The Petition and Anakin

“I just need your signature, Dad,” Niles Crane says, holding out the clipboard with an air of impatience. “Right on this line.”

His father, Martin, squints at the document, reading glasses perched on the end of his nose. “What is this thing again?”

“It’s merely a neighborhood petition to prevent the destruction of the heritage façade on the Thurlow building! As one would think I’ve stated to excess by now!” Niles… explains? tapping his finger against the paper. “We’ve already collected signatures from most of the residents in your building, can’t you see it’s embarrassing when I go to visit the others and they point to my own father on the list of holdouts!”

From his position near the window, Anakin watches the exchange with interest. He’s been in this strange dimension for just over a week now, enough time to observe the complex dynamics of the Crane household but not quite long enough to fully understand them.

Martin frowns, still studying the document. “You’re not ‘visiting’ them, you’re bothering them! Besides… gee, there’s an awful lot of uh, fancy words on here,” smiling at Anakin with a wink.

“Yes, well, some would call them ‘precise’ words, and legal precision is essential in matters such as these!” his son snaps says with a dismissive wave. “The specificity of the language helps prevent loopholes that developers could exploit. Now, if you would just — “

“Hold on, I want to know what I’m signing,” Martin insists, “I ain’t gonna sign anything without readin’ it and I can’t read this!”

Niles sighs, clearly exasperated. “Dad, I’ve already explained it. Once, twice, tree times! It’s a petition to preserve architectural heritage! Surely that is a straightforward enough concept to grasp?”

Anakin notices Martin’s jaw tighten. The older man pushes the clipboard away.

“If you can’t explain it in plain English, I’m not signing it.”

“I have explained it in ‘plain English,’” Niles retorts, making air quotes with his fingers. “The petition addresses the potential demolition of historically significant architectural elements during the proposed renovation of — “

“Nope,” Martin interrupts, reaching for the remote control. “That’s not plain English. That’s fancy-pants lawyer talk.”

Niles’s face flushes with frustration. “It is not ‘fancy-pants lawyer talk.’ It’s simply precise terminology appropriate to the subject matter.”

“Whatever you want to call it, I don’t understand half of what’s on that paper, and I’m not signing something I don’t understand.”

“Dad, please,” Niles says, his voice strained. “Everyone else has signed it. Mrs. Whitley in 1402, the Hendersons in 1204, even Mr. Flenderson who barely speaks English — “

“Good for them,” Martin says, turning on the television. “Maybe they understood it better than I do.”

Niles straightens, visibly stung. “Are you implying that you’re incapable of comprehending basic architectural preservation concepts? Because I assure you, even someone with a high school education should be able to — “

“That’s enough,” Anakin interjects, stepping forward. Both Cranes turn to look at him, surprised by his sudden involvement. “Niles, may I see the petition?”

After a moment’s hesitation, Niles hands him the clipboard. Anakin scans the document, then looks up at Martin.

“This petition is about stopping a company from removing the original stone carvings and decorations from the front of a historic building during renovation,” he says. “The company wants to replace them with modern materials to save money, but that would destroy part of the neighborhood’s character and history.”

Martin nods. “Well, why didn’t he just say that?”

Niles opens his mouth to protest, but Anakin continues.

“The petition asks the city council to enforce the existing heritage protection laws to prevent the company from making these changes.” He hands the clipboard back to Niles. “That’s it.”

“Thanks, Annie,” Martin says, reaching for the clipboard. “Now I know what I’m signing. See, Niles? That wasn’t so hard.”

Niles snatches the clipboard back. “I said essentially the same thing!”

“No, you didn’t,” Anakin says quietly. “You used words like ‘heritage façade’ and ‘architectural elements’ without explaining what they mean.”

“Those are the correct terms!”

“But they’re not terms everyone knows,” Anakin points out. “When I arrived on Earth, Daphne had to explain to me what a ‘blender’ was. It’s not that I couldn’t understand the concept once she described it, but the word itself meant nothing to me.”

