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Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn waited placidly outside the classroom where the Intergalactic Diplomacy class for Senior Padawans was currently in session.

He noted with amusement, as he looked up and down the sun-drenched hallways, that he was the only one there. Doubtless, all the Padawans in this section of the Temple’s classroom wing had far outgrown the need for their Masters to pick them up after class. 

Regardless, there had been a change in their evening plans and the Master had no other way of notifying his Padawan. Obi-Wan was still waiting for a replacement comm after he had lost his previous one in a rather spectacular explosion during their most recent mission to Saleucami. 

Qui-Gon’s lingering thoughts on said explosion were interrupted by the hall chrono striking seventeenth hour. With that resonant sound signalling the end of classes for the day, all the doors in the hall swept open as with one accord. The silent atmosphere was immediately shattered with a multitude of chattering voices, as Jedi of all species and sizes spilled out to crowd the previously spacious concourse. 

Amongst the dizzying array of hair, horns, lekku, and montrals, which were all accompanied by swinging braids and beads, Qui-Gon still easily spotted his Padawan’s spiky copper hair and sensed his bright, distinctive presence in the Force.

Qui-Gon’s height always ensured that Obi-Wan never had any trouble finding him in a crowd. Unfortunately for his Padawan, it was Padawan Muln who spotted the tall Jedi Master first today.

“Hey, Obi-Wan,” the human Padawan’s voice rang over the cacophony; or at least, loud enough for his intended audience to hear. “Master Jinn’s here to walk you home from school!” 

He couldn’t see his Padawan’s face yet, as him and his friends were still pushing their way through the fast-flowing traffic that was Jedi escaping their classrooms after lessons. But he could well imagine Obi-Wan’s scowl.

The Master was quick to hide his amusement behind his typical serene expression, as his Padawan and his friends melted out of the sea of brown cloaks to stand before him.

“Master,” Obi-Wan finally said as he emerged in front of Qui-Gon, ignoring Padawan Muln’s comment, even as Padawan Reeft snickered and Padawan Eerin rolled her eyes. “What are you doing here?”

“In the absence of your comm, I’m here to inform you about the change to our evening routine,” Qui-Gon replied.

Obi-Wan’s face brightened. “Are we going on another mission?”

Qui-Gon raised his eyebrows. “Hardly. After the vast amount of equipment and supplies you lost in the previous one, the quartermaster is not eager to see you off again so soon.”

The Padawan’s face furrowed in a frown at the recollection, as his friends broke into renewed snickers. “Alright, then where are we going?”

“We are going to the crèche.”

“The crèche?” rang a female voice from behind them. Looking past the Padawans in front of him, Qui-Gon noted Padawan Tachi, who had seemingly overheard his reply while walking past. 

The blonde female hoisted her bag higher up her shoulder and looked Obi-Wan up and down. “What, did someone finally notice Baby-Wan escaped from there?”

Padawan Muln guffawed, almost folding himself in half with laughter, one hand propped up against Padawan Reeft. The latter let out a bark of amusement, saying “Oooo, better get some bacta for that burn, Obi-Wan.” Padawan Eerin was more sedate in her amusement, hiding her smile behind her hand, though her cheeks were tinged pink at her mirth.

It had always been a subject of amusement for his peers, Obi-Wan’s youthful features and wide innocent eyes, and his inability to grow any facial hair. Qui-Gon, for the sake of his Padawan’s wounded dignity, didn’t smile or laugh, but indulged in quiet amusement firmly shielded in his mind. 

“Well,” Obi-Wan drawled, even as his cheeks turned red. He was not to be outdone. “If that’s the case, how did you lose to a crècheling in saber class today?”

Padawan Tachi’s face became thunderous at the reminder, as Obi-Wan’s friends loyally broke into “Ooooooo”s at the comeback. 

“I’ll beat you next time, Kenobi,” she threatened.

He raised his eyebrows in the manner that Qui-Gon was all too familiar with. “You said that last time too,” was his mild reply.

But Padawan Tachi had already continued on her way, half-vanished into the retreating crowd of Jedi at the end of the hall.

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes as he lightly shoved his still-laughing friends. “The only overgrown children I see are you lot. Intergalactic Diplomacy classes are wasted on you all.”

Qui-Gon thought perhaps he should berate them all for their behaviour and remarks…but he remembered being their age, and there wasn’t any real malice behind any of the statements, nor had it been taken as such.

Nonetheless, he allowed the group of friends to finish jostling and tussling each other, before he continued. 

“The younglings in the Lothcat Clan have all come down with bantha flu, and Master Heelik is in need of some extra help,” Qui-Gon said, once his voice could be heard again.

Obi-Wan gave Padawan Reeft one last playful punch, until he stopped laughing. “Even so, Master, you needn’t have troubled yourself, waiting outside my class,” Obi-Wan said, embarrassment lurking behind the projected humility.

Qui-Gon smiled; he had withheld his teasing in the previous instance, so he felt he had earned the right to this one. The opportunity was too good to pass up, and it was a chance to temper his Padawan’s brassy sarcasm from earlier. “I wouldn’t want to lose you in this crowd, little one.”

His friends broke out into a renewed bout of laughter at the second favourite teasing point: his height. 

The indignant Padawan scowled, all pretence at veiled politeness abandoned. “Very funny, Master.”

Qui-Gon affected ignorance and offered his most innocent looking smile. “Would you like me to hold your hand, just in case?”

Obi-Wan sighed as if their very existence annoyed him, and then pushed past them and headed down the hall. The sound of his friends’ continued amusement rung clearly through the hall and in the Force. 

“Bye, Obi! See you tomorrow!” Padawan Eerin called after the errant ginger, the only one with enough presence of mind to do so. Padawans Muln and Reeft were still too busy laughing to do to the same.

Qui-Gon glanced after his rapidly retreating apprentice, withholding the twitch of his lips. He nodded serenely at Obi-Wan’s friends. “Good evening to you, Padawans.”

They managed some semblance of a polite bow in response, their shoulders still shaking with mirth. With a smile, Qui-Gon easily followed the trail of annoyance and indignation sparking in the Force that lead to his apprentice.

“Was that really necessary, Master?” Obi-Wan asked, more long-suffering than irritated, when Qui-Gon caught up with him a few moments later. 

“The ability to spread joy is a blessing,” Qui-Gon merely replied placidly. Judging by the roll of his Padawan’s eyes, Obi-Wan would get back at him for this at some point in the future. But, he was relishing the present moment far too much to concern himself over that for now.

“Joy for everyone but myself. I can’t imagine what I’ve done to deserve it.” A put-out sigh emitted from the young man. “Or the crèche duty, as well,” he added, as an afterthought.

Finally taking pity on him, Qui-Gon relented. “It’s not a punishment, Obi-Wan. Master Heelik is overwhelmed by the sick younglings, so I volunteered us to help with their bedtime routines and their increased needs during this fraught time.”

Obi-Wan sighed. “Crèche duty,” he muttered again, sourly. “They’re walking germ factories, Master.”

