Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

From all the spaces between times,
from all the gaps in soldiers’ ranks,
from cracks in the wall, 
from doors we did not close tight,
from hands we did not hold,
from the distance between body and body
when we didn’t come close to each other—
the great sprawling expanse adds up, 
the plain, the desert,
where our souls will walk, hopeless, after death.

From All the Spaces Between Times
By Yehuda Amichai

Translated by Robert Alter

Obi-Wan dies on the Death Star, his life severed by a poisoned red lightsaber, and time ceases to have any meaning.

He remembers Qui-Gon’s lessons and for an eternity, he clings to his sense of self within the Force, directing young Luke to trust his instincts, to go to Dagobah, to train with Yoda.  In another eternity, Darth Vader remembers what it means to love and he saves his son, he destroys his Sith master, and Obi-Wan teaches him how to remain a singular consciousness with the Force, even after his body dies.

The Republic rises anew, the Empire falls.  The Jedi Order is reborn.  Obi-Wan is no longer meant for infinite sorrow and suffering.

Except within the Force, time has no meaning.  Time is not linear.  In between one endless moment and the next, as long as a blink, a heartbeat, the pitifully short lifecycle of a single-celled creature on planet with no sentient life, everything falls apart again.  The First Order rises, and Luke forsakes the Force. Ob-wan’s hope, his bright spark is dimmed and all but lost, shut away from the Force, from Obi-Wan’s desperate pleading voice.

Obi-Wan dies again in the Force, cut down by Darth Vader on the Death Star.

And so he is reborn, to live another life, this time, to stop the inevitable.

"Get up, scum.  This ain’t no holiday on Scarif."  A boot kicks him in the ass and Obi-Wan rolls over, everything aching, and there is a sharp, terrible pain in his back.  He opens his eyes and finds himself looking at the ugliest Weequay he’s ever seen, and he’s seen some ugly Weequays, particularly Hondo Ohnaka.

Everything really hurts, and it’s more than just age, more than old battle injuries.  More than the decrepitude of nearly twenty years in the desert.

What in the Emperor’s smelly butthole has happened to him?

"I said, get UP!"  The Weequay pokes him with a stick.  No, not a stick, an electro-prod.  "Slave, if you know what’s good for you, get to your feet NOW!"

Slave?

It’s only Obi-Wan’s finely tuned sense of self-preservation that propels him upright.  He doesn’t move fast enough and gets another shock from the Weequay’s prod.  The chains that bind his ankles make him clumsy and he almost falls over again, but someone holds him up.

It’s not an act of kindness.  The being behind him hisses, "You fall over, you take all of us down.  I’ll strangle you if that happens.  So if you want to live, you gonna walk."

Obi-Wan has been in worse situations, but not many, and he shuffles forward, keeping his eyes down, trying to figure out what’s happening.  It’s only when he sees his own hands that he begins to doubt his sanity.

His hands are young.  There’s no hair on them, no wrinkles or scars or popped veins.  No 'saber callouses or blaster burns.   His hands haven’t been this untouched by life since his Initiate days. Once he’d become a padawan, life had begun to take a visible toll on his body.

The line of slaves halts, waiting for the ship’s ramp to descend, and when it does, they are all hit with a blast of light and heat.  A gust of wind sends a barrage of sand into the cargo hold, and the slaves in the front row scream in pain, unable to shield themselves.  The slavers have no mercy, using electro-prods and vibro-whips to move the chained mass of beings forward.

Obi-Wan moves, he has no choice, but he’s stunned.  The Force is fucking with him - there is no other explanation.  He’s eleven or twelve years old and he’s a slave and he’s on Tatooine.

The suffocating heat is too familiar.  So is the relentless sunlight.  The pervasive sand.  The smell of bantha and eopie shit.  Machine oil.  Desperation.

As his eyes adjust to the light, Obi-Wan recognizes the buildings - they’re at the spaceport on the rim of Mos Espa.  Better than Mos Eisley, but not by much.

This is where it all began.

The slavers know that time is the enemy, keeping their merchandise standing in the arid heat is a sure way to lose their merchandise.  The slaves are unlocked from each other, better to show off their individual qualities.  The bidders walk around, examining the slaves and several times, the slavers need to deploy their whips and prods to keep some of the larger and more belligerent captives under control.  A large male Zabrak goes as far as grabbing one of the Weequays by his braid - that bit of rebellion lasts all of two seconds.  A slaver presses the kill switch and the Zabrak goes down, his spine severed by the implant.

No one says anything, and all the slaves just stare at the sandy ground, helpless now. Whatever fight they’ve had has evaporated.

The lesson has been learned.

The big male slaves - Zabraks, Ugnaughts, Togrutas, Twi'leks, Humans - are the first ones up for sale, and the bidding is quick.  Obi-Wan mentally converts the wupiupi to Imperial credits and he’s astounded at the prices.

But not as astounded or as disgusted as when the young Twi’leks are auctioned.  He thinks he recognizes Bib Fortuna, Jabba the Hutt’s agent, buying several weeping teenage girls who beg and plead that they are freeborn from the Core, but he’s not sure - the creepy Twi’lek seems too young.  He forgets about that when the children are put up on the block.  The bidding is fierce and quick between slickly-dressed brothel owners purchasing the little girls and boys, and Obi-Wan has a sinking feeling this is where he’s going to end up.

One of them, a hard-eyed female Twi’lek, approaches him.  "Aren’t you a pretty thing.   I think I’ll have use for you.  My customers like a little variety and innocence sells so very well in Mos Eisley."

Obi-Wan has no idea how dangerous it could be to use the Force here and now, and getting turned over to the Empire and the Inquisitors has to be worse than servicing customers in some stinking brothel.  Or is it?  "I’m not the kind of slave you want."  He pushes all the power of Suggestion into those words but there is nothing.  It’s horrifying, but he has almost no connection to the Force.

The brothel owner chuckles.  "Oh, I think you’re exactly the kind of slave I’m looking for."  She tucks two fingers under Obi-Wan’s chin, forcing him to meet her gaze.  Her sharp nails scratch his skin and catch against something.  "What’s this?"

"What’s what?" Obi-Wan touches his neck, there’s a cold metal ring resting on his neck and collarbone.  He feels the nothingness it exudes and now he knows why he can barely touch the Force.

The woman gestures and one of the slavers, a Duros man, joins them. She points at the collar around Obi-Wan’s neck.

"Ach, this one’s a trouble-maker.  We had to put this thing on him to keep him from screaming the ship apart.  You don’t want him."

The brothel owner gets a sly look, "I think I’ll enjoy breaking him."  Then she touches the collar, blinks and shakes her head.  "No, I don’t want him."

The Tatooine suns burn their way across the skies as all of the slaves are auctioned, all except for Obi-Wan.  He watches as families are sundered, as children are taken into the most horrific servitude - a Twi'lek mother sobs and begs the Mos Eisley brothel owner, the one who had shown interest in Obi-Wan, for mercy.  "Please spare my children, please - they are Twi’lek, just like you. We are freeborn, and were kidnapped! How can you betray your own people like this?  How can you do this to innocent children?

"It’s commerce.  Simple as that."

The mother screams and lunges at the brothel owner.  She’s dead before she takes a second step.  The children watch and weep as a guard drags the dead Twi’lek woman away.

The auctions continue and the buyers leave to collect their purchases.  The suns are setting and Obi-Wan is the last slave left.  He has been put up for sale three times but no one has bid on him.  The slavers are muttering that they need to leave and they aren’t taking him with them.

Obi-Wan just wants to wake up from this nightmare even if it means his death.

"Ten wupiupi!  I’ll buy the boy!"

Obi-Wan tries to see who’s bidding on him.  The stands are empty and it’s almost full dark.

"Sold!"

There’s a buzzing around his head and for a moment, it’s the sound of flapping wings and Obi-Wan is back on Geonosis, but then a woman’s soft voice brings him back to this other horrid reality.

"It’ll be all right." Her voice is gentle and soothing. She asks, "What’s your name?"

