Chapter Text
i. year one (15, 26)
“Oh, uh, hello there.” Obi-Wan Kenobi says carefully as he closes the back door behind him and starts to take off his gloves.
He looks surprised to find her standing in his kitchen. And Padme wonders if maybe he’d forgotten she was here, which isn’t a good sign considering she’s here babysitting, his … Brother? Step-brother? Honestly, she’s not entirely clear on his and Anakin's relationship … but regardless it leaves her with a bad taste in her mouth.
Still, whatever her reservations about him, she is determined he will have a good impression of her by the time she leaves. Really, she’s been babysitting Anakin since she was fourteen, over a year. She loves him like a member of her family. She gave up her own bed when Mr. Jinn died and her parents had Anakin stay at their house for two days until the man standing in front of her showed up.
She is not about to give him any excuse to separate them.
Grabbing her notes off the counter she launches into her run down of the evening.
“We had a great time together. Anakin ate three slices of pizza, thanks for leaving the money. We made ice cream sundaes for dessert, chocolate with crushed up candy canes, because you didn’t have mint chocolate chip. That’s his favorite by the way.”
“Don’t worry,” she hastens to add when that makes him look over, “I didn’t let him add more than two scoops. We played a few video games. Nothing violent. He beat me of course. And he showed me the computer he’s been building. Though I think he’s running out of parts. Do you need help knowing where to go? I don’t know anything about it, but I could ask around if Anakin can’t tell you where Mr. Jinn used to take him.”
Obi-Wa– Mr. Kenobi– Padme mentally corrects herself. Just because Anakin refers to him that way, doesn’t mean you can– comes over to lean against the opposite counter. “Did you um– Did you do this for my dad when you babysat?”
He seems a little amused by the idea, which is the first indication she’s gotten that he actually knows anything about the tiny family she’s grown so fond of over the past year.
“No,” she admits. Mr. Jinn was never really all that interested in her notes, preferring to hear it all directly from Anakin’s own mouth. Waking his son no matter the hour to ask with solemn interest, ‘Did you have a good time Anakin?’
She’d asked him once if there wasn’t anything he wanted to know from her. Only to get the most cryptic response. ‘I don’t know. Is there anything you think you should tell me?’
It took her a while to realize that he only wanted her to tell him if there was something serious that might mean Anakin was hurt or needed help. Otherwise, Mr. Jinn seemed content to let his ten year old son decide which things he wanted to share and which secrets he wished to keep. It wasn’t exactly the typical parenting style Padme encountered when she babysat, but she had liked it. A lot, actually. She just doesn’t think the man in front of her, with his military haircut and ‘I color inside all available lines’ vibe has much in common with the long-haired, free-spirit who occupied the house before him.
First off he actually went to the New Years Eve party her parents threw, which he’s what? Twenty-five, thirty, max? And yes, her mother is a force of nature who didn’t exactly give him a choice, apparently having decided that the acclimation of Obi-Wan Kenobi was a Naberrie family project, but still– But her parents and all her parents friends are way older, closer to Mr. Jinn’s age, and even he always had something better to do. Second, he wore that. She takes in the sharply creased khakis, and crisp white button down he’s got on under the world’s most beat up brown leather bomber jacket. It’s like the man’s never heard of a color. And if all that wasn’t bad enough, it’s only what? She glances at the oven clock. 12:15 am? What did he do, grab his coat the moment the clock hit midnight?
So, yes, all things considered, being able to provide O– Mr. Kenobi with a detailed accounting of her and Anakin’s time together had felt like a good idea.
“Did you want me to keep going?”
“Sure.”
Padme finishes her run down of the rest of the evening, and he listens intently without interrupting once. When she’s done he points over to the slip of paper she’s been referring to. “Do you mind if I keep that?”
“Oh, um, sure.” She hands the slip of note paper, secretly wishing she hadn’t written the whole thing in turquoise glitter pen. “They’re not really complete or anything, just– you know, notes–” But Mr. Kenobi, who is currently opening and closing all the drawers around him, has apparently stopped listening to her. “What’re– What are you looking for?”
“Pen.”
Padme walks over to the small alcove between the kitchen and living room that used to be a wet bar, grabs a pen out of the drawer and comes back over.
Mr. Kenobi takes it from her with a look she can’t interpret and starts to jot things down. “Thanks. So you– Did you babysit for my dad a lot?”
Padme watches him write ‘mint-chocolate chip’ at the edge of the margin and feels something inside her loosen a little.
“Some weekends. Also, I would meet Anakin at the bus stop a few days a week and stay with him until Mr. Jinn got home from work.”
“Would you be willing to keep doing that? If we needed it still. I don’t know exactly what my hours are going to be yet. But, I don’t– I’m trying not to change too much on him.”
She does her best not to betray the rush of relief that runs through her at the request. “Sure. Ani’s a great kid. I love him. Everyone does.”
