s'cuse me if i spoke too soon.

Friday, May 15th. 9:30 h.

“Professor?” You knocked on the open office door.

Obi-wan was hunched over his computer, reading something intently. The sound made him start, and when he looked up his expression softened.

“Counselor,” he greeted with a grin. “Board meeting?”

“I’m afraid so. Hopefully this time I won’t be called illiterate.” You teased with an arched eyebrow.

He winced, “I don’t think anyone, could ever, refer to you as illiterate, honey.” 

“Yeah, well” you hurried to dismiss the pet name, “you know these smartasses.” 

He scoffed, pretending offense. “Let’s get you paid before the meeting.”

He snapped the laptop shut and rose from his chair. You leaned casually against the threshold as he passed, the brush of his sleeve grazing yours.

The campus was silent that early in the morning; most of the students were inside a class and the rest wanted to stay as far from the faculty buildings as possible.

You walked next to him in silence allowing the sun to wake you up.

In the coffee line, you broke the silence. “The Court called for an early hearing.”

He glanced over, brows knitting. “Is that a good thing?”

You shrugged. “Could be. Maybe they’ll grant you temporary guardianship. Or maybe they found something off and want to straighten it out.”

“Off like what?”

You allowed yourself a moment to study him. “What could they find?”

His shoulders slumped. “I don’t know. Anakin’s been… very affected by all this. I don’t know if Child Services might see that as poor parenting.” He cleared his throat just as the barista looked up. “Hello—yes, one large latte, lactose-free milk, no sugar, just a shot of vanilla. And a large dark coffee, please.”

You blinked, heat climbing your cheeks. He had your order memorized. When his blue eyes returned to you, they seemed even brighter.

“What if I wanted a chai?” You asked, leaning against the bar.

His eyebrows shot up, “at this hour? You only drink chai after 2 pm.” 

You rolled your eyes with a smile.

“Are you keeping tabs on my payment plan, by the way?” He teased, moving closer to you.

“I have an estimate, would you like a receipt?”

“Please” 

You grabbed the ticket from his hand and taking the pen he had clipped to his blazer you wrote on the back:

Payment received for a total of 3 hours of attorney services

You signed below it and offered the pen back to him.

“Three hours?” he squealed.

“Would you rather the standard 450 credits per hour?” 

He snatched the ticket back muttering “Thanks” with mirth in his eyes.

“Might be a good sign” you said carefully. “The Hearing. If they found something wrong with Ani’s mood then the hearing will be just to order therapy. No biggie.” You gave him a smile meant to ease his nerves.

But the way his lips quivered told you it hadn’t.

“Want to have dinner and go over the case?” you offered. “Oh, sorry, it’s Friday, you sure ha—“

“Please,” he said, without hesitation.

Back at the building, it was all arched brows, turned heads and side glances when Dr. Kenobi held the door for you, and you walked in carrying a cup of coffee labeled ‘Ben’.

“Where’s the little gremlin?” you asked the second you walked in.

“With his grandad.” Obi-Wan closed the door behind you and hurried to leave your briefcase—snatched from your shoulder the moment he saw you—on the couch.

“I thought he wasn’t a fan?” you teased.

“He isn’t. But Anakin has made friends with my grandad’s roommate”

Your brow arched.

“He’s an old guy like him, no kids, no family—he likes playing with Ani.”

You nodded as you wandered further inside. Last time you hadn’t felt confident enough to poke around, but tonight curiosity won. The living room opened warm and lived-in: a navy couch, shelves brimming with books, a plasma TV surrounded by a tangle of video games, and in the corner, a guitar resting on a shelf.

“Nintendo's mine. Xbox is Anakin’s,” Obi-Wan added.

You shot him a smile. “And the guitar?”

“My father’s.”

You wandered. Beyond the living room there was a hallway with two open doors—one leading to a room with a big, plain bed; the other a single bed buried in toys. The air smelled of tomato and parsley, leaning down in the kitchen you peeked a lasagna in the oven.

“Obi-Wan,” you said with a smile—your natural state around him, apparently.

He echoed your name in that same softened tone, pulling out a chair for you.

Dinner stretched into half a bottle of red wine, your cheeks glowing as you toyed with your glass. “We’ve established you’re not a sexual predator.”

His eyes widened and he gulped.

“So I don’t think bad news is in store for Monday. But… you never told me how the interview went.”

He drained his glass before answering.

“That bad?” you jested.