There’s just enough light left for Obi-Wan to see the woman’s face.  She’s Human, middle-aged and worn by hard labor and life on Tatooine, pared down to the essentials.  But her face is filled with kindness - she has the compassion of a Jedi in her eyes. Despite the collar, Obi-Wan senses the Force surrounding her, like a green, wispy veil protecting her against the harshness of the desert and the setting suns.

She reminds him of Qui-Gon and for that alone he trusts her.  "My name is Obi-Wan Kenobi."

"And I’m Shmi Skywalker."

Obi-Wan sits next to Shmi on a rickety metal cart, while his owner, Watto the Toydarian, flits ahead, tormenting the ancient eopie with a stick.

He’s numb.

That’s really not even the right word for it. He’s dumb, too. Stupid with exhaustion and shock and fear. And even if he’s only physically twelve or so with a Force-inhibitor collar around his neck, he’s also fifty-seven, a former Jedi Master, a High General, a Council Member, the Mad Wizard of the Jundland Wastes…

In other words, he still has a brain and a tongue and can ask questions. "What year is it? On the Galactic calendar?"

Shmi gives him a puzzled look. "Don’t you know?"

"No, not really. I don’t know much of anything. I know my name, that’s about it." Obi-Wan keeps the lies to a minimum. "I woke up on the slaver’s ship a few hours ago, a pain in my back, this collar around my neck, a really ugly Weequay screaming at me. I have no idea how I got there." It’s simpler to pretend he got hit with mind-wipe drugs.

"Oh you poor boy. You have no memory of what happened to your family?"

"No. Nothing." Well, nothing except your monstrous son killing the Younglings and whatever Jedi he could find, then going on a twenty-year murder spree across the galaxy before cutting off my head…

Obi-Wan breathes in and steadies himself in the too-familiar Tatooine air. "Do you know what year it is? It would really help to know what year it is - I guess how the Core reckons things." Obi-Wan is careful not to say Republic or Imperial - he might be eleven or twelve-ish, and he might be talking to his former padawan’s mother, but time seems to be running differently and there could be an Empire out there.

Shmi laughs. "Well, it’s not as if Tatooine keeps a calendar. We mark the years by the Hutt’s big festival, Boonta’s Eve, which just passed, three days ago. You know we’re on Tatooine, right?"

"Yeah. Strange, but I do know that."

Shmi shakes her head. "I remember seeing something about a big celebration, must have been last year or the year before that, about a thousand years of peace in the Republic."

Obi-Wan processes that bit of information with so much relief he’s almost nauseous. It’s still the Republic, there’s still time. The Jedi Order is still out there.

Qui-Gon…

Then Shmi laughs bitterly, "But peace? Really? What does that even mean when pirates still raid and enslave, take citizens from Republic ships and worlds and no one does anything about it. Slavery may be illegal inside the Republic, but the Republic doesn’t lift a finger to help its citizens who are abducted and taken outside its beautiful walled garden."

"I’m sorry." Obi-Wan says helplessly.

"Why are you apologizing? You’re just a little boy who had this happen to you, too. This isn’t your fault. And I should be the one apologizing, for unloading my anger on you."

Obi-Wan can’t tell her that he’s is apologizing for all the times he didn’t listen to Anakin telling him about his nightmares about his mother, about knowing that slavery still flourished outside of the Republic and doing nothing about it, about letting the Jedi Order be handcuffed by the Senate and the corporate interests that seemed to dominate its every decision. "I can still be sorry for your pain, Lady Skywalker. Just as you can be compassionate for mine."

"For a little boy, you speak so well. I think you must have come from the Core. A good family gave you a good education."

Obi-Wan, confused between his lives, buries the pain he always feels at the mention of his murdered and lost Jedi family - even though at this moment, they are alive and well - and just shrugs. "Maybe. But I don’t want to think about that. I don’t want to cry."

"No, crying is very bad on Tatooine. You can’t afford to waste even a drop of water here." Shmi drapes an arm over Obi-Wan’s shoulders, hugging him. "I won’t mention it again."

At the edges of Mos Espa, between the rundown slave quarters and the city proper, Shmi pulls on the reins, bringing the cart to a halt in front of an old stable. "We get out here."

A Dressellian comes out of the stable, grumbling, "Ye’r late. Just about to close up. Gonna have to charge ye for an extra day."

Watto screams in outrage, but Shmi hops down and tells the hostler, "The second moon hasn’t set and your stable isn’t closed." She points to the sign on the barn door that clearly sets the rates. "Besides, the eopie you rented has a lame back hoof and if he walked any slower, it would have been faster if we put the beast in the cart and dragged it ourselves."

The hostler backs down and unhooks the cart.

"Our deposit, Kre. If you please." She holds out her hand and the Dressellian drops a coin into her palm, which Shmi promptly gives to Watto.

Obi-Wan is stunned at Shmi’s bravery, and really, he shouldn’t be. Like mother, like son. Anakin was many things, but no one could ever accuse him of cowardice.

The hostler pulls the eopie and the cart into his stable and turns out the light, leaving the three of them in darkness.

Watto flits around Obi-Wan and Shmi, and for the first time, talks to Obi-Wan directly. "You better work hard, boy. Ten wupiupi is a lot of dosh and I don’t like wasting money. Pull your weight and we’ll get along fine, slack and I’ll sell you to the brothels or worse. Understand?"

"Yes."

"Yes, what?" Watto flies in close, staring at him.

"Yes … sir." Obi-Wan will not call this creature "Master".

The Toydarian hovers for too many seconds, but finally flits off. "Shmi - he’ll live with you. I’m not paying for separate quarters for the boy. Bad enough I’ll have to pay for another water ration."

Shmi squeezes Obi-Wan’s shoulder, "Come on, follow me. It isn’t too far."

He trudges behind her, every step feels like it could be his last, until she stops at a small one-story building that looks the same as every other one on the unlit street. The door isn’t locked, but Obi-Wan supposes there really isn’t anything worth stealing inside.

"Take the bed, you need to sleep."

Obi-Wan should argue but he can’t. He does manage to pull off his footwear - and he falls onto the mattress - straw and bantha hair, exactly the same as what he’d slept on for nineteen years, and he takes a strange kind of comfort in the familiarity.

A hand strokes his hair and murmurs something Obi-Wan can’t quite make out. He falls asleep wondering if he’ll actually wake up.

But of course he does. Shmi shakes him, "It’s time, Obi. We’ve got to get to the shop."

He blinks, trying to sort out dreams and nightmares and realities. "All right, I’m awake."

She shows him what passes for a 'fresher, and when he comes out, she gives him a small earthenware cup of water.

Obi-Wan remembers what Anakin had told him about Tatooine hospitality, how important it was to share water. He gives the cup back, "Please, slake your thirst first, Lady Skywalker."

She nods and takes the tiniest of sips before giving him back the cup. Obi-Wan sips slowly, letting the water absorb into the parched tissues. He gives Shmi the last swallow, "Please take, with my thanks."

"Are you sure you haven’t been to Tatooine before?"

"Maybe I’m from a desert world?"

"Perhaps." She sounds skeptical. There are two wrapped parcels on the counter. "You are probably hungry, but let’s wait until we’re at the shop. Watto won’t come down from his nest for hours and there probably won’t be any customers until well after the second sunrise."

Obi-Wan recovers his footwear and lets out a tiny, mournful sigh. Good boots and socks have been the material things he had missed the most from his life as a Jedi. He had reconciled himself to so many losses during his years in the desert, but every kriffing time he had repaired his last pair of boots, he’d wept. Had the Inquisitors actually been practical, they would have looked for Jedi boots, not Jedi compassion.

"Obi?" Shmi’s getting impatient.

"Sorry." He pulls on his cloak. "Just - well, you know."

"Yeah, I do."

Obi-Wan trudges behind her, memorizing the path from their quarters to the shop. In the bright morning daylight, he can see that there are some differences between the mean little houses. Some doors are painted, some windows have curtains. These are peoples’ homes.

Watto’s shop isn’t in the best of neighborhoods, but there’s plenty of foot traffic, and despite Shmi’s earlier comment, there are a handful of customers waiting for her to open the place up.

Business is brisk, and it takes Obi-Wan over two hours to get enough time to eat his first meal. He’ll have to get up earlier and eat before heading out to the shop, that’s for certain.