Niles scoffs. “That’s hardly the same thing. My father has lived in this city for decades. He should be familiar with basic civic terminology.”

Martin rises from his chair, his face reddening. “And there it is! The attitude that I’m some kind of idiot because I don’t talk like you and your fancy friends!”

“I never said — “

“You didn’t have to say it. It’s in every eye roll, every sigh, every time you use ten-dollar words when five-cent ones would do just fine.” Martin shakes his head. “You know what? Keep your petition. I’m going to take Eddie for a walk.”

He grabs the leash from the hook by the door, whistles for his dog, and leaves, slamming the door behind him.

Niles stands frozen, the clipboard still in his hand. “Well,” he says after a moment, his voice brittle, “that was certainly dramatic.”

Anakin studies him. “You really don’t see it, do you?”

“See what?” Niles asks defensively.

“How you just made your father feel.”

“Oh, please,” Niles says, placing the clipboard on the coffee table. “My father has a tendency toward hyperbole. He’ll calm down once he’s had his walk.”

“Maybe,” Anakin says. “But that doesn’t mean he’s wrong.”

Niles’s eyes narrow. “I beg your pardon?”

“You use language as a weapon, Niles.”

“I most certainly do not!”

“You do,” Anakin insists. “Maybe not intentionally, but the effect is the same. You choose words that create distance between you and others, especially your father.”

“That’s absurd. I simply employ a vocabulary appropriate to my education and profession.”

“Even when it excludes the person you’re talking to?”

Niles adjusts his tie, a nervous habit Anakin has observed before. “I refuse to dumb down my language simply because others choose not to expand their lexicons.”

“It’s not about ‘dumbing down,’” Anakin says. “It’s about communication. Real communication means making sure the other person understands what you’re saying.”

“My father is perfectly capable of understanding me if he makes an effort.”

“Why should he have to make all the effort?” Anakin asks. “Isn’t communication a two-way street?”

Niles opens his mouth, then closes it again. For a brief moment, uncertainty flickers across his face.

“I should prepare for my afternoon appointments,” he says finally, gathering his coat. “Please tell my father I’ll call him later.”

As Niles leaves, Daphne emerges from the kitchen, having clearly heard the entire exchange.

“Well,” she says, “that went about as well as a Manchester United fan at a Liverpool pub.”

Anakin raises an eyebrow. “I don’t understand that reference.”

She smiles. “Exactly my point. Maybe Dr. Crane will think about what you said. He’s not a bad person, you know. Just… stuck in his ways.”

“I know,” Anakin says, looking toward the door. “But sometimes being stuck is worse than being bad. At least bad can change.”

Daphne studies him with curious eyes. “You sound like you might know something about that.”

Anakin turns away, his gaze drifting to the skyline visible through the window. “Let’s just say I’ve seen what happens when people can’t — or won’t — understand each other.”

“And it’s not pretty?”

“No,” he says quietly. “It’s not pretty at all.”

Three days have passed since the confrontation over Martin’s signature, and the atmosphere in the Crane household has shifted in subtle ways. Anakin notices how Niles now pauses occasionally mid-sentence, recalibrating his vocabulary when speaking to his father. The effort is obvious — sometimes painfully so — but the intention behind it strikes Anakin as genuine.

Morning light streams through the windows as Anakin enters the kitchen, finding Daphne humming to herself while preparing breakfast. The domestic scene still feels alien to him, yet increasingly comforting in its predictability.

“Morning, Annie,” she says brightly, sliding a cup of coffee toward him. “Sleep well?”

“Better,” he admits, accepting the cup. Since his arrival in this strange dimension, sleep has been elusive — his dreams haunted by faces he fears he might never see again.

“Good! Dr. Crane’s been asking after you. The younger one, that is.”

Anakin raises an eyebrow. “Has he?”

“Mmhmm. Called twice yesterday when you were out with Mr. Crane.” She flips a pancake with expert precision. “Think you made quite an impression on him.”

