This is just an experiment with a new type of fic. Third person, in present tense. Set right after TPM.

Disclaimer: I am not George Lucas. The closest I have ever come to owning Star Wars was a plastic purple lightsaber.

Strike

Obi-Wan-Kenobi is not happy with his padawan.

His padawan of less than a week, mind you, who had already proven to be more trouble than any of the other pathetic life forms Qui-gon had brought home over the years.

Qui-gon. But Obi-wan stops that thought right in its tracks, turning his attention rather to the mess in front of him. His padawan sits in the middle of the kitchen floor, covered from head to toe with…something.

"Anakin." His voice is tight, controlled. He will not yell. He will not. "What happened here?"

Anakin looks up at him, with tears beginning to gather in the corner of his eyes. "I-I'm sorry Master, sir. I w-wanted to make lunch, but then I spilt …"

"I don't care." He states impatiently. "Just clean it up." The words come out harsher that he means them to, and he flinches internally. It's not his fault; the council has been talking to him all morning about a certain…incident in the cafeteria. Which, incidentally, also involved his padawan, sitting on the floor, covered in foodstuffs.

The words are too late to take back, however. And Anakin's lower lip begins to tremble. Obi-wan sighs, and steps forward, lifting a hand to scrape off some of the gunk that encrusts Anakin's face. Ha has shown the child very little physical contact over the past couple of days, and is slightly unsure of how Anakin will react. Whatever he is expecting, it is certainly not for Anakin to cower back with his eyes shut tight, hands up as if to deflect a blow.

Shocked, Obi-wan drops to his knees beside the boy. "Anakin" He murmurs softly, so as not to startle him further "I'm not-I'm not going to strike you."

"You're not?" The hands go down and the eyes open, thought they remain wary.

"Of course not. Why would you think otherwise." He knows, of course, but he doesn't want to believe it. He is still hoping, foolishly, that Anakin will say he has not idea. He does not want to imagine someone striking the boy.

"I made you mad." Anakin is oblivious to the distress this is causing his master. To him, it is simply fact of life. "When you make a man mad, you get hit."

"Oh, Anakin." The clipped Coruascant accent shakes slightly. Obi-wan knew, intellectually, that his padawan had been a slave. But it is not until this moment, kneeling on the floor in a puddle of various ingredients that he truly realizes what it means. Obi-wan opens his arms. "Come here, Anakin."

Wide eyed, Anakin scrambles over and settles himself on Obi-wan's lap. This is a highly unexpected, though certainly not unwelcome turn of events. "..So," He asks hesitantly "you're really not going to hit me?'

"No." The voice is low. "No, I promise I will never hit you Anakin."

Anakin decides that he likes being held by Obi-wan. It's different than being held by his mother, but not in a bad way. He feels just as safe, just as protected. It's the safest he's felt since he left Tattooine. He is silent for a moment, afraid to break this protective bubble. But he is a nine year od boy, and he cannot say silent and still for long.

"Never gonna hit me, huh? He mumbles into the Jedi's shirt. "I could get used to this.

Sitting there, in a puddle of sticky goo, with his padawan in his arms, Obi-wan begins to think that just could get used to this as well.

…though he could do without the goo.

So, is it glaringly obvious that this was entirely spur-of-the-moment, and that I have never written anything like this before? Or did I do okay? Review and tell me!