Qui-Gon raised his eyebrows. “And we are strong, healthy, and inoculated Jedi. We go where we are needed, Padawan. Especially within our own walls.”

Duly chastised by the light reprimand, Obi-Wan’s annoyance simmered down to resignation. “Yes, Master.”

Obi-Wan was incredibly mature, more so than most his age. But it was times like these that Qui-Gon still saw in him the sometimes petulant annoyance that was the trademark of his youngling self.

The rest of the walk to the youngling dormitory wing continued in companionable silence. Despite himself, the joking about Obi-Wan’s youthful appearance had initiated a rather melancholy train of thought in his Master’s mind. Noting the way his apprentice easily kept stride with him as they traversed the increasingly empty halls, it was a jarring contrast to the quick pitter-patter of smaller feet in his wake from the same boy not too many years ago.

In perfect synchrony, Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan nodded and greeted other Master-Padawan pairs, Knights, and Masters as they passed them. With the bob of his head, the beads in Obi-Wan’s braid reflected the late afternoon sunshine that poured deep orange through the windows. The flashes of light caught Qui-Gon’s eye, and he absently wondered how the braid had gotten so long, and studded with so many accomplishments. He had been with his apprentice for every inch of that braid’s journey; and yet, its mid-chest length took him by surprise every time he saw it.

Earlier that day in the commissary, another Master had casually asked Qui-Gon if he was considering recommending Obi-Wan for his Trials soon. Qui-Gon had felt his heart lurch with sheer panic at the very thought. 

He had stammered out something along the lines of “he still has much to learn,” but deep down, he knew he was running out of excuses. It had seemed like just yesterday when he had been looking a much farther way down at the boy, when the tuft of that same braid had been barely visible, poking out behind his earlobe. 

“Is it here, Master?” Obi-Wan’s voice cut abruptly through the Jedi Master’s musings, and he shook himself out of his thoughts just in time to spot the colourful door demarcating the Lothcat Clan dormitory.

“Ah yes,” he said, drawing his focus back to the task at hand with the same breath. Focus on the present moment, he chided to himself, a piece of advice he was fond of telling Obi-Wan, even as he found himself more and more inclined to wander away from it.

As Qui-Gon activated the door chime, Obi-Wan shed his cloak, not unlike the manner one would before engaging in a duel, and stuffed it into his bag.

“We’re spending an evening caring for younglings, Padawan, not launching into a duel.”

Obi-Wan merely raised his eyebrows in that telltale way again, as he slung his bag back over his shoulder. “If you really think that, Master, it proves that it’s been a while since you’ve been on crèche duty.”

It was true…but before Qui-Gon could come up with a retort, the door swept open, revealing a very weary, very frazzled looking crèche master. A sniffling Rodian infant was perched in her arms, while a human baby with huge, soulful eyes was strapped to the Master’s front in a sling.

“Master Jinn, Padawan Kenobi,” the Mon Cal Jedi said, obvious relief in her voice. “Thank you so much for coming.”

“Blah ga goo,” the Rodian youngling added, then sneezed. 

Obi-Wan took an unconscious step back. Qui-Gon nudged him sharply with his elbow as he graced Master Heelik with a smile.

“We come to serve,” he replied graciously, bowing. After a hesitant beat, Obi-Wan followed suit.

“Come in, come in,” she said, stepping away from the door so they could enter. 

The cheerful, organized chaos that normally characterized the crèche dormitories was now just…chaos, Qui-Gon observed dryly, as his eyes swept the room. It looked like a cyclone had torn its way through. 

The low tables where meals took place was strewn with a variety of food and eating utensils, likely the remains of latemeal. Clothing, toys, and cushions littered the floor haphazardly. And the younglings themselves, seeming to range in age from one to four standard, were found in states as varied as their species.

Some were listless and tired, while others were bouncing off the walls. Literally.

The two visitors warily tracked a Mirialan youngling as he tumbled head over heels while traversing a circuitous pathway from the floor, to the wall, to the ceiling, and back again. Squinting back at the ceiling, Qui-Gon noted the colourful splotches on it. Some of them were dripping, and he realized that they were food remains, and not deliberate ceiling decor.

A Tholothian youngling, the only one still sitting at the meal table, was nodding off slowly, her face mere seconds from falling into a bowl of food before she straightened again. A Wookie and a Besalisk were fighting over some sort of toy, and both eventually burst into tears and loud howls. Nearby, a small Togruta gnawed on one end of a blanket, while a blue Nautolan was using the other end to clumsily wipe his nose. Another human toddler was crawling across the floor completely stark naked, his clothes abandoned in a messy pile behind him. A listless looking orange Twi’lek sat leaning against the wall, before promptly vomiting all over the front of her tunic.

The Rodian in Master Heelik’s arms sneezed again. 

Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan took it all in with a stunned and horrified silence.

“Normally, they’re angels, but being sick has made them cranky and…” Master Heelik waved her free arm feebly at the mess “…out-of-sorts,” she finished weakly. 

Obi-Wan’s sour expression clearly conveyed what he thought of the clan’s angels, but he retained a diplomatic silence, his murky thoughts only perceivable by Qui-Gon himself. 

“I see,” was all Qui-Gon managed in response.

“Here,” said the Mon Cal Master, either oblivious or hopefully ignorant of her new helpers’ state of mind. She approached a table and rummaged through the mess on it, finally unearthing a few datapads. “This has their medication schedule that Healer Che has ordered. To sum it up…” And here, the Jedi paused. And then, with the sixth sense that likely only Jedi crèche masters possessed, she tugged the Tholothian away from the table where she had been about to face-plant into the leftover food, levitated a toy out of the Wookie’s and Besalisk’s hands before it broke, while simultaneously closing the door behind Qui-Gon as the small human was about to crawl out of it. 

Master Heelik continued without missing a beat. “…They need to be medicated, washed up, dressed, and put into bed. And then we can call it a day.”

Judging by the state of the room, the younglings, and the crèche master herself, it probably felt like a day and then some, already.

“We come to serve,” Qui-Gon said, taking the datapads from her hands and scanning the information, putting names to faces. He then handed them off to Obi-Wan so he could do the same.

“Thank you,” the Mon Cal Jedi said, obvious relief in her voice. “Koota and Cal here,” she ran a hand affectionately over the younglings in her arms, “are the youngest and need the most attention; I must tend to them first. If you can assist with the others for now, it would be much appreciated.”

At that moment, the human infant began to cry, a pitiful wailing sound that bled twisting discomfort in the Force.

Master Heelik hummed soothingly as she swayed back and forth. “Don’t worry, Cal, we’ll help you feel better in no time, hmm?”

“Ga goo loo,” said the Rodian, Koota. He pet the top of his companion’s head clumsily, as if in comfort.

As Master Heelik headed to the far side of the room, Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan looked at each other. The glance exchanged superseded all forms of verbal communication.

