So one of Sarah's and my favorite WTF? bits of Star Wars canon is that George Lucas decided that Obi-Wan's home planet is called Stewjon, because Jon Stewart is God, etc., etc. Anywho, it lent itself really well to ... this. Takes place after season five of Clone Wars, and spoilers from the finale are implied, so reader beware. Title comes from I Love You, Phillip Morris, as well as some vague happenings within the plot. Other references include Karen Miller's Wild Space, as well as her Clone Wars-era duology, Stealth and Siege, and small gags from Family Guy, It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia, and Archer; also, the, ahem, disastrous mission to Corellia refers to none other than the events of another one of our stories, What Happens on Corellia. Rated T for Star Wars swears.

Summary: Obi-Wan, reluctantly toting Anakin, carries out a diplomatic mission on Stewjon, his home planet, with mixed results.

I Love You, Obi-Wan Kenobi

Obi-Wan Kenobi looked around the table in the dining area of Senator Bail Organa's lofty high-rise apartment and tried to savor the moment. As the Clone Wars dragged on, it was rare to have the ability to sit down for a hot meal at all, let alone whilst in the company of close friends. More than ever, it was important to live in the now, he knew; and so, he was attempting to do just that.

To his left, the host of the evening spooned steaming vegetables from one of several ornate dishes onto four individual plates. "I know nobody eats real spread in the Senate these days," he remarked jovially, nodding at Padme Amidala, "so I made sure to cook everything using the artificial kind."

On Obi-Wan's other side, Anakin Skywalker rolled his eyes. "Wasn't the last craze some stupid juice cleanse that just made the entire Senate chamber smell like bantha farts?"

"Anakin, honestly," Obi-Wan sighed, but Bail just laughed lightly.

"It did seem like the secret to drastic weight loss was converting an inordinate amount of your food intake into gaseous emissions." He gestured towards the kitchen. "I do have a small container of the good stuff in the cooling unit if you'd prefer it, Anakin."

Anakin momentarily stopped pouting. "Yeah, that'd be great."

"What he means is that everything you've already prepared is more than sufficient, and thank you, Senator Organa," Obi-Wan interjected crisply.

Anakin gaped at him. "I don't see what the big deal is. He offered, Master, and -"

"Really, not a big deal at all, I insist," Bail cut in placatingly. He signaled to his personal maintenance 'droid, and it tottered off dutifully, returning a moment later with the spread.

"Thanks," Anakin said appreciatively, rubbing his hands together in anticipation.

Beside him, Padme smiled cordially. "I'm afraid some of us don't have the guarantee of endless days of battlefield ready and ration bars to ensure our trim figures. Senate life is pretty stagnant."

Anakin made a noise around his current mouthful of food. "Trade ya," he shrugged, and Padme's exhalation bordered on annoyed, though she was far too well-mannered to admit it.

"No, thanks."

Bail sat down eventually, and everybody tucked into their meals. "It's not precisely the same as being on the front lines, of course," he offered at one point, "but with Senate bickering and double-speak in rare form these days, it has felt like its own battlefield."

Padme nodded with sudden solemnity. "I want to say that we'll be able to end this war as the Jedi bring in General Grievous and Count Dooku," she frowned, "but in truth, the political corruption goes much deeper than that."

"Right," Bail agreed. "I know the Chancellor is doing what he can, but ..." He trailed off, and then held his hands up in a peace offering. "My apologies, Obi-Wan, Anakin. I did not intend this to be an airing of work grievances. I promise to leave work at work for the rest of the evening from this point on."

"Me, too," Padme said quickly.

Obi-Wan shook his head with an apologetic smile. "As it stands, I believe it is simply an inevitable topic of conversation. Carry on."

Bail looked down at his plate. "I just ... the Security Committee is overloaded as it is with accusations of this or that conspiracy, and it seems to get worse with each passing day. It's difficult to prioritize what's just heresy, and what could very easily be another Zigoola or Lanteeb situation." He peered closely at Obi-Wan at this. "How're the headaches, by the way?"

Obi-Wan sighed. "Manageable, I assure you. How about we make them one of those things nobody talks about?" Bail looked chagrined, but nodded.

Knowing how impossible getting Obi-Wan to cop to any apparent illness or weakness could be, Anakin cut in: "There's always been a lot of corruption among politicians, though. The war is just bringing them out in full-force. Like, completely hypothetical example," he proposed, "Rush Clovis' bargain with the Banking Clan."

It was Padme's turn to look chagrined. "Clovis' deception is an important lesson in not letting one's personal feelings cloud their judgment. Still," she said, frowning reproachfully at Anakin, "he was apprehended before any serious damage could come to pass."

"He got off lucky," Anakin snorted, slicing into his portion of main course with more vigor than was strictly necessary; his cutlery clanked against his plate. "Things could have gotten ... out of hand for him pretty fast, considering." At this, he held up his gloved, artificial hand, flexing it to emphasize his point.

"Yes, well." Padme's voice held an edge. "It's a good thing my personal bodyguard was able to control his urge to apprehend Senator Clovis any more than he did."

Bail's brow furrowed at his attempts to follow the conversation. "That doesn't sound like Captain Typho to me."

Padme stole a glance at Anakin, who was smirking. "Captain Typho was ... unavailable for that particular mission. I had a substitute bodyguard."

"Oh." Bail suddenly understood.

Unfortunately, so did Obi-Wan. "It's a good thing Senator Clovis did not come to further harm, Anakin," he glowered.

Padme let out a slight sigh. "It was more a series of general annoyances than any true threat to Clovis' well-being," she admitted. "Like the seat between us that mysteriously broke before take-off." Anakin smirked into his forkful of mashed tuber root. "Or how suddenly the best pilot in the galaxy couldn't keep the ship steady enough to keep Clovis from falling across the passenger hold. Multiple times." She frowned disapprovingly at Anakin's snicker. "Or the fact that there was a toll in the hallway."