“Thanks.” He sets the pen down. Drums his fingers once on the counter in hesitation, then looks over at her. “Can I ask you something?”
Padme shrugs, “I guess so?”
“What do people think of me? I mean– What did my dad say about why I haven’t been around?”
It feels like a really strange question to ask after he’s just been at a party with almost everyone in the neighborhood, none of whom are exactly shy about sharing their opinions, until she realizes that by ‘people’ he means Anakin.
“Oh– Uh–” she fumbles, not entirely sure how to explain that she didn’t even know Mr. Jinn had another son until he showed up.
Apparently she doesn’t need to.
“Ah,” he says, a flicker of something passing across his features too quick for her to catch. “He didn’t talk about me at all, did he?”
She winces. “I’m sorry.”
“No, I– I shouldn’t have asked. That wasn’t fair.” He pushes off the counter and pulls a billfold out of his back pocket in dismissal. “How much do I owe you?”
Okay, so obviously this conversation is over.
Padme packs up while he looks in on Anakin, who thankfully seems to have remained asleep for once. The boy has always been a bit of a night owl, and she’s not sure what sort of impression it would have made if Mr. Kenobi had come home to find an insomniac, sugar-high ten year old sitting on the couch. Probably not a good one.
She always saw herself out previously, had a key to allow her to lock up and everything. But she returned it after Mr. Jinn’s death, and now she’s not really sure of the protocol. Finds herself hanging around, lingering in the front foyer. Just– Just in case they need her for anything—
Mr. Kenobi, thankfully, doesn’t seem that put off by her continued presence when he comes back down the stairs.
“I don’t think I’ve seen him sleeping that soundly in weeks. He must have had a good time. Did you do the-“ he makes a slashing gesture across his face, and for a second she doesn’t know what he’s referring to until she remembers that she let Anakin go to sleep with the lightning bolt she’d painted over one eye still in place.
And then she remembers the butterfly still covering half her face. And the reason he seemed so startled to see her when he came in suddenly becomes blindingly obvious. She flushes and hopes he can’t see it under the paint.
“Oh yeah, sorry about that. I told him it made him look dangerous and then he didn’t want to take it off. Don’t worry, though. We’ve done it before. It’ll wash off in the morning.”
He waves a hand. “It’s fine. You’re very talented.”
“Thanks.”
“Do you want to be an artist?”
She shakes her head. “No, that’s just for fun. I actually plan to go into politics.”
“Really?” he says with the lift of an eyebrow.
Oh, here we go. People are always surprised when she tells them what she wants to do. They don’t mean to be, probably, but it doesn’t make it any less annoying, everyone’s tendency to assume that just because she’s pretty and petite her resume will consist of dance or gymnastics rather than the debate and Model UN which occupy most of her waking hours.
“What?” she challenges, “Do you have a problem with politics?”
He opens his mouth to say something then seems to think better of it. “Oh, nothing you wouldn’t be able to fix I’m sure.”
And she is ninety five percent certain that was not what he’d been going to say at first, but still … it’s enough to take the air out of her fight.
“Well- uh- Thank you, I guess.”
“I’ll walk you out.”
“Oh, you don’t have to do that.”
“I insist.”
“Really. It’s not necessary. I just live across the street.”
“Padme,” he says with a sigh, stepping past her to pull the front door open. “It’s almost one a.m. and your mother terrifies me. I’m going to watch you walk home.”
He stands on the front porch and watches as she makes her way down the steps and along the front path towards the mass of cars that still line the street. She thought it would be irritating, being monitored like a child who can’t be trusted to cross the street on their own. But he does it all with such natural ease, such casual authenticity, that she can almost believe it’s something he’d do for anyone regardless of their age, and when she thinks about it like that, it’s actually sort of … nice? Maybe?
Padme finds herself starting to think that he might actually be sort of nice.
Maybe.
She hopes so at least, for Anakin’s sake.
“You should wake him up.”
“Sorry?”
She turns around and looks up at him, isolated on the undecorated porch, not a wreath or twinkle light in sight. Mr. Jinn had never been that big on Christmas but it still strikes her as incredibly sad.
“Anakin. You should wake him up. Mr. Ji- Your dad used to do whenever he came home, no matter what time it was. He’d wake Anakin up and ask if he had a good time.”
Something crosses his face that she can’t interpret. “Was he still doing that?”
“Yeah, I guess– I guess he was.”
“Thanks.” He smiles almost to himself. “I’ll give it a try.”
Padme smiles back before adding, “I’m really sorry about your dad. I don’t know why he didn’t– But I’m really sorry he’s not around for you to be able to ask him.”
“Me, too.”
“Okay, well, bye.” She winces as she hears herself. Nice. Very articulate.
“Padme–”
“Uh, huh?”
“Happy New Year.”
She smiles. “Happy New Year, Mr. Kenobi.”
Who knows. Maybe it will be.