Obi-Wan, for his part, rolled up his tunic sleeves and emitted a sigh of resignation that seemed to come from the very depths of his soul. “When all is said and done, Master, I hope you remember that this was all your idea.”

“Courage, Padawan,” Qui-Gon remarked amusedly in response.

“Force help us,” was his dry battle cry, and then he plunged into the mess.

Qui-Gon triaged the group of ten younglings with a quick sweep in the Force, and decided to approach the vomiting Twi’lek first.

Obi-Wan, he could see from the corner of his eye, had snatched the tumbling Mirialan, Tomee, out of the air, balancing the dizzy youngling against his hip.

“There you go, steady now,” Obi-Wan grunted. The youngling’s gaze was still a little unfocused. Then, with quick Jedi reflexes, Obi-Wan promptly placed the boy on the floor, a split second before he vomited. 

Wiping his mouth with his tunic sleeve, Tomee’s focus landed on his human clan-mate that was approaching their part of the room. “He’s naked!” he said, voice thick with congestion. He pointed one little green finger at the toddler, with the blunt observation skills innate to every youngling.

“Yes, well, we’re getting around to fixing that,” Obi-Wan replied dryly, picking up the youngling again and staring with thinly veiled disgust at his dirty tunic and the emesis on the floor.

At the motion, Tomee turned his gaze upwards towards the Padawan. Placing a food-sticky hand smack onto Obi-Wan’s left cheek, he said, “Why’s your voice so funny?”

“Why’s your voice so funny?” Obi-Wan retorted back, grimacing as he pushed the small hand off of his face.

The Mirialan seemed to find this hilarious. “Why’s your voice so funny?” he repeated again, and began giggling in between his sniffles. 

As the same-worded argument continued between the pair, Qui-Gon smiled and turned his attention back to the Twi’lek in front of him.

“Hello, little one,” Qui-Gon said gently, then glanced down at the datapad. “Are you Taia?”

The Twi’lek blinked, then nodded slowly. 

“I see you’re not feeling too good, Taia,” the Master continued in the same tone. “I have some medicine for you to help you feel better.”

Qui-Gon held the little cup of thick orange liquid towards the Twi’lek youngling. Taia took a small step closer, sniffed it, and then backed away, shaking her head.

When Qui-Gon attempted to get closer, she took another step back, eyeing the offending cup warily. 

“Taia, you need to take your medicine,” Qui-Gon said, more firmly. 

The youngling merely shook her head again, then sneezed. Snot dripped out of her nose. Sighing, Qui-Gon looked around, and summoned the tissue box from where it was lying on its side on the floor. This, the youngling took, rubbing a tissue ferociously over her nose.

Feeling that this was progress, Qui-Gon brought the cup closer again, but Taia immediately recoiled the same way she had earlier.

“You need to take your medicine,” Obi-Wan’s voice sounded from behind him, bluntly. 

It seemed that his apprentice was struggling the same way he was. Turning around, Qui-Gon noted that Tomee was slurping methodically from a blue sippy cup in his hands. But Obi-Wan was addressing a tiny Togruta toddler, who had a rather impressive scowl on her little face.

“Why?” The Togruta demanded, the universal favourite question of younglings across the galaxy.

Obi-Wan crouched down, staring the little Togruta directly in the eye. “Because,” he said, with a completely straight face, “the medicine will make you better. If you don’t get better,” and here, Obi-Wan lowered his voice conspirationally, “you won’t be able to fight, and then a Zillo beast will come eat you in the middle of the night, and you won't be able to do anything.”

Qui-Gon thought that was a little too harsh, and was about to reprimand his Padawan for overdoing it.

But the Togruta toddler seemed to consider this for a moment, the tiny white markings on her face creasing with her look of deep concentration. Then it smoothed out as she nodded. “Okay,” she said, and obligingly popped open her mouth for Obi-Wan to slip the spoon of medication in. She swallowed obediently, and swiped her arm across her mouth.

Huh. Maybe Obi-Wan was onto something.

Qui-Gon turned back towards Taia. “Now Taia, you need to eat your medicine too. Otherwise, you won’t be able to fight, and a Zillo beast will eat you.”

The Twi’lek’s lip wobbled…and then she promptly burst into tears and ran towards Master Heelik, who was burping Cal on her shoulder. Taia clutched at the other Jedi’s leg, disappearing from view as she wrapped herself in the hem of her cloak. 

Qui-Gon winced, immediately weighed down by guilt. He had definitely lost his touch.

Meanwhile, Obi-Wan was still embroiled in negotiations. The Padawan eyed the sticky pink smear on the Togruta’s little arm, and her equally stained tunics. “Now, Ahsoka, you need a bath, and then you need to get changed.”

“Why?” she said again.

“Because you smell like food right now, and the Zillo beast will eat you,” Obi-Wan reiterated.

This logic seemed to make sense to the Togruta. “Okay,” she said again, and held up her arms towards the Padawan. “Up,” she demanded, bouncing on her toes. “We fight Zillo beast together.”

“Well, alright then,” Obi-Wan said amusedly, and easily swung her up in his arms. She giggled, and then coughed directly into the Padawan’s ear.

Obi-Wan’s pained smile was only noticed by Qui-Gon. 

Throwing one last glance back at Taia, still hidden from view, Qui-Gon decided to try his luck with the other younglings first.

Zeroing in on the naked toddler still crawling around the room, Qui-Gon retrieved the discarded clothing and hoped that this particular negotiation would go better.

Unfortunately, the child was adept at avoiding all his attempts to re-clothe him.

“No!” the toddler shouted, for what felt like the tenth time.

“Caleb,” Qui-Gon said, patiently. “You need to keep your clothes on.”

Caleb wriggled amazingly fast out of the one sleeve Qui-Gon had managed to apply, and was equally fast in dodging all following attempts. The Master might have been impressed by the early display of Force reflexes, if he wasn’t feeling the beginnings of a headache pricking the back of his skull.

“Ah,” Master Heelik said, her tone betraying no surprise as she appeared suddenly at Qui-Gon’s side after another failed attempt. Frankly, with what she had to deal with on a daily basis, Qui-Gon suspected nothing really surprised her anymore. She placed a hand on Caleb’s forehead, then withdrew it, seemingly satisfied. “His fever’s finally come down; he’s probably feeling too warm to wear his clothes.” 

She placed Cal in Qui-Gon’s arms and shuffled Koota to the sling, before picking up the toddler. “I’ll give him a bath first; that’ll help him feel more normal. If you could give Cal his bottle in the meantime?”

“That I can do,” Qui-Gon said, readjusting his hold on the baby and locating the bottle. The baby was thankfully too young to argue, and the Master breathed a quiet sigh of relief at the relative ease and speed with which Cal sucked the contents of the bottle. But the whole time, his giant teal eyes seemed to pierce straight into Qui-Gon’s soul, the stare unnervingly strong. 

Qui-Gon had faced down numerous politicians, revolutionaries, terrorists, and murderers in his time. But for some reason, they seemed to pale in comparison to the intimidation that this baby was or was not purposely exuding. 