"A toll in the hallway?" Bail asked, not entirely certain he wanted to know, but interested nonetheless in the intricacies of what Anakin considered humor; which, judging by his outright chortling at this, well.

Padme pressed her lips together tightly. "It's when a person decides to block another person's passage -"

"In the hallway or another enclosed space," Anakin cut in.

Padme's eyes flashed. "Right. They block someone and claim that there's to be a toll to be paid to get them to move. Although I have yet to see an actual fee be levied - it mostly seems like an excuse for someone to either be a nuisance or punch people he doesn't like."

"Someone like your substitute bodyguard," Bail clarified, also smiling a little now. "So does anyone ever get to pay the toll?"

"The toll depends on the person," Anakin husked. "It's a case-by-case basis." He cast a sidelong glance at his secret wife. "And your substitute bodyguard was just trying to protect you, baby." He caught himself quickly, clearing his throat. "Senator Baby."

Padme glowered. "Thank you for clearing that up for us, General Ani," she shot back.

Bail had attended enough of these dinner parties to know when things were getting tense, and whenever Anakin and Padme began bickering in a way that hinted at more than warm cordiality in their relationship, Bail knew to make himself - and often Obi-Wan, scarce. "Well, I believe dessert will be ready in a few moments, I should go check on that." Always a safe escape.

And sure enough, Obi-Wan rose from his seat as well. "I shall help you, Senator," he offered quickly, following him into the kitchen before things could get more uncomfortable.

Once they were alone, Obi-Wan sighed, leaning against the kitchen counter, arms crossed over his chest. "I realize I say this every time, but I am sorry for Anakin's behavior," he said. "And I thank you for accommodating his presence." A flitter of sadness shadowed Obi-Wan's features for just a moment, so quick Bail almost missed it. "Since the business with his apprentice, he's ... been having a bit of a hard time."

Bail nodded his understanding. He hadn't been directly involved in anything to do with the bombing of the Jedi Temple or the events that followed, but Padme had filled him in regarding Anakin's young Padawan leaving the Order over the whole affair. Although Bail was not friends with Anakin the way he was with Obi-Wan, he still felt a certain sympathy for the young man, and more obviously for his Master, who, as always, seemed to have been stuck with the gundark's share of helping his former Padawan to cope. "So," he said, sensing Obi-Wan was tired of talking about Ahsoka Tano and Anakin Skywalker's emotional well-being, "should I be flattered or worried that he has yet to play Toll in the Hallway with me?"

Looking somewhat relieved, Obi-Wan's lips twitched into a wry smile. "I think the fact that you feed him every so often still holds some weight," he replied.

Bail laughed. "I'll remember that."

A bit later into the evening found Bail, Padme, and Anakin reconvened in Bail's sitting room, with Obi-Wan having excused himself to the refresher. The conversation had once again turned towards security; namely, opportunities that were available for those in the Senate to learn to protect themselves. "Bail actually runs a firearms-handling seminar that is very popular," Padme noted.

"Didn't know you knew much about firearms." Reclined in one of Bail's overstuffed chairs, Anakin regarded the other man coolly.

Bail shrugged modestly. "I make it my business to know as the head of the Security Force." He gestured to a bag sitting on a nearby table. "I've even started carrying a blaster. It's no lightsaber, certainly, but it does what it needs to do."

Anakin snorted, summoning the small firearm into his hand with a tendril of the Force. "You're right, it's definitely not a lightsaber." Bail's mouth straightened a little, but Anakin pressed on: "C'mon, I've seen training lightsabers that pack more of a charge than this thing."

"Yes, well." For all his practice in diplomacy, Bail often found himself struggling to remain friendly in the wake of Anakin's unfiltered teasing. "It's gotten the job done on plenty of occasions."

"Okay." Anakin floated the blaster towards Bail, watching him pluck it from the air. "You should put your toy back in your purse before it hurts someone, Senator," he said, gesturing at the bag lying on the chair beside him.

Bail frowned outright this time. "It's called a satchel, actually."

"Yeah, yeah, a man-purse, like you said."

Padme crossed her arms over her chest. "Stop being a nerfherder, Ani. Bail's empowered lots of people to safely and effectively handle a blaster."

"'Safely,'" Anakin bleated. "Look, baby, it's cute that either of you think this tiny little handgun is going stop anything, let alone a one-'droid invasion on Coruscant, but all it's going to do is antagonize your enemy into giving you an even more difficult time. That thing wouldn't harm a youngling."

The shot was quick and matter-of-fact, and hit, as was its intended target, just below Anakin's right knee. "Kriffing HELLS," he gasped, and rolled, wheezing, onto the floor. "What in the karking ... that vaping HURT."

He was still rolling around when Obi-Wan returned. "What's going on?" he asked, perplexed, both by Anakin's persistent and galaxy-spanning array of expletives ("son of a drukking blaster"), and also by Padme's equally lengthy collapse into helpless laughter. He glanced at Bail, who had picked up the blaster bag at this point and placed the still-smoking gun inside. "What happened?"

"I'll tell you what happened," Anakin groaned, doing his best to smear as much blood as he could along Bail's expensive-looking rug. "Senator Organa karking shot me."

Obi-Wan sighed. "Anakin, honestly, when you were a Padawan, this penchant for lying was merely something to be corrected, but as it stands, you should know better by now."

"Master, I'm serious!" Anakin gasped out something ending in "Sithspit poodoo," and pointed an accusing finger at Bail. "He shot me 'cause I said his blaster was tiny." Behind him, Padme's continued giggling could be heard. "Not cool, baby."

For his part, Bail just shrugged. "Guns are dangerous," he intoned, and to Anakin's dismay, Obi-Wan nodded in agreement. "I just hope Anakin has learned that now."

"Yeah, because you crinking SHOT ME!" He tried to stand, but went down again in a hurry as pain ripped up his leg. "OW."

