The doll was an unbritched omega, a sweet cross-stitched smile with long hemp brown hair and a no frills dressing gown. Pretty blue stones had been sewn in as eyes, and a swaddled lump was held in crossed arms— a crechéling.

And now, with the scent of his oma in his arms and his Master in his nose, Anakin finally found some measure of peace.

Yet, Obi-Wan couldn't abide the scent of a strange omega in his den. Nevermind that he had truly believed Anakin had been trying to let go of the past, and that he'd been deceived all along. He was using the poppet as a crutch instead of releasing his emotions to the Force. A failure of his teachings, thrown in Obi-Wan's face while Anakin was most vulnerable...

Anakin, ever so canny, must have caught the minute change in his scent, because he flinched violently from his dreaming and clutched his doll to his chest, rolling off Obi-Wan's chest and the pallet, landing on his feet.

"Master, I...I..."

"What are you doing, Anakin?" Obi-Wan whispered, trying to force his scent down from overbearing.

"Please," he said, utterly unlike himself, "Please. Please Master..." He didn't seem able to summon up more words, and he couldn't stop himself from backing away. The quilt went with him, and Obi-Wan realized the boy clutched the sheet that had served as a thin barrier between their nearly bare skin in a white knuckled grip.

That was the moment he realized that something was more than off, it was wrong.

He sat up quickly in bed, swinging his legs around and planting them on the floor to stand, but before he could even complete the motion, Anakin darted out of the room, tangling him up in the quilt as he ran. Obi-Wan grabbed the linens to try to stop him, but Anakin had always had a startling strength in him and yanked it hard with a sharp growl. The quilt tore in two among the seams and Anakin fled unimpeded.

With as much Force enhanced speed as he could muster, Obi-Wan tore after Anakin, bare feet slapping on the cold marble of the Temple hall floors, but Anakin was small and fast, barely staying ahead of his Master's outstretched hand by the virtue of taking extremely tight turns at high speed and throwing himself into a droid tunnel Obi-Wan hadn't even known existed.

"Anakin!" He shouted down the tube, nearly flinging himself down as well and stopping only because the breadth of his shoulders slammed into the wall. "Come back!" But there was no answer; he was long gone.

He searched the Force, and nudged the simmering bond at the back of his mind, but Anakin was dearly loved by the Force and his presence was nebulous and still in motion. Anakin was difficult to find when he didn’t want to be found. Anakin was near, he knew, and he was grateful that at least his Padawan had stayed in the Temple. Something told him that Anakin couldn't leave, even if he wanted to. Not that that had ever stopped him before, he thought dryly.

In releasing his worry, his fear, his disgruntlement that his apprentice had violated his den to the Force, he gleaned that Anakin was in no immediate danger, if not well.

Sticky sweat dried in his chest hair, prickling uncomfortably in the cool Coruscant night. His padawan usually ran cold, with feet and hands like ice blocks. He'd been fever-warm against Obi-Wan, enough to make him sweat through his relatively light quilt.

Lingering on his skin was a smell like the poppet, but not quite.

In fact, he would say it was a scent that was uniquely Anakin, or at least it reminded him of the boy. Instinct recognized the scent that bloomed as belonging to his apprentice, as close to family as a Jedi would ever get.

He squashed the thought.

The scent was much like the oma's poppet, but sharper, with elements of an astringent, sweet scent like arsenic. Pretty, but dangerous; an odd but not ill fitting scent mark for a plain faced yet obstinate youngling.

The right thing to do, he mused as he let his feet and nose guide him down into the abandoned depths of the Temple, seeking out the nascent aroma that clung to his ravaged glands, would be to alert the Council of his Padawans imminent presentation. Ten was young for a human, but not unheard of. In his physical, Anakin had scored closer to "near human of indeterminate speciation" than the typical hominius ruscant. Perhaps the young presentation was normal, as it was for the Naboo or the Eriadune.