Watto flits down about an hour before the second sun crosses the meridian, complains thoroughly about everything, and goes back up to the rafters to nap. The rest of the day is just as busy, not giving Obi-Wan much time to think, although in the odd, quiet moment, he’s struck again through the heart at the realization that all the Jedi are alive.

Qui-Gon is alive.

His brain whirls with ideas and schemes how he could reach out to the High Council to let them know about the Sith. And he keeps coming to a dead end. Even if he could get a message to the Temple, it would be pointless. No one would believe him.

If the High Council is still composed of the same members as it had been in his last life, any mention of the Sith would be greeted with the utmost skepticism. They all but laughed Qui-Gon out of the chamber when he’d insisted that their attacker on Tatooine had been a Sith, and hadn’t they respected Qui-Gon enough to offer him a seat on the Council just six years earlier? The Council would look at an anonymous message as little more than a prank.

As Obi-Wan pushes a broom across the floor, trying to tame the endless mess of sand the creeps in, he tries to organize the differences in the now and the then. The biggest difference is the absence of Anakin. In the little time that he’d had this morning, Obi-Wan looked around Shmi’s house, but saw no sign of a child. And she’s made no mention of a son. How can he ask her? Hey, Lady Skywalker, where’s your child? Didn’t you have a little boy?

A customer comes in and Obi-Wan puts the broom aside. "How can I help you, gentle being?"

Watto doesn’t come down until the first sun is starting to set. Shmi is out in the yard with a customer.

Watto checks the cashbox, emptying it into a pouch, and is pleased. "Not bad, kid. You can live until tomorrow"

Obi-Wan swallows against the urge to rip the pest’s wings off. Instead, he just says, "Thank you, sir."

Watto laughs, as if he knows just how much Obi-Wan despises him. "Here, your money for food and water for the week. Don’t forget to share it with the old witch." Watto drops two wupiupi onto the sandy floor and waits for Obi-Wan to pick the coins up.

Obi-Wan doesn’t move.

Watto glares at him before flying out the door.

And only then does Obi-Wan bend down to retrieve the dosh.

The metal is cool against his palm, but it burns like a blaster bolt.

Shmi and the customer come back inside the shop, and they complete the transaction for the large hunk of metal he’s hauling out. Shmi notices the empty cashbox and gives Obi-Wan a worried look. She doesn’t say anything until the customer leaves.

"Obi?" She holds out the cashbox.

"Nothing to worry about. Watto came down and emptied it. He left these for our week’s food and water." Obi-Wan offers her the two coins.

She sighs in relief. "Do you want me to hold onto yours?"

"Please - you’ll do better procuring what’s needed."

"Thank you for your trust in me."

"Lady Skywalker, you’re the only being that’s standing between me and oblivion." Or another turn on this Force-forsaken wheel…

Shmi ducks her head at that.

The bell over the door rings and another customer comes into the shop.

Chapter Text

My God, the soul you gave me
Is smoke
From the eternal fire of love memories.
We are born and start burning right away,
Until the smoke vanishes like smoke.

Time - Stanza 77 (fragment)
By Yehuda Amichai

Translated by Benjamin and Barbara Harshav

The First Two Years

Watto spends little time actually working in the shop, usually flitting down from his nest after first noon.

He comes in and berates Shmi just for the hell of it, sparing Obi-Wan most days, then goes back up to the rafters for a nap. Around closing time, he comes back down to empty the cash box, make a few ugly comments about how he’ll have to sell Shmi, and sometime even Obi-Wan, if they don’t bring in more dosh, and leave.

For the first few weeks, Obi-Wan is concerned by Watto’s comments, but Shmi laughs them off.

"He’s been doing this every night for the last fifteen years. I don’t pay any attention to him, and you shouldn’t either. And truthfully, we’ve been doing so much better since you’ve arrived. I can manage the yard, you deal with the customers in the shop, and Watto just stays out of the way. No one likes him, but they like you, and that’s why the store’s been busier than ever."

Obi-Wan hadn’t realized that. After all, he’d stayed behind with Queen Amidala’s retinue the first time around, and had only Qui-Gon’s very limited commentary - and then Anakin’s - about Watto’s shop. Years later, in his exile, he’d bought a vaporator from Watto at an outrageously inflated price, but that hadn’t been the most painful part of the transaction - he’d had to stand in the dusty, mostly abandoned shop and listen to the old bug endlessly whine about how he couldn’t get any decent help.

The Toydarian does have a knack for sensing when customers with deep - or deep-ish - pockets come in, and that’s when he makes an appearance to dicker over price, to exploit someone’s misery.

But most days, Watto leaves Obi-Wan and Shmi to handle the business. Obi-Wan works inside the shop, talking to customers, helping them find the small parts they need. Shmi, who has been with Watto for over fifteen years, has an encyclopedic knowledge of everything in the junkyard, and can make even the most ancient and obscure engine work.

Between the two of them, they keep the junk shop running and solvent, the cash box full enough that Watto’s threats to sell them are mostly meaningless.

Even without Shmi’s advice, Obi-Wan learns to pay little attention to the Toydarian’s words - even his threats. About four weeks after Obi-Wan’s unwilling return to Tatooine, Watto comes into the shop, his eyes glittering with unnatural exuberance.

Spice, likely.

The Toydarian flies around in dizzying circles, giggling. "Ahh, Obi-boy, you are my lucky charm. Do you know that since I - ah - acquired you - I have not lost a big bet?"

Obi-Wan wonders if this is more Force fuckery, but that’s irrelevant. Watto in this state is susceptible to flattery. "There is no such thing as luck, sir. You are a skilled gambler and know how to read your opponents and play the odds."

"That I do! Good of you to see that, boy!" He flits around, poking at the piles of machinery that Obi-Wan had just finished neatly stacking.

"Place looks good, hmm. You deserve a bonus." He flips a whole wupiupi at Obi-Wan. "Don’t share that with the old witch."

"Her name is Shmi, and she keeps this place running. You know that. Keeps you in wupiupi and peggat so you can gamble." Of course Obi-Wan will share the coin with Shmi, he owes her everything.

Watto glares at him. "I don’t like her. She has strange eyes."

"You’d like poverty even less."

"I could just get some droids and replace you both," Watto growls, and deliberately tips over a stack of engine parts. "Clean that up, boy. And don’t make too much noise while you’re doing it. I need some rest."

This is a pattern that repeats itself every few weeks. Watto doesn’t quite heap praise on Obi-Wan but he’s just a tad less cruel to him than he is to Shmi, and he’s occasionally generous to him. But he’s always a bantha’s ass to Shmi, and it’s always at its worst when Watto’s been gambling and high on spice.

The toxic combination is on full display during the Boonta’s Eve Classic, which occurs about a month after Obi-Wan's arrival in this so-delightful new timeline.

It’s dead quiet in the shop, no one is buying anything - the entire population of Mos Espa is focused on the pod races.

Well, the free beings of Mos Espa. Slaves are generally not ones to celebrate Boonta Eve, considering who Boonta the Hutt was and the genocide he committed against enslaved peoples before ascending to godhood.

Shmi seems to be a little quieter than usual, a little sad and distant, and Obi-Wan is just a little worried about her. She tells him that everything’s fine - he doesn’t believe her, but there’s really not much he can do, except distract her. In cleaning up the shop, he’d found a sabacc deck, but half the special cards are missing.

"Come on, no one’s coming in - let’s play."

Shmi shakes her head at his foolishness, but finally sits down and takes the deck from him, shuffling and dealing like she’s spent her nights working at Jabba’s palace.

Obi-Wan and Shmi spend the afternoon playing sabacc, making outrageous and ridiculous bets, and when Shmi wins the final hand, declaring herself Queen of Alderaan, Obi-Wan bows low, his head nearly brushing the sand.

"Your Majesty, I am yours to command."

She giggles, sounding like a happy young girl. "Oh, I think I’ll have you build a fountain for me, young Obi-Wan, with a water spray ten stories tall that never runs dry."