"HAHAHAHAHA," Padme said.

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes, begrudgingly holding out a hand. "The money for a replacement rug is going to come out of your expense account, Anakin. Also, you owe Senator Organa an apology for ruining this lovely evening."

"Like druk I do!" He saw that he was in danger of losing his tenuous ability to hobble out to his and Obi-Wan's shared speeder with his Master's help, however, and glared at Bail. "Thanks for the food. Sorry about your rug," he said through gritted teeth, not sorry at all.

Bail smiled magnanimously at him. "That's all right. I'll just send an invoice over to the Council."

"Great," Anakin sighed, the pain in his leg reduced to a persistent yet dull throbbing by now. With his arm slung around Obi-Wan's shoulders, he made his way to the front door, gratified before it closed behind them that, at least, Padme's laughter had been subdued by uncomfortable-sounding hiccups.

Dawn the next morning saw Obi-Wan and Anakin in the Council chambers, standing before the usual assembled group of high-ranking Jedi. Anakin had spent the better part of the evening in the Healer's ward, alternately being treated and laughed at by every apprentice Healer who was on call that night (as well as by a couple of Masters who were at least cordial enough to laugh behind closed doors). As such, he was somewhat cranky, and still in considerable pain, putting as little weight on his leg as possible. Obi-Wan on the other hand, seemed in fine spirits, which made Anakin kind of hate him a little bit - not that he would think the word 'hate' very loudly in the Council chambers, of course.

Obi-Wan hadn't seen fit to inform him of the Council meeting until well after Vokara Che had slathered his leg in bacta and dosed him up with painkillers - something Anakin assumed his former Master had done intentionally - stating he had actually taken a call from the Council while at Bail's (which explained his arduous dithering in the 'fresher when he could have been preventing Anakin from being cruelly attacked by Senator Organa), and their presence was expected when the sun rose. Anakin could only hope it was something good, but knew deep down that it probably wasn't.

"As we discussed last evening," Windu was saying, and Anakin fought the urge to collapse on the floor out of sheer annoyance, "the situation on Stewjon is becoming unstable. The Senate has asked us to intervene."

Beside him, Obi-Wan nodded. "Of course, Masters."

"We also thought it would be a good idea for you to bring Skywalker with you," Windu added, and Anakin frowned slightly. A diplomatic mission was hardly what he considered a priority at the moment. And besides, he was still pretty pissed off that Obi-Wan still didn't believe (or at least claimed not to believe) that Bail was the one who had kriffing shot him, so all in all, he hoped he was going to be given the option to opt out. "To be honest, he's kind of bumming us all out."

Again, Obi-Wan nodded while Anakin tried to figure out whether he'd just been insulted. "I think it would be good for him not to mope around the Temple while I'm gone," he said. "Besides, the Healers have taken him off active duty for at least two weeks while his ..." And here Obi-Wan stifled a snicker, "accidental injury heals."

"I'm standing right here," Anakin hissed at him. "I can hear you. And it wasn't accidental, Bail did it on purpose."

"Yes, yes," Obi-Wan replied vaguely.

"We chose you because we feel that a native Stewjonian might be better received than an outsider," Windu went on, well-practiced in ignoring Anakin and Obi-Wan's bickering.

This made Anakin perk up a bit. "Wait a second," he said, "We're going to a planet full of Obi-Wans?" Obi-Wan seemed to sense the mirth that this notion would inevitably bring his former apprentice, and glanced at him warily. Anakin plowed on: "Do they sound like you, Master?" he asked gleefully, pitching his voice slightly higher and imitating the other man's pattern of speech.

"That's not how I sound at all," Obi-Wan complained, but stopped talking and looked politely at Windu when the Jedi Master held up his hand.

"You're going to Obi-Wan's home planet," he enunciated, "and only because we're all tired of watching you piss and moan around here, Skywalker." Anakin looked as though he wanted to protest, but Windu's facial expression was unkind, to say the least, and he remained silent. "Also, Obi-Wan's accent is Coruscanti, if anything, so you probably won't hear anyone on Stewjon who sounds like him."

"Aw," Anakin intoned. Obi-Wan just rolled his eyes. They bowed to take their leave after a dismissive wave of Windu's hand. "Do you think the Stewjonians will all be short and hairy like you, Master?" Anakin asked as they exited the chambers, and Obi-Wan could have sworn he heard Windu guffaw at his expense.

On the small diplomatic ship they were sharing en route to the Mid-Rim, Obi-Wan wanted nothing more than to slump into his seat and catch a couple hours worth of quiet, undisturbed rest. Unfortunately, his co-pilot seemed to have plans that ran distinctly opposite to Obi-Wan's wishes; 'as if that's kriffing new,' Obi-Wan thought to himself meanly.

"Master. Master. Hey, Master. Obi-Wan. Obi-Waaannn!" Exhibit A.

Obi-Wan sighed deeply, turning his head to face his former Padawan, who, judging by his bright-eyed expression, did not seem to care that his very existence ran roughshod over all of Obi-Wan's hopes and dreams. "Yes, Anakin?" he said finally, and Anakin bounced a little in his seat.

"So okay, I was thinking" - "oh, no," Obi-Wan intoned, but Anakin ignored him - "I was thinking about how this is the first time you've been to your home planet. Have you ever thought about looking up your family, Master?"

"No."

"What?" Anakin raised an eyebrow petulantly. "C'mon, Obi-Wan, you have to at least be curious. There's probably a few of them who are still alive. I mean, you're not THAT old."

Obi-Wan just shook his head. "I was taken to the Temple as a baby. I don't remember my family at all."

"But you have to wonder about them," Anakin continued stubbornly.

"Not really, no."

Anakin made a disagreeable noise and sat back grumpily. "I'd want to know, if it were my family," he muttered. Then, suddenly, his eyes were mischievously alight anew. "D'you think you take after your mother more, or your father?"

