Chapter Text
Somehow, despite spending approximately a total of fourteen hours in Qui-Gon's presence, Obi-Wan's wayward apprentice had managed to acquire Qui-Gon's disgusting propensity for bringing home pathetic lifeforms.
And he wasn't even sorry about it.
"Anakin," Obi-Wan said, with the carefully measured patience of a man about to snap. "Put that back where you found it - no, I don't want to know where - just put it back, padawan. It probably has - urgh - a family or something that will be looking for - for it."
The urgh in question did not, as one might believe, come from Obi-Wan's inherent disgust over his padawan's attachment to a pathetic lifeform, but rather a gag reflex triggered by the smell that pathetic lifeform was emitting, which was somewhere between hundred-year-old sewer and Coruscant's level 2442 (which incidentally, the Force assured him was exactly where Anakin had found the little damned thing).
Anakin, that little criminal, blinked innocently in the way particularly cute children did when they'd just done something particularly un-cute, as if the sight of his wide tooka eyes and drenched poncho was enough to let him off the hook.
"But Master," the twelve-year-old said sweetly. "He's hurt, and he has nowhere to go. Isn't it our duty, as Jedi, to save him and protect him in his most vulnerable moments?"
Obi-Wan's eyebrows twitched.
This was, of course, exactly what Obi-Wan had told his padawan earlier that week, when Anakin had watched gleefully as a particularly rude senator they'd been guarding fell into a trash compactor and almost got eaten by some sort of carnivore that lived down there. Obi-Wan had caught him contemplating closing the trash compactor doors in an attempt to muffle the screams from the man, thereby reducing the chances of Obi-Wan ever rescuing him, and even though it had later turned out he was the mastermind in an underground slaver's ring, he still stood by that sentiment.
It was just... well, it wasn't that the disgusting smelling little hairy creature in his padawan's lap didn't count, per say, it was just that Obi-Wan didn't really see why it had to be his problem right now.
(And yes, that might be a very un-jedi-like thought, but Obi-Wan was twenty-eight, and he'd already had to scrub oil from half-dismantled droids out of the carpet twice this week. It was Centaxday, the week had hardly even begun!)
"Padawan," he tried, even though he knew the battle had been lost the second Anakin mentioned Jedi and duty (or, if he was feeling honest with himself, the minute his padawan stepped inside the room, still dripping wet from rain, and turned those deadly little tooka eyes on his master). "Where would we even keep it? It's a wild animal. It's not meant to be kept indoors, especially not in such a small living quarter. It would probably be deeply unhappy here."
Anakin's tooka eyes intensified in power.
"You don't know where it's been! Or what species it is!" Obi-Wan desperately tried to reason, feeling the situation spin out of control the longer Anakin's tooka eyes were activated.
Anakin's lower lip started to wobble. With practiced ease, Obi-Wan ignored it, and continued working himself up to a Rant™. "It probably has pests! Diseases!" he exclaimed, gesturing wildly towards the wet ball of fur that maybe, if you tilted your head a little and squinted, looked a tiny bit like a horribly disfigured, super hairy tooka. "Maybe it's even irradiated from all the pollution in the lower levels - which actually reminds me, how did you even... no, we'll get to that later - or it could be a specifically adapted to certain environmental conditions, conditions which we cannot maintain up here in the temple -"
Obi-Wan's eyes wanted to drift upwards, towards safer territory, but he was a Jedi Knight now, a Warrior of Justice, and so he forced them down to meet the full force of the Tooka Stare™ head on, gritting his teeth as he did so.
"- would you want to risk your new friend's life? It's been living down there it's entire lifetime, Anakin, and it's done just fine so far - better than fine, if we go by the amount of blood around it's maw - and who is to say that by taking it up here you won't have endangered it in ways we cannot even begin to comprehend --"
He could no longer hear the words he was saying, but that was fine. Obi-Wan had lived with his master for twelve years and had shored up defences a young padawan like Anakin couldn't even imagine. Even now, floaty and rising with the arguments, he could see the thin glaze of not-listening-cannot-compute enter his dear padawan's eyes, dulling its efficiency.
"-certain species have delayed biochemical reactions to pollution-null environments such as the temple. We'd have to run a biochemical analysis of its blood to determine all the potential risk factors - and that's even if it has blood! - some species --" Obi-Wan continued, letting the Rant™ carry itself towards Ultimate Victory™, the way it tended to do against opponents that didn't have the authority to interrupt it before it ran out of steam.
(Obi-Wan had gotten a 99.79% on his advanced biology classes. He was never going to run out of steam.)
"-not to mention how it would react to interactions of all the other species this temple is inhabited by. Some species, like Master Te'Gal's, can cause allergic reactions in species with predominate adoralis adoral genes on sector--"
"...please?" came the whisper, so quiet it was barely audible before Obi-Wan's great monologue, and yet all to loud in the cramped space between them. Before he even knew what he was doing, Obi-Wan cut himself off, clanking his teeth together as he stared down at the visage of his padawan (his padawan) and for the first time since Anakin had set foot inside the threshold, truly looked at him.