Strangely unnerved for some inexplicable reason, Qui-Gon quickly held Cal over his shoulder to break the stare, burped him, and then handed him back over to Master Heelik, who was getting the baths started in the dormitory’s fresher.

Bolstered by this seeming success, he turned to the Tholothian youngling next. She seemed to be one of the older ones in the Clan, and Qui-Gon thought she would be relatively easier to handle as a result. 

“I’ll take care of Serah,” Qui-Gon said firmly, as he saw Obi-Wan headed the same way. “You can deal with the two over there. He turned his apprentice bodily around to face the Wookie and the Besalisk younglings, who were arguing with increasingly loud voices.

Obi-Wan scowled at him for probably the thirtieth time that day. “Oh, very mature, Master.”

“This is a learning experience, Padawan,” Qui-Gon replied in his best serene, masterly tone.

The Padawan closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He then marched over to the bickering pair and crouched down between them. “You’re both being very loud. Why.”

To others, it might sound like Obi-Wan was annoyed. Well, Qui-Gon considered wryly, he was. But it was more the dry, matter-of-fact tone that Obi-Wan always employed when he meant business.

Makka and Lim continued to howl. 

“I actually can’t understand anything that loud,” Obi-Wan said. “But if you whisper it in my ear, I’ll be able to hear it better.”

The noise level in the room immediately went down as the Wookie and the Besalisk dropped to whispers. 

This may be a learning experience, but Qui-Gon felt that he was the one learning, rather than his Padawan. His apprentice continued to amaze him.

Wryly dismissing the thought, he turned back to his own task and addressed the sleepy Tholothian. 

“Serah,” he said. “It’s time to take your medication, and then get a bath.”

She blinked awake, taking note of Qui-Gon in front of her with the blue medication syrup.

“Can you put it in here?” she said, pointing to a bowl of what looked like yogurt in front of her.

The Jedi looked at it, and shrugged. There probably wasn’t any harm. 

He mixed it in thoroughly, watching the medication tint the blue of the yogurt even bluer.

“Alright, now go ahead,” he said.

And he waited. 

And waited. 

And waited.

Serah would put one tiny spoon in her mouth, and then hold it for what felt like hours as she fiddled with literally anything in sight. She picked at loose threads on her tunic hem, mixed the leftover food on the table together in one bowl, poured water from one cup into another and then back again.

All without taking a single swallow.

“Serah,” Qui-Gon prompted gently. “Your yogurt.”

“Yes, Master,” she replied dutifully. She put another tiny spoonful in her mouth, and repeated the same routine over again. Qui-Gon stared regretfully at the yogurt bowl, which felt in this moment, as big as the soup pots used in the Temple refectory. He wished he had the foresight to use a smaller container, but unfortunately, there was nothing but the present moment.

His eyes slid over to Obi-Wan, seeing if he had better luck. 

The Besalisk, Lim, had a different toy in each of his four stubby arms and was waving them through the air. The Wookie youngling, Makka, his mouth rimmed with pink syrup, roared. Perhaps one day when he was older, it would sound fierce and terrifying. But for now, in combination with nasal congestion and his young age, the sound was more like a high-pitched whine. 

Obi-Wan drew up to his full height, planted his hands on his hips, and roared back. 

The Wookie immediately subsided into a docile silence. 

“Bath,” Obi-Wan said authoritatively. “Now.”

Makka trundled obediently in Obi-Wan’s wake, following him to the fresher.

Qui-Gon, with equal parts awe and pride, shook his head with a small smile, and turned back to Serah.

The yogurt bowl was empty, and the Jedi Master stared at it, dumbfounded. He had watched her eat two spoons in the space of ten minutes, and yet, when he turned away for a split second, she had finished it all?

He eyed the various food concoctions that the Tholothian had been diligently mixing the whole time, and narrowed his eyes in suspicion. Was it just him, or did each of those bowls look a little fuller? Was that a hint of blue among the strawberry puree?

Serah stared back at him guilelessly, mouth rimmed with milky blue. There were also a couple drops on her tunic.

“Finished,” she chirped.

Qui-Gon narrowed his eyes further, wondering if he had just been bamboozled by a four-year-old.

The headache pounded stronger against his skull.

“You were, Master,” Obi-Wan drawled from behind him. 

He turned, and Obi-Wan was beside him, carrying Lim with one arm, and a bottle of pink syrup in the other hand. 

“What?”

“You were bamboozled,” his apprentice clarified. A quick check in the Force proved his suspicions correct; the youngling’s mischief was bright and dancing in her inexperienced, unshielded mind. 

Qui-Gon rubbed his temples. “Oh stars,” he sighed.

Obi-Wan merely smirked. “Here, give Lim his medicine, and I’ll clean up your mess here.”

Any other time, he might have told off his apprentice for the obvious snark in his tone, but Qui-Gon was too exhausted. “Fine.”

The Besalisk, once transferred into Qui-Gon’s arms, immediately climbed into his cloak hood and refused to come out. Trying to twist the fabric to bring the youngling into view proved unsuccessful. Lim merely used his many arms to cling to another part of Qui-Gon.

Meanwhile, Obi-Wan disappeared off to a corner of the room, and then shortly came back and sat cross-legged in front of Serah.

“Serah, let’s play a game,” Obi-Wan said.

The Tholothian perked up. “What kinda game?”

Obi-Wan laid out a juice box and a small ice cream container. “I’m going to hide these behind my back and mix them up. And then, you pick an arm. You get to eat the one you pick.”

“Easy,” Serah declared confidently. “I like them both.”

“Well, like you said, it’ll be easy then,” Obi-Wan remarked dryly.

The Tholothian ended up picking the juice box, slurping it happily as she seated herself back at the table. Obi-Wan brushed off his tunics, and stood up again.

“What did that do?” Qui-Gon asked in a low voice, as Lim climbed onto his head, little hands tangling in his hair. “Ow,” he grimaced, as he felt a sharp tug.

“Master, medicine for younglings is designed to taste better,” Obi-Wan said. “If you mix it with enough food, they won’t notice it’s even there.” He shrugged. “I mixed it into both, so no matter which one she chose, she would’ve taken it regardless.”

Qui-Gon stared at Serah, the little trickster now oblivious to the fact that she was tricked. She had finished the juice box, and was now continuing her previous occupation of mixing all the food on the table.

“You’ve got quite the touch, Padawan,” Qui-Gon admitted, awed. 

Obi-Wan, as usual, deflected the praise easily. “Master, I think you’ve forgotten just how many times you’ve sent me to do crèche duty,” was his dry reply. “I would be a poor Jedi if I haven’t picked up at least some tricks by now.”

The Master regarded the mix of contradictions that was his Padawan: snarky yet humble, experienced yet still learning, older and capable but still so young. A lump formed in his throat. “Regardless, Padawan, I must say…”

Qui-Gon was promptly interrupted by the little blue Nautolan who barged in between them. “Look! I make a booger!” He proudly held up said object, which was smeared with a liberal amount of snot on a rubber bath toy shaped like a whale.