"Anakin, I don't know," Obi-Wan snapped.

"I bet your mom's hot."

"Anakin!"

"I bet she looks like you, but in a dress."

"ANAKIN."

"With a full beard."

"You're impossible." Obi-Wan stood up. "I'm going to the 'fresher. You'll need to keep this bucket of bolts airborne, and deal with not having someone to make fun of a few minutes. I trust you can handle all of that, Anakin."

Anakin grinned. "I'll do my best, Master. Anyways, Artoo and I can always talk about you while you're away." On cue, the astromech 'droid rattled off a short series of chirps and whistles. "Ha, yeah, totally," Anakin snorted.

"Dare I ask what he said?" Obi-Wan glared tiredly at Artoo's domed head.

"He said you've got the legs for a dress." Obi-Wan began walking away. "It's a compliment, Master," Anakin called behind him.

"I hate you both," Obi-Wan muttered, and Anakin and Artoo 'high-fived.'

The planet of Stewjon was nestled peacefully in the Mid-Rim, a world of high peaked mountains and softly rolling grassy fields. Climate-wise, it was something akin to a cross between Alderaan and Naboo; a nice enough place that was nonetheless easy to bypass entirely. Except for producing Obi-Wan Kenobi, there was very little remarkable about the planet, except for the fact it was smack dab in the middle of a major disputed trade route.

"So basically we just want them to re-up their contract with the Republic and pinky-promise not to let the Separatists put a jump-base here," Anakin summarized, waving his datapad around idly as they walked down the ship's boarding ramp and towards the waiting Prime Minister. 'Boring, boring, boring,' he thought to himself. "Boring, boring, boring," he said aloud.

Obi-Wan scowled at him. Anakin supposed his former Master was probably cranky because he hadn't taken a nap. Or, rather, Anakin had not allowed him to take a nap. It wasn't Anakin's fault, really. He was awake, and bored, as he'd noted, and his leg kind of hurt still, and he didn't like to be alone with his thoughts for too long, especially lately. He could have explained that all to Obi-Wan, and Obi-Wan likely would have been at least a little sympathetic, but that would be admitting to needing help with something (in this case, keeping his inner-voice-sun-dragon quiet and thus maintaining his sometimes-tenuous grip on sanity), and therefore he instead decided to continue simply being a nuisance. Either way, he would garner enough of Obi-Wan's attention to keep himself occupied.

"Are you ill?" Obi-Wan asked mildly. "Because I could swear it sounds like you actually read the mission briefing. I mean, aside from all that silly talk about pinky-promises. Perhaps I should talk to Bant about the side effects of whatever medication she's given you. We may want to make it a long-term thing."

Anakin pulled a face, but let it go. Truth be told, he wanted to learn as much as he could about Obi-Wan's home planet - not because the place was terribly interesting, but because it would give him more ammunition to use when teasing his old Master, one of his current favorite pasttimes. Before he could inform Obi-Wan of his brilliant plan, however, they had reached the Prime Minister and his entourage.

Obi-Wan bowed low at the waist. "We appreciate the opportunity to serve the people of Stewjon," he said, and Anakin wondered, not for the first time, where Obi-Wan had learned to lie ('negotiate,' he thought with a small smirk) so effectively.

He was somewhat disappointed to realize that, in fact, not every native Stewjonian sported orange hair and a beard. Among those surrounding the Prime Minister alone, only one had a mane approximating the color of Obi-Wan's, though none of them were particularly tall. In fact, Anakin noted smugly, he had a good head over all of them.

Obi-Wan introduced himself, and then gestured at Anakin. "May I present General Anakin Skywalker," he said, and Anakin waited for some sign of recognition, knowing that his reputation these days preceded him. However, the Prime Minister just nodded vaguely, and then turned back to Obi-Wan. "Shall we adjourn to the Commons to discuss this proposal of yours?" he asked, and Obi-Wan nodded.

They fell into step just behind the world's leader, with Anakin ever-so-slightly favoring his blaster-wounded limb. Intentionally, he bumped Obi-Wan's shoulder with his own. "Are you overcome with emotion over your homecoming, Master?" he asked in a stage-whisper. "Is it everything you've ever dreamed of?"

Obi-Wan just rolled his eyes.

Much of the Stewjonians' resistance was not precisely to aligning itself with the Republic, so much as it was the implication of any sort of visible military presence, Republic or Separatist. It was not a new complaint, and Anakin could sense his Master's boredom as Obi-Wan went through a familiar back-and-forth with the Prime Minister and a couple of his mouthier cohorts to explain that, in fact, there was no delineation between 'your war' and 'our war' these days, that what the Republic didn't lay claim to, even in a mostly symbolic way, the Separatists would take by force, and not symbolically at all. The boredom also stemmed, in part, from the calm, even bland way that the Stewjonians tended to argue their point. Far from the passionate, exasperating pacifism of the Mandalorian Duchess, or even the outright hostility of several worlds they had visited in the past, the Stewjonians merely seemed pleasantly displeased by the whole affair. It was another thing Obi-Wan shared with the inhabitants of his home planet, and was entertaining to observe.

Unfortunately, making fun of Obi-Wan was not enough to sustain Anakin's interest in the events at hand, something Obi-Wan had seemingly anticipated. When he sensed Anakin getting ready to butt in with a more snide way of putting what Obi-Wan had already said and the Stewjonians had already tutted over, Obi-Wan had but subtly leveled his former Padawan with a sidelong stare and, at one point, a somewhat Force-enhanced stamping down of his foot atop Anakin's boot. Anakin had winced, and then Obi-Wan had said, just a touch too sharply, "As I've already explained, Prime Minister, this war affects your world regardless of your approval. I assure you, as well, that the Separatists will be much less charitable in asking your permission to build their defenses here. Their goal is not to build alliances, but to control and exploit as many planets as possible."

