Obi-Wan holds himself back from groaning.
This sucks.
Oh, Obi-Wan, I’m so sorry. I’ve developed a rare disease after that gigantic plant dumped me into that disgusting puddle of water last week. I won’t be going on that mission and you’re too young to do it yourself. Not to worry though! I asked Feemor if he could take over for me!
Right, it’s not like he had some classes he wanted to take or anything, some really interesting classes.
But no, instead of doing something fun, like hanging out with one of his friends or dueling one of the older padawans, Obi-Wan's here.
Standing next to a broken ship.
On a dusty rock in the middle of nowhere.
With some Jedi he met yesterday.
Oh, and Mandalorians.
Because Obi-Wan’s luck is atrocious.
This sucks.
Knight Feemor makes a gesture that draws Obi-Wan’s attention back to the matter at hand.
Well, at least no one’s tried to shoot them yet.
Small blessings.
Who knows, maybe Feemor’s a decent negotiator and they’ll have this all wrapped up soon.
Obi-Wan tunes back in.
They are… discussing a lost civilization two planets over.
No.
No way.
This cannot be happening.
Obi-Wan glances at the Mandalorian’s companion.
Surely this isn’t happening.
The quiet Mandalorian must catch his expression because they make an exaggerated movement to show their exasperation, clearly rolling their eyes behind their helmet.
Nooo…
Obi-Wan glances over at Feemor, hoping to find some indication of impatience. Perhaps the Mandalorian is just odd and Feemor is indulging them for the sake of peace.
He’s smiling.
He’s kriffing smiling, all soft and genuine and engaged.
Qui-Gon would never do this to him.
Would he?
Well, not this exactly.
Stars, he hopes he wouldn’t.
The conversation continues without him, shifting to a discussion of some symbol the Mandalorian thinks may have indicated slightly more democratic ideals than the majority theorize.
Feemor nods in consideration, offering up word of some artifact recently discovered that might cast doubt on the idea.
He’s happy.
Happy!
They’re stuck on this stupid rock and he’s happy!
They were supposed to negotiate for parts, or maybe help for a ride to the nearest inhabited port. It was supposed to be a little tense, Obi-Wan had helpfully cataloged all the items a Mandalorian might want in exchange but ultimately there was no real point in fighting since neither party could leave without the other.
Obi-Wan was not supposed to be standing here watching… Force preserve him, is this flirting? Is that what he’s seeing? Disgusting.
He glances at Feemor, who is apparently perfectly content with this turn of events. Feemor’s shields are up, which is probably for the best. Obi-Wan isn’t sure he could stand the alternative if this is flirting.
He turns to the other half of the problem. Obi-Wan can’t see their face, can’t read the tone of their voice through the helmet but Jedi have always seen more than others. He isn’t rude, doesn’t press but he doesn’t even need to with how delighted the Mandalorian feels.
Stars, what a disaster.
He glances over at the Mandalorian’s companion, hoping beyond hope that they might intervene.
He gets the distinct impression of pleasure at another being’s suffering.
So no help whatsoever.
Whatever happened to all that bragging about childcare or whatever? He counts! When it’s convenient.
He zones out again with a pout, shifting his weight from one leg to the other, gives it a few more minutes.
He can’t go on like this.
Obi-Wan was promised a spar with Knight Fisto if he got back early! At this rate he won’t even be back on time!
He reaches out and grabs the corner of Feemor’s sleeves, looks up, all sad and lonely. It isn’t as effective as it would have been last week, when that stupid plant dumped him in the puddle next to Qui-Gon’s diseased one, but it works. Feemor freezes, like he isn’t quite sure what to do.
“Master?” Obi-Wan sniffles, just a bit.
“Yes, Padawan?” He grimaces, looking distinctly guilty for one, beautiful moment.
“I’m cold.” He pouts.
“Oh,” Feemor hesitates. “Well, uh, do you… did you bring… more robes?”
Obi-Wan widens his eyes just enough to be subtle, projecting the immense sadness of an initiate denied their third serving of dessert. “Was I supposed to?”
A cut-off almost choking sound distracts Obi-Wan from continuing further, the Mandalorian’s companion has apparently caught on. He sends them a subtle glare before looking back up at Feemor.
Feemor looks very lost, like, even Qui-Gon has never looked this lost before.
This kind of power could go to a padawan’s head.
