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batsutousaiTitle: Seen Our Share of Hard Nights
Series: Make a Brand New End
Fandom: Star Wars
Author: Batsutousai
Rating: Teen
Warnings: Alternate Universe, Qui-Gon Lives, time travel fix-it, jedi families, angst, hurt/comfort, therapy, past trauma, Obi-Wan needs a hug, Anakin needs a hug, they both get hugs
Summary: Feemor has long being a proponent of speaking to mind healers when meditation wasn't enough to work through a traumatic experience. Now if he can just get Obi-Wan and Anakin to see the sense in it, too...
A/N: This was initially just going to be a Feemor and Anakin talk about Ani being made to go see the mind healers ficlet, but then I realised Obi-Wan probably needs to have this talk, too, so we're just going to call this fic 'The author uses Feemor as a way to beat better mental health practises into the heads of a couple of morons with shitty coping methods'.
I love the jedi, I do, but the lack of obvious mental health, especially during the war, is just...horrible. And while I'm certain that's a lot to do with the stigmas of the real world, it's still shitty. So, somewhere in my headcanon, the jedi also developed a stigma about needing help sorting out your own emotions, because shouldn't they be able to just meditate on their problems and sort them out themselves?
Idk, that's just where my mind went with the whole lot. And since there's no canon material I can find on this, I do what I want. :P
Happy Star Wars Day!
Anakin's part didn't see a reread at all, while Obi-Wan's part got a bit of a reread, because I wanted to be able to post this today.
Cross-posted to Archive of Our Own and LiveJournal.
Feemor had only just started his warm-up stretches when Obi-Wan entered the private salle they'd been meeting in nearly every night since they'd returned from Naboo. The first two times had honestly been unintended—neither of them had gone there expecting a partner to run katas with, but it had seemed daft to request two private rooms when they were comfortable enough working together, and it was nice to have someone else there when working on an unfamiliar form—but then it had turned into a habit, with whoever got down there first claiming the salle and the other making it when they could.
"Ani didn't want me to leave," Obi-Wan explained as he dropped his bottle of water and towel on the bench by the door.
Feemor chuckled. "You realise that he's going to be harassing us at least until his Trials, whether you apprentice him or not."
Obi-Wan huffed, then offer a wry smile. "Yeah, I'm getting that impression." Then he frowned a bit. "Is that going to be a...problem? His attachment?"
Feemor straightened from his stretch and scratched at the bristle on his chin. "Attachment is...hard. I think you know this?" Because Qui-Gon had hardly been the picture of unattachment when Feemor had been younger, and he doubted the man had changed that much, not given how readily and fully he'd accepted Feemor and his part of their lineage back into his life.
Obi-Wan grimaced. "I've had a few brushes with it, yeah. But that's not, hmm..."
"It isn't the attachment that's the problem, it's the letting go," Feemor said.
Obi-Wan considered that for a moment, then nodded. "That, yes. I don't mind being, uhm, important, I guess? To Ani. An older friend willing to help him find his footing in strange new environs."
"But you're worried he won't stop clinging if he gets a master outside our lineage, that he won't be able to," Feemor guessed.
"Yes." Obi-Wan sighed, running a hand through his hair and tugging on his nerf tail. "I don't know what to do about that, if it's even my place."
Feemor hummed in thought, considering the problem. "He missed out on those lessons in the crèche, and while it's possible he learnt something similar as a youngling—slavery, unfortunately, is not a life given to allowing one to hold on to objects or people—it may not be completely outside the realm of possibility that he could use an explanation on the jedi take of the concept. Whoever takes him as their padawan may have to work with him on that, certainly, but I think that can wait until he's a padawan."
"Then...?"
Feemor shook his head. "I sent his dorm master a message, earlier, that I think he needs to see one of the mind healers; that's something they'll be equipped to tackle. Probably better than either of us could."
Obi-Wan frowned. "A mind healer? Really?"
Feemor considered his brother-padawan, head tilted slightly. "Everyone needs someone to talk to, especially after something traumatic, and I can't imagine a childhood as a slave isn't traumatic, not to mention whatever he saw or overheard during the clean-up on Naboo."
"But, a mind healer?"
Feemor narrowed his eyes. "Don't," he warned, because he'd spent too much of his younger years buying into the same anti-help mindset Obi-Wan seemed to be stuck in. And while he still struggled with a studied avoidance of regular healers, he'd learnt his lesson—and learnt it well—about going to the mind healers. "Mind healers are important, and seeking one out when you need their help isn't a weakness. I desperately needed one after Qui-Gon repudiated me, and Roimata forcing me to start seeing Master Stailfre probably saved my life."
Obi-Wan flinched, his eyes going wide. "What?! No, but you're so, so...together!"
Feemor raised an eyebrow at his brother-padawan and watched Obi-Wan wince, clearly more than familiar with that expression from years with Qui-Gon. "Yes. Because I got help."
Obi-Wan hunched in on himself a little bit, staring down at the ground and tucking his arms into his armpits, almost like he was trying to resist the urge to hug himself. "Do you think...I should, uhm, should go? Talk to, to someone?"
Feemor sighed. "I think I don't know half of what you've been through in the past twelve years, but everything I do learn makes me want to punch Qui-Gon again."
Obi-Wan grimaced. "Please don't. That was...embarrassing enough the first time."
Feemor hummed, not completely convinced he shouldn't step up and defend his brother-padawan, since he didn't seem willing to defend himself (at least, not from their master), but had to admit that he wouldn't appreciate Kei or Ace taking a swing at Qui-Gon on his own behalf. "I won't, but you do need to get used to me wanting to protect you, little brother."
Obi-Wan peeked up at him, offering a small, uncertain smile. "Yeah. I'm...working on that."
Feemor inclined his head, and then carefully continued, "What I know, it makes me think that you should probably talk to someone. A mind healer would be best, yes, but I'm always here to listen, too, and I'm certain Qui-Gon will say the same, if it's something you're comfortable talking about with him."
Obi-Wan nodded, face down-turned and hidden from Feemor's view.
Feemor watched him in his stillness for a moment, then said, "Do you want a hug?"
Obi-Wan let out a strained laugh. "What is it with you and hugs?"