Perhaps a Qui-Gon of forty years ago might have found this amusing, but now he just felt tired.

With one glance, Obi-Wan took in the mentioned booger, the rumpled tunic with multicoloured stains, and wrinkled his nose. “So uncivilized,” he muttered.

The Nautolan craned his head up to look at the Padawan. “What’s un-sifa-lice mean?”

“You,” Obi-Wan said, deadpan. “You’re uncivilized.”

“No,” the youngling argued. “I’m Yilm.”

“Yilm is uncivilized,” the Padawan corrected without hesitation, handing the Nautolan a few tissues.

Ignoring the tissues, and seemingly delighted at the prospect, the youngling clapped his hands and began chanting “un-sifa-lice” over and over.

“Did you eat your medicine?” Obi-Wan asked, as he levitated the snot-covered toy out of the youngling’s grasp. 

Yilm merely beamed. “I eat my booger!”

“For stars' sake,” Obi-Wan said, disgusted. “This is why you’re still sick.”

The Nautolan let out three successive sneezes, and then grinned.

“Let’s get you in a more civilized state,” Obi-Wan sighed.

“Sifa-lice!” Yilm shouted, as Obi-Wan shepherded him away.

Shaking his head and chuckling, Qui-Gon turned back to his current charges. 

“You should clean your mouth, Serah,” he prompted, as he finally succeeded in disentangling Lim from his hair.

Obligingly, Serah picked up a napkin and rubbed it over her face, cleaning off the blue food stains somewhat successfully. After blowing her nose as well, she scrunched the now dirty napkin into a ball.

“Now, bath time,” Qui-Gon prompted, hoping she wouldn't try and trick her way out of that as well.

She merely looked at him. “What’s on your face?” she asked, bluntly.

Qui-Gon warily swept his fingers over his face, and they came away clean, thankfully. Lim, now lying on his back on the floor, had two of his four hands in his mouth, sucking thoughtfully. The Jedi Master eyed the thick, sticky saliva warily. “Is there something on my face?” 

Serah nodded vigorously. “It’s here,” she said, gesturing around her own mouth, and then pointing to the same spot on his face. 

Ah…Qui-Gon withheld a chuckle. “That’s a beard,” Qui-Gon said. 

She tilted her head. Then, with all the generosity of a Jedi but with complete ignorance of germ theory, she offered him the napkin she had just used. “Here, you can clean, too.” 

He could hear Obi-Wan snickering, even from across the room. Qui-Gon closed his eyes tiredly, then opened them again. “Ah, it doesn’t come off, little one. It’s always there.” 

“Oh,” she said thoughtfully, as she regarded the beard in light of this new information. “Is it like Tomee’s tattoo?” 

Qui-Gon spared a glance at the aforementioned Mirialan, who was chattering animatedly to Ahsoka, waving his hands in the air drastically. The Togruta, as usual, looked duly unimpressed.

“No, it’s not,” Qui-Gon replied, turning back towards his current companion.

Serah tilted her head the other way now, stretching out the silence. “That’s weird,” she said emphatically, and then ran off towards the fresher without waiting for a reply.

Qui-Gon firmly decided, as he poured out the pink syrup medication for Lim onto a teaspoon, that he had not achieved the rank and serenity of a Jedi Master, just to be so easily irritated by a four-year old. He blamed it on the exhaustion and his frayed nerves.

After what felt like an eternity later, Qui-Gon managed to convince the Besalisk to take his medication…but not without getting at least half the bottle of lurid pink syrup spattered across the front of his own tunic, as the youngling’s aversion to the medication caused him to subconsciously flip the teaspoon with the Force each time Qui-Gon held it close. 

“Nice outfit, Master,” Obi-Wan said nonchalantly as he passed by, the Rodian infant over one shoulder. The corner of his mouth tugged upwards. “The colour suits you.” 

“Blah,” Koota added nonsensically, though it sounded suspiciously like agreement in the Force.

He gave a mental swat to him through the Force, and Obi-Wan’s amusement danced back at him.

After shooing Lim into the fresher, Qui-Gon went to the basin in the corner to clean himself off a bit. While trying, unsuccessfully, to get the stains off his tunic, a slight nudge in the Force caused him to look down.

Taia was hiding underneath the wash basin, hugging her knees to her chest. She blinked up at Qui-Gon with huge, wounded eyes.

“Ah, little one,” Qui-Gon said, sighing, as he summoned the appropriate datapad from across the room. “You still need your medication.”

Scrolling through Taia’s medication record, Qui-Gon found that Master Heelik had given her most of them: all that remained was one last injection. 

His headache thumped more painfully as Qui-Gon prepped the syringe, resigning himself to another prolonged fight. At the sight of the needle, the Twi’lek whimpered and took off towards the other side of the room again. The Jedi Master sighed, his headache pulsing a strenuous rhythm.

“Whoah there,” he heard Obi-Wan call, and he swooped down and picked up Taia mid-flight, beginning to bounce her up and down gently. She hiccuped, surprised at the new face and motion. 

Obi-Wan continued to bounce her as he brought her back to Qui-Gon. At the sight of the taller man and the needle, she began to whimper and wriggle. 

“Hey, hey,” Obi-Wan said, pulling the little one’s attention back to himself. “Look at me.”

He sat her on the floor, and then raised both his hands to the side of his head, palms facing forwards and fingers spread out. He then blew raspberries and wiggled his fingers.

Taia giggled and giggled as Obi-Wan continued to make faces and funny noises.

Qui-Gon was so stunned at the drastic departure from his apprentice’s usual behaviour, that he almost forgot he had a job to do. But, an insistent nudge from Obi-Wan in the Force had him shaking himself out of his stupor. Quickly, he rolled up the Twi’lek’s sleeve and injected her while she was distracted.

Success; but of course, feeling the prick of the needle immediately made the little one cry again. 

But Obi-Wan once again saved the day. “You were so brave, Taia!”

Hiccuping, the little girl stared up at Obi-Wan solemnly with still-watery eyes.

Obi-Wan picked her up, rubbed her on the back soothingly while radiating pride and affection in the Force. “You’re a true Jedi, Taia, so brave! You were so brave!” 

Sufficiently mollified, the little one smiled, the pain of the injection all forgotten in the face of kind words and warmth in the Force.

“I think, Padawan,” Qui-Gon said resignedly, as Obi-Wan put Taia down and sent her off with one last encouraging pat, “that I’ll leave the younglings to you.”

Exhausted as he was, Obi-Wan still managed to sass him.

“That sounds an awful lot like defeat, Master,” he said, smirking. He dramatically stroked his chin and stared off into the distance. “But who’s idea was it to come here in the first place?”

Obi-Wan was going to be smug about this for days, but at the moment, Qui-Gon had bigger concerns. 

