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The first time Obi-Wan meets his grandmaster he’s covered in blood. He’s covered in blood and pissed off because this is his nice cloak and it’s going to be a pain to wash, and intel said this was going to be a simple mission, not a fucking set up. They don’t know where their Master is but they remember hearing a loud crack before everything went dark and—---
Obi-Wan doesn’t notice the figure right outside the cell they were just trapped in until he’s only a few feet away from it. Instincts forged on Melida/Daan say unfamiliar adults need to be secured immediately, need to be put down. But they’ve worked enough security jobs for senators and the like that their eyes float down to unknown threat’s hips first.
If they think hard enough it’s like they can hear Master Drallig’s voice teaching a class what to do if an unknown subject gets close to their charge.
“Step one is to search for weapons. If you can’t see any assume they have some hidden.”
There’s a lightsaber on their hip which means Obi-Wan’s in luck. Another Jedi to help him escape. The Jedi looks him up and down, the stare is distinctively unimpressed and they try to not bristle, to bare teeth.
(He wouldn’t have gotten far in the senate if they hadn’t learned to suppress those instincts hard. The stares he had gotten just for existing in their presence were bad enough already.)
“How much of that blood is yours?” The unnamed Jedi asks, and Obi-Wan is so fucking tired, they don’t want to deal with the judgment or condemnation right now, especially not that of an older knight or master.
The response of the Coruscanti Jedi Temple after Melida-Daan had been one of seemingly unending warmth and patience as he had struggled and cried and mourned. Between the seemingly endless visits to the healers, there had been temple teachers helping them catch up on studies and fellow padawans willing to spar. Visits with the initiate clans to reacquaint himself with gentle touches as he taught them games and midnight meditations over candles with masters Freya and Dee-Drow when Obi-Wan couldn’t sleep. Obi-Wan had been filled to the brim with warmth and safety and love so strong and bright in the Force that it had brought tears to his eyes.
And when they had finally broken down, fallen to his knees and spoke in quiet whispers that his bloodied hands could not possibly deserve this kindness, could not possibly accept this safety when all they could give in return was their gratitude, was their own love that poured out of them like the water in the room of a thousand fountains, and a promise that they would protect his fellow Jedi with everything he had and more, he had been picked up and told that was enough .
It hadn’t meant that there wasn’t the occasional scathing comment from a knight, padawan, or the very worse, a master.
Obi-Wan is a Jedi, and violence is never his first option despite what the occasional looks in the temple would lead the rumor mill to believe. But being tied to a chair and strangled didn’t exactly give him another option.
(Most of the blood is his after all.)
“I would calculate roughly 70% of it master?----” Not their most respectful tone but if being in politics and diplomacy had taught him anything being covered in blood tends to give leeway for a multitude of sins.
“Dooku, and if the rumors are correct, which they so often are not, I’m your grandmaster.”
Obi-Wan pauses at that. Yan Dooku wasn’t exactly a figure mentioned much by his teacher, nor his grandmaster, who they suppose was really their great-grandmaster but that was a bit of a mouthful and Yoda had never seemed to mind them dropping it. The only stories he knew for sure came from lineage dinners over Master Yoda’s memory book, and even those were few and far between. The temple rumor mill had a lot to say about the man and Obi-Wan had heard more than most.
But the temple rumor mill has a lot to say about them too.
Best not to think about it.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” They bow but considering they’re in a prison hallway covered in blood the effect is probably lost. And he thought his first meeting with Feemor went poorly.
“Likewise, I’m afraid the temple whispers and indeed my own Master never told me your full name.”
“It’s Obi-Wan Kenobi.”
“Well met Obi-Wan Kenobi. Now I think it best we get out of this place before whoever you have locked in that room manages to break through.” And with that, he turns back around. Hopefully to find Master Jinn, who Obi-Wan can feel somewhere in the facility but not with enough accuracy to pinpoint more than a cell block.
************
They find Master Jinn faster than anticipated. It helps that the man had broken out of the cell himself and was looking for Obi-Wan. He seems just as surprised to see Master Dooku which just makes Obi-Wan all the more curious as to who called him.