His slightly irritated posturing seemed to shift the energies in the room somewhat; surprisingly, as it turned out, in their favor. "I see your point, Master Jedi," the Prime Minister said, stroking his (not orange) beard. "Perhaps a compromise can be reached; a blockade obstructing on-planet access, maybe, close-by, but still not interrupting Stewjonian affairs." He stood, and a couple of his aides quickly followed suit. "Now, I propose that we make this official after supper in the Dining Hall, yes?"

The surprise on Obi-Wan's face was quickly masked. "Yes, of course," he responded. In step once again, Anakin once again shouldered his Master. "See? I'm helping," he murmured smugly.

Obi-Wan sighed. "Don't get cocky, Anakin."

Anakin nudged him again, smiling broadly, now. "Aw, Master. Modesty doesn't become me, you know that."

Obi-Wan elbowed Anakin in the ribs, and then flashed an apologetic smile at the Minister's aide who turned to frown at them. "Yes," he agreed. "Perish the thought."

Dinner was a typical affair, as far as Obi-Wan was concerned. He'd been to enough official functions in his time as a Jedi to find the whole thing slightly boring, though he did his best to project an air of interest and engagement. Despite Anakin's assumptions, Obi-Wan did not have any particular extra interest in Stewjon, though he did wish his traveling companion were not so insistent on being ... well, himself in front of the rest of the dignitaries.

Whenever food and drink were plentiful, Anakin tended to get a little more boisterous, something innate in his makeup that assumed meal-time was something less formal, more intimate, a time when everyone around him would be more likely to accommodate his potential antics. On this particular evening, he called the Prime Minister by his first name, fist-bumped with a bewildered advisor, and while Obi-Wan was grateful the younger man used the utensils provided him, he generally acted as though he was among friends instead of a group of strangers. Such casualty even extended to proffering nicknames to several attendees, some considerably ruder than others. It was always like this; during negotiations, Anakin would remain mostly quiet, only providing his input if it was asked for - or if he truly could not stay his tongue. Afterwards, and especially if things had gone in their favor, he was talkative - charming, when he wanted to be (which wasn't particularly often). Though Obi-Wan figured it was one of the reasons that Anakin was the most recognizable Jedi in the Order - he humanized the otherwise mythical group - he still didn't truly approve of the behavior. Still, Anakin wasn't his apprentice anymore, so his scoldings would only go so far - not that they had really had much impact prior to the severing of Anakin's braid.

"So it's not a genetic thing," Anakin mused loudly as a tureen of hoi broth was passed around the table. Obi-Wan took a deep, steadying breath as one of the dignitaries sputtered a clarifying "excuse me?"

"Hoi broth," Anakin clarified, gesturing vaguely at his Master. "Obviously, being allergic to it isn't a Stewjon thing, it's just an Obi-Wan thing," he continued, taking a gulp of his drink. 'So uncivilized,' Obi-Wan thought, and then it got worse: "This one time, we were on like Chandrila or something, I don't remember, and they were serving hoi broth -"

"Anakin ..." Obi-Wan said, warningly, knowing how the story went and really hoping his former apprentice would know better than to repeat it in its entirety. "That's hardly appropriate dinner conversation," he hinted, his voice hard to compensate for the fact that Anakin was not within rib-jabbing range.

Anakin just waved a dismissive hand at him, however. "Buh-uh-uh, Master," he tutted, and turned back to his warily captive audience. "So they were serving hoi broth, and of course Master Kenobi wanted to be polite - and I dunno if he just didn't know what would happen or what - but the next thing you know, he's all like clenching everything and ..."

Obi-Wan sorely wished he could use the Force to pop Anakin's head off his shoulders. It would lend itself well as a conclusion to the horrific impression Anakin was doing of him at the moment, he mused, and then pushed all dreams of decapitation to the back of his mind; there would be time enough to fantasize wistfully about them later, after all. "Anakin ..." he pleaded again, but to little avail.

"So basically what happened was the rest of the negotiations had to take place in the 'fresher, and they were saying it was like an act of war," Anakin continued, unabated and nonplussed by the horrified expressions on several faces. "Apparently on Chandrila - or wherever - explosive bowel movements during official functions are frowned upon."

There was silence around the table now, and Obi-Wan felt himself redden, wishing he could simply disappear into the floor and wondering why in all of this universe and the next he considered Anakin, currently looking as if he'd just been asked to join the Council and given a medal of honor for freeing every slave in the galaxy on the same day, to be a friend. Eventually, after deciding that, in fact, he probably would not be conveniently swallowed up and into the ground, he cleared his throat. "Ahem. Well. Yes."

Similarly diplomatic, the Prime Minister just smiled thinly. "Well, we shall keep it on this side of the table, then," he offered. "We wouldn't want to be host to another unfortunate incident."

"Heh, yeah," Anakin chortled, not taking the hint in the slightest. "So okay, this other time, we were both like super wasted on Corellia ..."

"So that went well," Anakin said brightly, some hours and the loss of a significant amount of Obi-Wan's already flagging dignity later. "The Prime Minister re-upped with the Republic, and we all had a great time hanging out in the meantime."

Obi-Wan eyed him tiredly. "Your account of the events of this day is vastly different from mine, Anakin." They were heading towards their ship, the mission an overall success even in spite of Anakin's recent shit-show, and Obi-Wan fully intended to spend the bulk of their trip home meditating or putting himself in an otherwise Anakin-less space. "Well, I can't think of any good reason for you not to fly us home," he said, feigning friendliness as they reached the cockpit. "Just try to get us there in one piece."

Anakin flashed him a wicked, lop-sided grin. "Of course, Master," he replied, not batting an eye as Obi-Wan retreated to the main cabin for some sorely-needed peace and quiet.

