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Chapter Text

Qui-Gon Jinn was meditating in the room of a thousand fountains when a man fell out of the air and landed on the ground in front of him. 

He naturally startled a bit (he flung himself backwards and had his lightsaber in his hand before realizing the man wasn’t, in fact, moving,) but he recovered quickly.  Aside from the fact that the man had fallen out of thin air, he lay there perfectly ordinary and still.  Cautiously, Qui-Gon stepped forward to get a good look.

Ginger hair.  A rumpled cloak, covered in scorch marks.  The man lay facedown on the ground and made a weak, pitiful sound.  Less than a groan, more like a wheeze.

The man wasn’t wearing Jedi robes, but he was wearing a Jedi cloak.

Qui-Gon slowly reached out to touch.  The moment his hand made contact with the man’s head, the Force rose up and slammed into him. 

The vision hit him like a wave- he heard screams- someone was crying-

I hate you, he heard-

-the world exploded, for a moment, into colors and shapes and light.  He reeled backwards, unable to see, throwing a hand up in front of his eyes and tripping over his own two feet.  It lasted one second, two-

-he couldn’t breathe-

-and then it was over.  His vision cleared and his breath evened out as the vision faded from him.  He could make no immediate sense of what he’d seen- the flash of images had been so intense- but that was fine.  He paid it no mind, for it was irrelevant.  Qui-Gon had always followed the will of the Force and looked for it to guidance, and now he knew. 

“Padawan?” he said, in shock.

Yes, whispered the Force.  Yours. 

Obi-Wan.  Of course.  How could Qui-Gon have failed to recognize his own Padawan?  But something was wrong.  Obi-Wan’s breathing was shallow and rapid, and when Qui-Gon rolled him over, there were tears on his face.  He was so very pale.

Dying, said the Force.  Hurry.

How could this have happened?  Qui-Gon had seen Obi-Wan earlier that day- his Padawan had been healthy, he’d been fine.  What could have-

No matter.  Time was of the essence.  Qui-Gon leaned down, grabbed his Padawan under the arms, and lifted him up, positioning him over his shoulders in a field carry. 

Hurry. 

“I heard you the first time,” he muttered.  He ran for the healing halls, Obi-Wan’s arm dangling limply over his shoulder.

*

“It’s psychic shock, if you can believe that,” said Vokara Che, mere minutes later.  The Master Healers had taken Obi-Wan from him moments after he entered the halls, and unceremoniously shoved him outside as every on-duty healer rushed to help.  Everyone could feel the urgency in the Force, but Qui-Gon had to believe the healers would help him- he paced outside, back and forth, wishing there was something he could do.  He and Obi-Wan had been through hell together.  There was no way he’d just drop dead in the middle of a perfectly ordinary day!  And fall out of the sky!

Qui-Gon had jumped when Vokara stuck her head into the waiting room, much too soon.

“Psychic…shock?” he repeated, dumbly.  People did not die of psychic shock.

“You said he’s your Padawan?”  She was all business.  She gave him a hard, considering stare.

“Of course he is.  That’s Obi-Wan, Vokara!”

“That man is not Obi-Wan.  But is he your Padawan?”

What a nonsensical statement.

“That is Obi-Wan!  What are you- obviously some weird Force shit is happening to him, but that doesn’t mean-”

“Is he your Padawan, Master Jinn?”

“Wh- yes!  Why is this such an issue?”

Her mouth pursed.  “This is against my better judgement, but the fact is that we haven’t had this bad a case of psychic shock in, well…ever.  The situation is…urgent.  And from what I could gather from my examination, he does have the remnants of a training bond with you.  It’s an old stump, as if…from years ago.  A severed stump from years ago.”

“I don’t-”

“Whatever you did in the past-” she threw up her hands.  “However you might have gone and created a Padawan bond with a man I’ve never seen before- I don’t care.  I think you can help him.”

What in the sith hells had happened to his Padawan?

“Of- of course, Vokara.  Whatever you need.”

She nodded and ducked back inside, beckoning him to follow.  With urgency, he followed her. 

Obi-Wan looked very…strange, lying on that bed.  They hadn’t removed his clothes, but had yanked up his sleeves, and Qui-Gon felt that there was…something odd about his Padawan’s body.  But with the vision in his mind, distorting everything around him, he couldn’t for the life of him figure out what it was.  There was an oxygen mask over Obi-Wan’s face, and Qui-Gon dimly registered a beard.  A beard?

Three healers had their hands on his Force-points- the inside of the elbow, the palm of the hand, the lymph nodes on his throat.  Their brows were furrowed in concentration, and as he watched, one cried out and ripped their hands away.  Another healer smoothly stepped in to take their place.

“Hands,” barked Vokara, and she guided him to place his palms on either side of his Padawan’s head.  “Feel for your bond with him.  If there isn’t one, create one- but try for the same place as your old one.  He needs something to pull him back.”

“We already have one- every Master and Padawan do-”

“Well, if it’s not there,” she snapped, sounding very much like she thought there would not be an active bond.  “Just make one in the old place.”

Why shouldn’t there be?  His relationship with Obi-Wan had never been better.  Of course they had a bond.

Qui-Gon closed his eyes and sunk into himself, immediately reaching for that connection, so close to the forefront of his mind, thick as a strong vein.

It was there, healthy as anything, pulsing with warmth and light.

Padawan?

Master?  The answer was confused, but attentive.

Come back to me.

…Alright.  I’ll be there shortly, Master.  The confusion leaking through was palpable, but Qui-Gon paid it no mind, and prepared to pull up out of his mind and tell Vokara there was no need to worry: Obi-Wan would be waking up momentarily.

No, said the Force.  Wrong one. 

What?

But Qui-Gon always listened to the Force.  So with the same amount of confusion that his Padawan had displayed mere moments before, he began to feel around with more care.  If not that training bond, what was there?

His mind was made of light.  He had tethers to his family, everyone he loved…there was Obi-Wan’s connection, by far the strongest, and Tahl’s, and Feemor’s, and the remnants of what he’d had with Xan, which he shied away from-

Moving on.

There were the links to his friends and crèchemates, and his own old training bond.  He had links of varying strengths with his lineage, with Master Dooku and Mace and Grandmaster Yoda and even one to Vokara, who he’d grown up with-

And one more.  It was like the fluttering of moth wings.  Ephemeral and light and intangible.  It was more like the echo of a bond than anything real.  A memory.

A vision.

With wonder, he reached for it, gentle and slow.  Curling invisible hands around it, mindful of how delicate it was.

Padawan?

He heard nothing on the other end except a muted sigh.  Encouraged, Qui-Gon pulled at it, and it became tangible in his mind, taking shape, becoming real. 

Padawan, wake up, please.

…

Padawan.  Obi-Wan.

…Obi-Wan, came the reply, flickering in and out like the flame of a candle.  That’s…right.  My name…is Obi-Wan.

That’s right.  Come back to us, please.  Come back to me.

Master?

Yes.  I’m here.

I am one with the Force.  Where shall I come back to?

Follow me.

Qui-Gon pulled up, slowly, making sure his Padawan was following behind him.  Obi-Wan’s presence was strange, blowing as if in a great wind.  He had to keep looking back to make sure his Padawan was still there.  But eventually, after minutes or hours, they reached the surface. 

“That was the strangest thing,” Qui-Gon muttered upon opening his eyes.

“How so?” said Vokara, reaching over to take Obi-Wan’s vitals.

“It felt like- I’m really not sure.  Just strange.  Anyway, I think he’ll be waking up soon.  He seemed very confused.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes opened, first one and then the other, squinting in the light.  He seemed to take stock of his surroundings, looking around at them all.  He took a few deep, carefully measured breaths- a breathing technique all Jedi were taught to do for periods of unconsciousness.  Qui-Gon smiled to see it- his Padawan had been struggling with that particular thing recently.  It required some deep mental fortitude, to wake up in an unknown situation and not panic.

He send a pulse of reassurance down that new tether in his mind, and felt Obi-Wan press against it in return.

“Stable,” said Vokara as she read the pulse ox, relief coating her tone.  She moved and turned the oxygen off, then gently reached over and removed the mask, checking back to his vitals periodically.  “We’ll have to keep closing those mind-wounds, but we can do it more slowly and safely.”  With that she nodded to her three assistants, who backed off his lymph nodes and elbows and focused their efforts on his hands.

Obi-Wan, for his part, merely continued looking around.  There was an infinitely peaceful expression on his face, and, Qui-Gon noticed, the tears had ceased.

Obi-Wan’s eyes were reddened and raw, so raw.  As if he’d been crying for days.

“Oh,” he said, soft and awed.  “I’ve come home.”

“Yes,” said Qui-Gon.  “You never left, Obi-Wan.  What’s happened to you, Padawan?”

Vokara tried to interject.  “Qui-Gon-”

“Oh, Master,” said Obi-Wan.  “Jaieh.  Look at you.  So young.  I love you.  Did you know that?  I never said.”

Qui-Gon chuckled, bemused.  “I know.  I love you too, child.  We are family, after all.”

“Shall I tell the whole Order?  Is everyone here?  Is this the Force?”

“Qui-Gon!”  Vokara was insistent. 

“What?” he snapped at her.  “He’s had a shock!  Leave him alone!”

“That’s not what I’m trying to tell you-”

“Then can’t it wait?  Just let me take care of him- we can discuss whatever it is later-”

“Look, with your eyes, you daft man!”

Qui-Gon drew breath to bark at her that this really wasn’t the time.  He was comforting his Padawan, thank you very much.

“Master?”

Obi-Wan had walked into the room.  Qui-Gon’s actual Padawan, with his short haircut and his long, beaded braid and his clean-shaven, young face.

“Did you call me?” said his sixteen-year-old apprentice, who was standing under his own power and decidedly not injured in a hospital bed.

Qui-Gon looked between the Obi-Wan standing by the door and the Obi-Wan in the bed.  And, as if to mock Vokara’s earlier words, now he saw the difference.  Some part of him had always known, but he’d been panicking and listening to the Force and relying on his metaphysical senses instead of what his eyes were telling him.

The man in the bed had a beard, no braid, and was clearly not sixteen, not even close. 

Qui-Gon looked, once more, between the two of them.  “What the fuck?”

Chapter Text

There was a hurried conference in the hallway.

“-was convinced he was my Padawan- now we have a training bond!  But how-”

“Was there already a training bond or did you have to make one?”

“It was strange, like I said before.  There wasn’t anything as strong as the real bond I have with Obi-Wan, but there was definitely something.  And in the Force…”

“Yes, I noticed it too,” said Vokara.  “In the Force, he is Obi-Wan Kenobi.  I see why you were fooled...even if I still think you were an idiot for not simply looking at him.  His shields were down, it would have been impossible to fake-”

“That man is me?” said Obi-Wan, the real one.  He was pale in the face, and had his hands fisted in the sides of his robes.  Qui-Gon made sure to stand next to him and put an arm on his shoulder. 

“Of course not,” said Vokara.  “Even if he’s a clone, which I suppose we must assume, you and he are still different people, Padawan.”

“Right…I know that.  But.  He was dying, you said?”  Obi-Wan glanced back towards the room where they’d left the man.

“Yes.  You very likely saved his life, Qui-Gon.”

“What on earth could cause psychic shock like that?” asked Qui-Gon.

Obi-Wan made a soft sound of realization.  “I’ve always been at risk, Master.  If he’s…really me, or a…a clone, doesn’t it make sense?”

“You have a heightened sensitivity, but nothing that would indicate to me that you’re in any more danger than we thought.”  She shook her head.  “Even if he was hyper-sensitive, it shouldn’t kill him, not unless…”

“What?” said Qui-Gon.

“I don’t know.  If all his bonds snapped at once, maybe.  And from what we saw, it certainly looked like that’s what might have happened.  You said he fell out of the sky?”

“Yes, right in front of me.”

“We should inform the council,” said Obi-Wan.  Qui-Gon was already nodding.

“Yes.  You go, Padawan.  Find Mace.  Tell him everything.  Ask someone to come to the halls.”

“You’re not coming?”

“I…”  Qui-Gon looked back towards the little room that held his new (old?) Padawan.  His second Padawan, the other Obi-Wan.  Oh, the council wasn’t going to like this.  “I’m going to stay.  With him.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.  We don’t know anything about him.  What if he attacks you?”

Qui-Gon could not believe any version of Obi-Wan Kenobi would ever attack him.  Then again, he’d once believed the same thing of Xanatos.

“He was dying a little while ago, Vokara, and he has no saber.  I think I can take him.  And…mistaken or not, I did acknowledge him as my Padawan.  At the very least, I owe him a conversation.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes were filled with concern.  But all he said was, “Be safe, Master.”  He bowed and left, brushing past curious Jedi who’d come to try to eavesdrop.

*

“You came back,” said the other Obi-Wan, in such relief that it made Qui-Gon feel a bit guilty.  There was no one at his bedside now, but he remained unmoving, pale and sickly-looking.  There was an IV in the crook of his right elbow, where the healers had been working on his Force-points there earlier.

“Oh, you came back,” Obi-Wan repeated.  “And I remember now.  Qui-Gon.  That’s your name.  Qui-Gon Jinn.”

“So it is.”

Qui-Gon took the opportunity to study him and really get a good look.  Yes, the ginger hair was there, and the freckles, and the forehead mole, and- he leaned over to look at the other Obi-Wan’s neck, where beard met ear.  Yes, there was a tiny, faded scar there.  His Obi-Wan had the same scar.

What cloning process replicated scars?

“I hate hospitals.  Is this some form of test, Master?”  The other Obi-Wan was staring at the ceiling.  “I know this is terribly presumptuous of me, but.”  His expression turned rather brittle.  A glassy sheen settled over his eyes.  “I should think I’ve been tested quite enough.”

“You nearly died,” said Qui-Gon.  “There’s no test here.  We’re merely working to save your life.”

“I am dead, Master.  Please, stop speaking in riddles.  What must I do, to see my family again?  What have I done wrong?”

Suddenly, Qui-Gon felt an unfathomable well of grief drip through their bond like poison.  The other Obi-Wan had been through a mental ordeal- of course he couldn’t shield.  His mind was wide open, leaking feelings and thoughts and emotions in a way it would never do without this level of Force-exhaustion. 

The emotion suddenly coming through was like acid, like fire, like smoke, something inhaled and ingested and drowned in until it consumed one from the inside.

In horror, Qui-Gon was forced to raise his own shields against the new training bond, closing it out entirely.  Even after, that feeling was still overwhelming, and it left him trembling.  He braced one hand against the bed to hide his momentary stumble.

The other Obi-Wan didn’t seem to notice.  “I did fail, Master.  I know I did.  I can barely remember…things are coming back, but slowly, and it’s all out of order and confusing.  But I know I made you a promise…and I know I- I broke it.”

“What promise?” he found himself whispering as he drew closer to the bed.

“Train the boy.”

Qui-Gon saw the braid coiled as a bracelet on his Padawan’s wrist.  It was easy to make the connection. 

“Why would I have asked you to train a Padawan?” 

These were not the questions he’d meant to ask.  Nor did he mean to draw close or take the other Obi-Wan’s hand as he sat near the bedside.  But he did.  And that was Qui-Gon’s great weakness: an unbearable fondness for his Padawans.  They were family, as were all Master/Padawan pairs, but Qui-Gon gave his Padawans all his heart.  He knew this weakness.  Because he struggled to let them go, it bordered on attachment.  It was why it’d taken him so many years to recover from Xan.  Why it had taken so long to warm up to Obi-Wan.  That love had cut him to the bone.

And now he had another, and it was accidental, but it still mattered to him.  He knew he’d likely have to break their connection.  The real Obi-Wan was his Padawan, and he came first, after all.  And yet.  A large part of Qui-Gon looked at this man, and all he saw was someone his Obi-Wan could become.  Someone broken and bleeding and leaking a grief into the Force so palpable and potent that it made Qui-Gon concerned for his sanity.

“You could not train him yourself.  So…so you asked your Padawan to do it, and I tried, Master.  I did.”  The other Obi-Wan studied the ceiling as if it contained the secrets of the universe.  “I tried.  Is my love some kind of curse?  That everyone must run from me, to death or to hell?”

There was so much to unpack there.  And Qui-Gon wasn’t going to do it.  Not right then.

“You aren’t dead.  How can we convince you?”

“Please,” said his unintentional Padawan.  “These riddles are exhausting.  Just- just tell me what you want.  Speak plain the lesson you mean to teach.  Qui-Gon, please.  You are tormenting me.”

Glassy grey eyes met his own.  Qui-Gon was lost for words.  How could he convince this man of his own continued existence?  Was this a symptom of the shock?  Would it be better or worse to play along?  But no – Qui-Gon was never one to entertain delusion.  Even if it was worse, he would not lie to the other Obi-Wan.

“Why do you think you’re dead, Padawan?”

Was that…annoyance?  Yes, it was!  The man on the bed huffed in clear frustration.

“You’re a lousy spirit guide, Master.  Send someone else.”

And then he turned on his side, facing away from Qui-Gon, pulling his hand out of his grasp.  How childish!

“Obi-Wan,” the Master sighed, and it was like he was speaking to a sixteen-year-old once again.  “I solemnly promise that I am not trying to torture you.  I’m in true ignorance of what has happened to you, and I was hoping you’d enlighten me.  This is only our second meeting, after all.”

That got a reaction.  A splutter, and then the man was turning back, a spark of defiance in his eyes so reminiscent of Qui-Gon’s Obi-Wan.  It cheered him to see it.

“What, you’re not all-knowing in the Force?  You’ll have to do better than that, Master.”

“For the last time,” Qui-Gon growled, “you are alive.”

“You are dead, therefore I must be, too!”

“Oh dear,” said Mace Windu.  Qui-Gon sagged with relief.  He and the council had never gotten along, but Mace was his friend and right now, Qui-Gon needed help dealing with this.  He was in way, way above his head.

The effect on the other Obi-Wan was dramatic indeed.

“Mace!”  It was a near-scream of joy.  He laughed and tried to sit up, succeeding after a brief struggle.  Yes, the other Obi-Wan was still quite weak, but even with his fatigue he seemed to suddenly glow with happiness, and it leaked into the Force around him and made the whole room feel brighter.  That poisonous grief had been, momentarily, chased from the room.

Mace quirked an eyebrow at the familiar address.  Qui-Gon assumed he’d been briefed- even if this man was some version of Obi-Wan, to his Padawan, Mace had always been “Master Windu.” 

Aside from the expression of bemusement, the council member said nothing.  Sometimes silence was the best way to extract information, especially when the man on the bed seemed to be operating under several complex delusions. 

“Mace,” the other Obi-Wan said again.  “It’s good to see you, my friend.  To see you as you are, so young, with the years of stress fallen away…it is a joy, truly.”  He laughed again and ran a hand over his beard.  “Shall I be the same way?  Shall I revert back to my Padawan years?” It seemed as if the idea was positively charming.

“Obi-Wan,” said Mace, and he took a few steps closer.  His Force-presence was tightly shielded, probably masking intense confusion.  That was what Qui-Gon was feeling, after all.

“Tell me what happened to you,” he continued.  “Tell us how you came to be here.”

The happiness fled.  The man on the bed averted his eyes, looking down into his lap, scrunching his fists into his cloak.

“Must we do this?” it was a whispered, croaking plea.

“I’m afraid I must insist.”

The other Obi-Wan took a deep breath and nodded sharply.  He sat up a little straighter and his face hardened into angles and edges.

“After Utapau…my troopers turned on me.  They, they killed Boga.  Is she here too?”  He looked up at Mace hopefully, only to wince at the severe expression he found there.  “Right.  They attacked us.  C-Cody attacked us.  I survived by nearly drowning in the sewer water.  I didn’t mean to stay down that long, but…it was such a shock.  The Force was screaming and my bonds were snapping…and being in the water didn’t help, of course.  But I did manage to survive.

“I made my way home, only to find…you know what I found.  I begged Master Yoda to send me to slay Darth Sidious.  I knew I could not face…what I- what I faced.”

He inhaled sharply and looked away, eyes glassy once again.  “I can’t- I can’t remember.  But I know- I do remember that Master Yoda said I must- so I went- I remember the lava and the screams and- I tried so hard, Mace.  It wasn’t- it wasn’t enough.”

Obi-Wan did not cry.  But his breathing was all wrong, hitched and shallow.  He was a million parsecs away.

This, at least, Qui-Gon knew how to deal with.  How many times had both he and Obi-Wan done this, after Melidaan?

I’m here, Padawan, he sent through their bond, unshielding it just enough to get the message through.  He couldn’t help it- he scooted closer.  He knew what Obi-Wan wanted when he was like this, but everyone was different, and would this Obi-Wan react the same way?

Fuck it, he thought, and took the man’s hand.

The effect was instantaneous.  Obi-Wan grabbed that hand and held on for dear life, so tightly it hurt.  Encouraged, Qui-Gon leaned forward and wrapped him in a loose hug.  Obi-Wan buried his face in his Master’s chest, just shaking and breathing and hiding from the world and from Mace.

They had a nonverbal war over the ginger head.

Don’t do that again, said Qui-Gon to Mace through their bond.  It wasn’t as strong as a Master/Padawan bond, but he and Mace were close, and over short distances it could work fine as communication.

We need answers.  Every word that comes out of his mouth makes this more confusing, not less.

We do need answers, but not like this.  He needs more treatment.

So protective already, Qui-Gon?

He gave a mental shrug.  He is my Padawan. 

Obi-Wan is your Padawan.

Now I have two Padawans.

We will have words about this later.

You’re telling me that if an older version of Depa fell out of the sky you wouldn’t immediately adopt her?

That’s different.

“Thank you, Master,” mumbled Obi-Wan into Qui-Gon’s tunics.  “I’m sorry.  Things are…still coming back.”