"Positive physical contact can be healing," Feemor replied evenly. "It's something that's built into the human genetic code. Most near-humans, too, from what I read about it."
"I– You...read about it?" Obi-Wan asked, surprised into looking up.
Feemor shrugged. "The Republic Medical Psychology Association published an article on it about...sixteen years ago? Master Stailfre sent it to me. I suppose to help explain why my neurochemistry was always better if I wasn't trying to be distant and proper with everyone."
Obi-Wan shook his head, brow furrowed.
Feemor sighed. "Obi-Wan, I have clinical depression. That means I'm prone to very, very bad days if I don't take my medication. Just because I look, how did you call it? 'Together', doesn't mean it's easy. Having a support system—my padawans, mind healers, my friends—has helped me a lot." He stepped forward, catching Obi-Wan's shoulder with one hand and squeezing. "You're not alone, little brother."
(Not this time. Never again, if Feemor had anything to say about it.)
Obi-Wan let out a tiny, broken sound and moved forward, wrapping his arms around Feemor.
Feemor returned the hug without hesitation, letting the contact loosen that little knot of regret that he was still working on untangling, just a little bit.
When Obi-Wan finally pulled back, Feemor let him go and pretended not to notice the way he sniffled and scrubbed at his eyes. "I don't," he said quietly, "know that I can, that I'm willing to go talk to a, a mind healer. Right now. Yet."
"Okay," Feemor agreed, because he'd learnt with Ace that, just because being forced to talk to Stailfre had worked for him, didn't mean it would for everyone; sometimes, they had to need to want to go. And there was a lot of stigma about needing to talk to the mind healers among the jedi, too many of whom seemed to believe meditating would make everything better. And while Feemor would never be one to argue against meditation—he'd trained two padawans who had preferred moving meditation, but he'd still tried their entire apprenticeships to get them to try the classic meditation with him, because moving meditation didn't leave him with quite the same peace as the classic version—he also believed that there were times when meditation was not enough, when you actually needed to talk to someone about whatever you'd been through.
"But," Obi-Wan continued, glancing up at him, uncertain, "I'd like to– I mean, if you, if you're sure, that you would be okay, that you don't mind–"
"Obi-Wan," Feemor interrupted, because it was pretty clear the young knight didn't really know how to ask for his help (and didn't that ache), "I will always be willing to listen to you. About anything. And if I cannot right that moment, I promise to let you know that we just need to reschedule, okay?"
Obi-Wan nodded, looking relieved. "Yeah. Yes. Okay. Uhm, katas, now? Please."
Feemor chuckled and nodded, stepping back to give them both room to move. "Do your stretches," he added before Obi-Wan could actually reach for his lightsabre.
Obi-Wan huffed out a quiet curse, then set to his stretches while Feemor did his favourite of the Ataru katas, because he knew better than to let his skills in that form languish. Also, he just really, really liked that kata, and the only other person there wasn't likely to judge him for only doing one.
They did Soresu at half-speed first, mirroring each other and playing spotter when it was necessary, then ran through Makashi the same way. Then they did it again, at quarter-speed, and again at full speed.
They took a break for water and to cool off a bit. When they would have got up to do the whole lot again, however, Obi-Wan asked, "What would I even talk about?"
Feemor shrugged and let himself relax back against the wall. "I once spent an entire session talking about how useless I thought Soresu was," he admitted.
Obi-Wan sputtered a laugh, spraying a mouthful of water out over the mat.
Feemor raised an eyebrow at him.
"You did not."
"I very much did; it wasn't until the war that I learnt how important knowing Soresu could be."
Obi-Wan's expression went tight and he ducked his head down, towards the mouth of his bottle. "You talk about it so...casually," he said quietly.
Feemor grimaced. "I– In my memories, all of the jedi spent the last three years at war. It was just...reality, for us. I'm still getting used to being surrounded by people who don't–" He shook his head. "I don't know. Understand?"
Obi-Wan carefully capped his bottle. "Yeah," he said quietly, a certain weight to his words that made Feemor want to wrap him in another hug. "You spend so much time listening to blasterfire and the explosions of grenades, keeping one hand on your weapon just in case, and watching people dying around you for such a stupid reason. And then you, you come back to the Temple, where everyone acts serene and happy and you just–" He clenched his jaw, forced out a harsh breath. "Kriff, I don't know."
Feemor took a moment to think, to observe the tangled mess of old grief and that caution-terror-stay-safe emotion that he was all too familiar with from the war. "Kei mentioned, earlier," he said carefully, "that you fought in a civil war."
Obi-Wan's mouth flattened out, his shoulders going tense. "Left the Order, you mean," he bit out, old bitterness in the words.
"That, too," Feemor admitted.
Obi-Wan let out a derisive noise. "No one ever cares for the why," he said bitterly. "It was always about how I'd 'left the Order'. Gave other padawans a bad name. Was as bad as Xana–"
"That is the largest, most heaping pile of bantha poodoo I have ever heard," Feemor interrupted, because he absolutely was not going to sit there and listen to his brother-padawan liken himself to Xanatos. "Xanatos left the Order out of rage and greed; you left it to help people. And you, Obi-Wan Kenobi, came back."
Obi-Wan was completely silent for a long moment, fingers clenched tight around his water bottle. "I– That, that doesn't make it a good choice," he finally said, his voice cracking partway through.
"Sometimes," Feemor offered quietly, "we have to pick between two terrible choices. And, yes, it's hard to consider that a 'good choice', but that doesn't mean anyone should be vilified for making a choice; doing nothing is still a far worse thing than taking a stand, especially when lives are on the line."
"I...guess."
"Do you regret it?" Feemor asked. "Leaving the Order to fight in a war?"
Obi-Wan was quiet for another long moment, his expression going thoughtful. "I don't...know," he admitted at last. "I'm not sure my being there helped at all. Everything sort of...fell apart. And then Cerasi was killed and I, I didn't know what to do. If I even could do anything. If Master hadn't come back to help, I think things would have just got worse than they had been."
Feemor considered that, then offered, "And if you weren't there, might the same thing have happened?"
"I don't–" Obi-Wan reached up to where his braid had been, grasped at air for a moment, then looked down at his hand like it had betrayed him.