“He didn’t like my apartment.” He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Called it a bachelor’s suite. Said it wasn’t in a good school district.”

“To that,” you said, refilling both glasses, “you tell him you’d rather drive Ani to his old school in your very safe Volvo.”

He rolled his eyes. “I said I’d look for a new neighbourhood." 

You rolled yours with a smirk. 

“Did they ask about the incident?” You asked in a hushed voice.

“Of course. He wanted to know it all: how it happened, why they were here, everything.”

“What did you say?” You pressed.

“The truth.”

“And that is?”

He looked at you through blondish lashes.

“That they met on Tatooine. That my dad had an ick for traveling to… weird dangerous places it seems.” a smile hitched his lips, “That they fell in love and began traveling the world together.”

“That’s beautiful” you managed to smile despite the infinite sadness that was enveloping your heart. 

“My dad he—he was never the same after my mom died. It broke something in him, I guess. But then I went to college, and he met Shmi. They had Anakin and…” he bit the inside of his cheek, “then that was it.” 

“And how come they never… fixed her status?” 

“They were on it. She was months away from her final exam when my dad died. Officers decided since my dad was dead, his petition for his wife should not continue.” 

“Oh” was all you could say as you looked back into his eyes.

“And the incident… It was one of those big transport vehicles that crashed into them on the highway.” His fingers moved across the table, trying to gesture the event, “My dad was driving, he took most of it. He died hours later in the hospital. Shmi had a few injuries but managed to call for an ambulance. Anakin was in the back and did not get hurt at all. When I got the call I went to the hospital, and—” he struggled to continue speaking.

Your own palm was burning as you stared at his trembling ones.

“I—uh, only found Anakin.” 

“But—”

“I saw my dad, got to speak with him for a bit. He asked me to keep Anakin and educate him. Specifically, to give him the best, as he had given it to me.” He cleaned the fresh tear on his cheek with the back of his hand, his eyes lost in the distance.  “I’m trying to hold on to that promise.”

Moving on its own accord, your arm extended on the table to steady his fidgeting fingers, in one stretch you covered his hand with yours.

Holding your gaze with a nod, he lifted your jointed hands to place a kiss on your knuckles.

“Thank you.” 

Monday, May 18. 10:30 h.

“All rise.” 

Obi-wan was standing next to you, both hands in his pockets.

The Judge smiled at you with practiced ease. You returned the gesture.

Across the room, a man in a khaki suit rose. Reading from a file, he announced, “Child Services respectfully requests this Court to immediately alter the order of disputed matters based on preliminary findings, and to appoint Minor’s Counsel for the child.”

Every hair on your body bristled. You craned your neck toward the Judge, catching her eyes widened in shock as the man continued.

“The minor presents symptoms of low self-esteem, fear, post-traumatic stress disorder”

“They’ll order therapy, I told you so.” You murmured to Obi-wan with a smirk.

“and grooming.”

The word hollowed your chest. 

It—it couldn’t be.

“The child has also expressed doubt as to whether the Petitioner feels any love or care for him.”

Your heart thundered in your ears.

“The Child Care Services of this Country believes, and therefore alleges, that it is not in the best interest of child A.S. to remain in the custody of the Petitioner.”

Thump thump thump

“This party requests removal of minor child A.S. and placement in temporary foster care or with another family member.”

Nausea twisted your stomach as a sharp, cold ache spread down your arm, throbbing in sync with your pulse. Obi-Wan’s fingers tightened on your bicep, whether for support or to steady himself, you didn’t know.

You wanted to shake him off, to shout, to claw at his face. How could he?

The Judge’s lips moved, but you heard nothing. The pounding in your veins swallowed everything.

“Counsel?” Her voice rang out, snapping you back.

“Apologies, Your Honor.” You rose, still dizzy. “Petitioner requests to dismiss Child Services’ preliminary report and allow us to provide expert testimony. The child’s symptoms are consistent with grief—his father just died and mother was deported. What this poor boy needs is stability. His family. Not a foster placement with ten other children who’ve endured the same or worse.”

“I agree,” she said, solemn now, eyes on the file. “There are other family members available. Temporary guardianship will be granted to the grandfather, with 3 hours of daily supervised visits for your client.”

“Your honor, this is a preliminary report, we respectfully request this Court to treat it as such.“

“I’ve had parents arrested before because of a preliminary report, on your request. Haven’t I counsel?” Her voice made you tremble on the spot.

