since the collar was taken away.
The teen breathes out in soft relief, his body almost light.
He thinks of The Fury again, the vessel cold and pathless in the black. His mind is assaulted by a brief flash of greenery and pools of water everywhere. He does his very best to push it away, just like the memory of his crèche master, even though the remembrance of that place would help him center himself like nothing else ever could. He can't allow himself to think of the Temple again, of the order, it would… It would break his heart. These days he isn't sure he could get up from any more heartbreak. So he breathes.
In.
Out.
The humming of the ship lulls him, as does Jango walking around and rummaging in one of the other crates.
In.
Out…
·~·~·~·
For some inexplicable reason, every time Jango is cooking Obi-wan frowns at him, and he's not sure why. The kid evidently likes his food, they've proven that. He also doesn't think the boy feels in danger of being poisoned anymore, but he does always wait for Jango to take the first bite.
It's weird, Red's just weird sometimes.
The man ignores it, it's possibly just one of the hundred little quirks the teen has got, either because of trauma, upbringing or some odd personality choice.
He heads to the kitchenette; he's feeling like vegetables today so he grabs a packet of air tight ones; they can last up to five months without refrigeration if kept in the right place.
The next step he takes towards the burner he halts abruptly because Obi-wan is standing right in front of him obstructing his way; his little pre-meal frown set very deeply on his brow.
"Can I help you with something Red'ika?" He asks impassively.
Obi-wan's bird-like fingers grab hold of the vegetable packet in his hands, tight. And, excuse you, Jango is going to cook that. The man pulls back but the teens arms come as well until the boy is pulling the packet towards himself.
"Wha- what are you doing you little-?" They struggle for a bit, tugging at the accused vegetables one way and the other until the ginger finally yanks it from Jango's hands. "Fine." He throws his arms up in the air in exasperated surrender and gives an ugly look at the ginger.
He almost snarls, 'if the little Alor doesn't like my cooking, he can very well do it himself,' but doesn't, always a little bit wary he'll scare off the kid if he's too antagonistic.
Red holds the vegetables to his chest, he looks like he's trying to say something, it always takes him just a bit to get the words out, but Jango is done with him right now, so he walks away leaving him to his struggles. The farthest he can go without seeming like a butt hurt child is the cockpit; he can brood over there while he pretends to be busy with the navigation system.
Turns out, a few minutes later, Obi-wan does begin preparing something.
Jango turns his head back to the other, discreetly. The redhead is cutting up the vegetables with a sure and stable hand, if a little slow; he has also taken out a few other ingredients from the small selection they have. The man sighs and relaxes his shoulders, soothing a bit at his natural anger; if cooking makes the kid happy then fine, he'll let him be. The Mando's not happy about it though, he should be making the food here, it's his job. If the teen is unhappy with something or wanted a different thing to eat he could've just told Jango about it; he's told this to Red several times.
He leaves the kid to his own devices and concentrates on his business.
Sometime later Jango raises up his head in surprise. Obi-wan's humming.
He looks again at the teen, Obi-wan is immersed in the task, he's relaxed and fluid in his actions. There's a softly scented aroma in the air, a combination of flavors Jango isn't used to. It's nice.
"Jango?" Red calls softly once he's done.
The man goes to their large multi use table and sits at his usual place at the end where he has a perfect view of the cockpit. The teen sets the plates down almost reverently and sits at the man's left, just like always, because he likes being able to look at the stars. Jango is about to dip his spoon into the soupy dish but a soft hold at his wrist stops him. He looks at Obi-wan. The boy seems to take a moment, as if he's preparing himself. Red takes in a deep breath and straightens the little hunch he always curls himself in.
"At the temple, when eating in our quarters, it is the job of the apprentice to cook for the master a meal a day," Obi-wan begins, voice steady and soft, like he's about to tell a story.
The teen has never spoken with this amount of certainty before, but Jango is disgusted at the word master, that it would ever be applied to him in whatever messed up manner the Jetiise thought to use it.
"Listen kid, I'm not a master, least of all yours," Jango bites out in defense of himself and of Red too. He's not a slave master nor is he a Jetii master. The man is ready to list out why he's better than either of those but the teen doesn't let him go on.