He fell into a light meditation as he felt the ship's engines whine to life. Anakin assumed he felt a kinship with this planet just because he'd been born there. Again, he felt the weight of the differences between them - Anakin was so defined by where he had come from, so unable to let go of his past, it must have simply been unfathomable to him that a Temple-raised Jedi would not have the same compunctions. In any case, he decided, any part of him that was the product of this planet would have been trained out of him after years at the Temple. He didn't even speak like a native Stewjonian, after all; and in the grand scheme of things, he was all right with that.

He continued down that path of thought for a while; not true meditation, but mostly idle twists and turns of musings about nature versus nurture and, eventually, why in the blazes Anakin thought it was a good idea to tell the Force-damned Corellia story to everyone they came in contact with, especially since it was not a story that painted Anakin in a favorable light, even when he himself was telling it. With a sharp exhalation of breath, Obi-Wan managed to rein in his thoughts, sinking into the Force's embrace, only to be thrust out again by the feeling of the ship setting down.

He frowned; surely he had not been meditating (brooding) for long enough to have missed the entire voyage back to Coruscant. In fact, he was fairly certain it had only been minutes since they'd taken off. A glance at the wall chrono confirmed it, and so he made his way back up to the cockpit. Something had to be wrong, then.

"What's the matter?" he asked Anakin, his frown turning into the scowl as he saw that they had landed in front of somebody's house. He suddenly felt a niggling suspicion worm its way into his mind. "Anakin ..."

Anakin spun around in the pilot's chair. "Surprise!" he crowed.

Obi-Wan stared out the main window of the ship at the rows of modest, uniform homes; there was nothing about this particular house that distinguished itself from any of the others in the vicinity, and yet, he had a bad feeling about it. "Anakin, what are we doing here?" he asked warily. Then, crossing his arms and hoping to look severe, he added, "what did you do?"

Unrepentant, Anakin pulled a small datapad from the folds of his outfit and hit a button at the top, bouncing impatiently in his seat while it booted up. "I was in the Archives, hiding that statue of Dooku's ugly mug again because Madam Nu still doesn't know it's me ..." He ignored Obi-Wan's long-suffering sigh at this and pressed on. "Anyway, while I was there, I decided to do some ... research."

"Oh no, Anakin, you didn't ..."

"Oh yes, I did." With a grin, Anakin held up the datapad, now loaded with information. "You were born a little over 37 standard years ago to Kier and Ola Kenobi, and you were adopted by the Jedi shortly after that." He shook the datapad a little. "Like, really shortly after that. You were legitimately raised at the Temple, Master. Anyways," he added, gesturing out the window, "This is - was - your home, Master."

Obi-Wan stared at his former apprentice without blinking. "I don't even know what to say to you right now, Anakin," he intoned, idly wondering how Anakin had even had the time or energy to exert on such a pointless endeavor, not the least of all because the time lapse between finding out about the mission and leaving Coruscant had been egregiously small. Then, he was suddenly struggling under the weight of Anakin's now-clobbering embrace. "Get off," he wheezed. Anakin eventually did, and then began fiddling with Obi-Wan's tunics like a doting parent. Obi-Wan endured it grumpily, until Anakin began trying to smooth an errant strand of his hair. When he spat into his glove, it was the last straw: "Anakin, if you don't want to lose your other hand, I suggest you rethink your next move."

At least somewhat chagrined, Anakin quickly wiped the offending glob of saliva on his own pants. Still, his enthusiasm did not wane. "Ready to meet your family, Master?" he asked. He made eye contact with Obi-Wan, whose brows were low, his beard twitching unhappily. "Yeah, you're ready."

Obi-Wan Kenobi had never wanted to disappear into the netherworld of the Force more than he did the moment Anakin reached out and pounded his mechanical fist on the door to his, presumably, childhood home. "If your mom looks like you," Anakin said in a low voice, "I'm pretty much bound by galactic law to broggle her."

"You are NOT going to 'broggle' my mother, Anakin," Obi-Wan hissed as the door slid open, revealing a slight woman in late middle-age, who widened her eyes at the lewd language and harsh tone. "Oh, hello, ma'am," Obi-Wan ground out with a wince.

"She DOES look like you!" Anakin exclaimed, sounding happier than he had in weeks. "Ola, hi, I'm Anakin Skywalker." She raised an eyebrow. "And this is ... well ... d'you mind if we come in?"

Ola looked concerned. "I ... we were just sitting down to dinner -" she began, and the door started to slide shut, but Anakin had spent upwards of a decade evading Obi-Wan's attempts at pleasant excuses, and he wasn't about to be deterred so easily.

"That's all right," he purred, his foot stepping purposefully over the threshold.

The slight commotion seemed to have brought the attention of another occupant, whose build was like Obi-Wan's, but with a different hair color and beard shape. "Everything all right here?" he asked, and Anakin's eyes lit up.

"You must be Kier," he said, and grabbed the man's hand, pumping it enthusiastically with his own. "Pleased to meet ya'. And now, may I present, Obi-Wan Kenobi - your son!" He said this with a flourish, grabbing Obi-Wan's upper arm and propelling him forward towards his parents, who now wore what would otherwise be amusingly matching bewildered expressions.

"Hello there," Obi-Wan said finally. There was a long pause where nobody said anything, save for Anakin, who kept grinning and making odd squeaking noises while dancing on the balls of his feet. At last, a noise from inside the house broke the tension somewhat. "You have other children?" Obi-Wan asked, and Kier and Ola both nodded mutely.

Anakin hugged Obi-Wan a little. "See, Master, you even have siblings! Oh, blessed Force!"

Obi-Wan frowned furiously at him. "Yes, well." He turned back towards his parents. "My apologies, my friend here made a very poor error in judgment and it has led to our barging quite rudely into your lives uninvited. I promise you that it will not happen again." He turned to leave, but Anakin's grip was circulation-interruptingly strong.

"Master, please," the younger man wheedled, his tone now bordering ludicrously on desperate. "Please, let's stay a while. You guys have so much to catch up on, and I am so happy for you!"