His arms tightened around his Padawan.  “I’m here.”

“Is that…enough, for now, Mace?  Would you…let me see them?”  Obi-Wan still hadn’t moved from his position, and so addressed his questions to Qui-Gon’s chest.  His words were slightly muffled. 

“See who, exactly?” said Mace.

“My- our family.”

Mace had had enough.  “Who, exactly, is your family?”

Obi-Wan sighed, tiredly.  “Not you too.  I just want to join the Force.  I just want to see them, as I have seen you, so I can stop thinking about their corpses.”

“But who?  Name them.”

“Everyone.  You.  Kit.  Adi.  Quin.  Garen.  B- ah, I still…some names are missing.  Plo.  Our family.”

Quinlan, Garen?  Those were the teenaged Obi-Wan’s friends. 

“You think…”  Mace put his hands to his temples.  “So not only do you believe that you are Obi-Wan Kenobi, but you also believe that you are dead, and that all of us are dead?”

“Aren’t we?”

“No.  We are not.”

“But…”  Obi-Wan shrunk closer to Qui-Gon, folding into his embrace once again.  “Qui-Gon has been dead for thirteen years.  I did not see you die, but I felt our bond snap, right before all the others.  And…before this, I was dying.”

“You did not tell us that.”

“Thirteen…years?” said Qui-Gon.

“Yes, Master.”  Obi-Wan clenched his hands around Qui-Gon’s tunics.  “And what long years they were.”

“I’m getting Vokara,” said Mace.  “And then I’m going to convene the council.  We need to talk about this.”

“Shall I join by holo, then?” said Obi-Wan, looking over at Mace.  “Do they have holo calls in the Force?”

Mace leveled the object of his frustration with a glare.  “Let me guess.  Now you’ll tell us you are on the council.”

“I am, yes.  I was not aware there was still a council in the afterlife, but, well, I also did not expect to wake in a hospital bed.”

“The council will convene without you.  You will stay here and do what Vokara tells you, and you will not wander from this room.  Is that clear?”

“I suppose.”

“Qui-Gon, you have a worried Padawan waiting for you.  Your actual Padawan.  Might I suggest leaving this man to his rest?”  And without waiting for an answer, Mace swept from the room, cloak billowing out behind him.

“Oh, he’s frustrated alright,” remarked Qui-Gon in his absence.  And of course he understood the root of that frustration.  Everything that had come out of Obi-Wan’s mouth had been a confusing stream of one revelation after another.  The raving delusions of a madman.  And, undoubtedly, Mace was considering every option:  cloning, simple delusion, some kind of darksider trick. 

But while they’d been speaking, an idea had occurred to Qui-Gon.  A crazy, impossible idea.  But the more he thought of it, the more plausible it seemed.

“Obi-Wan,” said Qui-Gon.  “What year was it, when you think you died?”

“981,” said the man quietly as he leaned into Qui-Gon and closed his eyes. 

It was 959.  Things were beginning to make a terrible kind of sense.

Qui-Gon’s only response was to run a hand through Obi-Wan’s hair, and to let his own grief fill him up from the inside. 

“Oh, Padawan,” he murmured.

Chapter Text

Obi-Wan (the younger) was pacing a hole in their quarters when Qui-Gon returned.  He was barely through the door before his Padawan was in his space, with narrowed eyes, inspecting every visible inch of him.

“Mace was right.  You have been worried,” Qui-Gon accused him, with fond exasperation.  He clapped a hand to his Padawan’s shoulder and swept past him to make himself some sapir tea. 

“You were gone a long time.  He didn’t attack you?”

“No, of course not.  He was…”  Qui-Gon had no adequate words.  He crossed his arms over his chest, to rub at the spot on his tunics where the elder Obi-Wan’s head had rested.  “He knew me.  Knew my name, knew me as his Master.”

“He could be lying, or faking,” said Obi-Wan as he walked over to lean against the wall near Qui-Gon. 

“Faking a near-death experience?  I don’t think so,” said Qui-Gon, blatantly abusing the Force to pull some tea down from the top shelf.

“That’s true…”

“I know you’ve been pushing your worry onto me, Padawan.  And I appreciate it, I do.  But I want to know how you’re doing.”

Suddenly, Obi-Wan couldn’t meet his eyes. 

Qui-Gon pushed hard.  “I spent hours with a total stranger, convinced he was my Padawan, and made a training bond with him.  Once I realized my mistake, I did not immediately dissolve it.  In fact, I still have it.  You have every right to be angry with me.”

“It isn’t that,” said Obi-Wan, still looking away.

“Isn’t it?”

“No!  I know it wasn’t your fault when you thought he was me, and you saved his life, and you can’t dissolve the bond yet because if you do, you’ll hurt him.”  And there it was: defiant grey eyes raised to meet Qui-Gon’s, an exact match of his older self.  Their defiance, at least, was identical in every way. 

“And I don’t care if you have two training bonds.  You have many bonds already, Master, ones as strong as or nearly as strong as ours.  And…you know how I feel about the single Padawan limit.  And the age limit.  Is my love so small, that I must not share you with someone else?”

The galaxy did not deserve his Padawan.  But he wasn’t finished yet.

“It isn’t any of that, Master.  What bothers me is everything…else.”

“What else?”

“Well, he’s…me.”  Obi-Wan held up a hand to forestall Qui-Gon’s contradiction.  “I know he isn’t actually me.  But he has my face.  He’s similar enough in the Force that you thought he and I were the same person.” 

His Padawan’s face was a bit pinched, filled with worry.  “I’m…I’m concerned about the fact that you could be tricked like that.  If…I am ever used to harm you, Master, I don’t think I could live with myself.”

Qui-Gon stepped closer to him to put his hands on Obi-Wan’s shoulders.  “I’ll admit that I too am concerned about the similarity and what it might mean…” although, he thought to himself, he was more concerned about his private theory on what might have happened and what that meant for the galaxy and the Force as a whole.  “But, anything he might do or might have done is in no way your fault.”

“I-I know…I just…”

“I understand.  But you cannot take on responsibility for the actions of another.  Even if he does have your face.”

“Will you promise me something, Master?”

The water had begun to boil.  The kettle whistled, but neither of them moved. 

“What is it?”

“If he does…turn out to have ill intentions.  Promise me you won’t hesitate.”

Qui-Gon winced.  Had Obi-Wan seen through him so easily?  But of course he had; the memory of Xanatos hung between them.  The ghost of his fallen Padawan haunted them both.

He turned away and took the kettle off and poured the water into two cups.  He used his hands this time instead of the Force, feeling strangely humbled.  It took him until both cups were steeping to find the words he wanted to say.  Obi-Wan waited patiently.  Qui-Gon had always taken his time with difficult questions.

“All I can promise, my dear Padawan, is that I will do my best to avoid being tricked like that again.  You are two different people.  And, if he should attack me, I promise to defend myself.”

Obi-Wan grimaced but nodded, accepting the promise but likely dissatisfied.  Qui-Gon smiled at him and handed him a cup of sapir tea.  As his hands closed around it, Obi-Wan cracked a wry smile, smelling the steam wafting up into his face.

“You know I hate this blend, Master.”

“Ah, well.  It is an acquired taste.  How else will you acquire it?”

Obi-Wan sighed dramatically, but sipped his tea all the same.

*

In the dead of night, with his teenaged apprentice safely asleep in the room next door, Qui-Gon brooded.  He needed to talk to someone about all this, and he would.  In the morning he’d go to Mace and make sure everyone was on the same page, and he’d bring up his own pet theory.  It sounded impossible- time travel- but then again, they’d been raised to believe that all things were possible in the Force.

Besides, it was only a theory.  He needed more information, and to speak more to Obi-Wan (the older) and the council.  And, Qui-Gon remarked to himself, as long as it remained a mere theory, it wasn’t worth panicking over.

Idly, he examined the new bond.  It wasn’t nearly as strong as the one he had with Obi-Wan (the younger) but it had the potential to be.  It had grown at an alarming rate; as if their connection had run across well-remembered pathways, forming something new yet familiar.  The elder Obi-Wan was still unshielded, and Qui-Gon could tell from the muddled sense he received of him that his newest (oldest?) Padawan was deep in sleep.  Good. 

Brooding late at night had added benefits: Qui-Gon could watch over his Padawan’s rest.  His Obi-Wan (although he was beginning to think of them both as his) was prone to nightmares even at the best of times; it came from being strong in the Unifying Force.  Even as a youngling, Obi-Wan had had nightmares and visions of fire and death, and that had been before Bandomeer, and Melidaan, and whatever the fuck had happened with Xan. 

It wasn’t like Qui-Gon was any better off nowadays, but being a Jedi Master had its perks.  He could put himself to sleep with the Force, or send himself into a trance that mimicked sleep.  He had a thousand coping mechanisms for nightmares, some better than others.  Certainly Jedi were taught that too much reliance on the Force was a bad thing, and good, honest sleep was preferable to anything else.  So, if it was within Qui-Gon’s power to help his Padawan get real sleep, he would do so.

The process was simple.  He merely monitored the training bond a bit more closely than normal, and if he felt agitation, he’d siphon it away and push peace back at it.  It was a mere negotiation of emotions, but that was all it took to influence a dream.  This process was more difficult with a shielded mind, of course, and as Jedi grew and learned, it became less necessary. 

But, even if Obi-Wan (the older) had been a Jedi Master, he’d just been dying of psychic shock.  Qui-Gon would be surprised if his Padawan were able to lift a feather with the Force right now.

He jolted as an image hit him, shocking and sudden- a child’s lifeless eyes and blue lips. 

He inhaled, exhaled, and tried not to panic.  Sometimes the emotional transfer affected him as well.  A tradeoff to his siphoning- by lifting Obi-Wan’s nightmares, he had taken those emotions upon himself.  But these memories were familiar.  They were ghosts that haunted him, and he would have to be more controlled and not let it affect-

Another image.

Broken corpses in the crèche, a pile of adults around the door, fallen on top of each other, bodies curled over other bodies- a Master fallen with his frame wrapped around a twi’lek youngling, and Qui-Gon’s- no- Obi-Wan’s shaking hands were pushing him off her, trying to see if maybe she was still breathing.  But no, no, there was a blaster wound on her chest, it had all been for naught-

“Someone,” Qui-Gon- Obi-Wan whispered, turning in a circle in the crèche.  “Anyone.  Is anyone still alive?”

-the image changed-

-suddenly Qui-Gon was in a dark, stinking tunnel.  It smelled of piss and blood and vomit, and it was familiar.

His own memories.  They sucked him in immediately.

Qui-Gon knelt on the cold stone floor, hearing water drip from the ceiling and shivering under his cloak.  His hands fumbled, soaked in blood.  He was trying to play healer when he knew damn well there was nothing he could do for the girl in front of him except hold her hand while she took breaths that were increasingly labored.  These children looked to him as the only adult, as if he could save them when in reality he was useless.  This war was fought in trenches and tunnels and dark places- when was the last time Qui-Gon had seen the sun?

“Master!” it was his Obi-Wan, a teenager with his hair growing out and his braid clipped to the side of his head to keep it out of the way.  His Jedi robes had been discarded long ago, and he’d put on stolen armor from their enemies.  It was much too large for him, so he’d rolled up the sleeves and pants and altered it where he could.  There was a blaster on one hip and his lightsaber on the other.  He did not look like a Jedi.

Then again, neither did Qui-Gon at this point.  He hadn’t looked or felt less like a Jedi in his entire life.

“They’re flooding the tunnels!  We have to leave.  Now!”

The Young moved like a well-oiled machine, gathering what they could carry, children grabbing other children, carrying as many wounded as they could. 

Boots pounding on wet, slick stone. 

Qui-Gon turned to pick up the child he’d been tending, only to find that her lips were blue and her eyes wide, pupils blown-

-with a mighty effort, he managed to pull himself up and out of the memory-

In shock and pain, Qui-Gon threw up a shield against that new training bond for the second time.  It was a reflex, and he had to sit there blinking the flashback away, and the nightmare.  Remembered vomit-smell was in his nose, and he stumbled into the kitchen.  He kept caf beans for this very purpose- ah, there they were, yes.  He pulled them down with the Force, shoved the lid off the container with shaking fingers, and stood there inhaling deeply.  Pushing the ghosts of months ago back where they belonged- in the past. 

Patience, the mind healer had said.  This healing is long and lengthy.  There is no shame in struggling.

But there was.  He was a Jedi Master and all he’d tried to do was help his Padawan sleep and even that was too much for him, apparently.  The emotional backlash was just- too much.  Too much for a Jedi Master who had so recently seen every manner of horror humankind had to offer.  Melidaan had broken something inside him, had snapped his confidence and his beliefs and his emotional stability like toothpicks, and had chewed him up and spat him out, a shell of the man he used to be.

Six months ago.

Qui-Gon clenched his hands tight around the container and lowered his head even further in defeat.  Useless. 

His memories had mixed with Obi-Wan’s dreams.  He was sure his Padawan would have seen pieces of his flashback, to top it all off.  Kark it all. 

Obi-Wan (the older) had been dreaming of dead children, and Qui-Gon, instead of helping to disperse that horror, had only added to it.

It seemed that topic was a common theme in nightmares among all three of them. 

Chapter Text

In the morning, Qui-Gon had intended to seek out Mace.  He rose early (he hadn’t had much sleep to begin with, but he’d always risen at the crack of dawn and wasn’t about to change his habits) and set out as soon as he could, so that his curious, precocious teenager of a Padawan would be discouraged from following him.

But when he opened the door to the hallway outside, Mace was standing on the other side, one hand raised as if to knock.

“Just the person I wanted to see,” said Qui-Gon with a smile…which promptly disappeared at the haggard expression on his friend’s face.  “Has something happened?”

“You could say that,” said Mace, and then immediately backtracked.  “No, no, he’s fine.  …Obi-Wan is fine.”  He seemed to wince internally at the use of Obi-Wan’s name when referring to the man in the healing halls.  “But there’s something you need to see.”

They walked down the halls side by side, Qui-Gon trying and failing to swallow his trepidation.  Mace had said Obi-Wan was fine, but the set of his mouth and the lines on his young face suggested otherwise.  What had the council decided, overnight?  Were they going to do something to the training bond?

But no- Mace’s path turned away from the healing halls.  He led them down, down deep into the Temple, taking an elevator and a moving walkway- the Coruscant Temple was huge, big enough to house thousands of Jedi, big enough that going from one end to the other was a rather lengthy process.  They passed by many Jedi going about their business- Padawan-Master pairs, young Knights who walked briskly as if on very important business.  Qui-Gon tightened his shields instinctually, making sure none could sense his inner turmoil.  Jedi Masters were supposed to be peaceful beings, after all. 

He didn’t feel like much of a Master, these days.

Finally, in the lower levels of the Temple, Mace led them into the vaults.  Here was where they stored ancient relics, remnants from the Sith Wars that had been kept by the Jedi for study and as history.  The outer rooms of the vault doubled as a museum- they passed by many things on display, from an old protosaber (it drew energy from a backpack- how cumbersome!) to an ancient ceremonial robe.  But Mace led them past the museum into an inner door, which required them to enter master-level codes, and then a further code, used only by senior archivists and councilors.

The door swung open, and they passed through.  Qui-Gon felt his sense of the Force muffle and dampen around him.  Oh, it wasn’t gone, he could still hear it whispering in his ears as he always did, but it would be difficult for him to actually use it, to lift something or to push something.  The walls around this vault had been designed for this, with Force-suppressing elements threaded through.  Such material was rare indeed and this section of the Temple had been built almost a thousand years ago.

They had entered the Temple’s Sith vault, highly protected, kept secure and locked tight for centuries.  This was where the Order kept its darkest artifacts.  Relics of the wars from ages past, these items had been kept as a reminder of their history, and for study, and so that the knowledge of the Sith would not be lost, even though the Order’s old enemy had been defeated.  Many debated the wisdom of keeping these things- what use was it to preserve evil knowledge?  What use was it to remember the Sith when they were a thousand years dead?  Every generation of Jedi debated the removal of these artifacts, or their destruction, but so far they had not decided to remove them.  Perhaps it was because removing these artifacts involved actually entering this room- something Qui-Gon would rather have gone his entire life without doing.

The Force was cold here, and slick like oil.  The whispers in his ears, usually melodious and kind, had turned into a muffled angry chanting.  It was horrible.

“Mace,” whispered Qui-Gon.  “Why have you brought me here?”

He looked around in a kind of horrified fascination.  The archives, despite being centuries old, were meticulously organized.  He saw a severed finger, kept preserved in a glass box, claiming to be the index finger of Darth Naberius, whoever that was.  There was a set of Sith battle robes, and a cybernetic eye floating in some unknown liquid.  There was an ancient Sith mask, a torture device, labelled that it was taken from Darth Ubel in the second battle of-

-he tore his eyes away, refocusing on his friend and the reason he had been brought down to this awful place.

Mace was walking over to a lone stand, set up on a table at the edge of the room, kept separate from the rest.  As Qui-Gon approached, he got a good look.

On that stand sat a cylinder of silver metal, with black grips lining the bottom and not much else- simple, for a lightsaber.  Funnily enough, it was the first thing he noticed.  What an elegant design.  Graceful.

That lightsaber was screaming. 

“What,” Qui-Gon gasped in horror, “what-”

Kyber were classed as near-sentient, due to the way they sang in the Force and bonded with their Jedi.  If any lightsabers were kept in these vaults, they should be empty shells, because leaving a Sith crystal to scream and bleed into the Force would be an awful cruelty.  The Sith crystals, the ones taken into Jedi custody after the wars a thousand years ago, had all been healed, or, in cases where no healing was possible, humanely shattered.  Thus, in Qui-Gon’s time, none had ever been available for study.

“This was found in the room of a thousand fountains by an Initiate.  She heard the screaming and didn’t know what it was.  She picked it up- it burned her hands.”

“Is she alright?” asked Qui-Gon, feeling numb, feeling his heart arrest in his chest and drop into his stomach, where it settled into a cold, cold dread.  He felt his face drain of color.  Oh, Force.

“She’ll be fine.  But- Qui-Gon-”

“No,” he said.  “Don’t-”

“I’m sorry to tell you this way,” said Mace, refusing to let Qui-Gon back away from this reality.  “She found it in the same spot where you were meditating yesterday.  It had rolled under a bush…”

Force, no.

Qui-Gon approached the stand, one hand outstretched to reach and feel.  Yes- it was apparent that the crystal inside was a mass of pain, crying out into the Force.  The kyber was bleeding and bleeding and bleeding, howling a song of pain and heartbreak.  It painted the world red in Qui-Gon’s mind’s eye, drawing a picture of what it had endured.  He could feel the taint upon it.

Slowly, he reached out and put a shaking hand on the silver metal.

The crystal could not speak, but the sentiment was obvious. 

Help me, help me, it hurts, it hurts.  Spoken in colors and emotions and raw, animalistic, wild thrashing.

“No,” he breathed.

“Qui-Gon,” said Mace.  “It’s his.  It came with him.”

“You don’t know that.  You can’t prove anything.  How do we know they’re related to each other at all?”  He was babbling, but his soul was screaming denial.  Obi-Wan Kenobi would never.   “He wasn’t shielding, Mace, he isn’t- he can’t be fallen.  We’d know if he was, you- you can’t hide that kind of sin.”

Xanatos would never, he’d once said.

“Would we, really?” asked Mace.  “We’ve encountered darksiders before, but precious few of them since the Sith wars.  Supposedly we know what darksiders look like under their shields.  But we have no idea what knowledge may have been lost- and darksiders are not Sith.  During the wars, the Sith had techniques to hide themselves…make it appear as if they had no shields at all…” 

Mace looked regretful at the topic he was about to bring up.  He turned away and walked towards another shelf, plucking a saber shell off of it, and walking back towards Qui-Gon.

A lightsaber’s casing, missing the crystal inside.  It was black metal and rather slender, like the fingers that had once wielded it.  The bottom of the blade had been partially melted by acid, and the power cells had fused together.  It was a blade that had once been as familiar to Qui-Gon as his own.

“Xanatos was not a Sith,” he said, as Mace placed the saber shell into his hands.

“No, but he was dark.  When you brought that saber back to us, it was the first darksider’s blade we were able to study in centuries.  He replaced his original crystal with a synthetic red one, rather than bleeding it.  Maybe his crystal couldn’t take the strain and cracked- maybe it wouldn’t work for him.  But whatever the case…that was not this.  This crystal is a genuine kyber, Qui-Gon.”

“I thought you burned the shell,” said Qui-Gon.  “Melted it with his pyre.”

“The investigation on that saber is over.  We had to shatter the synthetic crystal, as it couldn’t be healed.  If you want, we can melt the casing now as well.”

“No,” he said, handing the empty shell back to Mace.  “You were right to keep it.  It serves as a reminder, as do all the things in this vault.”

With a full-body shudder, he turned back to the issue at hand- and the very much alive, actively bleeding saber sitting innocently on the table.  One of the worst moments of Qui-Gon’s life had been his first fight with Xanatos, seeing that red blade, a color only known to him before in books and old holos.  At the time he hadn’t known it was synthetic; he’d only seen the red and it had been like all his nightmares coming true at once.

A bleeding kyber.  Only a Sith would.  Only a Sith could.

Suddenly he had to know- he had to see with his own two eyes.  He reached out and grasped the bleeding saber, fighting away its attempts to burn his hands (he was a Jedi Master, what would burn an Initiate wouldn’t burn him) and lifted it from its stand.

“Qui-Gon!”

He pushed the ignition.

With a slinking, sliding sound (he was reminded of pythons and scales, rattling over stone) a plasma beam of deepest red extended from the hilt.  Every moment he held it, the crystal inside tried to lash out and claw at him and the world around. 