He was dirty and ill-smelling, dripping with polluted rainwater, the kind that dripped down the levels and accumulated all kinds of filth while doing so (and really, Obi-Wan should have chased him into the sonic shower the first thing he did, but it was too late for that now. Oh well, at least the stolen, too-big poncho was mostly protecting him). His padawan braid (only three pearls, barely long enough to wind around his fingers) was wet and unruly, partially unravelled by whatever sewer pipe Anakin had hitch-hiked through, and the stains on his pants and shoes would probably never get out of them (they'd have to throw those away, and deal with the angry Quarter Master afterwards, which yeah, Obi-Wan really did not look forward to).
But beneath that, the smell and the dirt and the over-sized poncho, Anakin's shoulders were hunched. His hands, trembling, gripping the weird creature too tightly to his chest - not that it was complaining, that odd thing, just watching them with narrow, slitted pupils.
His eyes weren't meeting Obi-Wan's.
In the Force, he was small and soft/vulnerable and fear-terror-master-please-don't-turn-away-from-me-please-protect-me-please-love-me-i'm-sorry-i'm-sorry-i-know-i-screwed-up-please-don't-send-me-back-to-tatooine/slavery/horrors-untold.
Abruptly, all of Obi-Wan's thoughts ceased to matter. His irritation, his disgust (and oh force, had he been broadcasting those? Had Anakin felt them? Obi-Wan would rather gut himself than that be the case) ceased to matter. The sleep deprivation and the aches from previous missions flinched out of existence as pure horror/fear/attention replaced it, just for a second, before they were brutally smashed into repression/non-existence.
Anakin flinched anyway, because he'd always been too good of a sensor for his own health.
He hugged the creature closer and higher up his chest. A comfort gesture, Obi-Wan noted, and distinctly did not think coping mechanism or trauma-induced.
"Padawan," no, that wasn't right, that wasn't the words that were needed, it was --"... Little Brother... look at me."
Anakin's eyes darted upwards. They caught Obi-Wan's gaze, at first hesitant and scared, then quickly enraptured, almost hungry as they drank in the emotions in Obi-Wan's eyes.
Anakin had always been an excellent sensor, able to detect negative emotions and danger from a parsec's distance, but a poor empath, unable to truly feel another's emotions, their motives, their thoughts, unless that person was looking him straight in the eyes unflinchingly.
Obi-Wan was not blinking.
"I will talk to Master Belynda from the EduCorps. She was a clan mate of mine, back when we were initiates, and she happens to specialize in urbanization biology. I'm sure she'll have some insight to our friends' biology. If not, maybe Master Nari from the archives, or Master Vokara here in the temple will have a clue." the words where casual, the tone unaffected, but Obi-Wan let the bond between them swell with love/trust-little-brother/padawan/Anakin and i-want-you-to-be-safe/secure/happy/loved and, even though being this naked, this truthful, hurt because it resonated oh so familiarly with Obi-Wan's own insecurities, i-will-not-give-you-up/send-you-back/you-and-i-are-a-team/i-will-protect-you.
A wet gasp rose through the air. Something, maybe Anakin, maybe Obi-Wan, maybe the Force, tensed and swelled, filling the place - their home - with warmth and security and so much love.
The bond between them opened, unfurling like a sun-starved flower finally seeing light, widening and broadening deeper than Obi-Wan had ever imagined possible, and Obi-Wan was vaguely aware of himself keening, and odd, half-pained, half-relieved noise that got lost under the weight of his padawan's love.
He had never felt anything like this. Not with Qui-Gon, not with his crèche master, not with his clan mates, not with anyone.
warm, he thought, in that distant floaty way you do when you are too high on drugs to give a shit.
Master/Big-brother/Obi-Wan/father, Anakin thought-said-felt, and Obi-Wan thought he might be crying (or maybe Obi-Wan was?).
and it was --
it was ---
it was good.
The only downside was that after they came down from whatever the living force kriff that had been (and Obi-Wan was never telling anyone about it - ever), the damned thing was still there, sitting on the floor a few paces from the crying, hugging padawan-master pair, staring at them with its weirdly slitted eyes, still smelling like something death had turned over and cried about. From his place on the floor, his padawan clinging to his robes with the best worst kind of attachment, Obi-Wan could clearly see the dried blood splatter on its fluffy little face, originating from the deceptively small maw.
To Obi-Wan's muted horror, the creature seemed like it was about to stay.
-*-
The Asset had no idea what was going on, but it got the sense that it was no longer in Washington DC, or Amerika, or maybe even Earth.
It was strangely okay with that.
Now, if only it could get this furry, quadruped body (also identified as: a cat) into good enough combat shape to properly protect its new Handler and this new Handler's Handler, everything would be just fine. It was sure of it.
And if it wasn't... well, the Asset was a highly skilled assassin, spy and tactical assault unit. It sure it could manage to hide however many bodies it needed to, opposable thumbs or not.
-*-
About three kilometres away, in the highest security building on Coruscant, surrounded by the most skilled guards and advanced security measures, Darth Sidious had a sudden bad feeling about the future, and his nefarious plans for it. He shrugged it off, stuffing his throbbing hand deeper inside his robes as he smiled politely at the senator from Serenno. The man smiled back, his eyes just a tiny bit glazed.
Darth Sidious strolled on pleasantly.
It was probably nothing.