"Anakin, for kriff's sake," Obi-Wan said in his most exasperated tone, "we haven't been invited! Now, let's GO." He turned away again, just as a young female voice sounded from beyond the front door: "Ma, I'm hungry, c'mon."

"By the stars, Rodina, wait a minute or I'll have you screaming like a stuck mynock!" Ola's ruddy face calmed quickly after her outburst; then, she gestured reluctantly inside the house. "I suppose there's no harm in having you two stay for supper," she offered, and retreated beyond the door. Kier followed, and then Obi-Wan; Anakin trailed him closely enough to be able to whisper in his ear: "Well, I'll be broggled," he murmured, and then pushed ahead of his Master, flinging his arms around the elder Kenobis. "Hey, are either of you allergic to hoi broth?"

If Obi-Wan never had to attend another dinner with Anakin ever again, he would die a happy man. As it was, his companion was regaling their reluctant hosts with various lurid retellings of their adventures over the years, complete with expansive arm movements and the occasional sly wink in Ola's direction. Obi-Wan had a sharp, stabbing fear that Anakin truly would make good on his promise to bed his mother, especially as Anakin's foot slid its way up Obi-Wan's leg. He cleared his throat loudly, and the foot slid away. "Thought you were somebody else," Anakin muttered.

Something about the family was troubling Obi-Wan, though. He wasn't sure exactly what it was; the too-perfect lawn, the staged family photos, the slightly screechy quality to Ola's voice as she berated the eldest, a man who seemed to be at least a year or two Obi-Wan's senior, about getting out of their basement and meeting a nice girl, and not somebody at the transit stop this time. "Wait ..." It dawned on him, looking from the eldest son, to the youngest daughter, a woman looking about a year younger than Obi-Wan, and who was looking at the younger Jedi with a combination of awe and lust, sucking saliva between her teeth entirely unattractively.

"I was the middle child?" he squawked, unable to stop himself.

Ola looked flustered. "Those were trying times," she rationalized. "We had Owen, and Rodina, and you know, that was a lot of mouths to feed."

Kier inclined his head towards his wife in solidarity, and then frowned. "Whose foot is that?" he asked, and Anakin shifted in his seat. Then, potentially to redeem himself, he proffered, "And you could sense Obi-Wan was special, right?"

Obi-Wan's parents both nodded. "Very special," Kier said quickly, and coughed, though it sounded insincere, Obi-Wan couldn't help but notice. "We knew when we gave you over to that nice man that he was going to give you a good life, Son."

"Yeah, good thing he didn't turn out to be a slaver, huh?" Rodina piped up, and then sloshed more saliva between her teeth, swallowing it with a loud, unbecoming gulp. "Hey, wanna see my room?" she asked Anakin, sidling up to him in a way that wouldn't have made Obi-Wan smile meanly had it been happening to anyone else.

"Uh," Anakin said dubiously, "no thanks." There was a beat. "So that's my foot you're kicking."

"I know," Rodina said dreamily.

"Sometimes slavers hang around the transport plaza," said Owen, whom Obi-Wan was fairly certain had picked his nose and eaten whatever had come out atop his finger earlier during the meal. "Hey, do you guys like Nal Huttan swing music? I've got some on vinyl. It's pretty wizard, not like that munk that passes for popular music these days."

"Owen, language," Ola said.

Anakin snorted. "You sound just like Obi-Wan when he scolds me. Like mother, like son."

Rodina let out a trill of exaggerated laughter. "That's funny. You're funny," she mouth-breathed, leaning in until she was close enough to grab at his crotch. Anakin caught her hand mid-journey and released it back at her side, leaving her pouting.

"So, wait, you sold me?" Obi-Wan demanded, feeling his face flush with ... well, he was pretty sure that was anger he was feeling. "Just brought me to the market one day, and then I didn't come home?" He swallowed heavily, throwing his napkin onto the table.

"Well, the transport plaza," Kier offered, not sounding as sheepish or embarrassed as Obi-Wan would have hoped.

Obi-Wan stood up suddenly, deciding to channel his inner-Anakin into some kind of tantrum because, kark it, he very well deserved to have one at this point. "Really?" he asked. "You just decided to hand me over to just anyone, and it just HAPPENED to be a Jedi?"

Ola blinked at him. "Well, this has been a lovely evening," she said evasively, and Obi-Wan realized he was a little upset about this; still, in the interest of not causing yet another diplomatic incident, he kept quiet about it, choosing instead to grab Anakin's cloak, yanking his friend upward. "Time to go," he announced through clenched teeth and, to his credit, for once, Anakin obeyed.

Beside him, Rodina slurped more spit. "I'm going with him," she said decisively, standing as well and grabbing Anakin's flesh hand. "He's my boyfriend, and you can't keep us apart!"

Anakin caught Obi-Wan's eyes with a slightly panicked look. 'Serves him right,' Obi-Wan thought grudgingly, but since he did not want to spend one more moment there either, he merely nodded. "Now!" Anakin shouted, pulling himself from Rodina's grasp and booking it towards the door.

Once they were outside - Obi-Wan could hear Rodina yelling about being kept from her true love of five full seconds before it slammed definitively behind them - they stood in the yard together, suddenly at an impasse. "I ..." Anakin began, then stopped himself. "You want to steal their welcome mat?" he asked after a moment of contemplation. "I mean, it's obviously a lie."

Obi-Wan took a moment to consider the proposition, then calmly and serenely walked up to the porch, picked up the mat, rolled it carefully, stuck it underneath his arm, and then walked back down the steps again. Shoulder-to-shoulder, the two Jedi returned to their ship.

"You know, I think it really adds something," Anakin noted admiringly, straightening the newly-acquired mat at his feet. "I could decorate shit if I wasn't a Jedi. Or I'd be a professional podracer. Or a mechanic. Or a whore. Probably a whore," he said decisively.