(Feemor didn't laugh. Somehow.)
Obi-Wan huffed and dropped his hand into his lap, fingers curling into a loose fist. "I don't know. Maybe? Someone else might have fought with Nield about the Halls of Evidence, eventually. I was an outsider, an easy target; it didn't take much for him to turn the others against me."
Force. And then he'd come back to the Temple, where people spat at him for leaving? He was a far stronger person than Feemor; he would have turned around and resigned all over again. Probably.
"I guess...without me, no one would have called the jedi back? So, war probably would have broken out again."
"That," Feemor offered carefully, "sounds like your choice, as terrible as it might have been, saved a lot of lives." He leant forward over the bench a bit, trying to catch Obi-Wan's downturned eyes. "Do you regret it?" he asked again.
Obi-Wan breathed in, slow, steady, and then breathed out, slow, steady. "No," he decided and looked up to meet Feemor's eyes, a new sort of determination making his eyes seem greener than usual. "If my choice saved lives, if my being there is the only reason the war finally ended, I don't regret it."
Feemor nodded. And then, because he couldn't not ask, "Why didn't Qui-Gon stay with you? It's not like him to not stick his nose into something like a civil war."
Obi-Wan sighed. "Tahl needed the Halls," he said quietly.
Feemor closed his eyes. "Oh, Qui-Gon," he breathed, because Tahl had always been one of their master's blind spots.
"Yeah," Obi-Wan said tiredly. "I'd had no idea how much she meant to him, then. If I had, I–" He shook his head, expression gone tight.
"I think," Feemor said carefully, "that as soon as Tahl figured out what was going on, she would have told Qui-Gon to go back for you."
"She did," Obi-Wan said, just a hint of bitterness in the words. "I asked her, much later, and she said it was the first thing she did when she found out he'd left me behind, that she'd argued with him for near an hour before he just stormed out and vanished for a couple days." He huffed out a tired almost-laugh. "She apologised for not pushing him harder, like it was ever her fault he accepted my resignation."
"He shouldn't have," Feemor said flatly, struggling to keep a rein on the well of protective anger that seemed very specific to Obi-Wan, and constantly focussed on Qui-Gon.
Obi-Wan frowned at him. "Why not? We're free to leave the Order at any time, like Master Yan did."
Oh, bringing Yan into this was a...terrible direction, and Feemor should really probably tell Obi-Wan—and Ace—that Yan had become a sith last time. But that wasn't a conversation for tonight.
"That's true," Feemor agreed, "but you were young, and choosing to leave the Order like that... Did you think it through? Give the decision proper weight? Or was it a choice made because you'd been backed into a corner?"
Obi-Wan sighed and leant against the wall, looking tired. "I– Okay, so, I felt like I didn't have a choice." He sighed again, then said, "He said it reminded him of Xanatos, me leaving like that."
Feemor squeezed his eyes shut, just a little sorry Qui-Gon wasn't there to...do something to. Force.
Or maybe Xanatos. Actually, yes, he'd much rather have a go at Xanatos for kriffing over the entire rest of their lineage for the sake of his bloody-minded revenge.
"And that," Obi-Wan continued, sounding more resigned than anything else, "after he came back, when he saw what I'd accomplished, even when things got, got rough, that was when he started to believe that, maybe, my choice hadn't been like Xanatos'. At all."
Feemor blew out a strained breath. "Kark it all, Qui-Gon," he muttered.
"Please don't punch him again," Obi-Wan requested.
Feemor huffed a tired laugh and tried on a smile for his brother-padawan. "I'm banking on Tahl having given him sufficient hell in my place, this time," he admitted, and Obi-Wan let out a laugh that sounded slightly startled. "No. I should very much like to go a round with Xanatos, though; Force knows the murderous bastard could use a proper beating."
Obi-Wan grimaced. "Pretty sure the lava he threw himself into saw to that one."
Feemor grimaced himself. "Overdramatic little shit."
Obi-Wan muffled a sound that might have been a giggle. When Feemor raised an eyebrow at him, he started snickering, and Feemor couldn't help but join him, both of them ending up laughing outright. Because it probably wasn't really that funny—Xanatos had hurt a lot of people—but that didn't make it any less of a relief to laugh at him, at the fact that he was gone and they'd managed to survive him.
"Thanks," Obi-Wan said after they'd finally stopped setting each other off again, wiping at his tears.
"For?"
"The–" Obi-Wan waved his hand in the air between them and shrugged. "I've never really known how to talk to Qui-Gon about Xanatos, and none of my friends really had much to do with him, other than his attack on the Temple."
"Ah. Well, you're welcome to come and gripe or laugh about how overdramatic and what a pain in the arse he was with me any time," Feemor promised. "You could also go to Kei or, once you've met her, Rún, though they both tend to get a little...bloodthirsty about him."
Obi-Wan winced. "I had noticed that Knight Kimura is very...unforgiving. Almost moreso than Ace."
Feemor sighed. "Kei is..." He sighed again, shaking his head. "I'm not certain being trapped in Temple all the time is really good for him, honestly. During the war, he definitely started going a little stir-crazy, and a lot of that, I think, was that no one was ever here. He needs a focus, someone to distract himself with. Qui-Gon and Xanatos, they've been his targets for...a very long time."
"He's...not very good at the whole 'jedi don't seek revenge' tenant, is he?" Obi-Wan guessed a little uncertainly.
Feemor snorted. "Force, no. I mean, he'll frame it like it was pure chance he hit a particular person every day for a week with one of his pranks, but anyone with any sense can tell he's just being petty. The Council have had words with him about it at least twice, that I know of, but it's never... Well."
Obi-Wan winced.
"Also, you know what I was saying, earlier, about you having to get used to me wanting to protect you?"
Obi-Wan blinked, then opened his mouth in a silent 'ah'. "He thinks he's...protecting you. From Qui-Gon."
Feemor shrugged. "Rún is worse," he admitted. "She's quieter about it, but I discovered, after her death, that she has a folder full of ways she could ensure Qui-Gon's death without anyone being able to trace them back to her."
Obi-Wan's eyes went wide. "Oh. Uh, wow."