Obi-Wan’s presentation was a source of infinite mortification. He'd been fourteen, and overcompensating for his lack of scent with overt aggression not befitting a Padawan. He had let his fear rule him most shamefully, instead of trusting in the Force. Initiates who didn't present as alpha by fifteen were betas, and therefore could not become Jedi Knights. There was nothing he wanted more in the world than to become a Knight. Once he relinquished the selfish motivations, greed, pride, and fear, the Force had brought him and his Master together.

So many exceptions had already been made for Obi-Wan to train the boy, and he regretted none of his boldness, but sometimes he felt for his Padawan. If he had been an unpresented Padawan without a Master, he would have been undeniably bitter. It was not the mark of a Knight, nor of an alpha, but it was true.

The hallways grew darker and narrower as he descended into the underbelly of the Temple. The air was cold, and abandoned pipes that had onced pumped lower level steam through the entire Temple groaned and creaked, crying out for lost purpose.

The scent grew stronger.

Aggression was expected amongst alphas, and methodologically tamed in a process that had stood ten thousand years times. At presentation, alphas were kept in communal dorms for five years while training under their Master, who served as their Alpha Prime, the only person a Jedi ever submitted to while learning the ways of the Force. Anakin had fought tooth and nail to avoid the dormitory, rebuked the fellowship of other alphas, and rarely submitted to his Master. Every order yielded a slew of questions, never answered to his Padawan's satisfaction. Few Masters had the patience to answer them when they were responsible for one sixty other alphas that might actually challenge their authority. That burden fell to Obi-Wan, as Anakin’s master.

"Meditate on it, Padawan," he'd say when finally his knowledge was exhausted, Anakin's mind dancing through unpredictable lines of thought, "There is no ignorance, there is knowledge. All the answers you seek shall be found within the Force."

He would inject an alpha tone into his voice, laced with all but a Force suggestion, his scent heavy and heady, the scent of poppy seeds. Anakin's lips would clamp shut, but his stubborn chin would jut, a promise in pale eyes that whatever they'd been discussing wasn't finished.

Jedi were not proud, so Obi-Wan could admit to himself that he'd hurry to the Archives and hunt down a satisfactory potential answer while Anakin was in lessons. The delight that replaced the frustration when Anakin finally understood always made the frantic research worth it. Qui-Gon would have known, the doubter his head whispered, but he released the shame to the Force and soldiered on.

Alphas led, betas followed, and omegas served. It was the way of the Force. It was the way of the Galaxy.

Most people in the galaxy were technically alphas. Any alpha subservient to another alpha became a beta. These were the alphas that were less dominant, less Force sensitive, and less capable of rule. They led packs and established hierarchy amongst themselves, each alpha catering to a clique of breeding omegas. Betas presented by sixteen.

Omegas were easily identified at birth, due to their ambiguous external genitalia. Anakin had fiercely fought off any physical exam more invasive than the blood stick test, after the Master Healer had determined it was safer to deactivate rather than excise his slave implant. The length of his sharp fangs had taken a chunk out of the Apprentice' forearm, and with a cry of pain and disgust and unrepentant rage, that had been that. With his ambiguous genetic profile, male presentation, and external genitals, the Healers had been relieved to sign him off as an alpha potentiate, if only to spare themselves the presence of a mauling youngling and his antsy, non-compliant master.

He was close. "Padawan?" He called, "Anakin, show yourself!"

The scent shifted from one of anxious fear to anger. The temperature of the air seemed to cool even further, and Obi-Wan knew he'd found his Padawan.

Anakin had taken to the teachings of the Jedi like a fish to water, but rarely, he would push himself to Force exhaustion. His skin would burn and smoke, the air became a cold heatsink around him, and everything trembled. This wasn't Force exhaustion, though. This...was different.

"Anakin," he called again, alpha command heavy.