“Go help Master Heelik in the fresher. I’ll tidy up the room.” The mess in the common area was made more glaringly evident, now that most of the younglings had vacated. But, it still felt more manageable than interacting with the younglings themselves.

Obi-Wan gasped loudly. “You, Master? Cleaning?”

Qui-Gon summoned a dirty towel and snapped it in his apprentice’s direction, who was still smirking as he dodged. He would take back what he said earlier; Padawans were the biggest headache of all.

As Obi-Wan shepherded the last of the crèche inhabitants out of the common room, Qui-Gon began to clean up. Clothing and blankets were picked up with the Force and tossed into the laundry chute. Eating utensils were stacked by the door as Qui-Gon called a kitchen droid to pick them up. Medication bottles were capped and placed back in their cupboards. Toys were gathered and sorted back into their respective boxes along the side of the room. Carpets were vacuumed, floors and ceilings were mopped, and the tables cleaned of any food and trash. 

Despite the enormous amount of work it had been, Qui-Gon glanced at the chrono and wryly realized it had taken less time than his interactions with the younglings.

Speaking of…Qui-Gon suppressed another sigh as the naked youngling from earlier emerged from the fresher door. The diaper and tunic were likely abandoned somewhere behind him once again.

He looked bathed at least, the skin pink and smelling of baby soap as Qui-Gon drew closer to re-enter negotiations.

“Caleb,” Qui-Gon said, as patiently as possible. “Let’s get your clothes on.”

The small human boy wriggled away from Qui-Gon’s reach, and responded once again with the trump-all argument of younglings across the galaxy:

“No!”

“Caleb…”

“No!”

“But…”

“No!” It seemed like the youngling was just saying it for the pleasure of getting to shout it, now. “No, no, no!”

Qui-Gon felt like slamming his head into the wall. Repeatedly. But that would worsen his headache, and it would not set a good example of Jedi Master serenity.

It was considered unethical to use mind tricks on younglings: it would break the trust between the elder and younger members of the Order, and they would never learn the why for doing something either, if they were just forced to. 

But if it had been allowed, Qui-Gon thought tiredly, he probably would have performed more mind tricks in the past three hours alone, than he had his entire life thus far.

Qui-Gon sighed as he knelt on the ground to be at eye level with the youngling, his knees popping in protest with the action.

He sensed the negotiations ahead were going to be very long, indeed.

Eventually, the youngling agreed to keep his diaper on, but not his tunic. Qui-Gon had conceded. A compromise wasn’t a victory, but it was much better than utter defeat.

Qui-Gon flicked off the lights in the common room as he deposited Caleb back onto a towel on the fresher floor. He then straightened, and took a moment to wipe his brow and observe the rather impressive set-up that Master Heelik had running.

The freshers in the clan dormitories had a row of shower stalls along the back wall. But all the current inhabitants of Lothcat Clan were too small to use them. Instead, each stall held a large wash basin, in which the younglings could bathe.

Hovering soapy sponges were gently scrubbing the younglings in the tubs, while Master Heelik made her way through the line herself, manually brushing each one’s teeth with an assigned coloured brush, and then getting them to spit into their respective matching coloured cups.

Multiple fluffy towels were drying off the younglings already out of the bath, and Qui-Gon took a moment to be impressed at how much Force concentration the crèche master must be using, in order to individually control the actions of so many items simultaneously.

At the other end of the fresher, by the door leading to the sleep chamber, Obi-Wan was getting the dry younglings dressed in their sleep tunics. 

Qui-Gon stared in apprehension as Obi-Wan approached Caleb with the garment. But, his Padawan deftly held the tunic wide open, slipped one chubby arm through, and then managed to get the rest of the tunic on while simultaneously giving the boy a hug. Distracted, Caleb leaned into the embrace, and Obi-Wan deftly knotted the tunic at the back and then tickled his tummy. The giggling boy forgot his aversion to clothing in the face of the distraction. 

Shaking his head with a smile, Qui-Gon rolled up his cloak sleeves and got to work helping the younglings with their baths.

He got a liberal amount of bath water and soap suds splashed on his tunics, but he got Makka the Wookie dry and dressed, having experience with longer hair. He had also managed to tempt Yilm out of the water, and diapered Koota as well. 

Every now and then, the Jedi Master would glance at his Padawan, noting the way Taia clung to the tail end of his tabard, how Ahsoka was holding her arms up and demanding to be carried by him again.

Qui-Gon felt a pang in his chest, watching Obi-Wan interact with the younglings with his dry humour that they seemed to find delightful. From the back, Obi-Wan looked like a Knight already, especially with Ahsoka pulling the braid from view. She was brushing its tuft over her cheeks and giggling, seemingly fascinated by the sensation.

After extracting toothbrushes and bath toys alike from the Besalisk child’s many hands, Qui-Gon found himself following Obi-Wan into the dormitory’s adjoining sleep chamber. It resulted in him being face to face with the Togruta youngling who was still being carried by Obi-Wan, one hand bunched in a tabard and the other still clutching the braid, her face just visible over one shoulder.

She eyed Qui-Gon’s dirty tunics. “You have to take bath and change,” she said solemnly. “Or Zillo beast will eat you.”

Qui-Gon stared wearily at the little girl. She stared back with wide eyes, completely serious.

“That’s right Master,” Obi-Wan said over his shoulder with a wide, innocent smile. He pet her on the head affectionately. “You’re a smart girl, aren’t you, Ahsoka?”

The Togruta beamed, and then turned to Qui-Gon expectantly.

Right now, Qui-Gon was so tired that he wouldn’t care if a Zillo beast ate him, as long as he got to sleep in its stomach. But, Obi-Wan’s smug, taunting satisfaction radiating in the Force was too much to bear right now.

Another humiliating defeat to add to the long list of similar defeats today, as Qui-Gon turned around and trudged back into the fresher.

Once showered and dressed into cleaner tunics, Qui-Gon emerged to find the younglings in a different state of rebellion.

“I don’t want to sleep yet,” Serah whined.

“Can we play a game first?”

“Roarrrrrhhh.”

“No, I wanna hear a story!”

“Well,” Qui-Gon remarked dryly, going to stand next to Obi-Wan as the cacophony increased in volume. “I was going to say we should retire to our quarters now, but it seems we have one last task to do.”

Obi-Wan, however, was prevented from replying as Ahsoka, still perched in his arms, interrupted.

“You’re leaving?” she said, tone pitched high in incredulity.

Immediately, the entire clan silenced as their clan-mate made known to them this new predicament.

Pinned by the stares of ten pairs of eyes, and sensing the despair multiplying in the Force between the young, unshielded minds, Qui-Gon dreaded that the past few hours of toil and effort were quickly about to be reduced to nothing.

“Dear ones,” Master Heelik said gently, drawing her charges’ attention to herself. “Master Jinn and Padawan Kenobi don’t live in this dormitory. Besides, it’s bed time, and the stars are waiting for you.”

“Why?”

“No!”

“But I want to them to stay!”

“I don’t want to sleep!”

“Can we play a game?”

“No, story!”