"As you will, my queen!" Obi-Wan tries not to think of the Room of a Thousand Fountains, the great gardens in the Jedi Temple. To bring Shmi there and show her the miracle of water, endless and pure…

The shop door bangs open and they both turn, startled. But it’s only Watto, his eyes too bright, his wings buzzing.

Shmi shrinks, all her shining joy snuffed out at the old fly’s presence.

Watto flies about, ignoring Shmi, ignoring Obi-Wan. He’s clearly pleased by the day.

At least until he checks the cash box. "What, no dosh? You steal from me?"

"No customers today, sir." Obi-Wan stands up, careful to put himself between Watto and Shmi. "It’s a holiday, no one wants to buy anything. The whole city was at the races."

"Hmm, right. You are right, boy. My lucky slave boy is right." Watto flies to close and Obi-Wan can smell the spice on him. "You bring me luck. Much luck. Sebulba did it again, damn Dug, left everyone in the dust. Odds could have been better, but a sure bet is still worth the dosh." He cackles. "Another Darklighter got himself killed."

From behind him, Obi-Wan hears Shmi gasp, but he doesn’t turn around. That would give Watto the target he wants.

"Should we close up, sir?"

"Hmm, yeah. No one’s going to come in now. It’s getting dark and it’s time to celebrate. Gardulla’s invited me to the palace. I might just get myself another slave." Watto cackles again, and in a fit of generosity, tosses a handful of wupiupi at him. "You and the old witch should celebrate. It’s her son’s death-day, after all! And her lover’s, too!" Watto flits off, slamming the door behind him.

Obi-Wan turns and looks at Shmi. She is standing there, fists clenched, her eyes blazing with rage. If Shmi were a Jedi, this would be the moment of her Fall.

"Shmi?"

She pushes past him and kneels on the sandy floor to pick up the dosh Watto flung at them.

Even though he’s shocked by what Watto’s just told him, Obi-Wan joins her, and when she reaches for the last coin, her hand shaking, Obi-Wan threads his fingers into hers. They breathe together for countless moments, until Shmi unwinds her hand from his.

"I’m all right, Obi. Thank you." She retrieves the last wupiupi and gets to her feet. "I know I shouldn’t let Watto hurt me. It’s only words."

"If you want to talk, I can listen." And maybe finally solve the mystery of Anakin’s absence in this timeline.

She stares at him, dark eyes burning with unshed tears, and shakes her head. "No, there’s nothing to talk about."

Obi-Wan still can’t believe that Anakin is dead, and while it breaks his heart in a way, it makes sense. The Force has sent him back to Tatooine, into this strange and mixed up timeline, as Anakin’s replacement. It means that the future is going to be so different. No Anakin Skywalker, no Darth Vader. And maybe no destruction of the Jedi.

But it also breaks his heart breaks a bit more because that also means no Luke and no Leia.

For days after Watto’s terrible revelation, Obi-Wan’s goal is to stand between Shmi and Watto, who keeps on baiting her. "Oh so sad, you old witch. Why not walk out into the desert and just end your pain?"

"And why don’t you shut up?" Obi-Wan pushes Shmi out into the yard and faces down Watto.

"Boy, do you want me to end you? I could, just like that?" Watto snaps his fingers.

"Yeah, but then your lucky piece would be gone and you’d lose everything. And then Shmi would definitely walk into the desert. You’d actually have to do all the work here yourself, you ragged old fly."

Watto flies around in circles, an ugly expression on his ugly face, then he zips out the door, leaving Obi-Wan alone in the shop, panting like an overworked eopie. Obi-Wan is appalled at himself, he hasn’t hurled insults like this since Bruck Chun had baited him in the Initiates dormitories. Where is his control?

What’s happening to him?

He stands there, still stunned at himself, until someone touches his shoulder and he jumps, startled.

"It’s just me," Shmi murmurs. "Thank you."

Obi-Wan sniffs. "Nothing to thank me for."

"Ragged old fly indeed." She gives him a quirky smile, the first in days. "Come on, let’s get this day started."

The weeks and months tally up into nothingness, much the way they had in Obi-Wan's first exile, but back then, he’d been able to mark the years with a day he could never forget.

Luke’s birthday.

Even if he had wanted to ignore the passage of time, Luke’s birthday was also Empire Day, and even on the Outer Rim, on a world supposedly free of the Empire’s control, it had been impossible to escape the reminder of everything he’d lost. The Holonet had always boosted its signal strength on Empire Day so the whole galaxy could experience the oppressive celebration, and at least one TIE squadron would land in Mos Espa or Mos Eisley to remind the locals that while Tatooine is controlled by the Hutts, it wouldn’t take much for the Empire to take over.

In the now of his life, Obi-Wan has no such reminders. The months pass, the three moons rise and fall and Obi-Wan remembers how to keep track of their complex cycle. But no one knows how many moon cycles equals a year, it’s just one more way to go mad.

And as slowly as time goes, his first year on Tatooine ends and another begins and ends, marked by the great Hutt festival of Boonta’s Eve, but that’s not even an actual fixed day - it’s tied to the calendar for Nal Hutta, the Hutts’ home world, and is an erratic day in the Tatooine year.

"You’re growing, Obi." Shmi interrupts his musings.

"Huh?"

"You’re getting taller." She stands next to him and Obi-Wan realizes that he’s now just a few fingers shorter than Shmi.

"I guess I am." He looks down at his feet and his ragged trousers are way above his ankles. He doubts that he’ll get to be any taller in this life than he had been in the last one, not with the poor nutrition a slave’s diet provides.

"Why are you surprised? You’re getting older, it’s been nearly two years since you got here."

Obi-Wan is appalled. "That long? I can’t seem to keep track of time. There are no seasons, we work every day. I just - " Even in his first exile, other than Empire Day, it had been hard to keep track of time, with three moon and two suns…

"Didn’t you hear, the Boonta Eve Classic is scheduled for next month, when the Chenini moon is full. It’ll be your second." Shmi sighs, Boonta Eve is not a happy time for her.

Watto is not in the shop today, which is nothing new. Since the last Boonta Eve, and Obi-Wan's vicious defense of Shim, Watto’s spent little time here, not even to nap in the rafters. He leaves early in the morning, comes in at the end of the day to collect the money from the cash box and give his slaves a hard time. Who knows what time he comes back? If he actually does dome back.

Obi-Wan gives Watto a hard time right back. While the old fly is Force-resistant, he isn’t Obi-Wan resistant, and Obi-Wan manages to get Watto to throw money at him on a regular basis. It’s never all that much, but it’s more than just the two wupiupi a month that he’d started out with.

Of course, Watto always manages to extracts payment for this generosity. Every couple of weeks, he tells Obi-Wan and Shmi of a junk haul he’s acquired that needs to be parted out and moved into the shop - a hard and dirty job. Watto is far too cheap to hire a lev-cart, and the best Obi-Wan and Shmi can do is pry a few coins to get the ancient eopie and rickety cart from Ker the Dresselian for a few hours. Not even when Obi-Wan shows Watto that the lev-cart rental is cheaper, that it will take fewer hours and less dosh than the eopie cart, will the old bug relent.

"I have you, you’re young and strong. And if that old witch dies, who cares?"

"I’ll care, and I’ll curse all your bets. You’ll lose everything."

"If I start losing, you’ll die, ungrateful boy."

Obi-Wan had just laughed. "Then who’ll run your shop? You? You’re too cheap to buy droids!"

Watto had flown out, muttering about ungrateful slaves, and hadn’t been back for days.

Shmi had begged him to stop baiting Watto, that the old bug just might blow Obi-Wan's transmitter out of spite, but Obi-Wan assures her that Watto won’t do that. Watto is a gambler, and like every gambler, he believes in the irrationality of the winning streak, he wouldn’t do anything to ruin that.

"You should get some new clothes, Obi. We have some money saved."

He looks again at the ragged ends of his trousers and the worn scuffs that pass for footwear. "Maybe. Let’s see how Watto does after the races." Obi-Wan has been feeling strange the last few days, like the Force is trying to tell him something. But that’s impossible with the damn collar around his neck.

Shmi nods. "I’m going to hold you to that."

Thankfully, a customer comes into the shop, looking for a part and Shmi takes them out to the yard. Watto picks that moment to grace the shop with his presence.