A wounded animal. 

He could only hold it a few seconds.  It was enough to sear the red into his retinas.  He disengaged the blade and placed it carefully back on its stand before stepping back and just taking a moment to breathe.

“Force,” he said, and felt a tear go down his cheek.  “We have to help it.”

“We’ll do everything we can,” said Mace.  “We put it down here because the Force is dampened, and it’s our most secure vault.  But we’ll be in and out every day on a volunteer basis to try and heal the crystal.”

“I want to help,” said Qui-Gon immediately.  “No one’s healed a crystal in centuries.  You’ll need all the help you can get.”

“Thank you for the offer,” said Mace.  “But there’s something else I need you to do.”

Obi-Wan.  Qui-Gon was warring between so many emotions- Obi-Wan would never- but Xanatos had.  And the man in the halls was not his teenaged apprentice.  And Qui-Gon was not as naïve, nor as forgiving, as he once had been.

“What are you going to do with him?” he whispered, tightening down the pain in his heart.

Mace’s expression softened.  He put a hand on Qui-Gon’s shoulder.  “The only thing we’re doing is moving him to a Force-suppressing cell.  He shouldn’t be using the Force anyway, since he’s healing.  We will take appropriate precaution.  We’ll post a guard, we’ll ask questions, we’ll get to the bottom of this and figure out who he really is.  We will not hurt him in any way.  That’s what the council decided last night.”

Qui-Gon forced himself to relax and unclench his hands.  It was an extremely reasonable response.  In fact, it was a more mitigated response than he’d expected.  The Sith were the subject of bedtime stories told to Initiates- scary monsters of near mythical reputation.  If he were being completely honest, he’d have expected the council to panic and order an execution.  He’d certainly panicked when he’d seen Xanatos’ red saber for the first time.

But Mace wasn’t Head of the Order at such a young age for nothing.  And the council, whatever else Qui-Gon thought of them, however else he might disagree with them, was not stupid.  And perhaps they had all learned a lesson or two after Xan.

*

On their way out of the vault, Qui-Gon brought up his pet theory.

“We did consider it,” said Mace.

“You did?”

“All things are possible in the Force, after all,” Mace tossed a smirk his way.  “Master Yoda seemed rather fond of the idea.  No, we haven’t ruled it out, or anything for that matter.  981, he said?  That’d put him at…thirty-eight?  Assuming he and Obi-Wan have the same birthday, that is.”

“He looks thirty-eight.”

“It could also be accelerated aging, like we see in clones sometimes.”

“A Force-sensitive clone?”

In their time, it had certainly never been done before.  Any clones made of Jedi (unethically, and usually against their will) were never Force-sensitive.

Mace shrugged.  “Someone might have made a breakthrough.”

“Alright- if he is a clone, explain how he knows about Obi-Wan’s past.”

“Does he?”

“He mentioned Obi-Wan’s friends, and he recognized me,” said Qui-Gon, “I suppose we could ask him more detailed questions.”

“I think his belief that we’re all dead is probably going to be an obstacle to obtaining any answers we may want.”

“There is that.”  Qui-Gon frowned.  “He needs a mind healer, for his soul as well as his psychic wounds.  Mace, his dreams…”

He hesitated, and Mace looked back at him curiously. 

“I wouldn’t tell you this, normally,” said Qui-Gon.  “I value my Padawan’s privacy.  But circumstances being what they are…” he trailed off.  “Last night, he dreamed of the crèche.  All I saw through our bond were bodies.  It was a memory, I’m sure of it.  With memories like that…it’s no wonder that he thinks we’re all dead.”  He didn’t mention his own flashback, or that he’d needed to raise shields.  Mace would probably infer all that, anyway.  Mace was well aware of Melidaan and what atrocities had gone on there.

The councilor nodded.  “Are you sure it was a memory?  Not a vision?”

Qui-Gon frowned.  “I suppose it could have been a vision, but…if so, it was remarkably coherent and vivid.  Obi-Wan’s visions are usually much more…vague.”  Unhelpful is what they were, but he kept that to himself.  What were the use of visions of darkness and impending horror when no details accompanied said visions?

“Will you show me?”

Startled, Qui-Gon’s steps faltered for a moment before he nodded and stopped, dragging his friend into a broom closet.  He knew Mace wouldn’t ask to see something like this unless it was necessary- he’d likely need to share this with the rest of the council, too.  Even after Melidaan, the council hadn’t asked him to share any memories, merely trusting in the reports he and Obi-Wan gave.  He was thankful for that, at least.

“Alright,” he said, and opened the shields on his bond with Mace, pushing his memory of that night through.  He tried to include only the relevant parts- the nightmare Obi-Wan had had, and not the flashback or the subsequent caf-bean sniffing episode.  But the art of sharing memories was an imperfect thing, and Qui-Gon felt his cheeks color at the reminder of his own failure to help his Padawan with his dreams.

Now, of course, he and the council had bigger problems.  Qui-Gon didn’t want to believe it, but that red saber had changed everything.  

Was the memory he’d seen the aftermath of an attack?  An attack that…oh, he didn’t want to think it.  An attack his Padawan had committed?

Everything was so confusing.  Obi-Wan was either extremely delusional, or the best actor Qui-Gon had ever seen.  But he’d felt the grief that had dripped down their bond.  That had been genuine.  Qui-Gon’s thoughts were whirling, caught between doubt and denial and faith and confusion.

Mace wasn’t much better.  He came out of the memory looking slightly green, blinking away the images of dead children and Obi-Wan’s hands, searching for a pulse.

“We really need to have a coherent conversation with him.  I don’t think anything will come of our theories and assumptions until we know more,” he said, shaking his head as if to clear it.  “Thank you for sharing that with me, it can’t have been easy.”

“It’s only a memory,” said Qui-Gon to the ground.  “You…shouldn’t hesitate to ask me for anything else.  I appreciate you looking out for me, but this is more important.”

“I promise I will, Qui-Gon,” said Mace, once more reaching out to squeeze his shoulder.  “You are my friend, and I care about you.  The council, though you may argue with us, cares about you.  Just because we care doesn’t mean we think you’re made of glass.”

Something in Qui-Gon’s chest warmed at that.  He gave his friend a small smile.  “I’m glad to hear it.”

They stepped out of the broom closet and began the trek back up into the Temple, through the elevators and walkways.  Qui-Gon had more questions and doubts now than when this day began, but for now he was going to put them aside and see to his teenaged apprentice.  He’d promised the younger Obi-Wan that he would show him an advanced ataru kata today.

Chapter Text

Things had radically changed since Qui-Gon had last seen the elder Obi-Wan.  He’d come to the cell straight after his lesson with the younger Obi-Wan (which had gone very well, in his opinion: his Padawan was a hard worker) and he’d grown more and more apprehensive as he drew near.  His side of the new training bond was still shielded tightly, and it would have to remain so until they determined if this man was a threat or not- a Master/Padawan bond, so intimate in nature, could be exploited.  Shields would help Qui-Gon defend against a possible psychic attack.  But it meant that Qui-Gon was no longer aware of the elder Obi-Wan’s emotions.  His mental state at waking up imprisoned was anyone’s guess.

So Qui-Gon tried to prepare himself for anything.  How had his Padawan been recovering?  Was he still too weak to stand?  Would he be asleep?  Would he suddenly have morphed into a rabid, raging darksider in the blink of an eye, purely because they had now discovered the red saber?

He nodded to the Temple guards posted at the ends of the hallway as he passed, footsteps echoing as he approached the cell.  He was ready for anything.  He was. 

The man in the cell was standing tall and proud, head held high, wearing a white medical robe, gray pants, and no shoes.  He was bereft his cloak, but it seemed no one had dared to take the braid coiled around his left wrist.  He still had that, but two new white bracelets circled his wrists, a bit higher up, near his Force-points.  Suppressors.  He looked Qui-Gon straight in the eye. 

The vulnerability of before was gone as if it had never existed.

Neither of them spoke, for a moment.  Then Obi-Wan began to clap, slow and sarcastic.

“Good show,” he said.  “You can drop the act now.”

“I beg your pardon?” If anyone should be dropping an act, it was Obi-Wan!

“I should have known,” said Obi-Wan, lips curling into a sneer.  There was a terrible expression on his face.  “And I do admit, you had me convinced for a while.  But you missed a few details.  Qui-Gon was never so thin, and his nose was never so straight, and he was never so nice.”

What?

“If you were going to impersonate him, you could at least have gotten it right.  Or do you not recall how he was?  Are you going senile in your old age, Lord?”

…What?

But Obi-Wan was pacing now, without ever taking his eyes off Qui-Gon, like a rancor prowling back and forth.  It seemed as if he was just getting warmed up.

“What is it with you tyrants and your feudal nicknames?  Count.  Lord.  Emperor.”  He said the list of titles in almost a sing-song tone.  “Goodness, it’s almost as if modernity scares you.  You’ve even taken the time to set up this little charade of yours to trap me- you’d have me believe I somehow ended up twenty years in the past?  Have me believe my dead Master was come to forgive my sins?  I hugged you, for Force’s sake.  I hugged you!”

He laughed then, bitter and short.  The red barrier separating them cast light on Obi-Wan’s face, sending it into unflattering lines, accenting the shadows and deepening the grooves.  Some part of Qui-Gon’s brain that wasn’t short-circuiting appreciated his Padawan’s improved coherency- he must be recovering well from his near-death to psychic shock.

“After the murder of my family and the betrayal of the clones, do you think I will care about your asinine games?  I have nothing left to lose.  Do your fucking worst, Darth Sidious!”

He’d stopped pacing and was now shouting in Qui-Gon’s face.  There was a fine tremble to his arms and legs- his whole frame seemed to vibrate like a tightly coiled spring.  Every inch of him screamed violence and Qui-Gon knew that if he took even a single step beyond that red barrier, he would be attacked.

“Padawan…” he tried.  He couldn’t think of what to say.

“Coward,” snarled Obi-Wan.  “Drop that façade and face me yourself.”

It wasn’t violence.  It was fear.  Or a violence borne of fear.  The yelling, the trembling, the pacing.  Nervous energy being redirected into anger.  Oh, the anger was genuine (it was more like rage) but…yes.  Obi-Wan was afraid. 

A wounded animal.

“Ask me something,” he found himself saying.  He put a hand against the barrier.  “Something only I would know.  If you’re really Obi-Wan…let me prove to you who I am.”

“Fine,” the furious man growled.  “Who broke Qui-Gon’s nose after Melidaan?”

Fuck.  That had backfired.  “No one broke my nose.” 

He and his apprentice had been quarantined and kept on a Medicorps ship orbiting Coruscant for three weeks, recovering from trauma, near-starvation, and a host of diseases they’d picked up while fighting a guerrilla war on the outer rim.  There had been many hugs, after that, from their family.  Certainly no nose-breaking.

“Wrong.”  Obi-Wan’s smile was vicious and triumphant.  “Drop the act.  You’ve taken the time to recreate the Temple, somehow managed to replicate the people I knew- but you have no way of knowing the details.”  He rocked back on his heels with a self-satisfied air.

“Ask me something else.”

“…What?”

“Ask me something else,” Qui-Gon repeated.

“Why? So you can answer wrong again?”

“Maybe.”  He had no idea what he was doing.  But seeing Obi-Wan stare at him like a stranger was incredibly unpleasant.  He was reminded of Xan, and he didn’t like seeing such an expression on another Padawan’s face.  Rather than behave like a darksider, Obi-Wan seemed to be accusing him of being someone evil.  His Padawan was expecting torture, expecting pain.

After Melidaan, Qui-Gon knew what that looked like.

Obi-Wan was caught off guard.  But after a pause, he asked another question. 

“Master Tahl,” he said slowly, eyes boring into Qui-Gon’s soul.  “Who was she to you?”

She was- words, whispered in the night.  Glances from across a room.  Someone he’d do anything for.  Someone who drove him to do things, think things he’d never have thought before.  On Melidaan, when faced with a choice between Tahl’s eyes and his young apprentice, he’d nearly chosen her eyes.

Love was not forbidden among the Jedi.  They did not marry, but relationships?  There was nothing wrong with that.  But what Qui-Gon had with Tahl was something worse than love.  A monstruous kind of love that drove him to desperation.  His darkest, ugliest secret.  The thought of losing her pushed him towards darkness.  For her, he’d been ready to leave his Padawan and hundreds of hurting children alone in a warzone.

He was working on it with the mind healers.  Both of them were.  For the sake of their sanity and their Padawans.

“I love her,” he croaked.  Suddenly he couldn’t look Obi-Wan in the eye.  I nearly loved her more than my Padawan.  “It is…an attachment.  A- a terrible, terrible attachment.”

“Yes,” said Obi-Wan.  He tilted his head, studying Qui-Gon beneath his lashes.  “It is.  The Qui-Gon of my time would never have admitted to it.”

“I’m working on it,” said Qui-Gon, softly.  “I’m trying to be a better Jedi…a better man.” 

He had nothing more to say.  He was horribly off-center, and desperately needed meditation.  He turned to leave.

“Feemor,” said Obi-Wan.  Qui-Gon paused in his steps.  “He’s the one who broke your nose, after you left me alone on Melidaan.”

Qui-Gon fled.

*

Ben had told the man wearing Qui-Gon’s face that he had nothing left to lose.  Wrong.  There was always something left to lose.

Ben’s shields had been down for the better part of twenty-four hours while he recovered from his near-death.  He’d woken up in a hospital bed, back in the Temple he loved, surrounded by people he thought were his family, and like a fool he’d assumed he’d died and was with them again.  It had been the only thing that had comforted him, when he was losing his mind on Tatooine – the certainty that he’d see his family in death.

Now he was in a cell with Force-suppressors on his wrists and the knowledge that the Sith had had access to his mind unrestricted-

He wasn’t dead.  They must not have gotten everything.  Perhaps he hadn’t unwittingly betrayed everyone who was left.

As Qui-Gon’s impersonator vanished, Ben slid down the wall.  His façade of strength from before was just that- an act.  He would not show weakness in front of Sidious, not now that he knew he wasn’t dead.  How pathetic he’d been.  Clinging to the shallow imitation of his Master like a scared crècheling.  How could he have fallen for such a poor impression, even for a moment?

The real Qui-Gon would never have embraced him like that.

The moment Ben awoke to find himself in this cell, he’d raised his mental shields.  It took effort.  It had hurt.  The headache pounded behind his eyes and throbbed like a heartbeat in time with the Force-suppressors around his wrists.  But he needed to protect his mind at all costs.  Whatever Sidious still needed him alive for- whatever information he hadn’t yet learned- Ben would take it to the grave.

Obi-Wan, the fake Qui-Gon had said.  He’d been Obi-Wan for a day, surrounded by his family.  He had no desire to be him again.

Ben, he told himself firmly.  Benah foh.

Alone in the cell, Ben created his list of priorities.  One: he was not getting out of here.  Even if he did appear to escape, he had no idea of what was real.  The past hours had taught him that lesson rather brutally.  Still, if he did ever manage to re-connect with the Force, that would be a good help.  He hadn’t been able to use it since waking up here- presumably Sidious needed him without it to keep up his illusion. 

Two: even though Ben had no illusions about escaping, he was going to do what he could to reconnect with the Force.  That meant breaking these cuffs.  He studied them- small and white, they glowed faintly in the darkness.  They were stuck fast to his wrists, attached so snug that they couldn’t even be shifted up or down his arm. 

He checked for serial numbers- yes, there it was. 

SB-2.PFLU.4F9A.KL-5, he read.  Luckily he had been a high general of the republic merely a week before.  He knew how to read this.

So, each one was a Suppression Band level 5, meant to inhibit and disrupt one’s connection to the Force by injecting small amounts of Perflusiadol, a military-grade drug that bonded with midichlorians. 

It had been used by the Jedi in order to hold Force-sensitives in detention for decades until the Clone Wars had proven that one could build up a tolerance to it.  Nowadays they used a compound drug, or merely kept strong Force-sensitives sedated, or, in worst case scenarios, they’d cycle said Force-sensitive’s blood through a machine and forcefully purge the midichlorians before pumping it back in, continuously so the body couldn’t create enough.  They got very creative during those years.

But pure Perflusiadol?  Child’s play.  Even Grievous wouldn’t have made a mistake like that with him.  Which meant Sidious wanted him to escape.  Ben doubted breaking these cuffs would allow him to reconnect with the Force, but it would be a good first step.

Three: there was a new bond in his mind.  He hadn’t noticed at first, unshielded and Force-null as he’d been, but now it was apparent to him, sticking out among the void of all the rest of his shattered bonds.

It was a training bond, directly over his old one with Qui-Gon.  Of all the-

No.  Ben was a soldier, and there was a time and a place for anger, grief and pain.  So what if Sidious had violated something as personal and sacred as his mind, and had vandalized the mark of his old bond with Qui-Gon?  Ben was in the worst position it was possible for a Jedi to be in.  Before he died, he expected to endure much worse.

The training bond was a mockery, a perversion.  Unless- perhaps Sidious meant to turn him?

No- he dismissed that thought as quickly as it had come.  If the loss of his family hadn’t managed to make Ben fall, nothing would.  No, this must be some form of monitoring, some new way to torture him.  When Ben gained a bit more strength, he’d rip that bond out and break the cuffs.  He might be able to do it now, but it would take effort, and he wanted to have enough energy to fight afterwards if need be.  There was no harm in waiting.  He’d take his time.

During the fight on Mustafar, Ben’s Padawan had ripped their bond out, pulling it up like a weed, snapping every root and blood vessel.  It was a most unique torment.  It was anathema to do such a thing.  Bonds were blocked, or dissolved, or atrophied, or snapped during death, but not ripped.  Not frayed and bled and mutilated. 

The void where that bond had been was still angry and inflamed in his mind.  What had been the name of his Padawan?  Ana…Ann?  Annie?

Ben put a hand to his head, bracing against the sudden headache.  An “A” name, he was pretty sure. 

Brown hair that had once been blond, sun-kissed and streaked through.  A boy, he also thought- but he wasn’t completely sure.  A boy, maybe.

Train the boy, he remembered Qui-Gon saying, but that was all Ben had to go on. 

…A boy, then, yes.  He could decide on that much.  Trying to remember was incredibly painful.  It felt like poking at a raw, gaping wound.  A wound so vast and deep that it had burrowed inside him, festering and turning rotten, eating him from the inside out.

I loved you, he remembered.

The face was blurred in his memory.  If Ben were to pass this person on the street, he would not recognize him.

Would Ben really inflict that kind of pain on another?  Cause the same kind of mental damage?

For Sidious, yes.  With luck, it’d be disabling, too.  At the very least it should momentarily stun the Sith lord.  He’d have to wait for an opportune moment to play that particular card.  Even if the thought of it did make him nauseous.  For now, he built shields around it thick as a castle and prayed they would hold. 

The last thing to consider was the cell.  He appeared to be in the Temple’s detention block, a small row of cells used for detaining members of their own Order – the Jedi had official jurisdiction over their own, and if a Jedi committed a crime, they would be tried by other Jedi.  Before the war, this row of cells had lain empty most of the time, or occasionally filled by a single person for a single night.  Was he back there?  Or was he in a different cell, only made to look like the Temple cells?

Ben had no idea what was real, but he felt that it was a reasonable assumption that he was in the Temple.  He’d seen the aftermath of the attack (he wasn’t going to allow himself to picture it right now) but he knew that while there was internal damage due to blaster fire and other things, the structure itself hadn’t been destroyed.  Perhaps Sidious meant to reuse it. 

For now, he’d assume he was looking at a simple Temple detention cell.  If that was the case, these walls would be threaded through with small amounts of a rare mineral that naturally clouded and repelled the Force.  Getting out of here would be tricky, but not impossible once he’d broken the cuffs.  There were usually tiny faults in the suppression field around the energy barrier.

Ben had escaped many prisons in his life.  This one was no different.  Sidious knew perfectly well what he was capable of – whatever the Sith lord wanted to do by making it easy to escape, he didn’t know, but no matter.  The best way through a trap was to spring it.

Chapter Text

“Obi-Wan Kenobi, you believe yourself to be?”  It was Master Yoda.  No- it was a being wearing Master Yoda’s face.  The Mace Windu imposter was standing right behind him, arms crossed and glaring at Ben as if Ben had personally insulted him.

Ben cracked an eye from his seated position on the floor and didn’t dignify that with a response.

“Hmm, hmm.  Sullen, you are, because of your new room?  Angry, you are?”

Ben squinted at the little green troll, searching the Jedi Master's face through the red energy barrier.  Finding nothing amiss, he grimaced.  Qui-Gon had been so different.  “Well, you got him right at least,” he muttered.  Louder, he said, “Oh, I don’t know.  Perhaps this cell has grown on me.”

He supposed this was the moment they would take him to torture him. 

“Familiar with such places, are you?”

Ben snickered.  “You could say that.”

“Obi-Wan,” said not-Mace, stepping forward.  “We’ve come on behalf of the council.  We have some questions.”

“Torture me all you want,” said Ben, instantly serious and getting slowly to his feet.  He made sure to lift his head high, adopting his military bearing, hands threaded behind his back.  “But I am a soldier and a Jedi, and even if you have destroyed the Order and the Republic both, I am still here.  Whatever it is you want from me, you are mistaken if you think I will tell you.  I will happily go to my death rather than help you.”

“We are peacekeepers.  We don’t torture anyone,” said Mace, frowning.  Ah, his mannerisms were just like the real Mace.  Behind his back, Ben clenched his fingernails into his palms.  “Until, or if we deem you not to be a threat, you’ll remain here where we can keep an eye on you.  You’ll be treated well and will not be tortured, but unless you answer our questions, we can’t let you out.”