He grimaced. "Yes. I got very, very drunk when I found it," he admitted, and Obi-Wan let out a strained giggle. (Of course, Kei had joined him and they'd ended up developing a drinking game as they read through them all, because that had seemed the best way to remember her.) "I'm still trying to decide how to talk to her about deleting it all."
"I suppose you couldn't just...delete it without her knowing," Obi-Wan guessed.
"No." Not only would she know it was him, she also probably had backups. "I very much doubt she'll even enact any of those plans, given she hasn't in the past twenty years, but..."
"You should probably still talk to her about it?"
"Unfortunately."
Both of their comms let out the quiet chirp to let them know their training period was nearly up.
"It's that late already?" Feemor muttered, as he checked the time.
"I guess so." Obi-Wan stood, collecting his things as he did. "Hey, Feemor?"
"Hm?"
"Thanks," Obi-Wan said, quiet and just a little bit shy. "For, for listening. I think it...helped. A little."
Feemor smiled at him, letting fondness leak through their bond. "I'm glad. You know where to find me, next time you want to talk."
"Yeah," Obi-Wan agreed, and he smiled, small but no less warm for the size of it.
A little bit more of Feemor's old regret burned away, and he didn't miss it at all.
Feemor was walking with Cathy and Kit, having just finished a meeting with some of the ambassador jedi currently on planet (they'd been discussing passing on Feemor's previous workload and updating him on the changes in the Senate since Valorum was voted out), when a small voice called, "Mr Feemor?"
"It's Mast–" Cathy started.
"Cathy, it's fine. I told him he could address me that way," Feemor interrupted, before turning to where Skywalker—Anakin; he was trying to get used to thinking of the boy more familiarly than he had done in his first life, now he actually knew him—had apparently been waiting for him, a spread of mechanical bits and bobs strewn over the bench he and his agemate, a human girl with curly dark green hair, were sitting on. "Hello, Anakin. And Anakin's friend."
"This is Ricci," Anakin introduced.
The girl huffed and hopped off the bench. "Initiate Monricia Caterman, Masters," she offered with a polite little bow.
Anakin made a face.
Feemor replied, "I am Master Feemor, and with me are Masters Kkitciwamgrenk and Cathode Leoning. Kit, Cathy, the young boy is Anakin Skywalker; Master Jinn Found him a few weeks ago." Both masters bowed politely to the younglings, Kit rumbling out a noise of recognition at Anakin's origins. "It's lovely to meet you, Initiate Caterman. Anakin had a lot to say about you when I saw him two days ago." Because the boy had sat with them at dinner in the commissary after the duels and gleefully told them all about the various pranks he'd got up to with the two friends he'd made among the initiates: Ricci and Yu.
Monricia turned to look at Anakin, and he flashed her one of his bright, cheerful grins.
Feemor had seen many such grins on Kei's face over the years, and he chuckled before asking, "Did you need me for something, Anakin?"
"Oh! Yeah, uhm, Obi-Wan told me to talk to you about–" he cast a quick, suspicious look at Kit and Cathy "–uh, things."
Feemor couldn't imagine many 'things' that Obi-Wan would send the initiate to him for, which he wouldn't want to explain in front of two other masters. Pranking Yoda, perhaps?
Or, well, the mind healers; it wouldn't have taken but mentioning it to one person for the jedi's stigma to become clear to the boy. Unfortunately.
"You're welcome to walk with me to my rooms," Feemor offered with what he hoped was a reassuring smile. "There should still be some of Ace's biscuits left, assuming Wangui didn't take them with her to class."
Anakin and Monricia both perked up. "Biscuits?" Anakin asked, while Monricia turned to look at him again, hope and pleading clear in the Force around her. "Uh," the boy said, casting her an uncertain look.
Feemor turned to his fellow masters, giving the younglings a moment to sort themselves out. "Rain check on meditation?"
Cathy chuckled in understanding, while Kit rumbled in Shyriiwook, "Yes, that's fine. The young must have our focus."
"This youngling especially," Feemor agreed with humour, and the other two let out noises of amusement before they all bowed to each other and they took their leave.
Feemor turned back to the initiates, raising an eyebrow to find them glaring at each other. "What's this, then?" he asked, reaching over and ruffling Anakin's short-cut hair. It wasn't looking nearly as rough as he would have expected after nearly two weeks since it had been cut on Naboo, which meant their dorm master must have trimmed it for him.
"Ani says I can't come," Monricia bit out, rather clearly attempting to hide her hurt with anger.
"Yeah, because it's a private conversation," Anakin shot back, with a scowl.
Most likely this was about the mind healers, then, if Anakin didn't even want his friend there. "Why don't you walk with us and take some biscuits to go?" he offered, because he had the sense that her upset was more at being denied sweets than because Anakin wanted to speak to a master without her. "You might even take some off to wherever your other friend, Initiate Yu–?"
"Yuttarr," Monricia supplied.
Feemor inclined his head in thanks. "Wherever Initiate Yuttarr is, no doubt, plotting something nefarious against your teachers or certain Councillors."
"Ani's the one with a grudge against the Council," Monricia insisted immediately.
Feemor offered her a serene smile. "Oh, please don't take my words as a condemnation; I fully support any and all attempts to brighten the day of all jedi through the application of non-harmful chaos."
Monricia's eyes went wide and she turned back to Anakin, who was in the process of shoving his mess of electronics into a small bag.
"I told you he's wizard," Anakin informed her with the air of someone who'd touched on a particular topic multiple times.
"High praise," Feemor murmured, and Anakin flashed him a wide grin as he jumped off the bench, then came over to hug Feemor around the waist. Feemor hugged him back as best he could at the awkward angle, then ruffled his hair again and said, "Come along, then, and let's see if I even have any biscuits left."
On the way to his quarters, Anakin regaled him with tales of a prank played on one of their instructors that morning, which so closely mirrored one of the stories Yoda had shared during dinner, Feemor knew the idea must have come from one of his padawans or Obi-Wan. (Doubtless, Yoda would be delighting at hearing of a bit of old chaos being re-released on the unsuspecting members of the Temple, and Feemor wouldn't be surprised to hear of the old troll sharing further stories of pranks from so long ago, only Yoda remembered them.)