"Boy, you need to go to the Dash Market, go see Cyral the Besalisk, she has a speeder engine I want. I told her you’ll order up her stall in exchange."

"Not unless she agrees to provide food and water. Last time you lent me out, I nearly died from the heat. You don’t want to lose your lucky charm over a busted speeder engine, do you?" Obi-Wan actually is looking forward to this particular job. .

Watto grumbles and it’s obvious that he’s made no such provisions. He goes to the cash box and fishes out two small coins, totaling a half-wupiupi. "Here, and work fast. I’ll need you back here."

Obi-Wan catches the dosh mid-air; his reflexes are almost Jedi-quick, despite the collar. "I’ll be back when I’m done." He glares at Watto, then goes into the yard to tell Shmi where’s he’s heading.

He likes Cyral, she’s kind and generous and calls him Li’l Obi. She reminds Obi-Wan of Dexter Jettster back on Coruscant. She’ll feed and water him, and Obi-Wan will split the dosh Watto had given him with Shmi later tonight.

As he trudges through Mos Espa, Obi-Wan again feels that strangeness. He touches the collar, tugging at it. But it doesn’t help, it only makes him dizzy and sick, and he feels like he’s going to pass out. He leans against a building, then sinking down into the sand, unable to stay upright.

"You all right, man?" Someone kneels down in front of him, blocking the relentless suns’ for just a moment.

Obi-Wan knows that voice. Oh, he knows it so well. Knows it, loves it. Maybe the Force has sent a rescue?

He whispers, "Quinlan?"

The man in front of him stills and even with the collar, Obi-Wan can feel his shock within the Force. He takes a breath, of course Quinlan would be surprised that anyone would know his real name. He’s a Shadow, on an undercover assignment.

Obi-Wan doesn’t have much time. "Listen, please - there is a Sith in the Senate. Palpatine from Naboo. He’s engineering a coup, the Trade Federation - "

Quinlan shakes his head. "Man, sorry - you’re talking but I don’t understand your words. I don’t speak your language. Don’t know how you know my name, but maybe it’s not my name. Maybe it’s just a word from your tongue?"

Obi-Wan is horrified - what is the Force doing? "Quinlan, I know you don’t know me, but listen carefully, please." He holds out a hand, trying to touch Quinlan, to trigger the Kiffar’s psychometry.

But Quinlan doesn’t let Obi-Wan make contact. "Sorry, I got to go." He stands up, takes a few coins from his belt pouch and drops them in Obi-Wan's hand. "Get yourself a hat, man. The suns will kill you if you’re not careful."

Obi-Wan’s old crechemate ambles off, leaving him stunned and heartbroken. Not a rescue, just the Force taunting him.

There is no rescue. This is your life. You will die here.

He trudges the rest of the way to the Dash Market and finds Cyral - she’s hard to miss, over two meters tall and a booming voice.

"Ah, li’l Obi, you made it, but you don’t look so good." She picks him up and sets him under her stall’s canopy. "Take it easy for a few."

"No, I’m fine. Let me get to work."

"Nope, nope. You sit, you rest." She stands in front of him, all four of her hands resting on her torso, blocking his way. "Let me get you some water."

"Please, no - I’m all right. I don’t need to take your water. It wouldn’t be right." He doesn’t think he can bear anyone’s compassion right now. He just needs to work.

But Cyral doesn’t give him a choice. He frowns at him, and says, "You be too pale, you not even sweating. That no good. You’re gonna take some water, li’l Obi. No arguing. I don’ want Watto’s lucky piece a’dyin’ on me. He’ll make my life not worth livin’ if you go and kick on me. And besides, I like you. You one of the good 'uns." She fishes a bottle out from a cold box. "Please, m’boy, take what you need."

Too tired, too heartsick to fight, Obi-Wan takes the bottle, the cool slickness feels so good in his hands. He hasn’t had anything cold since he’s been on Tatooine.

The water is sweet on his tongue - and he swallows. One sip, a second, and he recaps the bottle, handing it back to Cyral. "Thank you."

She frowns. "Finish it, li’l Obi."

"No, I had more than I need. You need, too. Now, I should get to work." He pushes himself to his feet, ignoring Cyral’s worried complaints. The Besalisk is too kind for her own good - such an odd thing for a Jedi to think. But then, Obi-Wan isn’t a Jedi, he’s a slave on Tatooine.

A slave with a task to complete. He surveys the stall’s contents and easily figures out the best way to organize everything. Cyral isn’t one of those shopkeepers who claim that they function best in chaos and that they know where everything is in heaps and piles. She listens to Obi-Wan as he explains the system for her parts and pieces, making notes and suggestions, and finally insisting that she must do all the heavy lifting.

As the first sun begins to set, Cyral shares her meal with Obi-Wan and several neighboring vendors, and when the last of the day’s shoppers wander off, Cyral locks down the stall, loads the promised speeder engine onto a cart and hauls it over to Watto’s shop.

"Thank’s li’l Obi. You been a great help, and also, I really wanted to get rid of this hunk o’ trash. Maybe Miss Shmi can make it work, but I’ve had it for two years and it’s prolly more sand than metal by now."

Obi-Wan manages a smile. "Thank you, Lady Cyral, for your kindness and caring. For sharing water with me, and food. Today was a bit of a holiday, and I would be happy to come back and help any time you want to strike another such bargain with Watto."

"Aw, callin’ me 'Lady Cyral', you are too sweet. And o' course, any time. I’m sure I can find more useless crap to pawn off on ol' Watto."

Shmi must have heard them, she pushes the door open. Cyral drags the cart to the junkyard, unloads it, and bids them well. "Take care, and get some rest, li’l Obi, you had a rough time today."

"I’ll be fine, but thanks."

Shmi doesn’t ask questions on the way home, but as soon as Obi-Wan closes the door behind them, she pounces. "What happened?"

"Nothing."

"Not nothing. Cyral said you had a rough day. Did someone bother you?"

"No." Obi-Wan sighs, wishing that Shmi would let him be. "Just a bit too much sun - forgot to wear a hat. Got a bit dehydrated. Cyral is very kind and motherly." Obi-Wan's words are pleasant but his tone could cut rocks.

"And what’s wrong with kindness?"

"Nothing, nothing’s wrong with kindness. All the little gods know I would have died without your kindness." He sucks in a breath, remembering how Quinlan had just walked away. "Maybe that would have been for the best."

Shmi looks like he’d just stabbed her. "How could you say that, Obi?"

Obi-Wan might be a dead Jedi knight, but he’s also a thirteen year-old slave, and he has nothing left, no hope, no will to live. He’s lost everyone and everything and he’s going to die here, trapped with a bomb buried in his spine and a Force suppressing collar around his neck and he has finally given up.

"How can you ask me that? You’ve lost everything and you get up every day and go to that horrible little shop and do that horrible creature’s bidding, take his cruelty, and you suffer every day, and you have managed to go on."

"Oh, my poor child." Shmi reaches out to stroke Obi-Wan's cheek, sweat-stained, tear-stained. "I go on because I have hope."

"Hope?" He laughs until he hurts, until he’s ready to retch. "What is there to hope for? Your lover is dead. Your son is dead. You’re a slave with no chance of freedom this side of the grave." Today has made it clear, there is no hope for him, there will be no rescue. This is his punishment, for all his failures, for letting the Jedi die.

Shmi takes his hand, like he’d taken hers that day a year ago. "My son isn’t dead, Obi-Wan. He lives. That’s why I have hope."

Coruscant, The Jedi Temple - In the High Council Chamber

"Thank you, Master Jinn, for your report. I suppose it will be too much to ask for a written summary of the events?" Adi Gallia asks, her tone as dry as a good Alderaanian winter wine.

Qui-Gon bows slightly, acknowledging the hit. "I will, as always, endeavor to complete the required flimsiwork. Does the Council have anything further for me?" He’s just a little anxious to escape, his former padawan’s about to arrive at the Temple docks. Qui-Gon would like to greet him, it’s been nearly a year since he’s had the chance to see him.

"Actually, yes." Mace draws his attention back to the here and now. "We have a mission that needs your particular skills. The Trade Federation has set up a blockade around a small planet in the Chomell Sector, Naboo."