“Do you plan to make me your trophy, then?” asked Ben curiously.  “A Jedi on display for the galaxy’s entertainment, the last remnant of a crumbling Republic?”

Mace and Yoda shared a look.  “So,” said Mace, closing his eyes briefly while a vein jumped on the side of his head.  “Your beliefs have changed, I see.  You no longer believe we are dead, but seem to think you’re the prisoner of a…who was it?  Darth Sidious, you told Qui-Gon.”

“A Jedi, too, he said,” said Yoda.  The old troll shuffled closer to the red barrier, gimer stick thumping on the ground.  “Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi, are you?”

Ben swallowed.  This is Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi.  I regret to report that…

“Always,” he said, voice cracking on the word.  It felt like a vow.

Yoda smiled.  “Yet, a Padawan, we know Obi-Wan Kenobi to be.  A human youngling, he is.  Apprenticed to Master Qui-Gon Jinn, he is.”

“Master Qui-Gon is with the Force,” said Ben.  “That imposter out there is his poor shadow.”

“Is he?” said Yoda’s imitation.  “An imposter, are you?”

…What?

“I know who I am,” said Ben.  “Stop this charade.  Qui-Gon is dead.”

“Who is Darth Sidious?” asked Mace.  “A Sith?”

“Stop asking inane questions you already know the answer to!”

“What makes you think we do?  What is it that makes you think we are somehow actors?  Why do you believe you are the prisoner of this “Sidious” you mention?”

Incredulously, Ben raised his hands, displaying the Force-suppressors that were tight around his wrists.  “If not Sidious, then who?”

“You said you were a Jedi.  Do you not recognize the Temple?  The Order?”

“Your taunts are as unimaginative as they are unamusing.  The Order has been quite thoroughly destroyed; you saw to that.”

Really, Ben thought.  Did the Sith intend to exhaust him to death with this conversation?  It felt as if he and his captors were speaking two different languages.

“If the Order has been destroyed, how are you a Jedi?”  Mace pursued his line of questioning doggedly.  That last question, though…it hit at one of Ben’s newfound insecurities.  Was he still a Jedi?

Hadn’t he just made a vow to himself?  Always. 

Ben inhaled.  Exhaled.  “They are my people and my family.  I was knighted.  I have not broken my vows.  I am a Jedi, and I will remain so until the day I die.”

“Who knighted you?”

“Master Yoda.  The real Master Yoda, I mean.”  Ben had no issue sharing these things; the Sith had been present at his knighting ceremony.  It had been rushed and had taken place on Naboo.

The fake Yoda thumped his gimer stick once against the ground, pulling Mace up short.

“Hmm, hmm,” he hummed, giving Ben a long look.  “Knight you in what year, did I?”

“You did not-”

“Humor me, you will,” said Yoda.  “What year is it now, Master Kenobi?  981?”

“Of course it is.”

“And the year of your knighting, will you tell me?”

Ben sighed.  “968.  But you know that.”

The mockery of his great-grandmaster seemed to wilt, ears dropping, and he curled over his gimer stick as if the confirmation Ben had given him was painful to hear.

“959, is the current year,” said Yoda, sounding old and ancient and sad.  “The reason, it is, why nothing makes sense to you.”

Ben gaped at him.  “What- you expect me to believe that?”

“Prove it, we can,” said Yoda.

“Qui-Gon already tried.  He answered wrong.”

“Perhaps your memory is faulty,” said Mace, crossing his arms.  “Or false.  Either way, you are in the year 959.  We have several ways of proving it to you.”

“Fine,” said Ben, sarcasm dripping from his tongue.  “Let me use the Force.  Let me feel the Jedi around me.  That’s the simplest way I can think of.”

“No.  Not until we’re sure you won’t use it to attack us.”

Ben turned away from them, thoroughly fed up.  It seemed Sidious did indeed want to keep up the charade, trying to get him to believe he had travelled back in time.  As if.

“I’ll tell you what,” he said, addressing the wall and the fake Jedi Masters at his back. “You say there’s a Padawan Kenobi?  Let me talk to him.”

“If we do, will you believe us?”

Not on your life.  “Depends on what he says.”

“We’ll…consider it.”

*

Ben didn’t believe that there was a fake Padawan Kenobi.  Sidious had gone to great lengths to make things seem plausible, sure, but this was a step too far.  He knew himself better than anyone.  Certainly a Sith lord wouldn’t be able to create anything remotely convincing.  He’d like to see what they did in response to his challenge- if he wasn’t to be tortured immediately, what did they intend to do with him?

Nothing, it turned out.   

No one else came for hours, not the fake Yoda, or Mace, or “Padawan Kenobi.”  Not that awful fake Qui-Gon.  At first he was relieved, and took the opportunity to relax and attempt to gather his strength for his inevitable break-out.

But the trouble came when he attempted to sleep.  Without the Force, he couldn’t put himself into a healing trance, so sleep was his best bet for a quick recovery.  It was simple: just lay down flat, or sit against the wall, eyes closed.

Ben had failed to consider what isolation would do to him, after the hell that had been the past few days.  Those memories, so recent and returned to him, prowled at the edges of his consciousness like a pack of hungry beasts, with teeth sharp and gleaming in the darkness.  They circled around him, and he drew into himself.  Without the Force, there wasn’t much defense to be had.

“There is no emotion,” he whispered, alone in the cell.

Poor little patriot, the beasts of his memories replied.  You believed in it all so much, didn’t you?

“There is no ignorance.  There is no passion.  There is no…”

The Republic.  Democracy.  Freedom.  They played you for a fool, didn’t they?

“There is no chaos.”

You never saw it coming.

“There is no death.”  Focus.  He was meditating.  Right now the Force was out of reach, it was true.  But it was still there, all around him.  If he was really back on Coruscant, wouldn’t it be drowning in death and darkness?  Would breaking his cuffs and reaching for it hurt him?  Kill him?

Fingers fisted in his hair, he put his head between his knees and began to gasp with the effort of keeping everything contained.  It was not safe to show emotion here.

He wrestled the beasts back down into the pits from which they’d come.

“Master Ghant’s third meditation,” he whispered to himself.  Book-smart, he’d always been- a Jedi Master, he’d been- he had this memorized. 

“Come, children of the Force, and reflect upon your connections.  Living beings are…as petals, scattered on ocean waves.  To be one with the Force is to also float on the waves; your loved ones travel along beside you, and the current will bear them away.  Such is the way of all life…death is part of life...”

Ben spoke aloud to further ward away the beasts.  He talked until his voice was hoarse, going through different teachings he had learned and memorized, different mantras and sermons.  At some point, he relaxed into Dai Bendu.  The language of his Order, the language of the Force.

“Im tumi tamah kerai’yth,” he whispered, curled in the farthest corner of the cell.  “Ji xai enoah Dai.”

It wasn’t peace.  But it wasn’t crisis, anymore.  He’d managed to talk himself down from the cliff.  He had managed, for the moment, to keep a hold on his wavering sanity.  He felt a brittle sense of calm, the stillness before a storm.

He slept.

*

Footsteps outside the cell.  Ben jumped, falling out of his fragile slumber and rolling to his feet, breath coming fast and harsh.  He looked around, eyes wild-

Ah.  The medic, Vokara Che.  His lip curled.

“Pecha,” she said, bowing slightly, and his heart froze.  “Tumi mika’ah Vokara Che.”

“Those words are not for you,” he snapped.  “Speak Basic or don’t speak at all.”

She drew herself up, affronted.  Her lekku vibrated in anger.

“…Alright,” she said, clearly trying to maintain a professional calm.  “Well, Obi-Wan, you need your meds before you eat today, and you need someone to come check your Force-points to make sure you’re healing properly.”

“I won’t be eating anything you offer me,” said Ben, equally as angry.  How dare the Sith speak- he should have known they’d use it against him, the moment he spoke that language to himself.  What an idiotic thing to do.  It had just- it had been a comfort.

 “Oh, you intend to starve yourself to death?  How about water, Obi-Wan?  Will you refuse that, as well?”

“Drink some before giving it to me, and I won’t.”

“And I suppose you want me to take your medicine before you take any?”

“I would certainly prefer that,” said Ben.  “But I’m just fine without your pills.  I’ll also mention that I will incapacitate anyone who attempts to touch me.”

She quirked an eyebrow.  “Awfully confident of you, considering you can’t use the Force and you have no saber.”

“Try me,” said Ben.  He longed to hit something.  The imposter wearing Vokara Che’s visage would do nicely.

She had died in one of the hallways, slumped partially out of a window, where she had presumably been lowering her patients from the Temple with the Force, trying to help them escape.  Ben had no idea if any of them made it or not.

The mockery huffed in clear annoyance.  “You are my patient and I am trying to help.  You may feel better, but you’re nowhere near fully recovered.  If you don’t take this medication, you put yourself at greater risk of having a seizure.”

Oh.  He’d had a few of those on Tatooine before he’d woken up here.  Ben’s mind stalled for a few moments as he remembered how awful those had been- he had no desire to ever experience another one-

Too bad.  Ben wouldn’t take those pills unless they forced him.

“So be it,” he said.  “Benah foh.”

“If you collapse, I’m going to lash you to a hospital bed.”

She left, lekku still twitching in annoyance.  Ben expected that to be it, and settled on the ground again to his meditation, but he heard footsteps again only a few minutes later.

“I told you, I’m not going to-” he began, before looking up and freezing.

Obi-Wan Kenobi stared back at him.

Strangely, Ben’s first thought was how he rarely saw his own face outside of mirrors.  He was used to seeing it flipped around.  His second thought was wow, they really put work into this.  Could this be a clone?  Were they all clones?  The boy was certainly young enough, but Yoda wasn’t.

Padawan Kenobi stood before him, wearing soft beige robes and a beep brown cloak.  His hair was in that awful traditional Padawan cut- hair perfectly shorn, clean-shaven, nerf-tail, braid perfectly plaited, not a hair out of place.  He held a tray of food and water balanced in his hands.

For a long moment, they stared at each other.

“You upset Master Qui-Gon,” said Obi-Wan, looking Ben in the eye.

“Oh, did I?  Please do give him my deepest apologies,” said Ben, dripping with vitriol.

“You could stand to be nicer.”

“Tell them not to impersonate my Master, and perhaps I will be.”

The teenager tilted his head.  “You know, I have always considered myself to be a rational person.  But you are not being logical.  Perhaps we aren’t the same after all.”

“You are a poor imitation, just like Qui-Gon.  You will not haunt me with the ghosts of my past.”

Obi-Wan just rolled his eyes and sat cross-legged on the floor.  He held the tray of food in his lap- it appeared to be some kind of sandwich. 

“Master Che says you won’t eat,” he said, taking a bite of it.  Ben had to glance away – damnit, he was hungry.  And thirsty.  He’d never done well going without food, not since Melidaan.

“But it seems to me like, even if we aren’t the same, you and I have some similar issues.”  The Padawan then took a deep swig of the glass of water, making sure Ben had glanced back to see it.  “Paranoia being chief among them.”

“It’s not paranoia,” Ben scoffed.  “I am being held prisoner.  Of course I am not going to eat anything you give me.”

“You’ll collapse of dehydration; the healers will sedate you, put an IV in your arm, and give you whatever drugs they want.”

Ben was planning to at least attempt to escape before that happened.  But he couldn’t tell Obi-Wan that.  So he crossed his arms and raised one eyebrow at the boy.  “They’ve already done that, if you recall.”

“Even more reason why your refusal now is irrational.”  So saying, Obi-Wan put the glass back on the tray and…the tray began to float.  Ben took a startled step forward- clones couldn’t use the Force, it wasn’t scientifically possible to clone Jedi with their powers- everyone knew that-

And yet the tray was floating all the same.  Was it a trick?  Obi-Wan hit a button on the side of the cell, likely altering the barrier so that something could go through, but nothing could get out.  The food passed through the red barrier and continued on its path towards Ben, before stopping in midair in front of him.

Slowly, he reached out, passing his hand in front and behind the tray- checking for strings, or some invisible device, or…something.

No, Obi-Wan had given him the tray with the Force.  How…strange.  Could Sidious shape-shift as well as disguise himself to look like Qui-Gon?

“You’re Force-sensitive,” he said, dumbly.

“Of course.  As is everyone in this Temple.  We are Jedi.”

“Do you know what you’re doing?  Do you know who you’re working for?  Why are you helping him?”

“Eat your food,” said Obi-Wan.  “I’ll answer your questions after you eat.”

To his own surprise, Ben reached for the tray, taking the glass of water and downing it.  Then he lowered the tray to the floor and sat down opposite Padawan Kenobi.  The sandwich sat there with a bite taken out of the corner.  Oh hell, he thought, and began to eat.

“The council thinks you’re either a clone or a time traveler,” said Obi-Wan.  “Which is it?”

“Me, the clone?”  Ben scoffed around a bite of the sandwich.

“Cloning can’t replicate memories.  So I’m going to ask you some questions.”

“You’ll get nothing out of me.”

“You told Master about Melidaan.  Clearly there are some things you don’t mind talking about.”

Well, yes.  But only because the Sith already knew all that.  As Chancellor, Palpatine would have had access to Ben’s files…

“Lets start with an easy one.  How did we end up as Master Qui-Gon’s Padawan?”

Ben’s records on this had been sealed, of course, since he was a minor at the time.  But the Chancellor would still have had access.  He tried to keep his explanation bare-bones.  “I was sent to the Agricorps on Bandomeer early.  Qui-Gon was nearby on a mission…through sticking my nose where it didn’t belong, I ended up-” Ben swallowed.  Some memories were better left in the past- he hadn’t even thought about Bandomeer in years.  “I was taken into slavery in Xanatos’ mines.”

“Show me,” said Obi-Wan, ruthlessly pressing forward.  “Show me the scars.”

The scars from Bandomeer?

Slowly, Ben raised his chin, turning his head to the side.  Could Obi-Wan even see them, faded as they were, behind the red barrier?  He touched them, indicating where they were.  Small circular rings- one on each side of his neck, one right in the middle of his throat, and one on the back of his neck, partially covered by his hair.  Marks from where the prongs of an electric bomb collar had seared into his skin.  Being shocked there one too many times as a thirteen-year-old had certainly left its mark. 

They were much easier to see on the Padawan.  How recent had that been, for him?  Three years ago?

No, it hadn’t.  Because Padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi was an imposter. 

Said Padawan was rocking back, letting out a long, deep breath.  His hands were trembling, so he folded them behind his back- something Ben had been doing for years.

They had the same mannerisms.

“How long were you in the mines?”

“Three weeks.”  Such a short span of time.  There was something about that- something about slavery that was poking his consciousness insistently.  Had An- Annie had something to do with…slavery?

He couldn’t remember.

“What was it you tried to do, to allow Master Qui-Gon to escape?”

Something idiotic, something he’d have severely reprimanded any Padawan for once he was made a Master.  “I offered to blow myself up, to get through the door."

“Yes,” said Obi-Wan, smiling, the ghost of an embarrassed flush creeping up his cheeks.  “It wasn’t our best moment.”

“You could get all of this from my file.  I don’t know what you’re trying to prove.”

“I did say these were the easy questions.  Now tell me something only I would know.  Something we’ve never told anyone.”

Ben remained silent.

Obi-Wan shrugged.  “I’ll start, then.”  He paused to think.  “The caves on Ilum.  When I went there as a youngling, to get my first saber, the crystals showed me a vision.  I saw myself, a grown man with a beard.  I was all alone in a vast desert, underneath two suns.  The crystals told me I was destined for abject loneliness, for…”

“Infinite sadness,” finished Ben.  He’d never- he’d written that experience off as a fluke, had tried to forget about it, push it down.  No one knew.  He’d never told a single soul.  Did they get this from his mind when it had been unshielded? 

Why was that getting harder and harder to believe?

“When I was…ten,” Ben found himself saying, “I used to hold hands with Siri Tachi under the table.  I wanted to marry her.  She was…”

“The only person who didn’t make fun of my name,” said the Padawan.  “Our name.”

“She made fun of everything else.  Called me every name in the book.  She was so mean.”  He found himself smiling; these memories didn’t hurt, they were beautiful.  When they’d all been innocent younglings together.  “I was so upset when Master Vant told us we couldn’t get married.”

“I sulked for a whole day,” said Obi-Wan, matching Ben’s smile. 

What was he doing?  What was this conversation they were having?  How did they know these things about him?

He decided to test Obi-Wan.  “And Quinlan,” he said.  “We used to kiss in the hallways after class-”

“What?  No!  I-I mean, we didn’t!”  The boy blushed furiously.  “Why would you say something like that?”

Yes…Ben hadn’t had that particular fling until they’d both been eighteen.  It hadn’t lasted long, and they’d remained close afterwards.  If Obi-Wan were really him…at sixteen, he’d know nothing about it…

His smile faded. 

“What?” said the boy.  “Did I answer wrong?”

“No,” said Ben, almost a whisper.  “You’re right.”

Once again, they stared at each other.

“I think you should leave now,” said Ben.  The Padawan seemed confused, but then shrugged and got to his feet.

“One thing,” said Obi-Wan, looking down at Ben, still seated on the floor.  “Don’t upset Master Qui-Gon again.  If you’re really me…if you’re from the future, I can’t imagine a situation in which I’d ever want to hurt him.  But if, for some reason, you decide to attack him, I will strike you down.  Understand?”  The boy put one hand on his lightsaber.

“I believe you,” said Ben, looking at the steely expression in the grey eyes.  “But that man is not Qui-Gon.”

“You’re better than that,” said Obi-Wan.  “You’re in denial of the obvious truth.”

“Time travel is impossible-”

“Through the Force, all things are possible!  When did you stop believing that?”  He glanced away from Ben.  “Perhaps the Force has brought you here to show me what I am in danger of becoming.  For I have no wish to ever be you, Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

He turned on his heel and stalked away, and Ben looked at the ground.  The tray sat there innocently, empty of sandwich and water.  But on the edge of the plate rested three white pills.  With a yell of frustration, Ben grabbed them and threw them into the barrier, where they fizzed and popped.

Chapter Text

Obi-Wan stood before him, hands behind his back, head down in a display of contrition.  Qui-Gon knew it was an act, which only made him angrier.

“Forgive me, Master,” said his Padawan.  “Heleo.”

“I explicitly told you not to visit him.  What possessed you?”

“He asked for me, so I-”

“And I told you no.  Is he your Master now, that you obey him over me?”

Obi-Wan winced.  “I-I’m sorry,” he said again.  “I don’t really have an excuse.  But he spoke to me.  Master, what I learned-”

Qui-Gon felt a headache building.  He pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose.  Obi-Wan spoke quickly into his silence, trying to get all his information through before his Master could reprimand him again.

“We do share memories.  He knew things about me I’ve never told a soul, and I did too, about him.  He had the Bandomeer scars and even the scar from that stupid fall I had one time on his arm and he acted just like me with his hands and expressions.  So I think Master Yoda is right.”

“About the time travel?”  Qui-Gon sighed.  “I think so as well.  But Obi-Wan, I wanted you nowhere near him.  Now you may have given him information that he can use against you.  What did you tell him?”

Nevermind that Qui-Gon had done the exact same thing when faced with the other Obi-Wan’s angry tirade.

“I didn’t-”

“What, Padawan?”

“I…I told him about my visions, in the cave on Illum.  It’s nothing relevant.  And…”

“And?”

“Nothing, Master.”  Obi-Wan looked at the floor, flushing slightly.  “He knew about some…old crushes of mine.  Stupid thoughts I had as a youngling.  But he told me.  He just knew.”

Those weren’t so bad, it was true.  Qui-Gon breathed in and out through his nose.  “I’m glad it wasn’t anything more important.  But, Padawan, I am trying to keep you away from him for a reason.  I told you about the saber we found, and I told you what I spoke to him about, and I would like to continue working on this with you, but I need you to listen to me and heed me when I say something is too dangerous.  I cannot try to help him when I’m worrying about what he might do to you.”

It was a habit, leftover from Melidaan- sharing information.  Qui-Gon hadn’t seen Obi-Wan as a child for…a while, and perhaps that was to his detriment.  It was just…hard, remembering his Padawan’s actual age, when the two of them had been generals in a civil war.  Experiences like that aged a person, body and mind.  On Melidaan, there had been precious little they didn’t tell each other, as the tiniest miscommunication could get them all killed.  But Obi-Wan was still a child, in truth.  And Qui-Gon wasn’t about to put him needlessly at risk.

And finally, with that little speech, his Padawan seemed to look truly abashed. 

“I understand, Master.  I really am sorry.”

Qui-Gon tugged fondly on Obi-Wan’s braid.  “You’re forgiven, Padawan.  But I’m assigning you to crèche duty as punishment.”

He laughed as the Padawan perked up right away- Obi-Wan loved children.  Crèche duty was no true punishment, and he knew it.  The lesson had been learned; hopefully there was no need for anything more.

(Qui-Gon also loved the crèche- how could he not?  It was glorious to see happy children, content and safe and playing in the Temple and not dying in a gutter, choking on their own blood-)

*

Qui-Gon flew back several meters, barely managing to flip in midair and land on his feet.  He’d just been blasted back from the Sith saber, as it gave him a metaphysical kick that sent him reeling.  Even with a Force-dampened room such as this, the saber was strong enough to resist several Masters at once. 

“Alright?” called Shaak Ti, who was holding the saber.

Qui-Gon merely nodded and got to his feet again, rolling his neck and cracking his knuckles.  Damn, but that saber packed a punch. 

“Let’s break,” said Shaak.  “That’s the eighth time it’s thrown you, Qui-Gon.”

So saying she extinguished the red blade and replaced it onto its stand.

“This isn’t working,” said Mace, from his position leaning against the wall.