Wangui had, it turned out, left plenty of biscuits for Feemor to send Monricia off with more than enough to please both her and their absent friend, so clearly cheered by the sweets that she didn't even care that Anakin half shoved her out of the flat while Feemor prepared tea.
Anakin settled happily in the overstuffed chair Feemor had never known the origin of—it had shown up shortly after Ace's Trials, and he had always suspected his padawan of supplying it, though he had no idea where they'd got it from, since it wasn't Temple-issue by any stretch, and Ace had persisted in denying any part in its appearance, with such sincerity, Feemor actually half believed them—and then cast the teacup Feemor held out to him suspiciously.
"Try it," Feemor suggested. "If you hate it, I'll get you some juice or water, instead."
Anakin huffed, but did accept the cup and took a cautious sip, only to cast a startled look up at Feemor. "This is actually good!" he said, and took another, far less cautious sip.
Feemor chuckled, relaxing back on the sofa. "It's made from a type of desert rose that grows on the planet of Wecacoe. I had a feeling it would be more to your tastes than the more popular teas the Temple commissary serves."
Anakin cast him an uncertain look. "It's not expensive, is it?" he asked.
Feemor shrugged. "I have no idea; one of the former Omuco Sector Senators is a good friend of mine and has been keeping me supplied ever since she found out I like it. I do tend to keep it saved for special occasions or when I'm in the mood for something different, since she's no longer a quick speeder trip away, but we trade messages regularly enough, it's truly no great difficulty to request more."
"Oh," Anakin said, and smiled as he took another gulp of his tea, then leant forward to grab one of the biscuits.
Feemor hummed and settled in to wait the boy out, perfectly content to sit in his rooms with one of his favourite teas and relax. (Especially with the tea; the Omuco Sector had joined the Confederacy of Independent Systems shortly after the new party was formed, and this tea had become more and more difficult to get his hands on, even with a friend living on Wecacoe. Once the war had begun, he hadn't been able to get it at all, as any trade with members of the CIS was deemed a war crime. Not that he'd had a great deal of opportunities to drink tea once the war began and he realised how much simpler it was to just resign himself to caff.)
"Miss, uhm, Miss Filma, my dorm ma–ah–" Anakin stuttered, clearly struggling with how to refer to his initiate dorm master, given his various hang-ups with the word.
"Guardian?" Feemor suggested.
Anakin breathed out a relieved sound. "Yeah. My dorm guardian, I like that." He offered a shy smile. "Thank you, Mr Feemor.
" "You're quite welcome."
"Miss Filma, she said, she told me, last night, that I needed to start, uhm, to start talking to the healers? About life on Tatooine."
"The mind healers," Feemor corrected gently, and then admitted, "Yes, I told her that might be wise."
Anakin hunched in on himself a bit, casting Feemor a betrayed look. "I'm not weak or broken," he insisted, clearly parroting back some of the things he'd heard of those who needed to see the mind healers.
Feemor hummed, then asked, "Am I?"
Anakin frowned, shaking his head. "What?"
"Am I weak or broken?"
"No! You're– You're wizard!"
"And I have been regularly meeting with a mind healer since before you were born."
Anakin stared at him for a long moment, then shook his head so hard he spilled a bit of his tea. "No. No way. You're not– But Mayn said–"
"It is an unfortunate and utterly wrong belief held by many in the Jedi Order that, if you need help managing your emotions or dealing with a traumatic experience, that makes you somehow less," Feemor said flatly.
"Miss Filma said it's okay I can't control my emotional responses all the time, though," Anakin insisted. "She said I'm still new to all of this and that's not a bad thing, I just need more practise and to be patient with myself."
Someone in the Council had been very on top of their game when they put Anakin in Filma Aerr's dorm. Feemor had discovered her to be very open-minded in his conversations with her—she'd only hesitated for a moment to agree to send Anakin to the mind healers, and she'd agreed immediately to stand behind the boy when he struggled with his personal difficulties with the word 'master', without even asking why he struggled with the word—and it sounded like she had a singular approach to helping her newest charge relate to Temple life; practise was a common reply when a youngling struggled with someone, but telling them to have patience with themself wasn't one Feemor had ever encountered before, and it was likely something Anakin had very much needed to hear.
"She's not wrong," Feemor agreed quietly. "But that's not what I'm referring to. Anakin, slavery is a trauma. It's something that leaves scars, and I don't mean just the physical ones," he added when Anakin opened his mouth. The boy closed it again, looking mulish. "It's something that's very likely to haunt you for the rest of your life, and that's okay. You're allowed to be hurt over something you had no choice about."
"Yeah, well, good," Anakin muttered to a biscuit, which he then proceeded to eat rather viciously.
"If there's a large piece of machinery you need to move, would you expect to need to do it all on your own, or would you ask for help?" Feemor asked, because he'd discovered that Anakin often did best when someone reframed an issue in a way that was easier for him to relate to.
"Well, I could just use the Force, couldn't I?" Anakin asked with a smirk that was a little too sharp.
Feemor inclined his head, giving him that. "If one of your friends on Tatooine, then, were ordered to move something they'll clearly have trouble moving alone, would you expect them to struggle along on their own, or get some help?"
Anakin ducked his head, grief and an anger not focussed at anyone on Coruscant darkening the Force around him. "Depends if they have the option to get help," he said darkly.
Feemor's chest went tight and he sipped at his tea to give himself a moment, aching for these children he'd never met, and the suffering Anakin must have seen during his short life. "Yes," he said quietly, and didn't bother trying to hide the regret in his voice. "But you would want to help them, to make their burden a little lighter."
Anakin nodded, still not looking up from his lap, but the shadows in the Force around him lightened slightly.
"Think of painful memories like a heavy piece of machinery, just one the Force has no or limited effect on," Feemor suggested. "You can carry it all on your own, but there are people here who are able and willing to help you, to hold it up so you can get a better grip on it, or keep it steady while you drop a piece off because you no longer need to carry it." Maybe not the best analogy, but–
Anakin looked up, his expression and the Force around him clearing, going considering. "I...guess," he finally said. "But..." He stopped and chewed on his lip, expression going troubled.
"But?" Feemor prompted.
"It's really not...un-jedi? To talk to the mind healers?"