A beat. “Yes, your honor.” 

“Very well then—Five times a week. Two hours per visit.”

“Your Honor, my client cannot afford a Minor’s Counsel plus 20 hours of a supervisor weekly just to see his brother. They live together, I’m sure there’s a more reasonable measu--”

“Since you’re so concerned with your client’s finances,” she cut in coolly, “you will act as the authorized supervisor. How you bill those hours is up to you.”

“Your Honor, respectfully—”

“Respectfully,” she echoed, steel in her voice, “this Court is aware of how unusual this appointment is. I grant it only because you have proved to be a friend of this Court and more so, an avid fighter for children’s rights as Minor’s Counsel. However, those good graces can change very easily. I am also ordering the District Attorney to open an investigation on the Petitioner, as well as the Marshals of this Court to pick up the child from school and deliver him to his new temporary guardian. The visitation schedule will begin on Wednesday.” The Judge straightened up in her seat, “Accept the Court’s gift, Counsel. Gather your case. We will reconvene in July.”

“Thank you, Your Honor.” You nodded, numb, staring at the desk.

“And Counsel—” you looked up—“inform your client that clutching his attorney’s limbs is no way to convince this Court of his parenting skills.”

You yanked your arm free. Obi-Wan’s hands fell uselessly to his sides, his face hollow, defeated.

“What are you thinking of?” Obi-wan asked from across your office.

You were barefoot, standing at the window, arms folded tight. For the last 45 minutes you had kept silent as if it were your right.

You heard your name echo through the room, ignored it—until his strawberry blond head blocked your view.

“Talk to me.” he demanded. Demanded. This man.

“I’m replaying every single second of your interactions with him in my head to figure out whether you’re clean or you fucking lied to me and I should be kicking you off the rooftop. So you better give me the fucking truth now, Doctor.”

His shoulders jerked back. “You can’t seriously believe that I—“

“I don’t know,” you cut in, your voice a knife. “I have no way of knowing. It’s just your word against a psychological evaluation.”

He stepped closer, careful. “You know me.”

“Do I?”

The question seemed to whip across his face, narrowing his eyes. “I love that kid.” The words burst out like they hurt to say.

You closed the space between you, deliberate, chin lifted. “Yeah? if I’m gonna throw my reputation to the mud, I’m gonna need more than that.”

It worked—he backpedaled until his knees hit the chair and he dropped into it.

“It hasn’t been easy.” A sharp breath tore from his chest. “Learning to live together has been a… bumpy road.”

“What kind of bumps? ‘It’s my turn to watch tv, move away from the couch’ bumps, or ‘let’s involve law enforcement’ bumps?”

“The kind of ‘he drives me crazy sometimes, with his questioning, and his little furrowed eyebrows and pouts to get whatever he wants’ bumps.” He raked a hand through his hair. “And the ‘I am jealous of you because you became my father’s everything and it’s stupid that I feel this way because I was 20 when you were born’ bumps. And ‘I hate that I have to take care of you and mold my life to yours because my father died, and I hate my father for dying and leaving this on me’ bumps. But GOD.” He dragged his palms down his face, muffling his voice. “I love that kid. I would never hurt him. NEVER.”

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. You stood rooted, arms limp at your sides, staring.

“You must believe me.” His plea was soft.

“If it is such a burden then why not get on a plane and take him to his mom?” You asked. “We could’ve asked the Court to grant you permission to travel off country with him and that’s that. Mom has custody and raises Ani.” 

His head moved sideways almost obsessively. “That’s not what my dad wanted.” 

Your hands found your hips in a loud slap, too tired to argue further. “Alright” 

You exhaled hard, the sound like a release. His shoulders sagged, eyes weary, brows drawn tight. Every cell in your body wanted to believe him.

“We’ll receive copies of the report in the next few days. We’ll trace a strategy from there.”

“Isn’t there someone you can talk to—“ he swallowed, “—change this?”

You blinked. “Oh no, honey, it doesn’t work like that. You should’ve told me beforehand so I could have paid off Child Services in advance.” Your smile was all teeth, dripping with sarcasm.

“That’s not what—“

“In case you haven’t noticed”—you stepped in, hands on your hips—“we are not so fucked because the Court thinks highly of me. I strongly recommend you to do so as well.”

His eyes hollowed out, with a nod he looked away from you. 

“I have to meet a client.” You moved to grab your briefcase.