“I wonder why,” said Master Nu, dryly, from her seated position on a stool at the other end of the room.  She was reading a holonovel and appeared to be tolerating the younger Masters’ attempts to heal the crystal like a crèchemaster tolerating a group of roughhousing younglings.  “It’s almost as if you’re going about it all wrong.”

They’d been at it for hours already, taking turns, with one (or several) Masters holding the saber and another (or more) trying their best to heal the crystal.  They did this in several different ways, taking different approaches- Mace’s more aggressive, overpowering attempts to stifle the saber into giving up clashed horribly against Shaak’s more measured negotiations.  All were valid strategies when dealing with this kind of thing.  They had no true idea what would help this saber heal.  Even a thousand years ago, when many lightsabers had needed such healings, no two had been alike, and the methods by which the healing was done varied greatly.

They’d tried groups, solo, one-on-one…to no effect.  It wasn’t that the saber was too powerful for them all combined (it was plenty strong, strong enough to throw Qui-Gon backwards as if he’d been kicked in the chest) but if they put too much pressure on the crystal, it would break.  And that was something they decidedly did not want to do, not unless it had been proven that this crystal couldn’t be healed.

“I maintain,” said Master Nu, fingers drumming, “that this crystal cannot be healed in this manner, and you are all wasting your time.”

“Oh, that’s so encouraging, Jocasta,” said Qui-Gon.  He swiped a hand over his face.  “You can’t blame us for trying.”

“And I’d much prefer to attempt to heal this crystal than to shatter it,” said Shaak.  “Even if it is beginning to seem like an exercise in futility.”

“That’s because you need him here,” said Master Nu.  “The kaiber is only half of this.  How can you heal this man’s crystal when he himself is upstairs, alive and hurting?  If this is truly his saber, they are connected.”

Mace sighed.  “It’s not an option.  Perhaps if he was more…sane…but with things being as they are, it’s just not safe.  And we can’t let the crystal continue to live in this agony for very long.”

“You can’t let him live this way for long, either,” said Master Nu.  “The Jedi are not jailers, Mace.  Did you manage to get anything out of him?”

“Not much,” Mace admitted.  “Just that he…truly believes he is from the future.  In fact, he won’t believe us that he’s in the past.”

“You should take him out of there,” said Master Nu.  “Take him around the city.  Convince him.  Show him that we are who we say we are, and that he is in our current year.  Truly, Mace- you must see it from his perspective.  How disoriented he must be!”

“You believe it, then?” said Qui-Gon.  “About the time travel?”

“Oh yes,” said Master Nu.  “Yes.  In my time as the head archivist of this Temple- I have seen many impossible things.  A warning from the Force, taking human form- a man displaced in space and time- it is not so improbable.”

“He needs the mind healers,” said Qui-Gon, looking away from the red Sith-saber and towards the door- back in the direction of the older Obi-Wan, secure in his cell several levels above them.  “He was dying before.  I know he could be dangerous- I know we must take precaution.  And yet- and yet.”

“If he is unwilling, the only way to help him is to force him.  And I feel that would do far more harm than good,” said Mace.

“Obi-Wan got him to eat,” said Qui-Gon.  “And while I don’t advocate for allowing my Padawan anywhere near a potential threat, it’s the most progress any of us has made.  I would…dearly like to see the other Obi-Wan free, if it is at all possible.”

“Maybe you should talk to him again,” said Mace.

“I will,” said Qui-Gon.  “Every day.  Though I fear I may make things worse.”

“So then-”

“No, Jocasta,” said Mace.  “Even if we release him, it would be idiocy to allow him anywhere near this saber.  We have no idea what it can do, what kind of power it may possess.  What kind of power they may both possess when put together.  It’s out of the question.”

“You’re wasting your time without him,” Jocasta replied.

Qui-Gon simply rolled his sleeves up and went to try again.  Both Master Nu and Mace made good points- but there was nothing he could do about the decisions of the council.  All he could do was try his best and make do with what he had.

He tried to heal the saber again, and again, and again.

*

More hours passed, and Ben thought it must be nighttime.  No one had come since Padawan Kenobi had left- (fake Padawan Kenobi, he tried to remind himself-) and he supposed now was as good a time as any.

“Get a move on, you old fool,” he whispered to himself.  He would get no better opportunity than this, truly.  No one was around.  He heard no footsteps.  He assumed they were watching him through some hidden camera, but even then it would take more than a few seconds to react to anything he did.

Those few seconds would be all Ben needed.

He shook out his arms and cracked his neck, before crossing his cell to the barrier- he looked left, he looked right.  Nope, still no one.

Alright, time to do this.

Ben closed his eyes and opened up his connection with the Force.  He sunk into his mind and reached for it, reaching along familiar pathways, taking care to move past his bond with the Sith Lord.  Though he longed to rip it out, it wasn’t time.  He would have to save that particular move for a moment when it would count. 

He moved past it and searched his mind for any trace of that ethereal power he had once taken for granted.  Formerly so vibrant within him, now his mind was silent, unable to connect with the Force and influence the world around him like he was used to.  But this silence was artificial and created by a drug.  Underneath all that- Ben was as powerful as he’d always been.

And due to his tolerance, carefully and incrementally built up over many years- he could withstand the dose.  With one hard pull, the whole artificial emptiness came crumbling down.

It wasn’t a dramatic thing.  It wasn’t a flashy thing. 

At the same time, both bracelets on his wrists shuddered, and then cracked down the middle, falling off his arm in pieces.  They banged against the floor and made an echoing sound, but Ben didn’t care.

He inhaled deeply as the Force flooded around him.  Oh, it was back, and it felt like heaven.  It buoyed him up inside, augmenting his soul, making him more than who he was.

I am one with the Force, and the Force is with me. 

That’s right.  His family was dead- his family was dead- but if he had the Force, he had them with him too.  They were with him now and forever, and he would see them again when this was all said and done.

Would he see his Padawan again?

With quick steps, Ben made his way over to the red barrier, still humming with energy.  But now, with his powers returned to him, it was not the adversary it once had been.  And this was not Ben’s first round with one of these.  Why, by now- he was almost a professional at escaping from places.  The Temple detention center couldn’t hold a candle to some of the places he’d once broken out of- Kadavo came to mind- this was almost easy.

He even smirked, a little, feeling the smile threatening to pull at the corner of his mouth.  With a steady hand, he reached forward, feeling at the barrier with the Force.  Once again, he closed his eyes.  He tilted his head, listening with his ethereal senses- all he needed was one crack, one flaw in the integrity of the Force-dampening barrier…

…there.  A hairline crack in the base of a pillar.  If he concentrated, he could almost feel the particles flowing in and out through it.  He imagined himself snaking through- his mind racing along that crack and out the other side.

For a Jedi Master, a man who had devoted his life to the study of the Force, this tiny, imperceptible flaw was more than enough.  Through that crack, he could now feel the outside of the cell- and the control panel.

After another moment, by using the Force to depress a few buttons, the barrier blinked and powered down, the hated red shield dying all at once.  And Ben- Ben was free.

He wasted no time.  On silent feet, he ran out of the cell and down the hall, braced for a fight.  Adrenaline and fire coursed through his veins.  Oh, he was ready to fight.  He was ready for violence.

These people had killed his family- Ben was ready to kill in return.

Chapter Text

Qui-Gon woke to the sound of an alarm blaring over his head.

Immediately he was out of his bed, rolling on the floor, one hand reaching for his lightsaber, which wasn’t on his hip like it should be, and the other hand reaching to his leg to un-strap a blaster that was no longer there.

Where were his weapons?  His fingers scrabbled against the empty space while his mind panicked.  He always had his weapons- they were about to be bombed- an attack was imminent, he had to get the Young to safety- get out of these tunnels-

The door to his room opened quickly and someone slipped inside, projecting their presence in the Force.  Projecting calm, projecting stability and safety and light.

Obi-Wan. 

“It’s okay, it’s alright!” his Padawan crashed to his knees in front of him and grabbed his shoulders, pulling Qui-Gon towards him, the way he’d done a thousand times, the way Qui-Gon had done a thousand times for him.

“Obi-Obi-Wan-” his breath was harsh and stuttering, his eyes wide and unfocused.

His Padawan had to raise his voice above the blaring noise.

“-you’re in the Temple, you’re safe, it’s just an alarm-”

“Where is my saber?  My saber, Padawan, I need it- have to- the tunnels, Padawan-”

“Right here,” said Obi-Wan, and put a familiar cylinder of metal into his hand.  “There’s no tunnel.  We’re on Coruscant, in the Temple.  The Temple, Master.”

Qui-Gon curled his fingers around his lightsaber and inhaled, the jagged edges of his breath catching against his chest.  Though he was panicked, and the blare of the alarm made him flinch with every new sound, the crystal inside its metal casing was calm.  Calm the way it was when surrounded by hundreds of its brethren, calm like it was when there was no danger. 

Calm like it was when they were…in the Temple.

The alarm abruptly cut off, leaving them in an eerily silent room, where the only sound was their harsh breathing.

Qui-Gon made a heartbroken, wretched noise and leaned forward until his head was resting against Obi-Wan’s chest. 

“Heleo,” he whispered into the fabric, his heart beating way too fast.  He forced himself to take measured, deep breaths, befitting of a Jedi Master.  “Heleo, Padawan.”

“Master Lume said you need to stop apologizing so much,” Obi-Wan whispered back, naming their mutual mind-healer.  He stroked a hand through Qui-Gon’s hair.

“I will never stop apologizing,” said Qui-Gon, eyes closed tightly against his own regret.  “For what I put you through- for what I am still putting you through- you deserve to heal and I am your support-”

And here he was, having a meltdown while his sixteen-year-old apprentice remained perfectly calm.

“I wasn’t asleep,” said Obi-Wan, as if in reply to that unspoken thought.  “It scared me, yes, but it caught me at a good time.  You’ve got to stop this, Master.  Stop thinking you can stand alone because you’re older and someone said you don’t have the right to be afraid.  We support each other now.  That’s what you told me.”

Qui-Gon threw his arms around this boy and held him tightly.  The galaxy, the Jedi, but especially Qui-Gon, did not deserve Obi-Wan Kenobi.  He doubted anyone ever would.  In the safety of their Temple they could pretend at their old relationship, play-acting that they were Master and Padawan still, that Qui-Gon was the one fully in control and Obi-Wan the dutiful learner.  The moment there was a hint of danger, however, they became…something else.  Something more than the sum of their parts.  An experienced command team, used to battle, leaning on each other.

Obi-Wan, still a child?  Qui-Gon should know better than to try to fool himself like that.  Such thinking was the privilege of the peaceful, of those who did not need to become adults through bloodshed and death.  He was young, still, and deserving of protection, and Qui-Gon would do everything he could to keep him safe, but Obi-Wan was not a child.  Obi-Wan had earned his knighthood on that planet, and both of them knew it.  If it had been a thousand years ago, he’d have been made a Knight on the field of battle.  In this modern age, they would wait a few years for propriety, and so that Qui-Gon could impart a few more lightsaber forms, but it would not be a long time coming.

“You would only have to apologize,” said Obi-Wan, “if you’d left me there alone.  And you didn’t, Master.  You didn’t.”

The word twigged something in Qui-Gon’s consciousness.  Obi-Wan- the other Obi-Wan- had said something like that, hadn’t he?

He’d said alone.

*

They were a few minutes late getting downstairs, where everyone was milling, agitated and worried.

“Qui-Gon, thank the Force,” said Mace upon seeing them.  He lowered his voice.  “He got out.”

Qui-Gon just nodded.  It was the most likely scenario, despite how unlikely that should have been.  He’d never heard of anyone being able to get out of those cells, which were designed to hold Jedi.  “Did he hurt anyone?”

“No- we don’t know where he is.  Presumably he has intimate knowledge of the Temple.  He shut off the alarm-”

“He’s the one who shut that off?”

“Certainly no one else did.”

“Listen,” said Qui-Gon, swallowing.  “He’s disoriented, probably afraid.  I know he’s dangerous, but please, Mace, please don’t hurt him.”

“You say that like I have a choice,” said Mace, crossing his arms.  “If he attacks us, we’ll defend ourselves.  His actions so far have been less than peaceful.  Breaking out of his cell has only escalated things.”

“He thinks we’re his enemies!”

“Yes, and I don’t want to find out what a man like that does to his enemies.”

“Do you think- he hasn’t gone for his saber, has he?”  But that question came from his Padawan.

“Qui-Gon!  You told him?”

“I tell him everything,” said Qui-Gon, eyes flashing and refusing to shrink from the rebuke in Mace’s tone.  “It’s a good question.  You sent someone down there?”

“Of course I did.”  Mace frowned.  “But the Sith Vault is likely the most protected vault in the entire Temple.  It would be suicide, on his part, to attempt it.”

He shook himself.  “We’re fanning out.  I already have Masters at every exit to assist the Temple guards.  Qui-Gon, you probably shouldn’t-”

“Don’t ask me not to help,” Qui-Gon snarled.

Mace appeared to swallow his next words.  “…I don’t know where he is.  I don’t know what he’s planning.  He’s avoided our security system completely so far.  If you want to pick an exit and guard it, be my guest.  I’ll be at the Vault, for obvious reasons.”

He walked away, fingers twitching for the saber at his belt as he went.

Qui-Gon, out of ideas, turned to Obi-Wan.

“…Padawan.” He winced as the words came out of his mouth, but he’d had the thought, and it was worth asking.  “What…what would you do, in his place?”

“You mean, if I was him?”  Obi-Wan’s eyes were darkly amused.  “If I believed, truly, that my Jedi Order had been destroyed, I was being held prisoner by the Sith, and that it was twenty years in the future?”

“Alright, it was a stupid question,” Qui-Gon admitted.

“No, Master, actually, I’d…”  Obi-Wan’s eyes widened.  “It’s obvious, isn’t it?  I know what I would do.  I know where I would go.”

He began to run in the opposite direction, away from the exits, deeper into the Temple with his Master tripping to keep up.

“Padawan!  What would you do?”

“I wouldn’t try to escape at all!”

*

The beacon, and its control room, were not among the heavily guarded areas of the Temple.  It was an emergency broadcast system, never used in this day and age, because the Republic was going on centuries of peace and no one had ever had cause to use it in Qui-Gon’s lifetime at least.  It was for serious events, natural disasters, catastrophes…large-scale genocides…

Hmm.  If the Order was really gone, and Qui-Gon was the only one left…if he knew he had one chance, wouldn’t he try to get a message out?  Just like Obi-Wan had realized…escaping with his life wouldn’t be a priority.  Not when there were other lives at stake.  Others he felt he needed to protect.

The lights were flickering as he and Obi-Wan made their way to the higher levels of the Temple.  Someone had been messing with the power.  There were hardly any Jedi up here, and the few they passed were running downstairs.  Yes…this did make sense.  It made perfect sense.

The tragedy of the imagined situation was enough to distract him as they ran down these hallways, turning corners and dashing up staircases.  He couldn’t help but picture it.  These ancient halls, lost to their great enemy.  Everyone he knew and loved, dead and gone, murdered.  Believing he was the last.  Believing that he was the prisoner of the Sith.  Expecting nothing but a short, brutal few weeks left of life, filled with suffering and terror, before an inevitable messy execution.

Deciding to send a message, a warning, burning his only chance at freedom in the hopes that there were any survivors, any survivors at all.

Yes.  Obi-Wan would do that.  Obi-Wan was the best of them.

They rounded the corner.  The hallway leading to the control room was empty, at first, and then it wasn’t.

A figure strode into the hallway at the other end, unhurried, silhouetted against the wall.  He was barefoot, in his simple medical robe no one had let him change out of.  He carried a Temple guard’s yellow saber in one hand, and a chill went down Qui-Gon’s back.  Had this man killed someone?

Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan ran forward until they were blocking the door to the control room, sabers unsheathed, blue and green together, united.

“Let me pass,” said Obi-Wan, the older one, his tone calm, controlled, and deadly.

The younger Obi-Wan wasted no time.  “You have the Force back, yes?  Feel us, Obi-Wan.  We are not your enemy.”

“I’d prefer to be called Ben, if you don’t mind,” the other man said, a veneer of politeness taking over his voice.  “Now get out of the way.”

“Ben?” Qui-Gon echoed incredulously.  The pronunciation…odd in Basic, but normal to a Jedi.  This wasn’t “Ben” as a name, it was… ben.  The word.  A self-command.

You will endure this, it meant.

“Fitting, isn’t it?” said Ben.

“Yes,” said Qui-Gon with a gulp.  “Please, I don’t want to fight you.”

“Then move.”

“Can’t you feel the Force?” said Obi-Wan.  “Can’t you tell it isn’t dark?  Don’t you feel your fellow Jedi, all around you?”

“I-” Ben’s words caught on an intake of breath.  “N-no.  It’s not real.”  He tightened his grip on the yellow saber, setting his jaw.  “None of it is real.  This is a trick, and I will make you move, no matter what.”

“Your paranoia is going to get someone killed, if it hasn’t already!” cried Obi-Wan.  “If you send a message now, you’ll send it to thousands of people who are perfectly safe!  You’ll cause unnecessary panic-”

“Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon whispered.

“All because you can’t accept what the Force is telling you.  If you truly believed your own bullshit, you’d listen!  You’d never hurt your fellow Jedi!”

Qui-Gon had locked eyes with Ben.  He couldn’t breathe.  He hardly dared to move.

“-I don’t believe it.  I don’t believe you are who you say you are.  I don’t know why you actually want to use this beacon but we won’t let you-”

“Obi-Wan,” said Qui-Gon, his voice even softer, even smaller.  A choked gasp of a name.

“I- what?” Obi-Wan looked between the two of them, his saber lowering out of confusion. 

No one had moved.  They were all still standing in their positions, Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan guarding the door, with Ben challenging for entrance.  But in the Force-

In the Force, Ben had closed ethereal hands over the connection he had with Qui-Gon.  That training bond, both new and old, surprisingly stable and thick despite how recently it had been formed.  The one shielded from both ends, cut off, protected from all sides.

No amount of shields could protect Qui-Gon from this.

It felt as though Ben had grabbed his very soul.  He’d reached somewhere deeper than the surface, too deep for words.  Into the heart of the Force-threads that bound them together.  Somewhere no one- no one- should go.  A knife, poised over Qui-Gon’s jugular.

Anathema, to rip a bond out like this.

The lightsaber slipped from his fingers and fell to the floor with a loud metal ping.  He hadn’t meant to drop it, but he couldn’t feel his fingers over the electric crackle making its way up and down his skin.

“You wouldn’t,” said Qui-Gon shakily.  “It will destroy you, too.  You will not recall my name.  You will not recall your own name.”

An intake of breath from Obi-Wan as he realized what Ben was threatening to do.

Even Xan hadn’t.  This was self-destructive, suicidal.  It would damage both of them.  Send them into psychic shock- again in Ben’s case-

The grip tightened; the proverbial cocking of a gun.  Ben’s grey eyes were steady and endless in their grief.

“My own Padawan did this to me less than a week ago,” he said.  “Hours after the man I trusted most in all the galaxy shot me in the back.  If I had a limit, I passed it days ago.  Don’t think I won’t.”

“You’ll die if you do this,” said the teenager, trembling with fury.  “You’ll never make it to the beacon.  I will kill you if you touch that bond.  Don’t throw your life away!”

“Can’t you see I am already dead?”

It was Xan all over again.  Both his padawans at odds with each other, blades pointed, declarations made.  The threat of violence and bloodshed hung over them, a wicked promise seconds away from fulfillment.

And Qui-Gon…Qui-Gon whispered a prayer to the Force and did the only thing he could think to do.  Now that it had come to this, that his family was moments from ripping itself apart- and Ben was his family, whether he liked it or not.  Whether he used that bond the way he was about to, pulling it up like a weed, destroying both their minds as he did so…that was a risk they both took.  That was what it meant, to have a connection like this.

Without any more hesitation, Qui-Gon unshielded his side of the bond.  He did so completely, unreservedly.  Openly inviting Ben inside.  He spread his hands, a gesture of welcome.

“All I ask-” he said.  “Before you do this, I ask you to look.  The Force does not lie, no matter what else.  Please, please, you must still believe that.”

“I- I don’t know what’s real anymore,” said Ben, harsh and grating.  His shoulders heaved.  “How can I trust again, after what happened?  How can I trust my own senses after, after-”

“Then do not.  Trust only in the Force.  Daieno bika, Padawan mine.”

The phrase- one of Qui-Gon’s stock phrases, that Obi-Wan told him he said too much- had a dramatic effect on Ben.  He shuddered, eyes glazing over with tears, and blinked a few times.  In the Force, his grip slackened, as though he’d taken his hands off the bond.  The metaphorical knife hovering over Qui-Gon’s jugular retracted, and instead the first of Ben’s shields came down on his side- a single gate opening on a many-walled castle, tentative, skittish.  Ready to slam closed at a moment’s notice.

Ben reached for the bond, in the normal way this time, and Qui-Gon let him in.

The touch was so familiar and not-familiar, all at once.  A signature he knew as well as his own, but…different.  Older.  In the Force, this man was Obi-Wan Kenobi, without the shadow of a doubt.  But the man on the other end of their connection was no teenager.  He was not a Padawan either, though Qui-Gon may call him so.  Neither was he a Knight.

It was Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi who reached for him.  A Force-signature so much older, mature and self-possessed even in the midst of this upheaval.  Someone who’d done something like this, this reach, thousands of times before.  Someone who’d taught others how to do it.  Through the sliver of open connection Ben had allowed him, Qui-Gon got the barest of impressions.  Councilor.  Teacher.  Soldier.  Mourner.