"Yes, you are not," Obi-wan says, raising a hand in a pacifying gesture, "but you are a caretaker of a sort… to me."
They are quiet for a moment, as they look at one another. Swirling inside his bad mood, Jango feels as if his heart has missed a beat for some reason. But he can't think more about it before the ginger continues.
"You house me in The Fury, you share your provisions with me, you make sure I have a place to sleep and that I have clothes to wear. Whatever you may think, you are playing the appointed role and are deserving of that same respect any master would."
Jango is seething inside, he's in so much anger that he's shaking with the effort to contain it. But Red, who unbeknownst to the man, is trying to keep calm under the Mando's spiking anger, just looks so earnest as he tells him these things.
"I don't… mean to assume what I am to you," Obi-wan says a little hesitantly, "But as an apprentice, a ward of a sort to you, maybe," he chuckles a little at himself, "it's my duty to show you my gratitude, and I am grateful."
The redhead takes in a stuttering breath and tucks his hair away from his face. The earnestness of his expression now even more visible than before.
"Jango Fett, I am so very grateful to you, for everything that you've-"
"No," The Mandalorian protests, slamming down his spoon on the table. The boy jumps back a little, startled "No, it's not your Ka'ra damned job to be grateful for anything, or to feed me or show me respect or whatever krak the Jetiise think younglings owe them."
"No, Jango, that's not what I… I- what I wanted to-" The boy blunders a bit as the thanks he has carefully prepared are cut short. The intelligent and eloquent teen steadily disappears under insecurity. "This is not a bad thing," he stresses, anxiety rising in his expression.
'You say that because you've been brainwashed since you were a baby.' The Mandalorian thinks viciously.
"Okay, let- let me start again and I'll… I'll try to explain it better," Red asks and Jango keeps quiet cause the ginger's voice is getting quieter and shakier. He knows the boy can barely hold conversations with him; this happening is nothing short of a miracle. And he can recognize, in between all the bantha osik that Red is spouting, that there is something of importance that the teen is trying to tell him. He can't imagine how hard it must've been to say the things Obi-wan's trying to tell Jango, but all of his words are tainted to the Mando's ears. He can't stand what Red is saying, it makes him sick and it repulses him so much he aches to put a blaster bolt in between somebody's eyes.
"It's a balance you see? When we are chosen by a Master they do become our caretakers, but it's a partnership. A give and take from both sides. So, with the food?" The boy points at their plates. "It's a small way in which we can show gratitude for the care a master provides us. From a young age there are certain expectations we have as apprentices, and cooking a good meal is one of them."
Jango feels like he's going to burst a blood vessel with the amount of tension his body is under at this kriffing explanation of a Jetii life.
"That is barbaric Red," the Mando snarls. "How do the Jetiise expect children to cook and do it well if-"
"You're misinterpreting this! And you're putting words in my mouth." Red stops abruptly and casts his whole head down, eyes closed and scrunched in distress. He's breathing a little hard, like he's trying to get his emotions under control. There's something that looks like grief in his face.
It brings Jango's swirling thoughts to a stop. A pang of guilt assaults him. He sighs, feeling like he might've killed something special here, a lightness to the kid, something he hadn't shown much of before and… The Mando put it down like a sickly thing. Obi-wan's quiet now, the strong emotions left from his face. Dejected.
Jango brings up a hand to his face, he never… he never meant to do that. He's starting to sense a pattern here. It's like every time the kid reaches out to him one way or another, the man does his best to beat that trust to the ground. He takes a slow breath in and sighs deeply.
"I… I'm sorry Obi'ika." The boy looks up slightly, "I'm listening now, I promise. Tell me about the food." The man looks quietly at the teen, anger wiped clean from his face, attentive.
"It… it doesn't matter," Obi-wan says quietly, shaking his head, eyes aborted towards his untouched meal "I just… wanted to say thank you, that's all."
"Red-" Jango tries, stricken.
"No, it's okay," Obi-wan says quickly, whipping any of the heavier emotions from his face. "It's not like it's even important to the point, right?" The teen tries a crooked smile, and that feels so wrong. Red can't bring himself to do that on a normal day and now Jango's twisted it all up.