Qui-Gon upon seeing Obi-Wan covered in blood just sighs, which makes them feel irrationally guilty. He does the laundry, no one is dead (yet), and they’re about to escape, so what does he have to be upset about?
His teacher cups a hand on Obi-Wan’s cheek and looks them over for injuries, eyes darkening with each pass. They want to remind him that their blood is corrosive and is probably eating through the skin on his palms right now, but it doesn’t seem like a good time. (If he’s too busy trying not to melt into the warmth of his master’s hand and the projection of warmth-safe-calm-hurt? Then that’s between them and the Force.)
Dooku watches with a detached interest, “Did you keep possession of the data drive throughout this endeavor?”
Qui-Gon scowls and removed his hand from their cheek. “Seriously? We haven’t seen each other in five years and that’s your first thought, the mission?”
Oh, Obi-Wan thinks they’ve just found out where the lineage’s disappointed eyebrow raise comes from.
“And whose fault is that? Anyways I’ve already had a conversation with your padawan, whom I had to learn about through the temple rumor mill by the way; making this conversation hardly my first thought. I believe I did teach you how to balance multiple situations at once during your own apprenticeship. Not to mention how to put sentimentality to the wayside till the objective has been completed.”
“I was checking on my padawan.”
“Who seems to be perfectly fine. In fact, they seem to have broken out faster than you.”
The argument, though Obi-Wan is sure the two men behind him would never call it such dims as he focuses on footsteps growing increasingly louder, several sets and only one trying to step lightly. He puts their hand up to signal them both to be quiet.
And proceeds to be roundly ignored in favor of more bickering. If they had signaled for quiet on Melida/Daan they would have gotten it within seconds. Even the little ones knew he had the best hearing and could often root out enemy scouting parties before they even noticed they were being followed, much less hunted .
Obi-Wan has very little of that hard-won respect here. His Master would normally have quieted down if only to allow Obi-Wan’s anxious mind to check for threats before moving on. But distracted as he was Obi-Wan might as well not be in the room.
They see the glint of a blaster right before it fires and do the calculations. Tackling his Master , who was well over two feet taller than him was always a struggle, but it was doable.
The blaster bolt flies into the dead space that was formerly his Master’s torso.
“You could have just told me to duck,” Qui-Gon says grinning in thanks before rolling out from under Obi-Wan.
“Only you would have critiques for how I choose to save your life, Master.” They tease back through the adrenaline because what if he had mistimed that? What if they had hesitated, or they hadn’t seen the sniper? Hells, he had only seen the sniper because whoever it was was cocky, not expecting Obi-Wan’s superior hearing or to have the experience and the eyes of a fellow sharpshooter to spot them.
His Master’s voice cuts them out of their spiraling.
“Here and now padawan.”
Here and now, he can do this. It’s just fighting an unknown amount of armed enemies weaponless.
The hallway has filled with a dozen armored soldiers and all Obi-Wan can do is get up and figure out a plan.
The soldiers are guarding the only way out so retreat isn’t an option. Neither of them has their lightsaber but his grandmaster does so he’ll hopefully deflect the blaster bolts while he and Qui-Go rush the guards and hopefully grab a weapon—
“I assume these would make this easier?” Dooku asks before producing two ‘saber hilts from his cloak and Obi-Wan can feel his singing out to him. Just as loud as when they found his crystal on Illium.
“Yes they would, thank you Grandmaster.”
He nods before the comforting sound of ‘saber ignition fills their ears.
*********
A prison hall wasn’t exactly how he planned to meet the newest member of his lineage. If he was prone to such flights of fancy Yan would think the Force was laughing at him.
The term “disaster lineage” had been around longer than he had, but the nickname had only gotten worse in the last 35 years. He and Feemor had never been close. While the boy had been plenty kind; dedicated, and had only gotten into a little more trouble than a standard padawan before being knighted and after a fight with Qui-Gon about something or other, had run off to patrol the Outer Rim.
The two of them were back on speaking terms last time Yan had checked but didn’t see each other much.