Ben was getting much more than that.  His presence pressed up close against Qui-Gon, taking him in, looking at him with many eyes.  Examining him more thoroughly than he had ever been examined in his life, looking over and under and around and through, seeing Qui-Gon for who he truly was, flaws and all.

Qui-Gon held nothing back, for this was life or death.  Even those flaws about him which he knew were ugly, flaws which tainted him with darkness.  Everyone had a bit of darkness in them, it was true.  Whether it would be too much for Ben was a different story.

Ben did not invade his memories, nor his thoughts, though Qui-Gon would have let him.  Instead he stayed on the surface, focused on the signature, on the soul.  Focusing on what really mattered.

This was what Qui-Gon had wanted him to see.  For in the Force, just as this man was Obi-Wan Kenobi, he was Qui-Gon Jinn.  There was no way he could lie about it, not here, unshielded, where there was nowhere to hide.

“Jaieh?” said Ben, cracked and desperate, sounding like a lost child.  He dropped the saber he was holding.  “Master?  Qui-Gon?”

“Yes,” said Qui-Gon, beginning to cry.  His arms were still open, reaching for his Padawan.  “Yes, it’s me, it’s me-”

And then Ben was colliding with him, rocking him back, and Qui-Gon hit the wall and pulled him closer, folding him into his embrace, hands clutching the back of Ben’s medical robe like he would never let go.  He laughed, a laugh of utter joy, as more of Ben’s shields came down around them- here was his family, this man was his family, and they were not going to kill each other- he lost himself to the happiness of Obi-Wan Obi-Wan and home now and it’s over, it’s over, what you went through is over!

Qui-Gon pressed a kiss to his Padawan’s hair as tears slid down his cheeks, joyful tears, one after the other.  “I’m still taller than you,” he said inanely, laughing at he did so, one arm around Ben’s back and one cradling the back of his head.  “Obi-Wan- I mean, Ben, or-”

“Yes, rub it in, you beanpole,” said Ben in giddy, overwhelming relief.  “Call me whatever you want- I don’t care, now that you’re here, and the Order…you’re all still alive!”

“Very much so,” said Qui-Gon, the last word cut off around another sob.

Obi-Wan (the younger) had gathered the two lightsabers on the floor and clipped them to his belt.  He looked at them with a tentative smile, and Qui-Gon reached a hand out for him, pulling him into their embrace.

“By the Force, look at you…” said Ben (Obi-Wan?).  “So young and strong.  And handsome!  Shall I introduce myself properly this time?”

“I still don’t trust you.  Where did you get that saber?  Did you hurt someone?”  Obi-Wan was trying to be stern and serious and failing in the face of his Master’s tears.  The joy ticked across his face, setting his eyes alight.

“And you have every right, really, I was such an ass, I promise I’m only like that to my enemies-”

“The saber-”

“Yes, yes, I stole it, I only took it because one of the guards was asleep, and it was so easy- I solemnly swear to return it in good faith-”

The younger Obi-Wan tried to pretend like this wasn’t exactly something he would do when breaking out of a cell, but he couldn’t fool an older version of himself, no matter how hard he tried.  He broke into a real smile, then, and took his older self by the hand and shook it.

“Hi,” he said.  “My name’s Obi-Wan Kenobi.  Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” said the older man, smiling a smile that matched his younger self exactly.  Really, their expressions were the same.  “My name is Obi-Wan Kenobi as well, imagine that.  But you can call me Ben.”

He looked into Qui-Gon’s eyes again as more tears slid into his beard.  “I’ve- I’ve really time traveled.  I can’t believe this is possible.  I can’t believe I’m here.”

“What a blessing,” said Qui-Gon, still crying, holding them close.  These two people he loved so, so much.  His heart was full with it, full to bursting with joy.  “What a beautiful, beautiful thing.  Welcome home, Obi-Wan- Ben.  Tama qa brok vaversi, ji enoah qa mikodail orhma bika, my Padawan.”

“Thank you,” said Ben, as another sob shook his shoulders.  “Thank you-”

Suddenly, he stiffened.  Qui-Gon jerked his head up as the Force poked him in an odd way.

“Ben?”

“Oh no,” said the time traveler, the color draining from his face.

“What?  What is it?”

“I’m terribly sorry about this,” was all Ben could get out before he was freezing, staring off into space, and then falling, falling.

Qui-Gon caught him before he could hit the ground, and guided him down, cradling Ben’s head between his hands as the seizure began.

Chapter Text

Ben’s awareness drifted in and out.  He remembered flashes…little bursts.  Minor details.  Someone turned him on his side, but he couldn’t move his limbs.  Then he was vomiting on the floor, only bile…he’d only had a single sandwich this whole time…there was nothing in his stomach.

His muscles were locked and aching.  Pain flashed up and down his body.  Something important had happened…what was it?  Something…

Hands, rough, grabbing him.  They were immediately replaced by someone else, who held him in a gentler grip.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“Subduing a dangerous-”

“Does he look dangerous to you?  Stand down, right now, or I’ll have you stripped of your Knighthood.”

He knew that voice.  A woman’s.  An angry medic, clinical and caring and so, so dear to him.  Alive.

“You can’t do that.”

“Try me.”

Ben smiled.  Even that small movement made him vomit again.

Someone got him onto a stretcher.  Lights flashed past, and they hurt to look at.

Clumsily, he reached for his Master in the Force.  The unshielded bond was a bright anchor in his mind.  How could he have ever thought this was Sidious?

His Master reached back, sending reassuring pulses of warmth.  The relief it brought- the feeling of safety, a complete and utter luxury- was enough to send his eyes closing into an exhausted sleep.

*

He didn’t dream, for once.

It likely had something to do with the figure of Qui-Gon Jinn, who Ben could barely believe was real, sitting at his bedside.  When Ben opened his eyes again, an indeterminate amount of time later, his Master met them, a bright, happy expression overtaking his face.

“Good morning, Padawan,” said Qui-Gon.  “Nice to have you back with us.  How are you feeling?”

“-m’alright,” he tried to say, but it came out as a hoarse croak. 

His body hurt.  Like he’d just done a few rounds of sparring with-

With-

…The point was, it felt like a bruise.  The insides of his cheeks were raw and sluggishly bleeding into his mouth from where he’d bitten them.

Seizures were the worst, Ben decided.  He was going to do everything in his power to stop having them.

He tried to lift a hand to his mouth, but it caught on something.

There was a rattle.  Ben tried again, but the odd pressure on his wrist remained.  He had to blink a few times for it to come into focus.  A cuff.

He frowned.  Not again.

Qui-Gon put his hand over Ben’s.  He looked physically pained.  “I’m sorry.  I told them it would be counterproductive.  I think you’ll find certain members of the council are…particularly stubborn and set in their ways.”

Ben coughed, and Qui-Gon put a glass of water to his lips.  He drank, and his Master wiped his lips with a napkin once he was finished.

Ben tested the cuffs again, one on each side of the hospital bed.  He felt them out, pulling slightly against his tether.  There was a bit of give, enough that he could rest his hands against the bed, but not much else.

Unlike before…this time, he didn’t panic.  Quite the opposite. 

“I can get out of these,” he said as soon as his voice returned, the mirth dancing in his eyes.  “You haven’t even given me a Force suppressant.”

Qui-Gon’s apologetic face switched into confusion as he tried to work through what Ben was saying.  Ben tried not to laugh.

“No?” said Qui-Gon, shifting forward.  “Yes we did.  Vokara put you on…” he leaned over to check the doctor’s notes.  “5 ml perflusiadol orally every twenty-four hours.  I told them they’d be undoing all our progress if they tried to restrain you again, but Mace-”

Ben couldn’t help himself.  Not now that he knew he was looking at the real Qui-Gon Jinn, in the flesh.  Not now that he could feel the Jedi around him in the Force.  This dose was even smaller than the dose they’d previously had him on.  And the cuffs themselves were just plain metal cuffs.  This amount of the drug didn’t even register, and, instead of growing angry, he found himself relaxing even further.

Force, he’d really done it, hadn’t he?  Time travel.  What a fanciful idea.

“Oh, I’m Force-suppressed, am I?” said Ben, as the grin overtook his face.  The cuffs unlocked by a single degree, loosening with an audible click, and Qui-Gon stared at them.

“I’m safely restrained?”  The cuffs loosened by another click, threatening to fall away.

“Alright- alright!”  Qui-Gon jumped to fasten them again, looking worriedly into the hallway.  “Quit it- I’d help you break out of here myself if I didn’t think there’s a very high chance Mace will let you out if you simply talk to him.  He’ll be here soon.  How are you doing that, by the way?”

“A magician can’t reveal all his secrets at once, Master,” said Ben happily.  “Rest assured- and I don’t make this claim lightly- I don’t think there’s a single cell or restraint in this Temple I’d be unable to escape.”

“Ben, you’ll make me think you’re some kind of serial criminal in the future.”

“No, just a serial kidnapping victim.  What can I say?”  Ben tossed his hair a bit, flipping it back in an obnoxious way.  “I’m pretty.”

He kept his tone light and his banter flowing.  Better not to think about painful things right now.  Better not to think about the future.  Not now, when he was determined to bask in his happiness. 

Qui-Gon Jinn, alive!  Now that was what he wanted to focus on.

“I promised I’d lash you to that hospital bed, Obi-Wan, and I meant it.”  Vokara swept into the room, lekku twitching.

“Master Che,” said Ben respectfully.  Ooh, he’d done it now.  He straightened up as much as he could given the situation.  “Oh dear.  I’d like to formally apologize for my language back in the cell- I thought you were-”

“Don’t ‘oh dear’ at me.”  She waved his apology off.  “I know perfectly well what you thought.  Think nothing of it.  Now, if you’d like to apologize for avoiding your medication and the subsequent, entirely preventable seizure that followed, I’m all ears.”

“Ah, well, you see-”

“I’m waiting.”

“I really thought it wouldn’t be good for me-”

“Bah!  Excuses.  Your whole lineage, you’re all the same.  Listen to me, young man.  You will take your medicine this time or I will ensure that you do not see release from these Halls for another month.  Ask Qui-Gon.  Don’t think I won’t.”

“Yes, Master Che,” Ben replied, eyes wide.  Rule number one of the frequently-injured: never antagonize one’s healer. 

He rattled the cuffs against the bedside.  “You’ve made yourself quite clear…”

“I hope for your sake that I have.  How are you feeling?  Any lingering pain?”

“Not much, Master Che.”

“That would be a yes, then.  Where is your pain?”

“Just some soreness, Master Che.  Nothing to worry about.”

“That’s my call, not yours.  Nausea, headache, dizziness?”

“No, Master Che.”

“I can see that your speech is as good as ever.  Do you remember what happened leading up to your seizure?”

Ben grimaced.  “Most of it, Master Che.  I’m sorry to have caused such distress for everyone.”

“Don’t apologize for that.”  Her eyes softened.  “Not for that, Obi-Wan.”

He swallowed, suddenly at a loss for words.  Goodness.  These people- they were so- so bright, all of them.  Even in her anger, Vokara Che was so unbelievably kind.  And Qui-Gon was so much nicer than he remembered.  Had his memories really become so warped?  He couldn’t remember the last time his Master had waited at his bedside.  If someone had asked him, he would have said that he must have been very small.  But here was the proof that he was wrong, right in front of him.

“Doubtless you are wondering why you have been Force-suppressed.  Your Force-exhaustion will only get worse the more you use it, and it is our standard treatment to give you small doses of a suppressant while you recover.  If you behave, you shouldn’t need to be on it for longer than a few days…” she trailed off when she noticed Qui-Gon’s sudden fidgeting and Ben’s guilty expression he failed to hide in time.

“…Do I need to up your dosage, Obi-Wan?”

Ben looked away and mumbled something.

“What was that?”

Ben sighed.  The jig was up on that front.  He wasn’t quite as comfortable telling others about his abilities…he needed some form of self-defense, just for his peace of mind…but Vokara was real, and she wanted to help him, and he would need to tell her if he didn’t want to have another seizure.

Plus, it wasn’t like he didn’t have several other ways of escaping this Temple, even without the Force, if push came to shove.

She’s real, Ben repeated to himself as a reassurance.  Vokara was real.  Qui-Gon was real.  They wouldn’t hurt him.

“…you’d…you’d have to increase it to something you wouldn’t be comfortable with,” he said quietly.  “I’ve built up a tolerance to this drug, Master Che.”

Qui-Gon’s intake of breath was hardly subtle.

She blinked at him, thrown, but trying to recover.  “…I do have an alternative drug.  Nalaprofen, have you heard of…”

But Ben was shaking his head.  “I’m not sure you have anything that could do the job,” he said gently.  “At least, not without violating your ethics.”

“-what kind of future are you from?” Qui-Gon blurted, before clearly regretting the words as soon as they came out of his mouth.  Ben had already told him quite a lot, hadn’t he?  He knew what situation Ben had come from.

“A future where Force-sensitives are at war with each other, Master,” said Ben anyway, as if it needed saying.  “I’m sure we’ll speak about it in detail with the council later.”

He was suddenly very tired.  He offered a solution.  “The cell did work, a little.  The…material naturally repelled…but I don’t want to go back there…”

Vokara cleared her throat.  “I’ll look into it a bit more, just to be sure.  There has to be something I can do.  For now- it will be difficult, but please don’t use the Force, at all if you can help it.  No lifting, no throwing, and certainly no unlocking.”  She winked at him.  “Get some sleep.”

His eyes were already closing.

*

When he woke again, Mace was there, speaking quietly to Qui-Gon.  Ben reveled in the sight.  One of his dearest friends, looking so young, so peaceful.  He’d felt their bond snap right before all the others.  He never wanted to feel that sickening lurch ever again in his life.

“Well now, he wakes,” said Mace, rising to his feet.  He crossed his arms and towered over Ben, face set into a firm scowl.  An intimidation tactic, calculated.  This was the Head of the Order, after all.  Mace Windu never did anything by halves.

Ben smiled, overcome with fondness.  “Hello, Mace.”

“And when exactly did you stop calling me ‘Master Windu?’”

“Around the time I had to carry you home over my shoulder after you’d drunk enough for three people.”

“I don’t even drink.”

“Give it another ten years as Head of the Order.  Your promotion was what, three years ago?  Congratulations, my friend.”

The scowl deepened, and Ben just smiled blithely at him.  Oh, the memories.

“I’ll be needing you to explain,” said Mace.  “Qui-Gon told me what happened at the beacon.  We’ve also confirmed no injuries related to your escape, so I’m slightly more inclined to believe that you had no ill intentions.  What are your delusions now, Obi-Wan?  What do you believe?”

“They were never delusions, I was merely…operating under false pretenses.  It wasn’t like I had intended to travel through time, you know.  I’d thought…”  Ben cleared his throat.  Focus.  “I had been dying, before all this.  Really dying.  So…when I woke up and saw you all here…saw my family again…was it any wonder I thought that I, too, was dead?”

Mace’s severe posture relaxed by a few degrees.  The scowl cleared.  “How did you die?  Psychic shock?”

“Mace…” said Qui-Gon warningly.  Ben watched them go silent for a few seconds, likely arguing through their bond.  Mace broke away after another moment.

“I won’t coddle him, Qui-Gon.  Not for something this important.”

“This man just had a seizure.  A little mercy is all I ask.”

“Master, that is very kind,” said Ben.  Kind and unexpected.  The Qui-Gon he knew did not believe in coddling.  “I’m alright.  I can…talk about it.  I can.”

He wished his voice had come out more convincing.

“I’m prepared to tell you everything,” he said to the Head of the Order.  “There are only a few people who have my complete and absolute trust, and you are one of them, my friend.  I will tell you absolutely everything I can remember about the future I am from…then, maybe…maybe it can be prevented.”

But the silence stretched.

“You can start talking,” Mace prompted with another scowl.

Ben shook his head.  “Here, in the Halls?  No, I dare not.  I worry about what I’ve already unwittingly given away, what might have been overheard.”

“Is there really such a need for all this secrecy?” said Qui-Gon.  “There are only Jedi here.”

“Yes,” said Ben firmly.  “There is.  Especially here.”

“Just tell me one thing, for now,” said Mace, conceding the point.  “Depending on your answer, I’m prepared to release you into protective custody.  Qui-Gon’s quarters only, contingent upon good behavior.”

“I’m listening,” said Ben.

“Your lightsaber,” said Mace.  “What happened to it?”

Of all the questions he could have been asked, Ben wasn’t expecting that at all.  “I gave it away,” he said slowly, confused.  “To someone who needed it.  It wasn’t like I was expecting to use it again.”

“Hmm.  Is it the same lightsaber you had as a Padawan?”

“No, I lost that one long ago.”

“Hmm.”

Mace nodded like he was satisfied, but Ben could see the tension in his face.  What had that been about?

With a wave of his friend’s hand, the cuffs unlocked.  Ben rubbed his wrists out of habit, even though they hadn’t been tightly bound.

“You’re released into Qui-Gon’s custody for now.  Do everything he says.  Don’t make me regret this, Obi-Wan.”

“Haj dai, Mace,” Ben whispered to his retreating back.  He sat up, slow and deliberate, and Qui-Gon helped him.

“…I take it we aren’t telling him you’re not Force-suppressed?” said Qui-Gon presently, with a twinkle in his eye.

Ben smirked.  “It would only stress him out, Jaieh.  I’ll do my best not to use it in any case.”

“I’m holding you to that, Padawan.  Let’s make sure this seizure does not repeat itself.”

Chapter Text

“I’m sure you remember all this,” said Qui-Gon as he pushed open the door to the apartment he shared with his Padawan- that he would share with both his Padawans for the foreseeable future.  It was a two-bedroom suite, plus a kitchen and living area, without much capacity for a third person.  But they’d make do.  Of course they would.  “Uh- it’s a bit messier than normal…”

“Jaieh, it’s perfect,” said Ben as he came in behind his Master.  He was looking around in wonder, turning in a circle- because it was how he remembered, for the most part.  He remembered those plants, that stupid wall art- the kettle and the tea and the kitchen counter and his room and…and all of it, just as it was.  A piece of the past, his past, resurrected.

It was surreal to see.

Ben took it all in.  He had lived in this apartment for most of his life as a Jedi, with Qui-Gon, yes, but also after he died.  He remembered clearing out his Master’s room, moving his own things in there, giving his childhood room over to-

“Oh!” said Ben, starting towards a mug that lay on the counter, still half-full with day-old tea.  “Qui-Gon, you dropped this when I was eighteen!  It shattered into a million pieces-”

“What?” said Qui-Gon.  “That’s my favorite mug.”

“I know,” said Ben.  “It was a dark day.  Do remember not to put it on the edge of the counter like that.  It was just begging to be knocked over by an elbow.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” said Qui-Gon, gathering up the mug protectively.  Obi-Wan snorted.

“What else has changed in here?” he asked Ben curiously.

“Oh, everything,” said Ben, smile fading a little.  “Absolutely everything.”

Before that train of thought could wreck his mood, Qui-Gon shepherded him to sit on the couch.  “Sit down, you’re barely out of the Halls-”

“I’m fine, I assure you, Master-”

“Yes, yes.  Humor me, Padawan.  Would you like some tea?”

Ben blinked, bemused once again by the overwhelming kindness Qui-Gon was radiating.  Force.  Force, it was wonderful.  When was the last time someone had cared about him like this?

It had probably been Cody.  Cody had often forced him to rest, when he was overworking himself…Cody had always been there, had always offered his shoulder to lean upon, he had been so trustworthy, so dependable- but of course, it must have all been an act-

-no.  He wasn’t going to think about that.

He put all thoughts of Cody, and the future, out of his mind.

“I’d love some, Master,” he replied through misty eyes, sinking into the couch cushions.  “Do you have any sapir?  You always had such a good brew.”

Obi-Wan choked.  “You like sapir?”

“Yes, it’s my favorite.”

“How?”

Ben saw the expression on his face and laughed.  “I’m sure Qui-Gon has told you countless times that it’s an acquired taste…well, it is.  Just wait.  It’ll happen to you eventually.”

“Eugh, no,” said Obi-Wan, moving past Qui-Gon into the kitchen.  “I’ll make the tea, Master, you sit down.  If I make it I can have green as well, which I much prefer.”

Qui-Gon shrugged and sat down next to Ben while Obi-Wan bustled around.  “I’ve managed to convert another one,” he said, flashing a smile.  “That’s good to know.”

“I started liking it in my late twenties,” said Ben ruefully.  “He has a long way to go.”

They sat for a while in a slightly uncomfortable silence.  The only sounds were Obi-Wan fiddling with the kettle in the kitchen.  Ben looked down, then back up, taking in every feature of Qui-Gon’s.  The beard, the hair, the twinkle in his eyes.  He was so tall, even when he was sitting down, and Ben’s memory hadn’t done him justice.  He’d forgotten so much.

…he still wasn’t sure how it came to be that his Master’s nose looked like it hadn’t ever been broken, or that he was so terribly thin.  Qui-Gon had always been muscular, tall, broad.  Lanky, lean, thin- these were words Ben wouldn’t have used, before this moment.

Truthfully, now that he was seeing his Master close up, without the barrier between them, Ben had to conclude that Qui-Gon looked a bit…well…a bit frail.  As if he’d just recovered from an injury.  But what injury could it have been?

That thought brought another on its heels.  A memory Ben didn’t want to think about, or focus on, but now it was in his mind, filling him up like a bubble.

“You need to stop using Ataru,” he said before he could stop himself.

Qui-Gon blinked.  “I beg your pardon?”

Ben sighed.  He hadn’t intended to just blurt this out, but there it was.

“You are aware that I am a Master of Ataru, yes?” Qui-Gon continued.  “As in, I have spent the last thirty years using it as my main saber form?”

“Yes,” said Ben.  “And you’re teaching him in the same form.”