And it is important, the thanks and the food and serving him, is important, Jango can tell, even if he doesn't understand it fully.
"Obi-wan," Jango says a little forcefully, leaning his elbow on the table to look better at the teen. His face is open though, trying to show his sincerity plain for the boy to see, "I… I want you to explain this to me. I really am sorry. I know we may not…" he huffs annoyed, "precisely see eye to eye on some… things. But this is important to you… I'm listening now."
The Fury hums in the quiet that follows. The slow, small smile Obi-wan gifts him lightens the Mando up. That smile might be worth enough bearing the pain of the Jetiise ideals on how to deal with their young.
"We're… we're not expected to make perfect food Jango," Red's voice is quiet but there's an underlining of what sounds like amusement at Jango's expense, "Of course it's not. Our masters guide us by example first, guide us through the steps until eventually we are left to our devices. Once we begin cooking it is also part of the lesson. Did we pay attention? Did we know how to listen? How we cook food can tell us that. A lot of a…" He looks a little hesitant at the other, but there isn't any fear there, "of a Jedi's life relies on the passage of knowledge, and that it's done so correctly. It's important"
Jango feels himself untensing bit by bit, letting Obi-wan's voice carry him through the lesson. He allows himself to feel blessed once again, by what's happening here. This boy who can hardly speak on a good day is waxing poetic about the life he's lived, all because he wants the Mando to understand something. Because, he can begrudgingly admit, it's important to Red.
"At the table, the Master eats first and the apprentice waits for judgment of their work to pass. Now, before you say anything about how unfair that is, the food doesn't actually have to be that good when we are young. If it's not wholly burnt and has an approximation of the taste it should, then it's good enough." The teen's eyes cringle a little, like he wants to laugh. Jango smiles at that, heart softening at the sight of the boy.
So that's why he always waits for Jango to eat first, it's a force of habit even if Red hadn't prepared the food himself.
They begin eating, as Obi-wan continues telling him all the little intricacies of the topic. The food has gone lukewarm but it's not a real problem, Jango could hear the kid talk on and on about whatever he liked. Listening to the ginger speak is a blessing in itself.
·~·~·~·
Obi-wan likes humming when he cooks, it becomes obvious to Jango pretty quickly after the first few times. But today, today he sings. It's almost louder than anything he says on a daily basis; the tune is sort of hopping, going up and down with the melody. The boy sounds quite happy as well as he bounces from one place to the other preparing their midday meal. It has become their new normal, and despite Jango's reservations about Obi-wan being the one who cooks for them, he can't complain too much given how good a mood it puts the ginger in.
"Chioah foh, get, ahin, vehlkon ahran," Red sings.
Jango smiles to himself, he's cleaning up his training corner while he waits for the food to be done. He wants to ask the kid things, but he doesn't want to break the moment.
"Ova, dera, jilkon, jai'eni," The Mandalorian enjoys the song of words he doesn't understand and allows himself to be happy to hear the kid singing so freely, if perhaps a little softly. "Havelan foh Rah'eni Geton, getonget, getonahin."
When they sit down to eat a while later, Obi-wan hand's resting on his lap as he patiently waits for Jango's approval of the dish, the Mando asks.
"That sounded nice," he comments casually, the teen's cheeks coloring a little anyway. Obi-wan nods and chuckles slightly.
"It's a... nursery song," he admits.
"From your planet?" Obi-wan nods as he begins eating. "Where are you from?" Jango wonders to which he receives a confused look in return.
"Coruscant?" Red replies, as if this should already be obvious.
"No, I mean… where are you from?" The Mando clarifies amused. It's this moment he realizes he has somehow misstepped here, but doesn't know exactly how.
"I was born in Stewjon," Obi-wan answers with a nod of his head, not looking up from his plate.
"Ah, is the song in Stewjoni then?" Everyone knows Coruscant doesn't have a native language, that monster of a metropolis can only house Basic with so many comings and goings from thousands of different planets.
Red lowers his fork, his face like he can't believe the Mandalorian's words.
"It's Dai Bendu," he says incredulously.