Before Anakin can respond, the apartment door opens, and the subject of their conversation appears. Niles stands in the entryway, impeccably dressed as always, his posture radiating the careful composure that Anakin has come to recognize as his defensive stance.

“Good morning,” he says, his gaze landing briefly on Anakin before shifting to Daphne. “I hope I’m not interrupting the breakfast preparations.”

“Not at all, Dr. Crane. Coffee’s fresh,” Daphne replies, gesturing with her spatula.

Niles approaches the counter with measured steps, his movements betraying a slight nervousness. “Actually, I was hoping for a word with our… interdimensional visitor.”

Daphne glances between them, her intuition picking up on the undercurrents. “Well, I’m sure you two have lots to talk about. I’ll just be in the other room, yelling at the mixer.” She gathers her baking supplies and retreats, leaving them alone in the kitchen.

For a moment, neither speaks. Anakin waits, having learned long ago the value of silence in diplomatic situations — though he’s rarely had the patience to employ it.

“I’ve been reflecting,” Niles finally says, his voice carefully controlled, “on our… discussion of the… other day.”

“I noticed.”

Niles’s hand moves to adjust his tie — a nervous tic Anakin has cataloged alongside dozens of others. “I spoke with my father yesterday. At length.”

“And?”

“And Dad confirmed, uh, your, well, I suppose, amateur… assessment.” Niles’s composure wavers slightly. “It appears I’ve been… um, well, there’s no easy way to say this, alienating him — unintentionally I might add — with my lexical exigences for quite some time.”

Anakin nods, saying nothing.

“I’ve, um, spent my entire professional career studying… human communication,” Niles continues, a hint of genuine bewilderment creeping into his tone. “The subtle dynamics of interpersonal discourse… the unspoken power structures embedded in language patterns… That I’ve somehow been failing to recognize this fundamental barrier with my own father the entire time… has left me so astonished I can think of no better word for it.”

“Astonishing.”

His smile is sad so Anakin adds,

“Sometimes we’re blind to what’s closest to us,” thinking of his own blindness to Padmé’s fears, to Obi-Wan’s concerns.

“Yes, well.” Niles clears his throat. “In any case, I wanted to express my… appreciation… for your intervention. It was…” he struggles visibly with the admission, “…illuminating.”

Anakin studies him, sensing the genuine effort this acknowledgment requires. “On Tatooine,” he says, “masters used language as a tool. A tool of control. Speaking to themselves in one dialect we weren’t technically allowed to know or speak, but they bark orders in it. Giving living beings orders in a language they barely understood… then punish them for failing to comply to the letter...”

Niles winces. “I assure you, I never intended — “

“I know,” Anakin interrupts firmly. “There’s no comparison. You didn’t intend to wield your vocabulary as a weapon. But intent doesn’t matter if you aren’t even monitoring impact.”

Wincing and sucking in though his teeth, Niles whines with self-deprecating smile, “A distinction I regularly emphasize to my patients! The irony is not lost on me!”

Leaning against the counter, studying the marble, Anakin rolls his shoulders back and moved by how genuine the doctor’s contrition seems relents enough to add, “Good for you for owning it.” Instead of the first thing he thought to say which was. “At long last…”

“You act, as one entity like how all groups of powerful-enough Jedi do when they get comfortable, so it must be natural.”

“I’m… not entirely sure how to take that.”

“They’re well-intentioned too. Wise, even. But they speak in riddles and cryptic pronouncements, expecting everyone to either understand or pretend they understand. Nobody’s explaining anything other than how they think it should be done,” Anakin’s voice takes on an edge. “They forget what it’s like to be on the outside. Whether it’s wisdom, knowledge, credits or weapons, insiders always forget what it means to be on the outside once they’ve been in long enough. And all insiders act the same.”

Niles tilts his head, his clinical curiosity clearly piqued. “And you’ve come to self-identify as an outsider to all community in general, I take it?”