Qui-Gon searches his memory for anything he can recall about Naboo that’s interesting or remarkable but he can’t. Naboo is a small, pretty planet of no strategic or economic importance other than some minor energy production. "What interest does the Trade Federation have with Nabooians that they’d blockade them?"

Mace answers, "We’re not sure. Chancellor Valorum has made this the highest priority. We’d like you to try to negotiate their immediate withdrawal."

Qui-Gon feels the Force poking at him. "I have has had some experience with Trade Federation. They are not likely to see reason and negotiations will likely become … aggressive."

The Council, thankfully, agrees. "Which is why this is not a solo mission. Feel free to pick your partner."

"My former padawan is scheduled to be back at the Temple in - " Qui-Gon checks his chrono, "a half-hour. Given his skills and the Trade Federation’s involvement, I think he’s the best choice for a mission partner. "

Mace waves him off and Qui-Gon pretends not to see Yoda’s smirk. He bows to the Council and departs, pacing the turbo-lift car as it descends the High Council Tower. He races out and quick-walks through the Temple, down to the docks, checking his comm for any updates from Air Traffic Control.

Nothing yet, but as soon as he hits the chaos of the Jedi landing bay, the update he wants is posted. Of course, it’s all the way across the complex, on the opposite side from where Qui-Gon is now, and he’ll have to cheat a bit and use the Force to make it in time.

He gets to bay Shen-9 just as a very familiar head pops up from under an Aethersprite’s canopy.

"Anakin!"

"Master?" Anakin pulls off his helmet and slides out of the cockpit, hopping down from the ship with a Force-assisted leap. "What are you doing here?" He reaches for Qui-Gon and pulls him into a tight hug. "It’s so good to see you."

"And good to see you, too." Qui-Gon pushes at Anakin, so he can see his former student at arm’s length, making sure that he’s taken no harm. In truth, Anakin looks good - the way a knight returning from his first series of missions should.

"But really, what are you doing here? I thought you would be out, roaming the galaxy like you love to. You have the itchiest boots in the Order, you’ve always said." Anakin laughs. "Weren’t you on Felucia, enjoying all the Force-sensitive greenery?"

Qui-Gon pretends to be stabbed through the heart, betrayed. "You wound me, Padawan! I had a mission there, very successful, I might say. And yes, planet’s flora is very Force-sensitive. These initial negotiations over Felucia’s entry into the Republic have been most rewarding."

"Better you than me, Master." Anakin mock shudders. "Force-sensitive trees, not my thing."

Qui-Gon ruffles Anakin’s hair, which is growing out nicely from its padawan nerf-tail. "We all have our strengths."

"And our weaknesses." Anakin frowns. "The Council’s not going to be too happy with me."

"Oh?"

"I tried to remember your advice and training and instruction, but everything went sideways on Dorot. Negotiations turned aggressive right out of the gate. I’ve already filed my preliminary report, but I expect I’ll get a skinning when I give my full report to the Council."

"Did anyone die?"

"No."

"Was the treaty signed?"

"Eventually. But there was a lot of shouting. A lot of insults. I told both ambassadors to sit down and shut up and listen to the Arbitrator."

"Did you have to deploy your 'saber?"

"No. Just had to yell at the Doroti. They weren’t happy. I don’t remember you ever yelling."

Amused, Qui-Gon flicks at Anakin’s temple. "You must be getting old and senile. I yell at morons all the time. And it’s not aggressive negotiations unless we draw 'sabers, that’s the rules."

They get to the Temple proper before Anakin finally asks, "Why did you meet me?"

"Well, there is a tradition about Masters greeting their former padawans on their return from their inaugural missions."

"This wasn’t my first mission. I’ve been a knight for a year."

"No, but this is the first time you’re coming back to the Temple when I’m here. I’ve missed you, Padawan."

Anakin tucks himself under Qui-Gon's arm, ignoring the occasional scandalized look from fellow Jedi. Both Qui-Gon and Anakin need physical contact, unlike other human variants, and Qui-Gon doesn’t give a damn about the optics.

"There’s something else, though."

They separate to allow the passage of a group of very noisy Younglings, and Qui-Gon diverts Anakin to one of the side gardens off of the Room of a Thousand Fountains. "Sit."

"Master? Is there a problem?"

"Oh, certainly not. It’s just easier to talk here, without prying eyes and ears."

Anakin looks worried. "What’s going on?"

"Everything’s fine, dear one."

"Then stop dragging this out." Now Anakin’s getting annoyed and frankly, Qui-Gon doesn’t blame him.

"How would you like to be my mission partner?"

Anakin laughs. "You were nervous about asking me that?"

"Not nervous, exactly - but I know you value your independence, and it’s not custom for a newly made knight to be paired with their old master. But I feel this mission would favor your skills."

"What skills? I’m not exactly a diplomat. Or a linguist. Or a - "

"The Trade Federation is involved."

Anakin frowns. "The Trade Federation! They’re the ones who are building all of those really crappy droids, right?"

"Language, Anakin, but yes."

"Then you definitely need me. In fact, I’m going to insist on it. What do we need to do to clear this with the Council? I know! I’ll remind them about what happened on the Kuat Drive Yards, when you nearly got chewed up in a recycler bay. You are soooo helpless with technology!"

"There’s no need to humiliate me in front of the High Council, thank you very much. It’s already been cleared. You need to give your report on the Dorot treaty signing, go to medical for clearance, and then we can do a pre-mission briefing before leaving for Naboo."

"Naboo?"

"You do remember where Naboo is?" Qui-Gon stifles a sigh. His former padawan is good at many things, but galactic geography isn’t one of them.

Anakin scrunches up his face. "Naboo? Naboo? It’s in the Chomell Sector?"

Qui-Gon manages to keep the shock off his face. Anakin actually got it right.

Chapter Text

And my scream is made of strange edges
like a complicated key.
It will be hard to open the world with it,
hard and hurting sleep.

Try again, come again.
Leaves on the tree rustle suddenly.
They know a bit before us
about the coming of the wind. Try again,
there’s a rear door, through the garden.
Perhaps a miracle of quiet convincing speech
that will bring forth water from a rock. Not
striking, just speaking.

Try Again
By Yehuda Amichai

Translated by Robert Alter

"I don’t understand." Obi-Wan stares at Shmi. “Your son is alive?” He’d spent a year reconciling himself to Anakin’s death, and now his world has been shattered again.

"It’s a long story." She gets up and goes to the tiny conservator to get them some food and water. "I can’t do this on an empty stomach."

Obi-Wan declines the offer of food, but takes a bit of water.

"Obi, you need to eat - you know that."

"Cyral fed me - I’m not hungry."

"That was kind of her." Shmi backs off, inadvertently echoing the harsh words from just a few moments ago.

Obi-Wan waits, with the patience that kept him in the desert for nineteen years, for Shmi to eat and gather her thoughts.

Shmi’s story is not what Obi-Wan expects, it’s her origin story.

"My parents were colonists on a settlement on some Outer-Rim planet - I don’t remember the name. They wanted a better life, and took up an offer from some big company to emigrate out of the Core. Hard work, but the rewards were supposed to be great. That was the promise.” Shmi dry-spits. "No rewards, just work - little more than slavery. And when the raiders came, there was no protection against them. I’ve had a lifetime to think about it, and I’m certain that the corporation that owned the settlement had simply given up and sent the raiders to wipe out the colony."

Shmi sighs and shakes her head. "I was five when we left the Core, seven when the raiders came. My papa was killed in the raid, but my mama and I were taken and sold."

Obi-Wan can’t stop remembering the slave auction when he’d arrived at Mos Espa, the brothel owners buying all of the children. "Shmi?"

"It wasn’t terrible - I know what you’re thinking, but no - that didn’t happen to me. Gardulla bought me and my mother. The old slug liked having human servants wait on her like she was a god, as if she Boonta himself. Gardulla was petty and cruel and demanding - she makes Watto look like an angel from Iego - but her court was large and as a youngster, I could disappear easily when Gardulla wasn’t going about in public. She liked me to hold a fan or a sunshade over her. I’d travel with her court between Nal Hutta and Tatooine. Would you believe that I liked coming here, to Tatooine? Nal Hutta is a swamp, it was always so hard to breathe there. Imagine a planet that’s the exact opposite of Tatooine."