“Of course.  He is my Padawan, after all.”

“Yes,” said Ben again.  He paused.

Qui-Gon waited patiently, an open expression on his face.

“As you age,” said Ben carefully, “your endurance, your stamina, depletes.  Don’t contradict me, you know it’s true.  We are Jedi, we are not immortal.  Ataru is a form focused around explosive motion.  It’s meant to be overwhelming, to begin and end a fight before it has even started.  It’s meant for duels that last all of ten seconds, and it uses all your body’s resources, with nothing to spare for an emergency.  It is the emergency.  It’s a gamble that you will always be stronger than your opponent.  That you can overpower them in moments.”

“I know this,” said Qui-Gon, blinking at him.  Ben’s remembered version of his Master would have been growing annoyed by now, that his Padawan would question his teachings like this.  Even if…even if he didn’t really see any frustration in Qui-Gon’s face.  Only calm befuddlement.

“Master, what will you do, if you meet someone stronger than you?  Someone younger than you, who has more energy, more stamina, and more strength in the Force?”

Qui-Gon was frowning, but his answer was immediate.  “I suppose I’d give it my best, Padawan.  And I would hope to have you- the younger you- by my side.  I would give it my best effort, and I would hope that two are better than one.”

“And if I am not there?”

“Why would you not be there?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Ben, and now it was him growing frustrated.  But the anger was laced through with pain, so sharp and cutting, even after all these years.  “Perhaps if my foolish, exhausted Master decided to rush ahead.  Perhaps if he thought his Padawan incapable of assisting him.  Perhaps if he was so focused on his apprentice’s incompetence that he failed to understand his own.”

“Incompetent?” said Qui-Gon, tilting his head.  “You?  No, Padawan.  Never.”

“I am aware of my shortcomings,” said Ben, the empty reassurance bouncing off him.  “But I am not wholly responsible for your decisions.  I am not.  I am not.”

And now he was trying to convince himself.  Ben’s breath rattled in his chest.  How many times had his Master told him that he had so much more to learn, that he wasn’t ready?  That he would be a liability in a battle?

Incompetent.  Stubborn.  Foolhardy, said the remembered voice in his mind, in that deep rumble of a tone Qui-Gon liked to use.

No, he said back to it.  I have made my peace with you.  I made my share of mistakes, but there was another person in that room on that fateful day, and he made mistakes too.  I am not fully responsible.

You failed him, the way you failed the others, the voice replied.

And Ben had no rebuttal to that.

Qui-Gon looked at him then, and his eyes were a little too clear, a little too understanding.

“Most Jedi, as they get older, switch from Ataru into other forms,” said Ben before he could get a word in.  “Why not you, Master?  Why?”

“I…don’t know,” Qui-Gon whispered.  His hands fiddled in his lap.  “It may sound quite… foolhardy, as you’ve said, Obi-Wan- Ben- but- would you believe me if I said I did not notice my age?  Before…recent events, I would have said that I’d never felt my stamina flagging.  I suppose it is yet another lesson I should have learned.  A lesson I thought I did learn, but perhaps not where it came to my saber form.”

Ben didn’t know what to say to that.  He looked down, then back up into his Master’s eyes.  His Master, who was alive, alive.  It was nothing short of a miracle, and he wasn’t going to waste that chance.

“For the love of the Force, practice some Soresu,” was all he said.  A more detailed explanation would come later, and it would come, but he could let it go for now.  “Please.”

“Soresu?” Qui-Gon spluttered.  “Obi-Wan, I’m not that old!”

“It’s my main form,” said Ben, and the corner of his mouth twitched upwards despite himself.  “I’m a Master in it, did you know?”

“What, you?”

Obi-Wan emerged from the kitchen, carrying three mugs.  He set them down carefully, looking between both men.  “What’s this about Soresu?”

“He says he’s a Master in it!” Qui-Gon pointed an accusatory finger.

Ben stared back, and though the heavy topic had weighed him down, the look on his younger self’s face was absolutely delightful.  Ah, the horror!  Soresu was considered lame among the younger crowd, after all, and there was no greater sin.

Obi-Wan’s look of shock and dismay was enough to make Ben laugh. 

“Cheer up,” he said, smirking.  “I- we- have embarrassed many opponents who were operating under similar assumptions.  The look on their faces to find they had been bested by the defensive form of the elderly, the injured, and the weak.”

“I’ll never,” said Obi-Wan hotly.  “There’s nothing wrong with Soresu- if you’re eighty!  While I have the strength for it I’ll stick with Ataru.  I’ll do my Mastery in that, thank you very much.”

“I’m more than happy to disabuse you- both of you- of that notion,” said Ben with a playful gleam in his eyes.  “Whenever Mace decides to allow me to spar, of course.  But give it some thought.”

His eyes were on Qui-Gon as he said this, willing him to understand, but expecting him not to.  His Qui-Gon, the Qui-Gon he remembered, had always been so bull-headed.  So convinced of his own righteousness.  Ben would not have been surprised if his Master became angry, told him off for being disrespectful, admonished him for questioning his teachings, and left the room.

But the man in front of him continued to surprise him.

His Jaieh drew himself up, sitting tall, with the tea in his hands and a solemn expression on his face.

“I will,” said Qui-Gon with a small bow of his head.  “I take your advice very seriously, Master Kenobi.”

Ben swallowed hard.  Then he nodded, and he hoped.

*

Since there were only two beds, Ben spent the night on the couch.  It was the same couch he’d had for years, before and after Qui-Gon, the one that had collapsed partially by the time the war came around.  There had been springs poking through, he remembered, and it had been generally uncomfortable to sit on.  But here it was still standing strong, and there were no springs in sight.  His sleep on it was deep and undisturbed by nightmares.

Even so, his internal clock woke him up before the dawn, because he tried to run a- if not a tight ship, then a disciplined ship, and the soldiers would be drilling at 0500 and he needed to be ready before them-

Oh.

Ben sat up in the pre-dawn light, the couch only creaking a little beneath him.  All was quiet around him, and tinted in various shades of rapidly-lightening purple as the sun began to rise.  There were no sounds of boots outside his door, nor the blaring of an alarm, nor the pinging of his comm.  Just…silence.  His own heartbeat.  Air in his lungs, working still, even after everything.

In then out, Jedi, he said to himself.  In, and then out.

He breathed.

*

Ben didn’t try to meditate in the way a Jedi would, because he was on Force-rest and didn’t want to risk hurting himself and, worse, Vokara’s wrath.  But, as more sleep was out of the question, he did a series of breathing exercises, mental grounding techniques, and he had litanies to say, long prayers to repeat and pass the time.  He had taken to reciting the meditations he knew by heart, the ones he’d been forced to memorize as a child, because it was easier than thinking.

Thinking, right now, would be a mistake.

He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, eyes closed, saying the litanies.  Banishing, by sheer force of will, the demons that lurked in the darkness of his fragmented memories.  Even the joy of seeing Qui-Gon again could not temper this soul-deep wound in his chest.

By the time he’d run through the usual recitations, there was a bit of sun creeping up against his face.  He could feel the warmth through his lids.

“Come, children of Empires, and reflect upon your cities,” Ben whispered to himself.  He was on his tenth litany.  “Remember all that is and ever was has come before and will come again.  Remember your buildings and your walls.  How easily they crumble.  Remember your blood, children of the city, and how freely it may run.  The walls of your Teacher and your Teacher’s Teacher are like a grain of sand, washed away by the tide.  Why do you weep for the sand, children?  It is the fate of every Empire to wash away.  But the walls of the Force can never be broken.  The Force is indestructible.  The Force is absolute.  The Force is…”

“…eternal,” came Qui-Gon’s voice from somewhere nearby.  Ben opened his eyes.

“I never liked that one,” said his Master, smiling a wan smile as he stepped into the kitchen from his bedroom.  He immediately moved for the kettle, turning it on, and then, oddly, pulled down a container of caf beans and stuck his nose inside it.

Ben smiled too, a little.  “No, I can’t imagine you would.  You were never one for nihilism.”

“I should think not,” said Qui-Gon.  “It’s a way of shirking responsibility.  If nothing matters, how can anyone be held responsible for anything?  An empire may crumble and rise and rise again, but a life lost is lost forever.  Even the life of a plant, or a bug.”

“Yes,” said Ben, even as he looked down.  He worried his thumb against the sheet covering the couch.  “This is true, but I…even so, I find wisdom in it still.  A reminder that we are…more than our crude matter.  That the sum of our parts is more than…” he gestured around, hand trembling a little, “…than all this.”

Qui-Gon stared, then blinked, then nodded his head.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.  “That was insensitive of me.  Of course that verse would be a comfort to you now.”

Ben swallowed hard.  The grief rose around him in the low light, threatening, but with effort he managed to kick it back.

“Don’t apologize,” he replied.  “It’s a joy to hear your thoughts again, Master.  I’ve often wondered what you would say at various points in my life.  I think…my remembered version of you didn’t do you justice.”

It truly hadn’t.  Ben’s memory-version of his Master hadn’t been sensitive a day in his life, and he wouldn’t have acknowledged it either.  How could he have been so wrong?  Had the kind, exhausted, thoughtful man in front of him always existed, and did he only fail to notice?  He loved Qui-Gon, and he always had, but the man had certain character flaws, and Ben had been bracing to encounter them, only to find that they had vanished without a trace.

It was enough to get Ben to question his own memories.  Some of it just didn’t match up at all.  The absence of a crooked nose.  Feemor had pulverized their Master’s face.  Ben wouldn’t forget something like that!  But maybe it hadn’t happened yet?  Yes- that must be it.  Ben must have gotten the years wrong.

And the exhaustion…yes, that was so odd.  He couldn’t remember a time when his Master had been very ill, or suffered some large injury.  Not until the end, at least.  But that seemed to truly be the case, here.  Qui-Gon had a strange soft edge to the way he moved.  Like someone could push him, and he’d fall.

Qui-Gon must be recovering from something, but for the life of him, Ben couldn’t remember what.

“I think Mace is going to stop by,” said Qui-Gon as he set a cup of tea in front of Ben.  “I can probably hold him off another day, if you want to rest a bit more.”

He put his hand against Ben’s hand for a moment and squeezed it, and Ben sucked in a breath.  Force, the kindness.  How could this be?

“It’s alright,” he croaked.  “There are some things I need to say that really shouldn’t wait.  Actually, I- I want you to be there too, Master.  When I tell him.”

“You aren’t worried about protecting the timeline, or some nonsense like that?”

Ben’s laugh was small and sad.  “Why would I be?  The time I come from was…probably the worst possible sequence of events that could have possibly happened.  If I had lived on, there, I would have regretted my choices every day for the rest of my life.  Oh, Qui-Gon, we must prevent it.  We must.”

“We will,” Qui-Gon vowed.

They sat in silence for a while, watching the dawn progress into morning.  Ben tried not to think too much, but he did, a little.

“You know,” he ended up saying, after several minutes, “it might not be forever.”

“Pardon?”

“What you said earlier.  A life lost is lost forever...but maybe not.  This would be the second time for me, after all.  Seeing all of you here, when I saw you die before.  Perhaps, through the Force…perhaps we might have a second chance.”

Perhaps it was too much to hope for.  But Ben had been due some hope.  Maybe- just maybe- things could go right for once in his life.

Chapter Text

A few short hours later, Mace was sitting at Qui-Gon’s dinner table, hands folded, expression serious, looking for all the galaxy like a harbinger of fate.

Ben knew that wasn’t a fair assessment, but it was how he felt.  The idea of uttering this story, saying it aloud, even to Mace, scared him like nothing else could right now.  Speaking it aloud would make it real, after all.

He’d washed up, put on some Jedi robes, the cloak, the tunics, the belt and sash.  They even fit him, because the quartermaster kept clothing in all sizes, and it was the work of a moment to find something that would fit him.  Ben couldn’t be more grateful.  Even though he still wasn’t able to carry a saber, wearing these clothes again served to ground him.  He would need that grounding for the conversation to come.

Qui-Gon sat at Ben’s side in wordless support, and Ben was grateful for the comfort it brought.  By mutual agreement Obi-Wan wasn’t present, but that didn’t mean Ben wasn’t planning to tell him anything at all.  He was still deciding what to tell his younger self, and what to hold back.

He wasn’t planning to hold anything back with Mace, and he opened his mouth to say so, but Mace held up a hand.

“I know you probably want to get this over with,” said the Head of the Order.  “But I’ve been sternly warned by both Vokara and Qui-Gon that your mind is still healing, and that you shouldn’t be stressed.  According to what you already told me, we have…twenty-two years?  I can’t believe I’m saying this, but it can actually wait a little while.  Until you’ve recovered.”

“But-” Ben immediately began to protest.  It wasn’t like he wanted to talk about it, but-

“Instead I’m proposing that you tell me whatever you think is critical information.  Something I can look into and possibly act on, right now, that needs acting on twenty years before your supposed death.  Is that acceptable, Qui-Gon?”  Here he shot a half-hearted glare towards his friend.

Qui-Gon nodded imperiously.  “I suppose.  If we absolutely must.”

Ben looked between them.  “I can tell you the whole of it now, you know.  It isn’t that I- that I want to, but-”

But even the idea of speaking the entirety of it, right now, caused his hands to shake.  He curled them into fists before anyone could notice, and cursed his own weakness.  Mace needed to know.

“Soon, Obi-Wan,” said Mace.  “I swear.  But I do agree with Vokara and Qui-Gon that it doesn’t have to happen right now.  A few days, that’s all I’m saying.  A few days, and twenty-two years to prepare.”

Ben swallowed, blinked hard, and then nodded.  He really hadn’t expected that, and especially not from Mace.  It was…kind.

These people were continually surprising him.

“You’ve changed your tune,” he said to Mace.  “Why?  I thought you were still…suspicious.”

Mace shot a look at Qui-Gon.  Ah.  They must have been talking through their bond.  “I am still suspicious.  I just happen to agree that things aren’t quite so urgent now that you’re no longer running around believing we’re all dead.  I’m not out to get you, Obi-Wan.”  He put a hand against his forehead.

“No, I know,” said Ben.  “I know that.  I trust you.”

“Thank you, Mace,” said Qui-Gon quietly.

“Emergency information,” said Mace.  “What can you tell me?”

Ben nodded and took a second to think.  It hurt to think, even this small amount.  It hurt to remember.  And so much of it, still, was fuzzy.  He couldn’t remember his Padawan’s name.

He ran his fingers over the bracelet that, even now, remained on his wrist, and forced himself to do it.  To think.  Twenty years before the end…twenty years ago…

He was surprised by what came out of his mouth.

“Sifo-Dyas,” he said, unexpectedly.  “Jedi Master Sifo-Dyas.  Dooku’s longtime friend.  Does he yet serve on the council?”

Mace nodded.  “Yes, although he’s been making noises about retiring.”

“Yes,” said Ben.  “Because of his debilitating visions.”

Mace nodded again, eyes widening.  “Are they real?”

Ben shrugged.  “I’m not sure.  Probably.  But he- he needs a mind-healer.  In my time, he took his own life.  It was…I’m afraid I don’t have the exact year.  It was shortly before Galidraan, which, combined with his death, caused a sequence of events that I think…are probably an emergency, and need to be acted on right away.”

“Mind healer for Sifo-Dyas,” said Mace.  “I can do that.  What’s Galidraan?  The planet?”

What’s Galidraan.  The sheer innocence of such a statement.  Force, he hoped no one would ever know the true horror of it.  Let it end right here.

“Galidraan is the worst mistake the Jedi ever made,” said Ben.  “Or at least, that’s what I would have said before the war.  How do I put this succinctly… the current king of Mandalore is Jaster Mereel, yes?”

“Yes,” said Mace.  “I believe they’re caught up in some political tension.”

“Some political tension is an understatement.  It’s going to turn into a full-scale civil war very soon.  After he is killed, his teenage son will be put on the throne.  What happened in my time was that his political rivals sought to eliminate him- and they used the Jedi to do it.  They sent us an urgent missive proclaiming that there were terrorists committing heinous acts on the planet of Galidraan and requesting urgent aid. They claimed Jango Fett’s forces were overwhelmed trying to combat them.  We sent a strike team immediately, of course.  But it turned out…it turned out that the “terrorists” the Jedi had been sent to destroy were actually Fett himself and his entire court.  It was a complete disaster.  The Jedi ended up killing almost everyone present, deposing the rightful king, and helping Fett’s political rivals secure a victory.  Fett himself survived, disappeared, was sold into slavery, and vanished for ten years, only to reappear as a bounty hunter with a score to settle.  And settle it, he did.”

Mace’s face after that little speech was priceless.  Ben would laugh, if he had any energy to do so.  Telling even this story, so far removed from his present, hurt.  It would hurt all the worse to tell the rest.

Qui-Gon coughed.  “What?  I…what?”

“How could we make such a mistake?” said Mace.  “Did Mandalore declare war on us immediately after?”

“No,” said Ben.  “It was a near thing, but the man who succeeded Jango was…kind, and chose to allow the Jedi to submit reparations rather than fight both a civil war and an external war at the same time.  To say that it soured relations between us and the Mandalorians would be an understatement.”

“Alright,” said Mace.  “Alright, that’s…okay.  I’ll see what I can do about that.  But what does that have to do with Sifo-Dyas?”

Ben closed his eyes.  This.  This was what he didn’t want to talk about.  But he must.  Unfortunately, it was urgent.

“Ben?” said Qui-Gon.

He took a deep breath.  Here it goes.

“Count- Master Dooku,” said Ben, refusing to look at either of them.  “He was at Galidraan.”

The silence that stretched from that statement was absolute.  There were no incredulous exclamations, no questions.  The quiet invited him to continue, so he did.

“I’ve had a lot of time to think about this,” he began, slowly.  “About what could have possibly happened.  I think…he lost his best friend to suicide, and then, shortly after, unknowingly participated in a massacre.  He was already isolated from his lineage, already he and Qui-Gon were not speaking, but this…after this, he became almost a hermit.  He withdrew from us, from everyone.  For years, he stuck to his books, delving deeper and deeper into his research.  To me he always seemed stern and severe, but after that…he was scary.  And then, after it became too much, he left the Order.”

“That’s awful,” Mace muttered.  “So not only did we fail to handle Galidraan correctly, but we also failed to support the survivors.  At least he only left, and didn’t do anything worse.”

Ben winced.

“…no?”

Ben desperately searched for a way to soften the blow.  A way to say this in front of Qui-Gon.

“The research he was doing,” Ben said carefully, “unfortunately, his interest lay with the Sith.  At one point he was the leading expert in the history of the Sith.  He had access to all the restricted vaults, the Sith relics, the holocrons.”

Qui-Gon’s face remained blank with incomprehension, but Mace’s face changed in an instant, dawning with realization.

“No,” Mace breathed.

“Oh yes,” said Ben.  “Yes, he Fell.  We didn’t realize this until later, but when he left, numerous artifacts vanished with him.”

Qui-Gon sat back abruptly.  He put a hand over his mouth.

“Dooku, a darksider,” said Mace.  “Now I’ve heard everything.  He would be…a formidable opponent, if he were to Fall.  He’s already a rising expert in the field.  I consulted him just yesterday about…” he trailed off.

“I’m afraid it’s worse than that,” said Ben, bracing.  This was the part he wasn’t sure Mace would believe.  But it had to be said.  “He didn’t become a darksider, Mace.  He became a Sith.”

“How can this be?” said Qui-Gon.  “A Sith?  Are you sure?  How could he possibly?  We haven’t seen a Sith, a real Sith, in a thousand years.  That it would be my Master is…far-fetched.  He has his flaws, but they are normal human flaws, not…he wouldn’t just…”

Qui-Gon lapsed into a disturbed silence.

“That thousand years is about to end,” said Ben seriously.  “The Sith are alive and well, and it is the Jedi Order’s folly that we tried to forget them.  The rest of it- the rest of it can wait, it is true.  But Dooku.  He must never go to Galidraan.  And I don’t know what to tell you about his research, but it will lead him to some dark questions, and if there is no one to help him, he will find dark answers.”

Mace continued to stare at him, absorbing all this.

“I’m aware you might not believe me,” said Ben.  “That’s fine.  Subsequent events will prove my honesty soon enough.  When the call comes in about Galidraan, you’ll be the one making the decision.”

Mace nodded.  “I can promise you I’ll give it the consideration it deserves.  That’s all I can promise.  But thank you for telling me.  That can’t have been easy, if it was true.  You said..the rest of it can wait.  Is that everything urgent, that you can remember?”

“I think so,” said Ben.  “I’ll be sure to tell you if that changes-”

But he cut himself off.

The information hit him like a bolt of lightning.  He wasn’t sure where it came from.  In some deep part of himself, that bleeding, wretched mind-wound- somewhere inside him two ends had connected, and he remembered.

“My Padawan,” he said abruptly.  “He- this is the year he was born.”

“…yes?” said Mace.  “The one you can’t remember?”

“Yes,” said Ben, floundering.  He was grasping at the memory, trying to hold it firm, but it slipped out of his grasp.  “It’s urgent.  It’s- wait- I…”

It had just been there!  The reason!  What was it?  Oh, Force.  He strained, trying, trying.

“Why is that urgent?” said Mace.  “He’ll be brought to the Temple soon enough, yes?”

“No,” said Ben.  “I must get to him.  He’s in danger.  He…”

After several unsuccessful seconds, he pounded a fist against the table, frustrated.

Qui-Gon’s brow furrowed.  “This is the one who ripped your bond out?”

Ben nodded.  He ran his fingers again over the braid around his wrist, trying to jog the memory, but it didn’t come.  The moment of clarity was gone.