It would be a fruitless endeavour to teach the younglings about attachment; they were too young to understand its implications, and too ill and distressed to take in anything at the moment.

Warily, Qui-Gon eyed Taia who looked like she was on the verge of crying again. If one started, then they would all be wailing not long after.

Crouching in an attempt to comfort her, he met Master Heelik’s eyes over the top of her head. The other Master’s expression was strained, even as she smiled and cooed soothingly to the younglings.

Qui-Gon had been ready to concede yet another battle today, when a clear, melodic voice cut through the mounting tension.

“Goodnight my angel, time to close your eyes”

Surprised, the Master looked wildly around the room, wondering where the singing was coming from. His eyes landed squarely on his Padawan.

Obi-Wan had crouched down, sitting slowly on the floor to be at eye level with the younglings.

“And save these questions for another day”

Like planets drawn to their sun, the younglings’ attention was arrested completely as Obi-Wan continued to sing soothingly.

Qui-Gon could only stare in astonishment. He was learning many things about his Padawan today, it seemed.

“I think I know what you’ve been asking me

I think you know what I’ve been trying to say”

Transfixed by Obi-Wan’s voice, the younglings drifted closer as all feelings of churlishness and irritability in the Force were smoothed away by the calm, consoling song.

"I promised I would never leave you

And you should always know”

Obi-Wan stroked Makka’s head, and then Yilm’s, their protests long having died down to an awed silence.

“Wherever you may go, no matter where you are

I never will be far away”

Master Heelik, the first to emerge from the trance, was beginning to coax the distracted younglings into bed. Soothed by the melodiousness of Obi-Wan’s voice, they allowed themselves to be tucked into their sleep mattresses without protest.

“Goodnight my angel, now it’s time to sleep

And still so many things I want to say”

After allowing Taia to crawl to the space closest to Obi-Wan, Qui-Gon was able to tuck the blankets around her without protest. Her attention was firmly fixed on his Padawan.

“Remember all the songs you sang for me

When we went sailing on an emerald bay”

The younglings’ eyes were all starting to slowly close; Serah was almost asleep, one arm pillowed underneath her. Lim was completely relaxed, his many arms no longer grabbing at blankets or his clan-mates. 

“And like a boat out on the ocean

I’m rocking you to sleep”

Master Heelik lowered Koota and Cal into their own makeshift cradles inside cushioned plastoid containers, separated from the rest of the younglings so they wouldn’t get squished by their larger clan-mates. She tucked the sheets firmly around them. 

Meanwhile, Obi-Wan swayed lightly, rocking Ahsoka. He reached out his other hand and smoothed out Taia’s forehead, and she relaxed and murmured something under her breath.

“The water’s dark and deep, inside this ancient heart

You’ll always be a part of me”

He bopped Ahsoka lightly on the nose, causing her to giggle. 

Makka was silent after letting out a subdued yawn, snuggled comfortably in many blankets. Next to him, Caleb was using the Wookie’s arm as a pillow, the actual implement having been stolen by Yilm on his other side.

“Goodnight my angel, now it’s time to dream

And dream how wonderful your life will be”

The soothing, lulling quality of Obi-Wan’s voice had completely settled all the younglings. Tomee was already snoring, one hand thrown lazily into Cal’s basin. Cal had one of the Mirialan’s fingers in his tiny fist, and his other thumb was in his mouth. Koota was asleep, though he seemed to smile from time to time in his dreams.

“Someday your child may cry, and if you sing this lullaby

Then in your heart there will always be a part of me”

Master Heelik smiled softly, maneuvering deftly around the pile of sleeping younglings, tucking in an errant blanket corner there, adjusting a pillow more comfortably under a head here. She dropped feather-light kisses on each forehead, and the Force presences of the younglings glowed brighter with her presence.

“Someday we’ll all be gone

But lullabies go on and on”

Ahsoka, meanwhile, clung as stubbornly to wakefulness as she did to Obi-Wan’s tunic. Obi-Wan lowered himself carefully to the floor, rocking her lightly in his arms as he continued to sing. The little eyelids gradually opened and closed more slowly.

“They never die

That’s how you and I will be”

He pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her head, as her eyes finally shut and she began to elicit a whistling snore, courtesy of her congested nose.

Watching Obi-Wan cradling Ahsoka and interacting with the younglings, silhouetted against the faint moonlight coming through the sheer curtains over the windows, Qui-Gon could now picture Obi-Wan with his own Padawan someday. The thought filled him with both pride and bittersweet heartbreak. Yes, Obi-Wan was already an adult, but a corner of Qui-Gon’s heart would always see him as his earnest, eager, adorable little Padawan.

He couldn’t help but smile as Obi-Wan tried to stand again, only to be arrested in his movement, as the sleeping Togruta toddler still had his braid in her fist.

“It’s alright, Padawan,” Qui-Gon whispered, nudging his Padawan to lie down again. “I’ll take care of clean up with Master Heelik.”

He wouldn’t be Obi-Wan if he didn’t protest, at least a little. “But Master…”

“Sleep,” Qui-Gon said. “You’ve done more than your share today.” The Master smiled as Ahsoka snuggled closer to Obi-Wan’s warmth, curling against his chest. “And if you get up now, Ahsoka will wake too.”

It was a testament to Obi-Wan’s fatigue that he didn’t argue further. 

“Would you like a sleep mattress, Padawan?” Qui-Gon asked, a beat later when it was evident Obi-Wan wasn’t going to argue.

The soothing silence that greeted Qui-Gon indicated that Obi-Wan was already asleep. Smiling, Qui-Gon retreated quietly to the fresher, where Master Heelik was cleaning up after bath time.

With unspoken coordination, the two Masters tidied up.

Qui-Gon got to work mopping up spilled bathwater and emptying all the wash basins, while Master Heelik waved her hand, and all the towels flew to hooks on the wall or the laundry hamper in the corner. 

“I don’t know how you do this all day, every day,” Qui-Gon confessed, wringing out the mop to go another round over the floor. “I’ve only been here four hours and I’m exhausted.”

The Mon Cal Jedi laughed, a soft, light sound, as she gathered scattered toothbrushes and cups, dunking them in the filled sink. “And I can never do what you do, Master Jinn. It is a blessing, then, that the Force has given us all different abilities, so that we can serve where we are needed.”

“Wise words,” her helper nodded in agreement. 

“Regardless,” the crèche master continued, as she scrubbed the various implements with a speed and dexterity that amazed Qui-Gon. “There is always much more to be done when they are ill. I can’t thank you and your Padawan enough for coming to help.”

Qui-Gon shrugged as he gathered chew rings and pacifiers off the floor, adding them to the sink. “I must confess that it was mostly Obi-Wan. He never fails to amaze me, no matter the situation.”

“Indeed,” she said warmly. “I was most impressed by his ability with the younglings. You are a lucky man to have him,” she praised easily, and Qui-Gon glowed with pride.

