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Yet another random fluffy piece of humor with Obi-Wan and Anakin. Enjoy!

A Question of Braiding

The boy's eyes were wide with horror, his fingers caressing the thin braid at his right ear as he backed slowly away from me. Unable to hide a faint smile of amusement, I watched calmly, though not without an aura of humor, as the strands of hair seemed to leap about under the quick, nimble movement of his hand. I advanced a small step forward, eyeing him with one eyebrow raised. Almost instinctively, his previously placid pace became so hasty that he stumbled over his footing, and with a yell of dismay, plunged to the floor. The reverberations that followed were not particularly spectacular, but the expression on his face as he glanced ruefully upward provided all the excuse I need to mentally record this as a drama to be remembered.

"Now, Anakin," I asked him, looking down at his sprawled figure, my stern gaze negated by the smile still twitching on my lips, "are you going to stop fooling around and let me get on with this?"

My young apprentice shook his head vigorously, propping his arms up behind him on the floor, his knees now drawn up protectively as if to ward off my attempts to at least make him appear civilized. Sighing, I ignored this protest and bent down, my hand outstretched in an offering to help him up. For a long moment, he glanced from my face to my hand, a little frown creasing his otherwise youthful features. However, this was shortly replaced by a look of resignation, complimented by a little glare that told me, even as he accepted my grasp to pull him upright again, that he had not yet forgiven me, and nor would he in the near future.

"Good." I smiled encouragingly at him, relieved that I would not have to physically wrestle him into cooperation.

Still scowling, he stalked across the common room of our apartment and plunked himself into a nearby chair. Following, I shook my head. "Good try," I admonished, crooking my finger at my irate young Padawan. "I can't do anything with that braid if you're sitting by yourself." I beckoned him over to the couch near the back window, and sullenly Anakin dragged himself over even as I seated myself. The force with which he sat down on my left side was telling.

"Oh, stop looking so gloomy," I chided, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. "Turn," I instructed, demonstrating with one finger. Obediently he shifted around a bit so that I would have an easier time positioning my hands, and I took this encouragingly - at least he wasn't angry or annoyed enough with me to blatantly refuse.

"Stop hunching over." I hit him lightly, causing his shoulders to straighten. "That's better," I declared approvingly. My hands now gently grasped his Padawan braid, my fingers moving with the skill of long practice to unlock the twisted strands. There was a snarl in the beginning, in the tail end of the braid, that put up a fairly good resistance, but after beating and pulling it into line with small winces from Anakin the rest went quite smoothly.

My apprentice must have felt my fingers retreat, for now he spoke up pleadingly. "Don't cut it too much, okay?"

I chuckled quietly. "You really like it that much, eh? I'm only going to trim the end," I reassured him, taking up the pair of snippers. I didn't know what they were officially called - scissors, shears, or something else altogether - but I used them to snip my Padawan's braid, so that was I called them.

Anakin winced again as the distinctive sound of snipped hair came close to his ears. I few moments later, I put the snippers back down on the couch beside me and surveyed my handiwork with satisfaction. Admittedly, it was a small accomplishment in the larger scheme of my life, but I felt a slight sense of pride all the same.

"There now, see?" I said to Anakin, holding the braid out so he could see. "You can barely tell it was shortened, though it does look a bit less mussy now."

"I s'pose so," he replied dubiously. He took the braid and rolled it between his fingers, watching the tail flick back and forth as if twitching in pain. After a few moments, he looked up, a little frown in his eyes. "Master," he said slowly, "I have a question."

Leaning back, I folded my arms and nodded. "Go ahead."

"Do you miss your Padawan braid?"

In the silence that followed, I opened my mouth, then closed it again, staring at him with something between surprise and shock. Knowing his curious mind, I had expected a more, well, applicable question, something that would evolve into a long detailed discussion, and quite likely an argument. I hadn't at all anticipated something so simple and heartfelt.

"Well," I said slowly, stalling my response as I rapidly attempted to whip my thoughts into some semblance of coherence, "I don't know." I glanced over, and saw Anakin's face alight with eager intensity, then asked, "Should I?"

"Well, sure!" he replied earnestly. "I mean," he hastily amended, "it's okay if you don't, but I thought you… might…." He trailed off uncertainly, once again stroking his now loose braid.

"Here, let me do it up again," I suggested, taking the lock of hair between my fingers. In the silence that followed, as I began the process of rebraiding, I found my mind wandering off, unwittingly remembering my own Padawan days. Recollections of Qui-Gon fixing my own braid resurfaced, and I smiled fondly. Realization slowly came - memories of that braid instinctively connected, one way or another, with every aspect of my apprenticehood. It was more than just a symbol of being trained in the Jedi Order - it was a tangible manifestation of the lessons learned, the thoughts recalled, the relationships cultivated, the failures suffered, and the successes celebrated throughout the years spent under the guidance of a master.

Deftly, I tied off my Padawan's braid with a short length of colored cord, and I smiled as our eyes met in understanding.

"Yes, Anakin. I do miss my Padawan braid."

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