"Probably," Obi-Wan offered absently. Upon take-off, he contacted the Jedi Temple, waiting to be patched through to the Council chambers to report on the success, however dubious, of their latest mission. The Jedi were his real family, he thought with a sudden swelling of emotion, and regarded Masters Yoda and Windu cheerfully as their hologrammed images came into focus.

"How did the mission go?" Windu asked, as if he knew something he wasn't telling. "We got some compliments from the Parliament about Skywalker's story-telling abilities." The Korun Master sounded slightly dubious, amused at Obi-Wan's expense in the way Obi-Wan had long since become accustomed.

Obi-Wan frowned only slightly. "The Stewjonians will support a Republic blockade of the planet," he said. "I suggest three cruisers with a compliment of fighters until the Separatist threat has passed." There, to the point, focused on the mission. And yet, they were gnawing at him, the events that had just transpired, and so he took a deep breath and said, "Masters, I happened to ... encounter my birth family, and as it turns out, my ending up with the Jedi appeared to be a fluke more than anything."

"Yeah, they were pretty much willing to sell him off to anyone who'd give them five credits," Anakin piped up from behind.

Obi-Wan waved him away. "Anyways, Masters, surely the Jedi who took me had planned it all along and was able to intercede, right?" He was sure the answer would be a resounding yes, that the story of his coming to the Temple was a fated endeavor, an infamous story to be passed along from Master to Padawan for generations to come.

Unfortunately, instead of resounding affirmation, however, there was an uncomfortable silence. "Well, actually, to be perfectly honest, Obi-Wan," Windu said carefully, "the Jedi who found you was just refueling his ship." Behind him, Anakin let out a small 'whoosh' of air from his mouth.

"But ... surely I showed up in the Holocron of Force-sensitive children," Obi-Wan bit out.

"No," Yoda replied simply, not sounding as uncomfortable with the revelation as Windu did. "An accidental discovery, you were."

"I ... see," Obi-Wan replied, not sure what the jumble of emotions he was feeling could be classified as. "Well. We shall give our full report when we return. Wait." He paused. "Was it really only for five credits?"

"You don't want us to answer that truthfully," Windu suggested.

"Right." Obi-Wan waved the holocomm off and leaned against the cockpit bulkhead with a sigh. Silence hung heavily in the air for a long moment, but as ever, Anakin seemed determined to ruin it. "Look on the bright side, Master," he said finally. "At least your mom's still alive."

Obi-Wan scowled. "At least your mother wanted you," he snapped back.

Anakin considered that for a long moment. "Yeah," he said agreeably, "she did." He hefted himself out of the pilot's seat. "That stew's goin' right through me," he announced. "I gotta use the 'fresher."

Obi-Wan decided that, if he could do nothing else, he could do this. Summoning the strength, he stood across the hatchway, a hand braced on either side of the door. "Master?" Anakin asked, incredulous. "Come on, I really need to go, unless you want us to have to stop at some other shit-bag planet to rescue another kid about to be sold into slavery and also so I can buy new pants." He danced a little. "What are you doing?"

Obi-Wan tilted his head to the side, mouth quirking slightly, eyes curiously blank. "There's a toll in the hallway now, Anakin," he said simply. Then, before Anakin could react, Obi-Wan's foot shot out and struck him in the leg, hard.

"RIGHT IN THE SAME KRIFFING SPOT!" Anakin wailed, dropping to the deck and curling into the fetal position. "Master, WHY?"

"You know why," Obi-Wan said calmly, and stepped over him, settling into the pilot's chair. There was a familiar whirring sound, and then a series of almost exasperated-sounding chirps, and then Anakin grunted. "Ow. C'mon, buddy, not cool," he whined, and Obi-Wan smiled. Closing his eyes, he allowed Anakin's guttural moaning to wash over him like a surprisingly effective lullaby, and eventually drifted off, sleeping like a baby for the majority of the journey back to the Temple; back, for lack of a better word, home.

"Do I really have to do this?" Matt Lanter asked, looking around warily. James Arnold Taylor's home recording studio always made him somewhat nervous and he wasn't sure why. Maybe it was the rough-looking soundproof padding installed along the walls of the already small and windowless room, making him feel claustrophobic. He was also fairly certain James had locked the door with a key that he'd then slipped into his pants pocket.

The other man sat on the adjacent stool. "You don't have to," he said carefully, already doing his Obi-Wan voice. "I mean," he added, "I could always see if Hayden's got anything going on between swinging on his love porch with his pet pigs and driving his fake girlfriend Rachel Bilson around in his dump truck all day."

"You know he doesn't," Matt protested, and sighed. "Okay, fine. I think it's your line first."

James cleared his throat. "'Anakin, I don't know what I would have done had that gundark actually eaten you. You're the most wonderful apprentice the Force could have gifted me with, and the most handsome, too.' Your turn, Matt."

Matt peered at the script. "'Master,'" he said, his voice taking on a slightly huskier tinge, "'the pleasure of our acquaintanceship is all mine. You sell yourself short, but you have pretty eyes, and I like your beard.'" He squinted. "Then they're supposed to ... James, c'mon, I already told you, my pastor says I'm not supposed to practice kissing with you anymore."

"I've already explained this to you, Matt." James pushed his glasses atop his head. "You and I aren't the ones kissing, Anakin and Obi-Wan are."

"Yeah, but they didn't ever kiss or hug or anything on the show."

"It's fan interpretation," James shrugged.

"Your last six fan scripts have included Anakin and Obi-Wan make-out scenes," Matt continued griping. "You don't have Anakin kiss Padme even once, and she's supposed to be his wife!"

James pinched the bridge of his nose. "Look, Matt, do you want to give the people at Star Wars Weekends what they want, or do I call Canada and let Hayden have a taste of respect again?"

Matt sighed and unrolled his script. "Let's take it from the top," he grumbled.