Obi-Wan had been to Nal Hutta twice. The first time, he’d landed in Gardulla’s court, ironically with Quinlan Vos. No - he doesn’t want to think about that. The second, he’d been undercover as Rako Hardeen, while pretending to be dead. He’d fractured his relationship with Anakin beyond repair with that bit of stupidity. No, best not think of that, either.

So, instead of asking about Gardulla’s court, about Nal Hutta’s damp climate and plentiful water, or if Shmi would prefer to be back there, Obi-Wan sticks his poorly shod foot in his mouth. "What happened to your mother?"

Shmi sighs. "She was sent to the kitchens, and I’d sneak in to see her when I could, until one day, maybe two years after we were bought, she was gone."

"I’m sorry." What a banal thing to say.

Shmi sips her water. "Someone told me she had tried to escape, but I never believed that. She wouldn’t leave me behind. I’m sure she was sold to pay a debt. Gardulla’s a terrible gambler."

Obi-Wan doesn’t know what to say to that. He can’t seem to find a way to offer comfort, or even a word of compassion.

Shmi doesn’t notice. "I lasted there for another eleven years before Gardulla lost me in a bet to Watto. I wasn’t a pretty child, but I was smart and I started to make myself useful in the service bays, learning all I could about how the palace mechanicals worked. The motors and engines, all the little parts that kept breaking down and needed constant fixing. When I was on Tatooine the year before, I met a young freeman, Lukka Darklighter. So tall and beautiful, as bright and shining as Tatoo I itself. He was a pod racer, and Gardulla had backed him for the Boonta’s Eve Classic. I fell in love."

Shmi sighs. "Never love a pod racer, Obi-Wan. They’ll break your heart."

Obi-Wan shivers at the prophecy in those words. He had loved his padawan…

"Of course I got pregnant. No such thing as birth control for a slave. But we had such hopes, Lukka and I. He’d win - back then, the winning driver got a big purse, too - and he’d buy my freedom from Gardulla, we’d leave this sand ball, I’d never have to go back to Nal Hutta. We’d go the Core and find good work, but I’m guessing you can figure out what happened to Lukka."

"He was killed in the race."

"Yes. I was three moons pregnant at the time. I tried to talk with Lukka’s brother when he came to pick up Lukka’s tools, but he wouldn’t listen to me. He knew about me and Lukka, but he still called me a dirty slave whore, said I distracted his brother, that I was the reason Lukka crashed. Not that vicious, cheating Dug. I don’t really even blame him for hating me. He and Lukka were the first of their family in generations to be born into freedom, it would have been a shock and a shame to introduce slave blood back into the family."

"Where is the hope you were talking about?" Obi-Wan is angry, he’s feeling lead on. He doesn’t want to hear about Shmi’s miscarriage, about dead babies that are actually alive in her head.

"Patience, my dear, I’ll get there."

With those gently chiding words, Obi-Wan feels like he’s an impatient padawan and Qui-Gon has just tugged on his braid.

"I carried to term and gave birth to a healthy baby boy - the workers in the machine shop helped me the best they could, and I cut the cord myself. I went back to work the next day, with little Anakin strapped to my chest."

"Anakin?" Obi-Wan’s blood runs hot, then cold, then hot again.

"My son’s name. Lukka picked it." Shmi is quiet for a bit and Obi-Wan is getting edgy. "Anakin was a bit unusual as a baby - he had this strange magic about him. Things would float when he’d cry, he would make engines race, other things, nothing mean or malicious or dangerous." Shmi looks at him, and does something she’s never done, she tugs Obi-Wan’s shirt loose, and pulls away the scarf that hides the collar. "I think you know what I’m talking about."

Obi-Wan shakes his head, and closes his shirt, hiding the collar. He whispers, "I don’t, I don’t. I’ve had this thing on since I woke up on the slaver’s ship. I don’t have any magical powers."

"Oh no, Obi-Wan, you are filled with magic, I could feel it halfway across Mos Espa when we were on the way to the auction - I was so afraid we’d be too late. You are filled with the Force. You are like my beautiful boy. This horrible collar stifles that." She goes to touch it and Obi-Wan jumps up, backing all the way across the small hut.

"I don’t want to talk about me. You’re supposed to be telling me about your son, about how you still have hope."

"All right, Obi-Wan. I understand, I do." Shmi’s smile is filled with Light and the Force and Obi-Wan wants to cry for everything he’s lost, not just the last life, but everything that’s out of reach now.

"Gardulla found out about my baby, and she didn’t care, not until she found out about the magic. That bothered her, a lot. Hutts are superstitious creatures, and when Gardulla started losing badly at the gaming tables, she began to believe it was my little Anakin’s fault. The day before the Boonta’s Eve Classic she demanded that I kill Anakin - he was three months old. She wanted me to strangle him."

Shmi’s still smiling. "Gardulla sent this creature to my quarters, it wore a mask over its face, had these strange goggles over its eyes, curling horns on the side of its head, and was garbed in dark robes, like something out of a nightmare, but I looked at it - at him - and I wasn’t afraid. Anakin wasn’t afraid either, he reached out to him and giggled.

"The creature spoke Basic in a beautiful Core accent, and asked me if I knew what the Jedi were? I did not. He told me that the Jedi were knights sworn to protect the innocent and to bring peace in the galaxy. They were very special because they could use the Force. And he was a Jedi, and he would never hurt me or my baby."

Obi-Wan struggles to breathe against all the possibilities. Had Shmi met Plo Koon?

"He believed that my Anakin could use the Force too, that this was his magic. He could be certain if he could do a simple blood test. But before I would let him do the test, I made him promise that he’d take my son with him, that he’d see him raised in freedom, whether or not he had the right kind of magic in his blood. He swore to me, on the god of his people, that Anakin would be raised in peace and prosperity regardless of the outcome. Then I held my son’s hand while the Jedi pricked his finger. The Jedi was definitely pleased, he said that Anakin had an m-count of ten-thousand-five-hundred, which was just perfect for becoming a Jedi knight. I don’t know what that means, but it sounded good to me."

Ten-thousand-five-hundred? Where are the rest of Anakin’s midi-chlorians?

"It was a little bit exciting and very scary in how we had to fool Gardulla. Like something out of a holodrama. I had to scream and weep and claw at the Jedi as he pretended to drag me back to the throne room. He’s put some kind of spell on Anakin so he wouldn’t move, and thank all the little gods that Gardulla was too squeamish to want to examine the baby close up. I took Anakin down to the Jedi’s ship and waited, those were really the longest hours of my life."

"Why didn’t you get on the ship with the Jedi? Why didn’t you leave, too?"

"There’s a bomb in me, just like there’s one in you. If I went too far from the palace, it would go off, and I don’t think the Jedi’s magic could stop it. Anakin was too young - they wouldn’t put a bomb in him until he’s old enough to understand that he can’t just wander off."

"So your hope is that someday, your son comes to Tatooine and frees you?"

"Oh, no, not at all. I really do expect to die a slave. My hope is that my son is living a good life, that he is free and happy, he has grown tall and strong, is a brave and loving man. He’s twenty-five years old now, as the Core reckons things. I dream that he has become a Jedi knight, and he is doing good in the galaxy, like the one who saved him. He is free and he has never known the fear of being a slave."

After Shmi’s incredible story, Obi-Wan doesn’t say much, and Shmi isn’t inclined to talk, either. She goes to bed and Obi-Wan climbs out the window, scrambling to the top of the small domed roof.

He comes up here most nights, to think, to meditate, to try to reconcile his present and his past, to find some answers.

Answers never come, but the Code usually provides some solace, and like his first exile, he usually finds that reciting the tenets of his faith can provide some peace.

There is no emotion, there is peace
There is no ignorance, there is knowledge
There is no passion, there is serenity
There is no chaos, there is harmony
There is no death, there is the Force.

But tonight it all feels like a lie. Especially the last line. There is no death and there is no Force.