The less said about Xanatos the better, he had been a dreadful child the few times Yan had met him and terribly mannered. While swanning off to join the darkside hadn’t been expected, it hadn’t exactly been a surprise either.
Obi-Wan Kenobi however, had been. After dramatically proclaiming that he would never take on another padawan the little one had been a head-turner in the temple for many months. The rumors about the child were interesting as much as they were unfortunate but Yan wasn’t one to make judgments based solely on rumors. Luckily Yan’s position got him more than just petty gossip.
Obi-Wan Kenobi was kind, brave, and clever, good in saber skills but even better in unarmed combat. Their skills in their early diplomacy class were apparently ages above most of his peers. There was a bit of hissing and strange behavior as an initiate that Masters Freya and Dee-Drow had worked with him on that was apparently fairly standard for young Stewjoni but in a primarily non Stewjoni environment had stood out, a common enough problem with young Jedi.
Whatever had occurred on Melida-Daan had been locked down even for his eyes but considering the fallout had sent all participants to the mindhealers it was probably for the best.
Despite the chaos of their first meeting, Yan could confirm most of what he’s heard.
And as they set to dispatch the small troop of guards all he could be was impressed at the child’s saber skills. The blue blade spun around in smooth, practical motions, perfectly acceptable Ataru forms that were occasionally broken up by defensive saber work to deflect blaster fire. With two more experienced Jedi alongside them, the battle was over before it truly began.
************
Obi-Wan had always struggled with post-combat panic and adrenaline crashes. They know that it’s only partially their fault. Conflict sends him straight into combat meditation now, deep into the Unifying Force, and feeds off his muscle memory. It had helped on Melida-Daan, sitting in sniper perches for hours on end before getting up and leading his friends, the little ones, soldiers out of battlefields and then running clean up, scouting, and medical checks, until someone forced him to go to bed. The adrenaline gives him tunnel vision if he’s not careful, which is good in a sniper’s perch and bad in trenches.
But he’s not in the trenches, they’re in a hall cleared of enemies, (They’ve checked, twice.). There’s no clean up, no finding bodies, or tracking hostages, no triaging with no medical supplies. It’s just them, in a hallway with their Master and Grandmaster.
Obi-Wan’s mouth aches. Adrenaline ramped up the already near-constant creation of venom in the barbs behind his teeth. Which would be helpful, more venom to take down whatever Stewjoni megafauna that was being hunted. (Their venom was strong enough to take down seven humanoids because every creature of Stewjon was the size of seven humanoids.) But was unhelpful in almost every other scenario, while he was immune to his own venom the pressure build-up still hurt. Made them want to bite into something, want to bare sharp teeth in warning at the heartbeats they could around him and at his back.
But that, Obi-Wan imagines, would not make a very good first impression on his grandmaster; who seemed to already regard him with faint disdain.
“Padawan?”
As they turn Obi-Wan can still see faint images overlaid on top of his fellow Jedi. He’s never quite sure what to make of them; the flickers of different times and in some cases realities side by side with Obi-Wan’s present. Showing Master’s Dooku and Jinn younger, older, different haircuts, and outfits that are in various states of disrepair.
They valiantly ignore the flickers of red he can see in Master Dooku’s lightsaber. Ignores the screams and insults ringing in his ears. (The ramifications don’t bear thinking about.)
“Yes?” Their voice doesn’t quiver, because Obi-Wan’s a fucking professional.
“Are you okay?” Oh, Obi-Wan’s Master is worried but they don’t know why because all the guards are unconscious and nobody’s injured and he’s been through worse in the last month, so why—
A heavy warm cloak is placed over their shoulders and Obi-Wan hates how it completely derails his line of thought. It’s several sizes too big but they slip in on it anyways, no doubt transferring the sticky dark red blood from his tunic onto it out he can’t bring himself to mind.
“Here and now padawan, let's go.”
***********
Finding their way out of the prison is easier than it probably should be Obi-Wan can’t bring himself to mind. Qui-Gon doesn’t leave their side and Master Dooku stays several feet ahead of them presumably to scout ahead but they can tell it’s to give them space.