They worked side by side for a while, rearranging the colour-coded belongings back in their designated labeled spots, drying off the countertops and tub rims, and emptying the dirty clothing and towels into the laundry chute.

“You know,” Master Heelik said thoughtfully, as she drained the sink and dried her hands. “If Padawan Kenobi ever wants to be a crèche master, know that I would gladly take over his training.”

Qui-Gon smiled. “I thank you for your consideration, but I’m afraid this particular youngling is mine.”

The crèche master laughed lightly. “Well, it was worth a try.” 

The cleaning done, the two Masters stood side by side, gazing into the now quiet sleep chamber. Snuffles, snores, and soft murmurs emitted from the pile of sleeping younglings. From the slice of light that the fresher shed into the otherwise darkened room, Qui-Gon smiled at the way the younglings all held on to each other, one way or another, both physically and in the Force. And, he noted with tender fondness, their Force presences were all pressing and nestling against Obi-Wan’s, like flowers reaching for the sun.

“You must be recommending him for his Trials soon, are you not?” Master Heelik inquired, easily sensing where his gaze had landed.

Qui-Gon’s heart clenched. He was hearing this question more and more often, now. Everyone else saw Obi-Wan as a young man who was ready to be Knighted, and of course, Qui-Gon saw that too. But in his mind, Obi-Wan was still his little one; naive and innocent and so, so young.

Maybe his sentimentality was attributable to the late hour, the bone-deep exhaustion, or the unexpected camaraderie with his fellow Jedi throughout this ordeal. Whatever it might have been, Qui-Gon felt he wouldn’t be remiss in asking the other Jedi some advice.

“I must confess, Master Heelik,” he said quietly, as to not wake the slumbering inhabitants of the adjoining room. “I am having a…difficult time imagining sending him off on his own.”

A gentle smile lit the Mon Cal’s features. “Ah,” she said, warmth and understanding in her tone.

He allowed the words to sink between them, settle into the Force, before he found further words to express what he meant. 

“You have seen many a group graduate from this clan by now, I’m sure,” he began hesitantly, and the crèche master nodded to verify his statement. “You care for them from the moment they enter the Temple, until they depart for their calling elsewhere at least a decade later.” Qui-Gon sighed, tucking his hands into his sleeves. “How do you…”

“How do I let them go?” she finished for him, gently. 

Qui-Gon swallowed and nodded, a sudden lump forming in his throat. It had been different with Feemor, who was an adult already when he took him on. And Xanatos, well…that was a different sort of pain than this.

“That is the biggest challenge of being a Jedi, is it not?” Master Heelik sighed, rolling her stiff shoulders. “For me, it is slightly different, I suppose. I know they won’t be on their own for a while yet. Still, it hurts to see them move out.” Her smile was melancholy. “How can it not, when you know everything about them, have watched them grow, have let them sit in your heart for so long?” 

She readjusted a small pink cup that was slightly out of place, and then shook out some more water from a few toothbrushes. Qui-Gon waited silently while she collected her thoughts.

She stopped her fidgeting, tucking her hands into her sleeves. “But eventually, you realize there is nothing more they can learn from your tutelage; that in order to grow into their own Jedi, they need to keep moving on.” She met Qui-Gon’s eyes. “And for a young Jedi, what’s best for them is to allow them to advance to a place where they can continue to grow.”

The bittersweet pain lodged in his chest. There was a fierce battle between seeing the truth of his fellow Jedi’s words, and satisfying the desperate need to watch over his Padawan for as long as he could. 

She laid a comforting hand on his arm and gave an encouraging smile. “We raise them to be lights to the galaxy,” she continued. “And a light is not meant to be hidden away. Let him shine, Master Jinn.”

Qui-Gon looked back out at his Padawan, at his brightness in the Force. “Even so…”

Her knowing expression reflected all of Qui-Gon’s complicated feelings. “All you can do, is equip him the best you can, and Force willing, the Force itself will provide the rest.”

Qui-Gon bowed, heart heavy. “You are wiser than I, Master Heelik. I thank you for your guidance.”

She returned his bow, an exchange of mutual respect. “We are all still seeking the path, no matter how old we are.”

The pensive mood dissipated with a wide yawn from the Mon Cal Jedi. She covered her mouth sheepishly while Qui-Gon chuckled.

“I apologize for keeping you up late with philosophy.”

She waved a hand in the air, brushing away his apology. “We are Jedi. We help each other, regardless of the hour.” They exchanged bows once again. “Good night, Master Jinn. Thank you again. I couldn’t have done it without you and your Padawan.” She gestured to the supply closet in the corner. “Please help yourself to whatever you need for sleep.”

He bowed. “We come to serve. Get your rest, Master Heelik.”

The Mon Cal Jedi stepped out of the fresher and threaded her way past the sleeping younglings with a silence that spoke of years of experience, disappearing into her sleep chamber situated on the opposite end of the room. 

Qui-Gon silently unrolled an extra sleep mattress and positioned it next to Obi-Wan. Unfolding a blanket, he draped it over his apprentice, careful not to cover Ahsoka’s face as he tucked it in around his shoulders.

Asleep, his Padawan looked much younger than his actual years. The moonlight slanting in from the far window was too faint to make out any of his features, but Qui-Gon didn’t need it to know exactly where Obi-Wan’s dimples were, or where the freckle on his forehead sat. He had spent the past decade memorizing this boy, and his face was as familiar to Qui-Gon as his own. 

He ran a hand over his Padawan’s spiky hair. He didn’t wake, but a warm tendril of his presence nudged against Qui-Gon’s, as if subconsciously acknowledging he was there.

Heart warm with fondness and affection, Qui-Gon sung to him softly, words whisper-quiet, barely perceivable even in the Force.

“Someday we’ll all be gone

But lullabies go on and on”

He pressed a kiss to Obi-Wan’s forehead, and the slight shifting had Qui-Gon imagining exactly how his brow would have wrinkled. 

“They never die

That’s how you and I will be”

The oaths and the bond between Master and Padawan, something inexplicable yet as solid and real as the floor underneath them, resonated with the truth of the words in the Force. 

He would have to let go some day, Qui-Gon knew. But at least, that day was not today, as the Jedi Master shuffled to lay down on his side, wrapping an arm around Obi-Wan’s waist, anchoring him there.

Tomorrow, Obi-Wan would be embarrassed and probably a little irritated at being coddled by his overly-sentimental Master. 

But in the present moment, his Padawan’s head still fit underneath his chin, and Obi-Wan’s hair still tickled his neck the same way that Qui-Gon’s beard probably felt scratchy against his head.

The Jedi Master finally joined the other rooms’ occupants in slumber, the smile still etched on his face.

The notes of the lullaby lingered in the Force’s streams, sweet and warm and singing of family, eternity, and never being alone.

And the Force was quiet and bright in the stillness of that night, as it cradled the presences in the room, together with the ones of those who had passed and were yet to come. There was some comfort to be found, after all, in knowing that they were all little ones compared to the vastness of the Force, nestled in its infinite currents.