"Ah…" Jango has no idea where that language is from, "is that a dialect or-"
"It's the language of the Jedi," Obi-wan finally retorts, face drawn tight with displeasure.
'Jettise have a language?' He thinks incredulously to himself.
"Of course we have!" The ginger exclaims outraged.
Opps, so he said that out loud. And wow, that was actually a conversational volume of voice.
"We-we- we're not some random conglomerate of people who meet weekly to do things. We're not just some organization. We're a people, we have a culture, we-" the teen shuts up, his face red with fury. He looks right about ready to leave the table.
"I didn't know…" he says lamely. A silence extending in between them.
"You know, for someone who professes to hate the Jedi so much, you sure seem to know nothing about them."
"I don't need to know anything about them-" Jango cuts himself off immediately before he can say something barbaric. 'Kriff,' he thinks, the boy dons an emotionless mask after a flash of hurt crosses his face.
"No," Obi-wan says after a while, "I guess you wouldn't need to. You just need to know how to kill them, right?" Blue gray eyes lift up to meet his in a scary show of insight. Because… because that's exactly what Jango had been about to say.
There's nothing he can say to defend himself, he doesn't want to, he doesn't think there's anything wrong with that train of thought. The Jetiise are the scum of the universe and they killed his people. But he never wanted to hurt the kid.
Jango says nothing, eyebrows drawn in contained anger.
"Kill us. Us," Obi-wan spits, "excuse me," the ginger says quietly, rising up from his seat and disappearing from the common room, somewhere to the back.
The Mandalorian sighs to himself, closing his eyes and leaning back against the wall. He wishes for a moment it would've been anyone other than Obi-wan that he had found on that thrice damned Kry'tsad camp, anyone else would've been better than the little Jetii.
The moment passes, and the Mando wants to punch himself in the face for ever thinking that.
·~·~·~
Obi-wan dreams of the temple.
The halls overflowing with white light, young children running through the legs of bemused Masters. Everything is almost soft around the edges. The Force feels peaceful here, everyone connected through the invisible strands of their bonds.
It's beautiful.
"Hey Obi," He turns to look at Quinlan, he's smiling easily, like he always does.
"You look older," the ginger comments.
"So do you, but uglier than you ought to," he says as he checks him out. "You need to fatten up Obi," he pats his friend's cheek softly.
Obi-wan can't muster up any annoyance, so he grins good naturedly, he's just so happy to see Quinlan, he's not sure why.
"I miss you," the dark teen says.
"What do you mean?" Obi-wan laughs, brows drawn a little in confusion.
"When are you coming home?" The Kriffar's eyes are sad now, so very sad, like melancholy has been weighing on him for months."
"Miss me? I… I'm here Quin, I don't understand-" the ginger stops, realizing at once how very quiet everything has turned all of a sudden.
Obi-wan looks around in search of what made everyone so silent, but there's no one. The halls are quiet and abandoned, the light is dull and gray. It's like no one's been there in ages. When he looks back to the other, his friend's no longer there.
"Quinlan?" He asks, and he's heartbroken. "I'm here!" He turns round again, looking everywhere for the other teen but… "I'm here, Quinlan! I'm here!"
But he's not really. He hasn't been home in such a long time…
·~·~·~
Obi-wan is quiet that day, the 'I'm not going to make a single sound' kind of quiet that he used to be back when they first met.
It's a little unnerving, but Jango is unsure what would be the right thing to do; he also doesn't think he'd be great at cheering the teen up, especially not after yesterday's blunder. He hopes the boy's mood is not because of him, though there's no fooling himself into thinking that it isn't at least partly his fault.
He walks to the cockpit where Obi-wan sits at the copilot's chair and looks out to the black. Making sure the ginger knows he's there first before touching him, Jango places his hand on the teen's shoulder.
"Hey Red'ika?" The boy looks up at him, his eyes sad and body lax with little energy. "Let me cook today, okay?" Jango asks him, hoping the boy won't fight him on this. He's seen the shadows of stubbornness in him and while he feels proud of them, he doesn't need that stubbornness to show up today.
And it's… it's in his blood; what do you do when the people you care for are down? You cook for them. He doesn't know what the Jetiise do but…
The boy nods quietly.