“Padawan, are you okay? You went off in your head in the hall, that isn’t like you in combat scenarios.”
“I’m fine, I just want to clean off and get into some dry robes.”
“Okay, little one.” There’s still concern in his tone but his Master won’t push until they're out of harm's way, an agreement they had come to after much debate with Obi-Wan’s mindhealer. He still tugs Qui-Gon’s cloak closer around their body.
The bright sun was a little overwhelming after hours of dim light but the obviously Jedi ship in front of them couldn’t be more of a welcome gift. Jedi got all the retired Republic transport vehicles that the pilots and mechanics of the temple proceeded to fix like their lives depended on it, because one day their fellow Jedi’s might.
Whatever ship his Grandmaster was flying must be one of the older ones. Most of the older masters had a ship or three that they had been flying since they were knights and were stubborn and beloathed to part with. Much to the pride and horror of the Jedi mechanics who sometimes had to fix ships without the safety regulations that had been either been actually blown off in a firefight at one point or another, or just not required when the ship had been gifted.
The council had finally made a rule that if a ship was more than 40 years old and needed a full overhaul after a mission the Jedi had to do it themself or consider the ship retired. But considering the only real effect the rule had was upped the number of Jedi in mechanics classes Obi-Wan wasn’t sure the proclamation had worked the way the Council had planned.
Their digressing even in their own head but the sun was so nice, and the cloak on his shoulders is so warm and the Force signature intertwined with it made Obi-Wan feel safe. Maybe they could just stand outside for a little while longer before heading in.
“Come on little firecracker, ship, shower, injuries check, then nap.”
Well that sounds reasonable enough.
*********
Yan can hear the sonic running in the back as Obi-Wan gets the worst of the blood and filth off. His own former padawan is using the medkit to fix up his hands which had been burnt by the careless checking of his padawan’s wounds earlier in the rescue.
Qui-Gon looks up from the bacta he was smearing on his palms “So how did you know where to find us, Master?”
“I was in the area and when you didn’t check in Yoda sent me to check on you. It was probably a scheme to get me to meet your newest padawan, you know how he likes to meddle.”
Qui-Gon just sighs at that, Qui had always liked Yoda as much as Yoda had been delighted by the little boy who used to sit with him in the garden. Now the grown man who debates him in philosophy with the understanding that if he wins (or cites his sources incorrectly) he will be knocked into the swampiest pools by younglings no doubt on the orders of the grandmaster but with no way to prove it.
“That I do, probably too well.”
They lapse into silence again until a very tired padawan comes into the room and sits at the table. The small cuts on their face look to have been made mostly to scare, and once the blood was washed off barely amounted to anything. The bruises on his neck were more concerning but nothing bacta and rest couldn’t fix.
This doesn’t stop Qui-Gon from a truly ridiculous amount of fussing before allowing his charge to fall asleep practically consumed by the brown cloak and wrapped in Qui-Gon’s arms.
Yan’s comm goes off.
“Allow me to take this somewhere private so I don’t wake the young one.”
His former padawan nods, too preoccupied with keeping Obi-Wan settled in his arms to bother with verbally answering.
Sequestered in the cockpit he picks up the call.
“Yan Dooku speaking, may I know who this is?”
“Know who it is you do. Left your mission early you did.”
“It was hardly early, I did everything I could and was going to leave later today anyways. Leaving a few hours early didn’t change a thing”
“Ah, a fool I am. An attempt to meet your padawan’s apprentice this was not.” The old fool croaked.
“Of course not. Besides, even if it was it’s no longer an attempt. I met the poor child.”
“Safe young Obi-Wan is?” Yoda asks sounding concerned.
“Yes, nothing rest won’t heal. Now I best be off, go make loud noises in the archives or amass an army of younglings to help you escape Council meetings, or whatever you do when you’re not bothering me.”
“Be kinder to your old master you should be. Beat you in the training salles I still can.”
“Only when I let you master. May the Force be with you.”
“May the Force be with you.”
Yan ended the call, if the old troll hadn’t wanted him to come he wouldn’t have given him their last known location and no other instruction.