“Always,” Anakin admits. “I’m just a Knight, but I still feel it every day.”

“That must be… frustrating.”

“It’s more than that.” Anakin’s mechanical hand flexes unconsciously. “When someone uses knowledge — or vocabulary — you don’t possess, it creates distance. Makes you feel less than. And eventually…”

“Eventually?”

“Eventually you stop asking questions. Stop trying to understand. You just nod and do what they want, because challenging them only highlights the gap between you.”

Understanding dawns on Niles’s face. “Like my father with the petition.”

“Exactly like that.”

Niles is silent for a long moment, processing. “In my practice,” he says finally, “I often encounter patients who use intellectual obfuscation as a defense mechanism. They construct verbal labyrinths to prevent others from accessing their true vulnerabilities.”

“And you?”

The question hangs in the air between them. Niles looks away, his discomfort palpable.

“I suppose,” he admits quietly, “there’s a certain… safety… in being perceived as intellectually superior. A preemptive strike against potential rejection.”

“I understand that better than you might think,” Anakin says. “Where I come from, power is protection. Strength keeps you safe. But it also keeps you isolated.”

Niles meets his gaze, something shifting in his expression. “You speak from experience, I take it?”

Before Anakin can respond, Martin’s voice calls from the living room. “Hey, is that Niles I hear? Tell him to get his fancy pants in here — the game’s about to start!”

Niles rolls his eyes, but Anakin notices the subtle softening of his features. “Duty calls. The sacred ritual of watching sweaty men chase balls across fields.”

“A pastime that transcends dimensions, apparently,” Anakin says with a hint of a smile. “Your father asked me to watch with him yesterday. I think he’s trying to educate me in Earth customs.”

“God help you,” Niles mutters, but there is no bite to it. He hesitates, then adds, “Would you care to join us? I find these sporting events slightly more tolerable with additional company to share in the befuddlement.”

Anakin recognizes the olive branch for what it is. “Sure,” he says. “Though I should warn you — your father’s already explained the ‘infield fly rule’ to me three times.”

“And do you understand it yet?”

“Not even slightly.”

A genuine laugh escapes Niles — a sound Anakin has rarely heard from him. “Perfect. We can be confused together.”

They move toward the living room, where Martin sits in his beloved chair, Eddie curled at his feet. The older Crane looks up in surprise as both of them enter.

“Niles? You’re staying for the game?”

“Apparently so,” Niles replies, perching on the arm of the sofa. “I’ve decided to expand my cultural horizons.”

Martin looks between them suspiciously. “What’s going on with you two? Yesterday you were at each other’s throats, now you’re buddies?”

“We’ve reached a mutual understanding,” Niles says, glancing at Anakin. “Something about the value of clear communication.”

Martin grunts. “Well, speaking of clear communication — Niles, you’re blocking the TV, and the Mariners are up to bat.”

Niles moves to the sofa proper, settling beside Anakin. “Better?”

“Much,” Martin replies, his attention already fixed on the screen.

As the game proceeds, Anakin finds himself less interested in the unfathomable rules of baseball than in observing the dynamic between father and son. More curious then he knows what to do with. Niles makes several genuine attempts to engage with Martin about the game, asking questions that reveal his complete lack of understanding but also his willingness to learn.

“So why exactly is that particular swing a ‘strike’ when the previous one was a ‘ball’?” he asks at one point.

And instead of his usual dismissive response, Martin takes time to explain, using his hands to demonstrate the strike zone. “See, if it’s in this area, and he swings, it’s a strike. If it’s outside this area, and he doesn’t swing, it’s a ball.”

“That seems arbitrarily complex,” Niles observes.

“That’s baseball for you,” Martin shrugs. “Half the fun is arguing about the calls.”

“I see,” Niles says, though his expression suggests he doesn’t see at all. “And this brings you… pleasure?”

Martin laughs. “Yeah, Niles. It brings me pleasure. Not everything needs to be analyzed to death, you know.”

“A concept I’m still struggling to internalize,” Niles admits with surprising candor.