“If he was your Padawan, then we can assume he’s survived whatever danger he’s in,” said Qui-Gon, a hard edge to his tone.  “When he comes to the Temple, I will not be introducing him to Obi-Wan.  Not if that is what’s waiting for him.  Assault is too light of a word.  It almost killed you.”

“You don’t understand,” said Ben, unable to explain himself.

“Give it time,” said Mace.  “That mind-wound is a gruesome one.  If you remember, then we’ll do what we can for him, wherever he is.  I can give you my word on that.  Have patience with yourself.”

Ben just nodded, frowning unhappily.

“I guess…that’s it, then,” he said.  “For now.”

“I’ll be back for the rest soon enough,” said Mace, rising.  “Make no mistake.”

“Yes,” said Ben.  “I’ll try to be more coherent.  It’s all…it’s still…”

“I understand,” said Mace.

“Oh no,” said Qui-Gon unexpectedly.  They both turned to look at him.

“I’ve invited Master Dooku over for dinner!”

“What?” said Ben incredulously.  “I thought you weren’t on speaking terms?”

“We weren’t, but recently we’ve begun talking again.  He was…worried about me, and he came to see me.  I finally introduced him to Obi-Wan…we’ve been trying to repair our relationship, such as it is.  I’m afraid he knows all about you.  He wanted to meet you.”

“Yes, we did tell him,” Mace muttered, lifting his eyes to the ceiling.  “And as long as he is decidedly not a Sith lord I will still be treating him as a trusted expert in the field.  I can’t just prevent him from accessing information he has the clearance to know on your word alone.”

Ben, rightfully, felt a bit wary about this.  “Please exercise caution.  Please.  We learned to fear him in my time.  Master, I- I was never introduced to him by you.  I always thought if he had more of a connection to his family, he might have been able to pull back from the cliff he fell over.  I would like to speak to him at some point.”

“Not yet, though,” said Qui-Gon.  “That, at least, can wait.”

*

It happened later that evening. 

They had decided to put Dooku off, for the moment- and wasn’t it a revelation that Qui-Gon seemed to be trying to reconnect with his estranged Master.  Had that happened the first time?  If it had, Ben didn’t know about it.  He thought, overall, that it would be a good thing.  Dooku needed the support.

Still, he wasn’t sure he would be able to act completely natural around the man, not after what had occurred between them.  Perhaps in the future.

So Ben was sitting, this time with Obi-Wan, and he had just finished a light meal for dinner after Mace left with Qui-Gon, presumably to discuss their options.  Ben was confined to the apartment, so he didn’t go anywhere, just spent the day lounging around, taking his medicine, reading, trying to forget.  Even that small conversation had really taken it out of him.

Obi-Wan was in and out the whole time, running through his duties as a senior Padawan, some of which involved teaching the younger generation and running errands.  Honestly, Ben was surprised the Jinn-Kenobi pair wasn’t off on some mission.  It had been rare, in his memory, for them to idle at home.  But perhaps he was only forgetting the more boring bits of his eventful youth.

“You’re not upset, at being left out of the discussion?” Ben was asking.  “I certainly would be, especially that it concerns us.”

“Nah,” said Obi-Wan, eating his way through a large sandwich.  He never seemed to stop eating, even when running errands.  “I’ll get it out of Master later.”

“You think he’ll tell you?”

“I know he’ll tell me.  Speaking of.  I still don’t fully trust you.  And I’m not saying I’ll be acting on your advice.  But is there something you want to say to me, in particular?  Like how Qui-Gon died, and how we can prevent it?”

“Sure there is,” said Ben, feeling some amusement despite himself.  “I have a lot of words for my younger self.  Words you don’t deserve to hear, for they are the bitter musings of a tired, jaded man.  And Qui-Gon…it would only worry you.  There’s nothing you can do about it right now except to heed my advice and learn Soresu.”

Obi-Wan made a face.  “No thank you.”

“Even if it will save your Master’s life?”

“Now you’re just playing dirty.”

“I am,” said Ben, sighing.  “It isn’t true, either.  It’s him who needs to learn that form, more than anyone else.  I know you feel responsibility over him.  I know you blame yourself for his deeds, or misdeeds.  They are not your fault.”

He paused, chewing over his words.  “Yes.  That is what I really want to say to you, Obi-Wan.  Qui-Gon’s decisions and actions are not your fault, nor your weight to bear.”

To his surprise, Obi-Wan only shrugged.  “Okay, I guess.  But we’re a team.  If he makes a bad decision, it’s still my job to help deal with the fallout.  Same goes for him with me.”

That was…not the response Ben had been expecting.  It was odd.  “A team?” he questioned, some of the old pain rising to the surface for a moment.  “Qui-Gon and I were not a team.  Not until the end, at-”

The world changed.

“-least,” Ben finished.

The first thing he noticed was the dust and debris, choking the air.

The table and chairs had vanished, leaving him stumbling to his feet.  Obi-Wan was nowhere to be seen.

The walls were the same, still standing in the same place.  But the apartment looked as if a bomb had gone off.  The windows were shattered.  The couch was upended.  There were shards of broken pottery everywhere, and long-dead plants, scattered, dried dirt-

-it was so dark.  The power was out.  The door to the apartment was partially off its hinges, sliced in half by what looked like a lightsaber strike.  Outside, Ben could dimly see a series of flashing red emergency lights.

A vision- this was a vision- this was-

Ben stumbled over the remnants of the furniture, wading through the wreckage, pushing past several long burn marks scattered around the walls, the floor- more lightsaber strikes-

No, no, no!  It’s not real, it’s not-

But he put a hand against the wall, against those burn marks, and they felt real.  What dream could be so real?

Panting, choking, drowning, Ben staggered towards the door and emerged into the hallway.  It went on and on- blaster marks and lightsaber burns, everything a mess, some of the walls collapsed- just like-

And the smell.  As he moved further into the hallway, it hit his nose in a powerful wave.  It smelled like death, old death too.  Decay and rot.

Ben stumbled forward, his breath coming in shallow bursts of panic.  It wouldn’t stop- he could smell it- no, it wasn’t real- it wasn’t, he’d just gotten over that.  He’d gone back in time!  He had!  He’d just been talking to his younger self- they’d convinced him he wasn’t hallucinating- he’d believed them-

“Ugh.  The smell’s getting into my helmet.”

The voice of a clone broke through his fog, nearby.  The sound first brought calm, then a jolt of fear.  Right, clones- clones were- bad.

“It’s not my fault this Temple’s so big.  If they can’t spare the men for cleanup, the bodies are gonna rot.  It’s not like the traitors deserve any better.”

“It’s still disgusting.  Can’t they use droids?  Why do we have to do it?”

“Do as you’re told, soldier.”

Ben ducked into an alcove as the clones went past.  They were wearing white, shiny armor, no paint, no identifying marks.  As he watched, they stooped and lifted the remnants of a dark shape and tossed it into a large wheeled bin.  They pushed it along as they went.

“Call the cleaning droid anyway.  This one’s fused to the carpet.  We’ll need to rip it up, replace the flooring…”

“Fucking hell.  Couldn’t they have all died in one place?”

Ben put a hand over his mouth, biting down on his knuckles, drawing blood.  The smell was unbearable.  It took a significant amount of effort not to throw up.

“Why does the Emperor wanna live here, anyway?  There’s so many great buildings that don’t have bodies in them.  Why this one?”

“You ask too many questions.  Shut up and help me lift this.”

Soon their footsteps faded, and Ben stepped out of the alcove.  In a horrified, fog-like trance, he stepped nearer to the remnants of the dark shape on the ground.

In the flash of the red emergency lights, he could see it clear enough.  The shape of a person, lying prone, or what had once been a person.  He saw the remains of a torn robe, singed by fire.  A few beads scattered around.  A Jedi.  A Padawan.

“Hey- you!”

Ben whirled, hand flying for a saber that wasn’t there.  He saw a flash of another set of white armor- a blaster bolt sped towards him in slow motion-

The world changed once again.

Ben fell to the ground in a perfectly clean, lit hallway.  His back slammed against the floor and he cried out, a hand in front of his face, waiting for a blow that didn’t come.

Distantly, he heard the opening of a door.  He retched, the smell remaining in his nose- and then he put his hands against his head and curled into the fetal position.  His scream was hoarse and feral and long-lasting, emerging from his mouth without consent.

Hands on him, turning him, and another set of footsteps running down the hallway.

“Obi-Wan, what’s happened to Ben!?  Another seizure?”

“Master!  I don’t know- we were just talking and he suddenly vanished-”

“Vanished?”

“What is that awful smell?”

Ben groaned, trying not to retch again.  There was a sudden pain behind his eyes, originating in that place where his bonds had once been.  There were tears on his face, and he couldn’t stop them.

“Get Vokara.”

Obi-Wan’s footsteps faded away as he ran for the healing halls.

Qui-Gon’s voice was in the background, reassuring, pleading.  But it didn’t penetrate the fog Ben found himself drowning in.  Nothing could reach him now.

Not after what he’d seen.

Chapter Text

Obi-Wan Kenobi sat in the healing halls feeling distinctly out of place.

He was sitting in one of those hard plastic visitor-chairs, which weren’t exactly designed for comfort, and he’d pulled it back away from the bed.  Pushed up against the wall, he was nearly in the corner, out of sight and out of mind.  He sat still, as still as he could, so as not to be a distraction, but under his long Jedi sleeves he fiddled with his hands.

That fiddling- he’d seen it in his older self.  They really shared mannerisms, and sometimes it was truly uncanny.

Ben was on the bed, pushed up to sit against the wall.  He was currently hiding his face in Qui-Gon’s shoulder, and though he’d stopped screaming, his shoulders jerked occasionally with full-body sobs he could not quite contain.

In the past hour, they’d witnessed a total breakdown.  Ben had been incoherent, uncooperative- he hadn’t lashed out, exactly, at the people trying to help him, but he’d stopped responding to all outside stimulus.  Vokara and Qui-Gon had carried him to the Halls, and Obi-Wan had been right there, and he’d noticed that lingering smell in the hallway as Ben was taken away.

After Melidaan, he knew that death-smell like an old friend.  Familiar and terrible, the smell of a corpse was distinctive.  Once it was in the hallway, it took hours to disperse.

Prove it, Ben had gasped to Qui-Gon the moment he could speak.  Prove you’re really here- prove it-

And Qui-Gon had wrapped him up in his arms, dropping his shields.  I’m real, Ben.  I’m real. 

Obi-Wan could feel it through his own bond with his Master.  But he didn’t intrude.  Some things were private for a reason, even private from one’s other self.

The fact of the matter remained: Ben had vanished.  He knew what he’d seen, and he said as much to his Master.

Ben had been there one moment, talking to Obi-Wan, and gone the next.  He’d literally disappeared in front of Obi-Wan’s eyes, fading into nothing.  When he’d reappeared in the hallway, only moments later, it had been with a scream of pure horror- as if he’d been dropped into hell itself for a single minute, but that one minute was all it took.

I was- back there, Ben had choked out a few minutes later.  The Temple- the Jedi- all gone, all of it- they were dead!  They were still dead!  It was just the same- like I never left-

They hadn’t been able to get anything else from him, yet, but those few words had been enough.  What little explanation they had was more than enough to get Obi-Wan’s mind, already imaginative, turning and turning.

The Force worked in mysterious ways.  It had brought them a time-traveler, and Obi-Wan had no trouble believing that was possible, even if he was still unsure of Ben’s intentions.  But equally, why should that mean the time-travel only went one way?  Ben had materialized in front of Qui-Gon a few days ago, literally dropping out of the sky- and why should that mean he could not then de-materialize?

Obi-Wan would wait for the others to figure it out, to talk amongst themselves and come up with their own theories, but what had happened seemed perfectly clear to him.

It seemed like Ben had somehow managed to go back to his own future.  And in that future, nothing had changed, even though it must, even though he’d already begun trying to undo what had gone wrong.  The Jedi were still dead. 

Obi-Wan sat in the chair and twiddled his thumbs and tried not to think about the heavy weight settling over his shoulders.

He’d seen a lot of death already in his short life.  Lots of suffering, pain, to the point that he thought he couldn’t possibly see any more.  He’d gone into the war on Melidaan a child and had emerged from it a man- but the speed at which he’d been forced to mature made him feel like he’d outgrown his own limbs.  It was as if his entire self was malformed, ill-adjusted- he no longer quite fit in with Padawans his own age, preferring the company of adults.

Sometimes Obi-Wan looked in the mirror and scared himself by what he found there.  The eyes looking back at him were wolf-eyes, hunted and ghoulish, especially at night when the memories were too close for comfort.  He’d grown used to giving orders, being obeyed.  Making snap judgements that got people killed when he was wrong.  How was he supposed to come back from that into a life where his friends talked about their crushes, about which classes they were hoping to take, about who’s Master said what.

Obi-Wan saw the wolf-eyes in his other self now.  Except they were older, emptier, harder.  There had been such a blankness in his eyes, an empty dark stare, that it almost hurt Obi-Wan to look at.  The malformed pup had grown into a starving, wretched creature of howling grief.

Ben, his older self had chosen as a name.  You will endure this.

Yes, you will, Obi-Wan thought.  You will, because you must.  As I must, I suppose.  Is the future truly written in stone?  Is there nothing we can do?  Is my family destined for destruction, and am I destined to watch it happen?

It was a soft kind of melancholy that Obi-Wan felt.  A sort of disappointed ah, alright then.  The Force had told him, hadn’t it?  Infinite sadness, it had said all those years ago in the ice cave on Illum.  What a prideful heresy it would be, to doubt the words of the Force itself.

He’d been thinking of Ben as a sort of warning from the Force, before this moment.  Or- a hope.  Hope that he could escape the destiny hanging over him.  Ben would fix things, put it right, make sure Obi-Wan’s future led to a happier life, and if he couldn’t, then Obi-Wan himself would be sure not to make Ben’s mistakes.

Now, he wasn’t so sure.  About any of it.

*

“I don’t understand.  How did this happen?  Were you using the Force?”

“Not in the slightest, Master Che.”

Vokara had her hands on either side of Ben’s head, palms against his temples.  As she examined him, looking deep within his mind at his mental wounds, Ben focused on holding onto his sanity.

He’d had his breakdown, but one couldn’t panic forever.  Eventually rational thought had returned, although it was hanging by the barest of threads.  He had a hand clenched around Qui-Gon’s hand, likely hurting him with the force of his grip.  But he needed something to hang onto.

If that happens again, he thought hysterically, I’m dragging Qui-Gon with me.  Let’s see the Force try to displace him!

Even so, the terror remained, lapping at the edges of his psyche.  There had been no warning, no nothing- had it been a trick?  A hallucination?  But he’d seen and touched and smelled it, and they had smelled it too- and Obi-Wan had confirmed that Ben had literally disappeared!

The tears continued to drip down his face.  They wouldn’t stop, though he’d tried.  They oozed from his eyes in a steady stream- the bleeding of a mind-wound.

“I don’t understand,” Vokara muttered again.  “I’m looking all over- these wounds are closed.  Where is it coming from?  Where…”

Ben wiped at his face, and sniffed, and his shoulders hitched again.  “Maybe,” his voice was hoarse from screaming.  “Maybe I’m just- I can’t get myself together, Vokara, maybe it’s not the Force at all.”

“No, I’m sure these are mind-wounds…even if I can’t find them…  Their pattern is too recognizable…who can’t you remember, still?  What can’t you remember?”

“Aside from the Padawan?” said Qui-Gon, an eyebrow raised.

“Padawan?” said Vokara with newfound alarm.  “You can’t remember your own Padawan?”

There was a pause as Ben stared at her.

“Yes?” he questioned.  “I thought…didn’t you know that?”

“No,” she breathed, moving her hands back to his temples.  “I- I should have realized, of course, with the braid on your wrist…but I didn’t even see a Master/Padawan bond in your mind aside from the one you have with Qui-Gon.  Where…?”

“Didn’t even see one?” Ben repeated, with an incredulous laugh.  “Vokara, that bond almost killed me.  How could you not-?”

“Wait, let me look.  I wouldn’t have missed a bond like that…”

She went silent as she looked inside him, skittering over the top of his mind.  In order to let her in Ben had needed to put his shields down, which had been very difficult for him to do, and only Qui-Gon’s repeated assurances that he was real had allowed him to do it even for a moment.

The seconds ticked past, all three of them tense.  Qui-Gon, holding on.  Ben, shaken, trying to keep his mind open.  Vokara, searching.

Then she jerked with surprise, brow furrowed.

“Oh,” she said.

Another pause.

“What?  What is it?” said Qui-Gon, leaning forward.

But she didn’t respond, eyes glazing over.  Ben could feel her presence in his mind, felt it grab onto something internal, delving deeper and deeper until she disappeared from his awareness.

“Vokara?” said Qui-Gon.  “Vokara!”

More silence.  She appeared to turn to stone, utterly still.  Even her breath had arrested in her chest.

Ben was startled to see this, even more so when her assistants rushed up to help her, surrounding him, pressing their fingers to his Force-points.  The sensation of several people entering his mind at once was nearly overwhelming (the urge to snap his shields back up was astronomical), but they were in and out in a matter of moments, neatly severing Vokara’s link with him and pulling her away.

She stumbled back, throwing a hand up to her head.  Her breath was shallow, shocked.

“Vokara?” said Qui-Gon again, the worry evident in his voice.

“Yes- I- I’m fine,” she muttered, sinking down into the nearest chair.  “I’m fine, I promise.  Thank you.”

Ben wiped again at his eyes and tried not to think about how she had just gotten lost in his mind.  What had happened?  Was he dying again?

He put his shields back up immediately, though it took effort.  He needed the comfort they provided.

“How could you not know about the Padawan bond?” he questioned.

“I…” said Vokara after several long moments.  “It’s a case of not seeing the forest for the trees.  Your other bonds, they’re…normal, as far as I can see…they’ve been bleeding, but we closed them, and now they’re healing…”

She shook her head in disbelief.  “They were so small, in comparison, that I didn’t see the other one.  It’s- these are two different scales.  I didn’t see it because I’ve never seen a bond as large as that one.  It reaches into your very soul- hell, Ben, it is your soul.  It’s like a vine- or a weed- or a set of the largest, thickest chains I’ve ever seen.  There are fragments of it everywhere, as if it has been blasted apart…”

“Yes,” whispered Ben, letting that knowledge sink into him.  A bond so large it consumed his soul?  A single bond?

He remembered the fire and the lava and the screams.  Well, that made sense.  Though he couldn’t remember who those screams belonged to, he could remember what it felt like to hear them.

It had felt like his soul was ripping itself apart, which, apparently, it was.

“Yes,” he breathed.  “We were fighting.  He- he ripped it out.  I remember that much.”

Vokara stared at him.

“I…thought you knew,” he said weakly.

“Ben, I’m a doctor, and a damn good one at that, but I am not omnipotent.  Next time- although there had better not be a next time- please mention these things.”

“Sorry,” said Ben, as more tears slid down his cheeks, and he wiped at them, but, of course, they didn’t stop.

Qui-Gon was staring between the both of them in horrified concern.

“You’re telling me there’s a bond so large that you couldn’t even see it?  A single bond?  A broken bond?”

“Not broken.  Shattered.  But yes,” said Vokara.

Qui-Gon looked at Ben, and Ben could see how rapidly he had paled, how much this information had thrown him.  Still, his Master tried to lighten the mood.  “How is that possible?  Did you bond with the Force itself, Ben?”

“I don’t…think so?” said Ben, trying, once again, to remember.

Our bond is weak, he remembered someone saying.  We need to strengthen it.  Why don’t you want to strengthen it, Obi-Wan?  I thought you cared about me.

____, if I give you any more, you will take my entire soul.

Liar.  It barely registers on my end.  Can’t you make an effort?

Ah, Ben thought to his nameless Padawan.  Who were you?  Why did I give you so much of myself?  Are you, and your bond, connected somehow to all this?

Vokara sighed, frustrated with the lack of answers.  “I tried to follow the fragments, see if the wounds from this had closed off on their own.  I assumed they did before, since you seemed to be getting better, but whatever has happened today has ripped it all wide open once again.  Ben, I followed the broken edges as far as I could.  The shattered bond reaches out into the Force.  It just seems like... oh, I don’t know.”

She rubbed a hand against her forehead.  “All I have are theories.  That broken edge trailed off into depths I could not follow.  When I tried, I needed to be rescued.”

“How can this be?” said Qui-Gon incredulously.  “Have we ever seen something like this before?”

“I don’t know- I need to consult the archives, and probably Jocasta, or maybe even Master Yoda.  I’m sorry.  I can’t…I can’t recommend a way forward with treatment until we figure out what we’re dealing with.  It’s out of my expertise.”

“Thank you,” said Ben, “for trying.”

She patted his arm.  “Get some rest.  There’s a wound, yes, and honestly it’s quite alarming, but if you were still dying from it you’d already be dead.  Cheer up, now.”

It was enough to make him chuckle, a sad, wet kind that had a sob accompanying it.  But the mirth was there, for a moment.

“As always, Master, your bedside manners are truly unmatched.”

“That’s right, and don’t you forget it.  Alright.”  She stood up, clapped her hands.  “Qui-Gon, I’ll be in the archives.  If the tears stop, he’s free to go home with you, but that’s only because I know exactly where you live and you can call me if anything happens.”

“I’ll go with you,” said Obi-Wan from the corner of the room, jumping up.  Ben startled- he’d forgotten his younger self was there.  “Two heads are better than one, that sort of thing.”

“As you wish, young Padawan,” said Vokara.  “Come, there’s no time to lose.”

The two of them made for the exit.

Ben, for his part, sank back into the pillows.  He wiped at his eyes again, unsuccessfully.

Qui-Gon, though he looked disturbed, upset, and plenty shocked, never let go of his hand.