Something in Feemor’s face firms, all at once and before Obi-Wan can formulate his next move Feemor has his cloak off and draped over Obi-Wan’s shoulders.
He blinks.
“Better?” Feemor smiles hopefully.
Obi-Wan can only nod.
It is better, actually.
The cloak is still slightly warm with Feemor’s body heat and drapes like a blanket. He pulls it tight around his shoulders and feels, mysteriously, a little better.
Alright, well, point to Feemor.
He looks away.
“Perhaps, we could take this inside?” The Mandalorian clears their throat, gesturing to their ship in polite invitation.
“Of course.” Feemor smiles and gestures for Obi-Wan to follow.
“Jango?” The Mandalorian starts.
“Wayii, I’m on it.” Jango waves them off and heads inside.
“Wonderful.” They turn back to Feemor. “Would you care for some shig?”
Obi-Wan has no idea what that is.
Feemor inclines his head in polite acceptance.
Stars, Obi-Wan hopes it’s better than that dessert the local planetary ambassadors passed him the other month. He cannot handle that again.
The inside of the ship is about what might be expected, plenty of weapons and supplies. It’s homey, he supposes, as much as a ship can be.
The conversation goes back to whatever niche academic topic they were discussing, Obi-Wan isn’t listening and he certainly isn’t going to get stuck standing off to the side again.
He wanders, as much as a person can in a ship like this one without snooping around closed doors. He doesn’t know what happened to Jango but it can’t be worse than the alternative.
He finds Jango messing around in a tiny kitchen, pouring liquids into cups. His helmet is on a counter off to the side and he smirks knowingly at Obi-Wan.
“Rough day?”
Obi-Wan doesn’t deign to respond, wrinkling his nose a bit.
Jango huffs. “If it helps, Jaster’s genuinely interested. He’s not one to deceive people.”
“That is not the problem.” Obi-Wan grumbles. He knows that, Feemor wouldn't be smiling like that if this Jaster person had bad intentions.
“Of course not.” Jango looks decidedly unsympathetic. “If you help with the hyperdrive I’ll get you out of any intense gazing into each other’s eyes.”
“Force, please.” He grabs the tray and hurries back with the drinks.
“Jaster.” Jango calls from behind him once the drinks are on the table. “I think I can make some progress on the hyperdrive but I’ll need a second set of hands.”
“Oh, of course.” Jaster looks disappointed, just for a moment, before he starts to stand.
“I can help.” Obi-Wan takes his cue.
Feemor hesitates.
“I passed my intro class.” He pushes. “And Jango will be there.”
“That’s fine.” Jango agrees.
Feemor still looks hesitant, like he can’t figure out whether this is something a padawan Obi-Wan’s age should be doing which is just ridiculous. Obi-Wan gives him the look every padawan develops to tell their master they are not a little initiate anymore.
“If you’re certain…”
Obi-Wan nods and goes to follow Jango out the door.
He hears a sympathetic, “getting to that age are they?” before the door closes behind them.
Obi-Wan does not kick a rock when they get outside, because there is no “age” that he’s “getting to.” He takes a deep breath, like the calm, reasonable padawan he is, and doesn’t glare at Jango’s amused expression.
“You have any parts?” Jango moves on.
Obi-Wan nods, leading Jango to where he organized the spare parts for repairing a hyperdrive and watching as he pokes through them.
“Ah,” Jango pulls something out to examine it closer. “That should work nicely.”
“Good.” Obi-Wan grumbles, anything to get off this stupid rock.
He does kick a stone this time, it’s a little satisfying.
“If we’re lucky, you’ll only be stuck with us for three days.”
Days.
Karking days.
Three of them.
“Chin up, kid.” Jango nudges his shoulder. “A lesser being could only manage it in five.”
That is not helpful.
Obi-Wan is a peaceful Jedi Padawan, filled with kindness.
He is not going to stab any Mandalorians.
He is not going to strangle his temporary master.
Three days isn’t even that long in the scale of the history of the universe.
It’s still three entire days.
“Why don’t we fix the hyperdrive and I’ll get you some uj cake.” Jango sighs. “You’ll feel better with some sugar.”
That does not sound like it will make any of this better.
All the cake in the world doesn't change the fact he's stuck here. For three days. Minimum.
As it turns out, uj cake does make everything a little better.
Obi-Wan is only a little annoyed about it.