Martin glances at his son, something softening in his expression. “You’re trying, though. I notice that.”

A moment of understanding passes between them — brief but significant. Anakin feels it in the Force, a small but meaningful shift, like the first crack in a dam.

The front door opens, and Frasier enters, laden with shopping bags. “Hello, all! I’ve acquired the most exquisite selection of artisanal cheeses for our — “ He stops, taking in the scene before him. “Niles? You’re watching baseball? Voluntarily?”

“Don’t sound so astonished, Frasier. I contain multitudes.”

“Multitudes of what, I dare not speculate.” Frasier sets his bags down, his gaze moving to Anakin. “And our extraterrestrial visitor joins the sporting festivities as well. How positively pedestrian.”

“Hey, watch it,” Martin warns. “They’re both being good sports about it.”

“I was merely expressing surprise, not judgment,” Frasier replies, his tone suggesting precisely the opposite. “Though I must say, Niles, I expected better from you. Have you abandoned our plan to attend the Mahler retrospective this afternoon?”

Niles glances at his watch. “We have time for both, Frasier. The symphony doesn’t begin until four.”

“Yes, but the pre-concert lecture on Mahler’s use of folk melodies begins at two, and we still need to collect our tickets, not to mention — “

“I understand baseball now,” Anakin interrupts, his voice casual but carrying an undercurrent that instantly silences the room.

All three Cranes turn to look at him.

“You do?” Martin asks, surprised.

“Not the rules,” Anakin clarifies. “But why you enjoy it.” He gestures to the screen. “It’s unpredictable. Every pitch could change everything. And even when you think you know what’s coming, you can be surprised.”

Martin nods slowly. “Yeah, that’s… that’s part of it.”

“It’s also something you share,” Anakin continues. “A common language. When you talk about home runs and strike zones, you’re all speaking the same dialect.”

Frasier frowns. “Well, I hardly think — “

“And it gives you time,” Anakin goes on, his eyes on Martin. “Time to just… be together. Without having to prove anything.”

The older Crane clears his throat, visibly moved. “Yeah. That’s… that’s exactly it.”

Frasier looks between them, sensing he’s missed something significant. “Well,” he says finally, setting his shopping bags aside. “I suppose the pre-concert lecture is optional. The key themes will likely be reiterated in the program notes.”

“Really?” Niles asks, surprised. “You’re not going to insist?”

“Let’s just say I’m open to alternate cultural experiences today.” Frasier settles on the sofa beside them. “Though I reserve the right to provide erudite commentary throughout.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” Martin says with a grin.

As the Cranes settle into a familiar pattern of banter and commentary, Anakin finds himself contemplating the strange parallels between this world and his own. The Council and the Crane brothers — both wielding intelligence as identity, both inadvertently creating distance through their mastery of language. And yet here, in this apartment, he’s witnessing something that often feels impossible in the Temple: the willingness to bridge that gap, to recognize the barriers and work to dismantle them.

“You’re thinking too loud again,” Daphne whispers, appearing beside him with a plate of fresh pancakes. “I can practically feel the gears turning.”

Anakin smiles faintly. “Just observing.”

“They’re something, aren’t they?” she says, nodding toward the Cranes. “Drive each other mad half the time, but there’s love there. Real love.”

“I see that now,” Anakin admits.

“They just speak different languages. Takes time to translate.” She pats his arm. “Kind of like you did for them the other day.”

“I merely pointed out what was already there.”

“Sometimes that’s all people need — someone to hold up a mirror.” She glances toward Niles, who catches her eye and offers a small smile. “Speaking of which, Dr. Crane seems different today. More… present, somehow. Did you have something to do with that?”

“Possibly,” Anakin says with a smile.

“Must have been one helluva conversation. Oh do you know about…”

“Yes we say that too. And it wasn’t bad talking to Niles.”

“It hardly ever is in my experience.”