Feemor closed his eyes, cursing every jedi who had ever derided the usefulness of mind healers. "No, Anakin, it's not. Asking for help is never the wrong choice, not matter what anyone else might say. Helping others is the jedi way. And being the one to need help does not make you less, any more than those whom we help throughout the galaxy are weak for turning to us."
He sighed quietly, then said, "I do think you need to talk to someone, but I'm not saying you have to immediately start talking about your childhood. You can talk about your classes, or the pranks you've pulled off, or all the droids you've made friends with. The same things you tell Obi-Wan or myself, when we visit with you. The idea is to have someone to talk to that you know will never share anything you say with another being, that you can confide in when you're not sure you can say something to anyone else around you, because you think it's too much, or they won't understand."
"I suppose I can...try," Anakin decided.
"I'll accept that," Feemor replied, "but I would like you to be more willing than just 'try'. We can check out different mind healers if you don't like or feel comfortable with the first one."
Anakin picked up the last of the biscuits and brushed his fingers over the top. "What about, about Mayn? And her– and the others, her friends. They're really, they're not nice. About it."
"I know," Feemor said quietly, so very aware of the struggles Anakin would be facing in future for having to go to a mind healer. "There's not really anything I can do or say, I'm afraid. It's something you'll have to get used to, that other jedi scoff at the idea of any of us needing to talk to a mind healer, that we might be going willingly, rather than just because the Council ordered it." He breathed out a quiet, regretful breath, then offered, "I remind myself, when it gets hard, that it isn't weak to ask for help, and that refusing help, when it's offered, isn't just prideful, but potentially harmful to yourself. So, by refusing to recognise the worth of the mind healers, refusing to even give visiting them a try, that's the true weakness."
Anakin nodded slowly, looking thoughtful. "Okay. I'll, I'll try that. And I– Is it okay? If I point out to others that it's not weak to get help?"
Feemor smiled. "Anakin, my boy, if you want to have a go at the stigma against mind healers, don't let me stop you. You're quite welcome to use my words if you think they'll help, and you have my permission to tell others that you know a... hm. A ranking jedi?"
Anakin grinned, so obviously grateful whenever Feemor did his best to find alternatives to 'master'.
"Who sees the mind healers regularly. It's hardly a secret."
Anakin's grin flipped to a worried frown. "Does that mean, do other jedi give you a...hard time?"
Feemor sighed and shrugged. "I receive my share of disparaging looks, or sympathetic from those who don't realise I go of my own choice. Some will make pointed comments if they know I'll overhear. But the jedi whose opinions I care about—my padawans and grandpadawan, my friends and their padawans—are supportive."
Anakin nodded, then asked, "What about Mr Qui-Gon? And Obi-Wan?"
"I...don't believe Qui-Gon has anything against speaking to mind healers," Feemor said carefully, "but it's not a conversation I've had with him. Obi-Wan is...trying. He grew up with the stigma and he's struggling with it." He quirked a tired smile. "I don't think I'll get him to visit the mind healers any time soon, but he's agreed to consider it as an option."
Anakin blinked. "You think Obi-Wan needs to talk to the mind healers, too?"
"I do, and I've told him as much."
Anakin opened his mouth, then closed it again and cast Feemor a considering look. "Okay," he said at last.
Feemor couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at that, surprised by the easy acquiesce.
"Mr Qui-Gon, he hurt you, and he hurt Obi-Wan," Anakin said. "Wangui told me that Ace is really, really pis– erm, unhappy with him about it, that repudiation is...is really bad. Like if Mom hadn't fought to stay together when Watto bought us, that kind of bad."
Feemor raised both of his eyebrows at that. "I'm not certain Wangui meant Qui-Gon repudiating either of us was anywhere near the level of your mother leaving you alone in slavery as a child. For one, Qui-Gon wasn't even aware of what he was doing."
Anakin frowned in concentration. "I..." He shook his head. "No. I think she just meant...Mom leaving me behind?"
"Ah. Wangui isn't aware of your circumstances before Qui-Gon Found you," Feemor realised; she'd attempted to relate repudiation to a parent leaving their child behind, without realising that Anakin would equate that differently than the diplomat and royal children she was used to trying to relate to. "A parent leaving a child behind, especially if there's other family around to watch out for them, means different things to those who are free."
Anakin blinked a few times, then nodded. "Yeah, okay. I think she might have said something about leaving me with a grandparent or a father or something? But Mom's the only family I've ever had." And then he drooped. "I miss her."
Feemor knew the proper jedi thing to do, would be to tell the boy to move on, to let the memory of his mother go. Except, he'd lost Je'dyannder, who had been like a father to him in a lot of ways, and then lost Qui-Gon on two separate occasions; he understood all too well how much it hurt to lose the pillars of his child- and teen-hood. He couldn't completely imagine how Anakin—who was so much younger than Feemor had been when Je'dyannder died, and had lost his culture as well as the only family he'd known, all at once—had to be feeling, but he understood enough of loss to empathise.
"I know you do," he said quietly, and opened his arms for a hug.
Anakin's bag of mechanical pieces hit the floor with a clatter as he scrambled out of the overstuffed chair and threw himself into Feemor's arms, clinging to him as he sobbed quietly. Feemor just held him through it, making occasional, quiet noises of soothing.
"I just," Anakin said, sounding tired and heartsore, after the worst of his tears had eased, "want to find a way to free her."
Feemor grimaced; no, he couldn't imagine knowing his mother was still a slave was doing much good for the youngling's balance. "I don't blame you," he admitted, and the look Anakin turned on him was so full of hope, Feemor had no way to stop himself from saying, "Let me look into it."
Anakin's whole face lit up, the Force around him practically singing with his happiness. "Really?"
"I have many resources you lack," Feemor admitted, because that was certainly true. "But, Anakin, it's strongly discouraged for jedi to have any contact with their family until they've passed their Trials and been knighted."
"But–"
"Xanatos," Feemor continued, and Anakin immediately shut up, making a face at the name, "met his family as a padawan, and they are the reason he both left the Order, and Fell."
"Oh," said Anakin quietly, slumping against Feemor.
Feemor brushed a hand over the boy's short hair. "Let me look into freeing your mother," he said again. "And if I can facilitate something—or even if I can't—I promise to keep you updated. But I would rather you not have any contact with her until you've been knighted."