A high, long whine responded. He tracked the sound down to a loose panel in the wall. He pressed his ear to the durasteel, and tapped it with a finger to feel the vibration. A mouse droid whistled.

"Padawan, I'm coming in," he said, "step aside."

With the Force, he pulled aside the panel and crawled into the vent. This one, he at least fit in, and he was instantly engulfed in oppressive, wet heat.

This vent must've sat directly above a sewer grate. If he hadn't pulled on his cloak his knees and elbow would've burned on the hot metal. Anakin didn't have the same problem, as he was huddled on top of his half of the torn quilt. Despite the source of the heat, it smelled good; the source of the elusive scent he'd been tracking completely encompassed and concentrated. Like a broken vial of high end perfume in a closet, it completely filled his senses.

And his padawan was enraged at the intrusion.

"Go away!" He hissed, baring the fangs that didn't look hilariously overgrown anymore. The fangs that had easily taken a chunk out of the arms of someone trying to help him. The hissing did not adjourn, dry and rattling a threat that Anakin wouldn't hesitate to do it to Obi-Wan too.

An alpha would have attacked by now. Obi-Wan had puffed his chest and presented his scent, prepared to dominate his wayward ward into obedience, as was the way of all Alpha Prime, but he quickly deflated; these were not the pheromones of an alpha.

Obi-Wan did not go away; instead he pulled the panel shut, airtight with a harried wave of a hand. The durasteel fitted airtight with Obi-Wan's greater skill with the Force. That Anakin had even been able to manipulate it loose and then seal it up again while so disoriented was a testament to his prodigal skills. From Obi-Wan's recollection of their training, Anakin had not yet mastered telekinesis.

He realized where Anakin must have vanished for the past few days. The entire room? Pod?

Nest, the word, only ever clinically known from distant past lessons, came to him, and he ruthlessly squashed down the bubbling panic that Anakin was an omega--

The nest was large enough that the two of them fit. Perhaps three people could fit, though it would have been a tight fit. It wasn't dark, Anakin had wired dim halogen lights along the floor. It reminded Obi-Wan of Ilum, where the caves were lit by irregular glimmers of khyber. The durasteel was freshly welded; neat professional soldering affixing radiator pipes carefully insulated with stripped, dried, and bleached hair and vines. He recognized the bright copper of his own hair, shed throughout what must have been months, spun with blood red lineon vine to create red, gold, black and brown radiator covers.

If it was anyone other than Anakin, he would have questioned how so much could be built in so little time.

The quilt was the only thing sparing Anakin's naked skin from hard metal. He'd been curled up, the poppet pressed to his belly and nuzzled to just under his chin, but he sat up and scuttled back as his Master approached. The angry scent was easy to ignore, the hissing, less so.

"Hush now," he ordered, tone firm but gentle. "Listen to your Master, young one. You have nothing to fear from me."

It seemed the boy was beyond words, because Anakin only hissed, his nascent pheromones filling the air with the scent of distress and aggression. Obi-Wan inches forward and only a bare warning in the Force allowed him to throw up a barrier as Anakin kicked his grip off with an astonishingly powerful Force push. Obi-Wan skittered back, his back slamming into the durasteel head behind him.

"Oof," the small sound of pain seemed to be enough to jolt Anakin from his feral terror. He curled in on himself, tucking his face into his knees and watching his Master from the peripheral.

He whined, a soft high noise Obi-Wan instantly recognized as a plea, apologetic and begging the alpha to stay away.

A Jedi did not cower before anything, not even the Force.

"Get up, Anakin," Obi-Wan forced himself to be toneless, ruthlessly stomping on the urge to gather up the youngling into his arms and scent him unless not a trace of unease remained. "This is behavior unbefitting of a future Knight. You are in heat, not dying, and I have never known my Padawan to be a coward."

"Heat?" Anakin questioned hazily, disoriented in a way Obi-Wan had never seen him before. "But Jedi are all Alphas."