Anakin looks to see if Daphne is truly as oblivious as she’s pretending to be but… even with the Force, can’t see inside her mind. She smiles back at him with either perfectly feigned innocence or the real thing.

Later, as the baseball game gives way to post-game analysis and Frasier begins preparing an elaborate lunch (“to compensate for the cerebral atrophy induced by three hours of sports spectating”), Niles approaches Anakin again. His demeanor has shifted — less guarded, more thoughtful.

“That observation you made,” he says quietly. “About baseball creating a common language. It was rather insightful.”

“The Force helps me perceive connections others might miss,” Anakin replies.

“Ah yes, the mystical energy field.” Niles’s skepticism is evident, but tempered with curiosity. “Though I suppose one doesn’t need supernatural abilities to recognize the value of shared experience in family dynamics.”

“No,” Anakin agrees. “But it helps to have an outside perspective sometimes.”

“Indeed.” Niles hesitates, then adds, “Your comment the other day — about the Jedi Council being similar to me. You implied they also… create distance through their communication style.”

“They do. Often without realizing it.”

“And you find yourself… isolated by that?”

Anakin considers the question, feeling its weight. “The Jedi teach that attachment is dangerous. That emotional connections lead to fear, fear leads to anger, anger to suffering.”

“A rather Stoic philosophy,” Niles observes. “Though taken to an extreme.”

“The problem is,” Anakin continues, “they preach detachment while surrounding themselves with encoded language and shared understanding that only they possess. They create a circle of intimacy while claiming to reject intimacy altogether.”

“The ultimate contradiction,” Niles murmurs, recognition dawning. “And those outside the circle…”

“Feel the exclusion all the more keenly,” Anakin finishes. “Because what’s being withheld isn’t just knowledge — it’s belonging.”

Niles is silent for a long moment, his expression contemplative. “You’ve given me much to consider,” he says finally. “Both professionally and… personally.”

From across the room, Martin calls out. “Hey, Niles! Come translate what your brother’s trying to say about this cheese. I need the English version.”

Niles’s lips curve into a small smile. “Duty calls.”

As he moves to join his father, Anakin watches him approach the situation differently than he might have before — crouching beside Martin’s chair, explaining the characteristics of the cheese with simple clarity, no trace of condescension in his tone. Martin nods, actually engaged rather than dismissive.

“Progress,” Daphne observes, appearing beside Anakin again. “Small steps, but still.”

“Sometimes small steps are the most important ones,” Anakin replies, thinking of his own journey — the countless times he’s failed to bridge similar gaps, the opportunities missed through pride or frustration.

“You know,” Daphne says thoughtfully, “for someone from another galaxy, you understand people rather well.”

“Understanding isn’t always the same as connecting,” Anakin admits. “I see the patterns, but following them myself…” He trails off, thinking of Padmé, of Obi-Wan, of all the relationships strained by his inability to communicate what truly matters.

“Well, you’ve helped them connect,” Daphne says, nodding toward the Crane men. “That’s something, isn’t it?”

As if on cue, Frasier’s voice rises from the kitchen. “Dad, how exactly would you describe the ideal texture for the risotto? I want to ensure it meets with your approval this time.”

“Not gluey, not crunchy,” Martin replies. “Somewhere in the middle.”

“Al dente,” Frasier translates. “Thank you for that culinary precision.”

But there is no bite to his sarcasm — instead, a warmth that transforms the words from mockery to affectionate teasing. Martin chuckles, and Niles catches Anakin’s eye across the room, offering a small nod of acknowledgment.

“Yes,” Anakin mutters to Daphne, feeling a slight change within himself as well. “That’s something indeed.”

In that moment, surrounded by the gentle chaos of the Crane household, Anakin feels a peculiar sense of peace — as if he’s been granted a glimpse of what true balance might look like. Not the rigid detachment the Jedi preach, nor the passionate abandon that has so often led him astray, but this: a family of different minds finding ways to understand each other, imperfectly but genuinely.

After all, the clearer the water, the more light shines through.