"Okay," Anakin whispered, unhappy, but he seemed willing to accept that.
Feemor didn't add that it would be up to the boy's master, when he became a padawan, to enforce that distance, because he suspected Anakin would be learning to hack his way through the Temple's systems and find a way to find his mother soon enough; looking for signs of blood family and how readily they gave you up was practically a rite of passage for jedi younglings.
Feemor ruffled his hair gently, then offered, "Did you want me to go with you to the mind healers? I won't go in with you, but I'll be there if you feel uncomfortable." Because Force knew his first few trips to the mind healers hadn't been a particularly uncomfortable experience. Especially after having been forced to remain in the Halls for almost a week while the the healers worked to heal the damage he'd done to himself with not eating or sleeping, and found a way to stabilise his neurochemistry.
Anakin chewed at his bottom lip for a long moment, looking like he was weighing the pros and cons, then nodded. "Yeah, I'd like that. Can we... Can we go today?"
"Of course," Feemor promised without hesitation. "We can have more tea while you show me what you've been working on, first, or we can go right now. Your choice."
Anakin chewed on his bottom lip a bit more, then decided, "Now."
Feemor nodded and quickly collected the tea things to leave in the kitchen—he would see to them later, if Wangui didn't get home first and do it for him—then walked Anakin to the part of the Halls dedicated to the mind healers.
His current mind healer, Kloic Skey, happened to be in the small kitchen next to the reception desk, and he turned a tired look on Feemor when he saw them. "I just saw you," he complained, his ears—longer than a human's and pointed—drooping slightly.
Feemor grimaced—he had rather a...lot to unload on his mind healer, and while Kloic was trying to keep up, it had been pretty clear the last two times Feemor had come in that he was feeling the strain of how much of a mess the last thirteen years had been for Feemor; it almost made him regret Stailfre's death all over again, though he doubted the older master would have been managing any better than his padawan—and said, "I'm just here to see about setting a youngling up with someone."
Both Kloic and the receptionist of the day, Padawan Sopel Peppercrusher, peered around him to where Anakin was half-hiding behind Feemor's legs, clearly gone shy now he was actually in the Halls. "Hello, youngling," Sopel offered with a welcoming smile.
"Hi," Anakin replied, stepping out from behind Feemor and smiling back at her.
"This is Initiate Anakin Skywalker," Feemor told them.
"A pleasure to meet you, Initiate Skywalker," Kloic said, then turned to Sopel and said, "I'm not taking anyone else from Feemor's lineage–"
"Initiate," Feemor stressed, while Anakin grinned and bounced on his toes a bit, and Sopel shot him a disbelieving look.
"–so consider me full. Give him to your master."
Sopel cast an uncertain look between Feemor and Kloic, while Feemor cocked his head to the side and considered that. "Anakin would actually probably get along well with Healer Jeffinez," he decided, before looking at Sopel and asking, "If you think ze'd agree?"
"Ze is free for the next couple of hours," Sopel agreed, typing at the workstation computer.
Sopel must have called her master, because V'sam Jeffinez stepped out of hir office and came down the hall with an amused smile. "Hello, Master Feemor," ze called. "Here to give Kloic another headache?"
"That honestly was never my intention," Feemor insisted, casting his mind healer an apologetic look.
"The Force will as it pleases," Kloic muttered before vanishing back into the kitchen. "No, he's brought someone for you, Vee."
Feemor huffed, then said, "Healer Jeffinez, this is Initiate Anakin Skywalker. Anakin, this is Healer V'sam Jeffinez."
V'sam leant forward slightly, putting hirself more on level with Anakin. "Hello, Initiate. Mast–"
"Mister, please," Feemor corrected quietly, ruffling Anakin's hair.
V'sam shot him a quick puzzled look, but continued, "Mister Feemor's talked you into speaking with a mind healer, then?"
Anakin shrugged and nodded. "Yeah. Mister Feemor and Miss Filma—that's my dorm guardian—they both think I should talk to someone? And Obi-Wan, he said they were probably right," he added, glancing up at Feemor.
"Hence why he sent you to me, rather than suggesting you avoid me until I change my mind," Feemor said with some amusement.
V'sam snorted, hir blue eyes glinting with amusement. "Yes, because you'll really be changing your tone any time soon." And then, to Anakin and hir padawan, ze added, "Mas– Sorry, Mister Feemor, here, has been arguing the usefulness of mind healers since I was an initiate."
Feemor sighed, while Anakin and Sopel both giggled. "Yes, yes, I recognise I'm old."
Anakin turned and hugged him around the waist. "You're still way wizard, though," he insisted.
"Thank you, Anakin," Feemor replied, amused. "Would you like to try speaking with Healer Jeffinez?"
"Yeah," Anakin decided, then cast Feemor an uncertain look. "You'll stay, though?"
"I will be right out here," Feemor promised.
"Okay," Anakin said, and turned to follow V'sam back down the hall to hir office.
Before they could vanish inside, Feemor whistled, and when V'sam looked back, quickly signed, 'Former slave,' where Sopel shouldn't be able to see, but V'sam should. Because that was something the mind healer probably needed to know going into a conversation with the boy, so ze had a better idea what conversations might hide a mine.
V'sam's mouth went tight and thin and ze nodded before turning to finish ushering Anakin into the office.
Feemor had only just sat in one of the uncomfortable chairs across from the reception desk, when Kloic came out of the kitchen with two cups of tea and came over to join him, handing one over. "Don't try to convince me he's not part of your lineage, Feemor," he said quietly, before Feemor could do more than hum his thanks.
Feemor raised an eyebrow at him. "Obi-Wan isn't certain he'll take him, and Qui-Gon will probably be lynched if he makes a bid," he pointed out.
Kloic huffed at the mention of Qui-Gon, but politely didn't try vilifying him, unlike pretty much everyone else in Feemor's life who had watched him pull himself back together after his repudiation, which was something that Feemor appreciated more than he could articulate. "I assume you haven't noticed, then, that he has fledgling bonds with you and three other members of your lineage."