Jango… he doesn't remove his hand for a bit, unsure of what to do but wishing he did. He takes a step closer until his leg is pressed against the chair. A little hesitantly, Obi-wan lets his head fall to his hip. The man shifts his hand to the other arm. They stay like that for a moment, just breathing, the Mando's thumb tracing circles over the thin shoulder.
The food is warm when they sit down to eat. Then Obi-wan speaks for the first time in the day.
"We- we don't wait for the Masters to eat when we have communal meals." Blue gray eyes lift up timidly, shadowed a little by coppery strands of hair.
Jango stops a moment, fork halfway to his mouth, but directs his attention to Obi-wan and gives the boy a nod and a smile. Swearing to himself to be the most attentive audience he can will himself to be. If this is an olive branch he will not squander the opportunity.
Last night when he'd gone to sleep and the teen's back had been towards him the whole time, he'd thought of what he had said and what Obi-wan had tried to say.
And every time Obi-wan had tried to open up, what Jango had more or less replied with was, 'I don't care what you have to say.' He can't help how he feels about the Jetiise, it'll probably never change, but he doesn't think Red deserves the osik he's been giving him about it.
"How do those work? The communal meals," he asks and proceeds to eat like this is nothing out of the ordinary. 'Olive branch,' he reminds himself
"We… we have these big enormous mess halls in the temple where everyone can go eat. We all take turns making the food, from the most revered masters to the senior padawans. There are big round tables, hollowed on the inside, so you have people sitting in and out of the circle. We all sit there together and get the opportunity to share a meal with people we wouldn't normally have them with." His smile is very faint as he tells this to Jango, but it's there and it's soft. The man had the distinct impression that Obi-wan does not resent him or his actions. That… he could never be like that.
"It's one of the things I enjoy most about living in the temple, the sheer… warmth of having communal meals, in the force…" He lowers his eyes for a moment, a bit uncomfortable to be sharing this with Jango of all people, despite having already tried before. He feels the Jedi should not be a topic they touch upon, something taboo. But the teen aches for home in a way he can't express, so before the man can prompt him to talk again he adds, "and everyone can take from anyone's plate if they want, so long as you're respectful about it."
"Sounds messy," The Mandalorian quips, and it widens a little at the boy's smile.
"It can be. Especially when there are a lot of younglings around, who haven't quite mastered how to take food from others properly." Obi-wan looks at the floor beside them and gestures there, "we sit at ground level, and you're always bumping elbows with the people around you. At least, my friends do." He grins a little.
"Sometimes the first thing Knights do after reporting to the council, when they come back from difficult missions, is going to a communal meal. It's so bright there, that your weariness is lessened away by the mere presence of others. There's a saying in the Temple, 'To the aching soul healers not, but food in abundance.' Or if someone's not feeling particularly eloquent, just 'Kriff the healers, I want food.'"
Jango barks out a laugh at this, a genuine one, he is surprised to note. It's a little strange, he never thought he'd be so light hearted to listen to the everyday lives of the Jetiise of all people. Enemy number one. He is trying of course, for Obi-wan, but there's always a level of truth to actually trying.
It seems to give Red the boost he needs, because after Jango's laugh, he goes on, and on, and on about the simple beauty of sharing a meal, of existing around others who are more than just bodies, of happiness shared and soothed through connection, through the force.
And Jango eats, and listens.
Mando'a:
Alor: Ruler, leader, chief, boss.
Ka'ra: Stars
Osik: Dung, shit.
Abril: The language of the Jedi is a work of love created by fans, you can know more about it here dai-bendu-conlang (Tumblr).
I have a terrible understanding of things so I KNOW I messed up the way one should write the language (if someone want to help me with it I'd be eternally grateful XD) but for now, here is the bit of the song in English and a little more that wasn't in the story.
Crèche song in the text:
I have one, two, three, thousand parents
Also four, five, six thousand crèche masters
I embrace seven, eight, nine thousand siblings
Crèche song:
I have one, two, three, thousand parents
They hold my hand they guide me
Four, five, six, thousand crèche masters
They pick me up they dust me off
I embrace my seven, eight, nine thousand siblings
Together we will travel the stars
Connected as one through the song