Feemor blinked a couple of times, startled, then closed his eyes and dropped into a very light meditative trance—mastered during the war, because there had been too many times when a proper meditation had been too dangerous, but he'd needed the restorative powers of a meditation too much to keep going without something—and, yes. There was a very thin cord of a potential Force bond stretching between himself and Anakin.
The boy himself, he saw, had a small collection of potential Force bonds stretching out from him, as well as one solidified bond. He doubted the boy even knew any of them were there, though he might be aware of the solidified one, but it looked rather like he made Force bonds with other Force sensitives as easily as breathing. Given how strong the Force was around Anakin, it was probably something of an unconscious use of the excess of power he had, wrapped up in a wish to keep tabs on people he liked.
Three of the bonds were, indeed, attached to members of Feemor's linage: Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan, and Wangui. In the same way Feemor hadn't noticed his own potential bond, none of them seemed to have noticed theirs, as there was no sign of the bonds being either accepted or refused.
He sighed as he brought himself back to the physical world; he had no idea what to do with the potential bond. In part because he doubted Anakin was aware of it, in part because he didn't really want to form a bond with the boy, only for him to end up with a master outside their lineage who didn't approve of their padawan's excess of bonds; the last thing Feemor needed was another broken bond, gentle break or no.
"No," he said tiredly to Kloic, "I hadn't noticed that."
Kloic was watching him with narrowed, speculative eyes. He made a noncommittal hum against the lip of his cup, then sipped at his tea.
And then he said, "You're somehow always on top of Temple gossip."
Feemor huffed—he suspected that the last thing his mind healer wanted was to deal with his particular mess right then—and obediently shared some of the rumours he'd heard from Kei that morning over breakfast.
By the time Anakin came back out, just over an hour after he'd gone into V'sam's office, Feemor had run out of rumours and tales of the pranks he'd heard about from Anakin, and Kloic had pulled out his datapad to continue a Sephi strategy game they'd apparently started playing almost two months ago, not that Feemor had any memory of it. (Which seemed to delight Kloic, right up until Feemor started completely decimating him, because he had a lot more experience with strategy than he would have when they started that game.)
Anakin looked cheerful in a way Feemor usually only saw when lightsabres or pranks were the topic of conversation, and he smiled at the boy. "Feeling a bit better about talking to a mind healer, now?" he guessed.
"Yeah!" Anakin insisted, and then held out a small handful of sweets. "Healer Vee said I could take as many as I wanted, so you can have these."
"Thank you," Feemor said as he accepted the handful. "That's most gracious of you."
Anakin beamed.
Feemor unwrapped one to pop in his mouth then and slipped the rest into a pouch on his belt for later—V'sam was rumoured to have some sort of deal with the most popular sweets manufacturer in Coruscant, and those definitely looked like they came from that company—then asked, "Did you want to schedule a time to come back? And, if so, did you want me to come with you again?"
Anakin hesitated for a second, then said, "Yeah. But, I know you're going to be really busy, soon, so maybe Obi-Wan would be willing to come with me?" he suggested, but there was a glint in his eyes that belied his innocent tone.
"Don't push him," Feemor returned drily. "Obi-Wan will come to talk to someone when he's ready."
Anakin pouted.
"But we can ask him if he's willing to come and sit out here while you're speaking with Healer Jeffinez. Or Qui-Gon, if Obi-Wan isn't willing."
Anakin considered that, then nodded. "Yeah, okay." He looked hesitant for a moment, then glanced at Kloic and added, "It's not that I don't like Healer Vee or, or distrust, uhm, hir?" Kloic and Feemor both nodded at V'sam's preferred pronoun. "It's not that," Anakin continued. "It's just, uh..."
"It's more comfortable to have someone familiar nearby," Feemor suggested. And, when Anakin nodded, looking relieved, he added, "Ace was the same way as a padawan; they absolutely refused to talk to one of the mind healers unless I was also here for an appointment or waiting out here."
"It's not uncommon for padawans to prefer to have their master out here when they have an appointment," Kloic added. "Or, for those who cannot have their master, another member of their lineage or another knight or master they trust." He rubbed at his neat beard. "For my tenure in the Halls, I believe you're only the second pre-padawan youngling we've seen, but I'm given to believe you're something of a special case, given how late you came to us." He cast a quick glance at Feemor. "The other boy also came a little late to the Temple, although he'd been trained by the watchman living in his system before that. I was still a padawan at the time, but I heard his parents had been murdered by Anzati, and he'd witnessed it."
Feemor raised his eyebrows at that, surprised that the youngling had managed to survive, especially given how 'delicious' Force sensitives supposedly were to Anzati. "I can see why he was ordered here," he murmured.
Kloic nodded. "He refused to come to appointments unless the watchman who'd trained him and brought him to the Temple was out here. So," he added, turning to Anakin, "this is normal, wanting an older jedi you already trust nearby. We're not offended, I promise."
Anakin relaxed, smiling. "Okay."
Feemor stood and offered Kloic a smile. "Thank you for the game, Healer."
"I hate you," Kloic returned with a smile.
Feemor chuckled, unoffended—he had just trounced the young man at a game he'd always excelled at—and ushered Anakin over to where V'sam had leant down next to Sopel, looking at something on her screen. Ze straightened when Feemor and Anakin approached, smiling and asking, "What do you think, Anakin? Would you like to come back?"
"Yeah! If it's, I mean, if you don't mind?"
"I should very much like to see you again," V'sam promised with so much sincerity, Feemor suspected ze had seen some of the same signs Feemor himself had seen, that Anakin desperately needed a mind healer's assistance to work through his childhood and adapt to Temple life.
It didn't take long for the four of them to decide a good time for Anakin to come back the day before Feemor was due to return to the Senate, and he promised to talk to Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan, work out a way for one of them to come with Anakin during that week, because V'sam insisted regular appointments were the best way to build a rapport. (Feemor suspected the mind healer wanted to build that rapport quickly so ze could start tackling the worst of Anakin's trauma as soon as possible; Stailfre had done something similar with him.)
Somehow, after leaving the Halls, Feemor found himself being led to where Monricia and Yuttarr were setting up a prank that involved three mouse droids armed with some sort of water-soluble paint and speeder horns. He settled in to help only after bargaining for some of the paint; there was nothing wrong with supplying Marcus with pranks to turn on Kei next time he was insufferable.
.