He has no hope.

All this time, stuck on Tatooine as a slave, cut off from the Force, and trapped in the same life that his padawan had suffered through, Obi-Wan had believed that he had been put here for a reason, for some grand plan. That the Force had brought him to Tatooine at this moment to fix everything that had gone wrong the last time.

But the encounter with Quinlan has proven that belief just a wretched self-delusion, a false hope that has faded like spilled drops of water in the noonday sun. Even if, by some miracle, a Jedi some day comes into Watto’s junk shop, the Force has made it so they will not be able to understand him, his warning will go unheeded, misunderstood.

He’s been reborn and sent here to live out this second life as a slave as punishment, for failing Anakin, for failing the Jedi, failing the child soldiers under his command, for everything he did wrong.

For failing Qui-Gon, for letting his master die.

A sob tears out of him, echoing into the dark, moonless night.

The first time, he’d never cried. Not when all his brothers and sisters had died, not when the Light had gone out in one terrible moment. Not when he’d seen Anakin kneel before the Sith master, or when he had walked through the Temple and seen it littered with Jedi corpses. Not even when he found the High Council chamber filled with the bodies of children.

Obi-Wan had gone on, he’d had hope, focused on the promise of Luke and Leia.

But there is no hope for him now. There is nothing. He should just walk into the desert, let the bomb in his back go off when he gets far enough from Watto’s transmitter. Or until he dies of thirst, or maybe a Tusken will smash his head in with a gaffi stick out of kindness.

He can’t go on like this, trapped here, his only purpose to suffer until he dies again. Maybe next time, the Force will send him to Hoth.

Obi-Wan slides down to the edge of the roof and he jumps, landing in the soft sand. He takes a breath and straightens his shoulders, filled with a new, grim purpose. One step, then another, and another.

"Where do you think you’re going?" A hand grabs his arm, pulling him back. It’s Shmi, and she is furious.

Obi-Wan shakes off her hand and keeps on walking, but Shmi is fast and strong and she tackles him to the sand. "Get off me, let me go!"

"You’re not leaving!"

"I can if I want to."

Someone shouts, "Will you both shut up! Let him kill himself if he wants to, Shmi."

Her hands are like claws. "I won’t let you do this, Obi."

"You have your hope, I have none. There’s nothing left, Shmi." Obi-Wan whispers. "I have nothing."

She wraps herself around him. "You have me. Can’t that be enough?"

Obi-Wan hears her words and breathes. He can’t remember ever having a maternal figure in his life - not even his crechemaster, who had been kind, but like all Jedi crechemasters, not particularly motherly. Maybe the closest had been Master Tahl, but she had died and ripped a hole in his heart that had never quite healed.

"Obi, please."

He shudders and wonders, with the collar, is it even possible to give himself to the Force? And his will to live returns, weak, but it’s there. "All right."

She lets him go and they get up, but she takes his hand, her grip tight.

"I’m not going anywhere."

"Just making sure."

"For tonight, you have my word."

Shmi pulls him back into their little house. "But tomorrow?"

"Maybe tomorrow will be better." Obi-Wan’s not sure that’s possible.

"We’ll try."

He sniffs, "Yeah, I guess we’ll have to."

Aboard the Naboo Queen’s Royal Starship

"We’re leaking coolant from the hyperdrive, Master.’ Anakin taps some of the controls on the panel in front of him. "I’ve sent out the astromechs to do a repair, but even if they can - "

The ship rocks as the Trade Federation fighters fire at them.

"Concentrate on evasive maneuvers, Anakin, we have to get away from these short-range fighters." How in all the Sith hells did they manage to get the one ship that didn’t have any offensive capabilities?

"Got it." Anakin shifts into battle-mode and tells everyone to hold on tight. Qui-Gon grins as the adrenaline rush hits. Anakin is one of the best pilots in the Order, and there’s no ship he can’t fly. He sends the starship into a sharp dive between two on-coming droid fighters, pulling up at the last possible moment. The droid ships crash and Anakin dives into another set of evasive maneuvers, causing more and more damage to the droid fighters without letting a single shot hit the queen’s ship.

There’s a ping from the control panel, and Qui-Gon checks it. "All right, it looks like the astromechs have managed to repair the coolant leak, we can go into hyperspace, but we won’t be able to make it to Coruscant."

Captain Panaka asks, "What are we going to do? Do we stay in the hyperlane until the engine gives out and hope we can get to a safe haven?"

Qui-Gon looks at the navicomp and isn’t happy with what he sees. "That’s risky - most of the habitable planets along this segment of the hyperlane are under the Trade Federation’s control. If we wait until the engine stalls, we can end up giving the Queen to the Federation." He searches the navicomp for any possible planets that could provide both a haven and the possibility of parts to repair the damaged hyperdrive. Only one comes up that’s within decent range, and it’s not exactly his first choice to land, best or worst of times.

"Looks like we’re heading to Tatooine."

Anakin spins in his seat. "Master, you have to be kidding. That’s under Hutt control. Criminal gangs, slavery, the spice trade. We can’t take Her Majesty there."

At that moment, the ship rocks and the control panel flashes, warning that the hyperdrive engine is failing.

"I don’t think we have much of a choice, Anakin."

"All right, I’ll plot the shortest course to Tatooine, Arkanis Sector."

Qui-Gon can’t resist falling back into teaching mode. "What’s the largest city on Tatooine, Padawan?"

Anakin shoots him a dirty look. "There are only two major urban centers, Mos Eisley and Mos Espa, and Mos Espa’s the larger of the two. I recommend we try to land outside of Mos Espa, on the city’s edge, as that location is more likely to be where parts dealers congregate."

"But there’s also a greater risk of attack from criminal elements," Captain Panaka points out.

"Which is why Knight Skywalker is going to stay with you and the Queen, and I’m going to go into town to find the replacement parts for a - " He looks at Anakin. "What am I going to need to buy?"

"Ideally, a T-14 hyperdrive generator for a Naboo J-Type 327, Master. When we land and I get a chance to look at the drive, I can comm you with a more specific parts list instead of a whole drive. I doubt you’ll be able to find one on a dust ball like Tatooine - these Nabooian J-Types aren’t exactly commonplace." Anakin runs his hand across the smooth lines of the cockpit’s control center. "Maybe the most beautiful ship I’ve ever seen."

"Your idea is quite wise, Anakin." His former padawan flushes a little at the unexpected praise. "Captain Panaka, can you take the controls for a bit? Knight Skywalker and I should explain the situation to Her Majesty."

Queen Amidala - or rather, her body-double - calmly accepts the news about the diversion to Tatooine, and her "handmaiden" Padmé is about to volunteer to go into Mos Espa with the Jedi until Qui-Gon tells them that Anakin will be staying behind. A bit of a signal passes between "Amidala" and Padmé and another handmaiden, the young Sabé, and Qui-Gon finds himself agreeing to take a small, fierce, female shadow with him into town.

Anakin lands the injured spacecraft as if it’s filled with sleeping babies, gliding to a smooth stop in the sand. "I’ve scanned the city and I’ve put us down about a klick from the least technologically developed parts, but there are markets all along the rim."

"Good work. Be on the watch for the native tribes, particularly the Tuskens."

"They are humanoid, right? Pre-technology. Very aggressive and territorial against the settlers." Anakin gives him a quick grin. "I didn’t do too badly in my exo-biology classes."

"No, Padawan, you did not."

Anakin follows him out of the ship and they survey the endless waves of sand and sky. "Ugh, sand. I hate sand."

"Be grateful, then, that you don’t have to walk through it to get into town."

Anakin takes a deep breath and shakes his head. "Do you feel it, Master?"

Qui-Gon does, the odd poking, like the Force is tapping at his shoulder, telling him to pay attention. "Yes, I do. Don’t ignore your feelings, Anakin. Listen to the Force. There’s something going on."

"You think we’re here for a reason?"

A shiver climbs up Qui-Gon back, despite the intense heat. "Yes." Sabé squeezes between them, clearly eager to get going. "I’ll stay in touch. Whatever you do, do not let Captain Panaka or any of Her Majesty’s court use the ship’s comms - the Federation is going to be scanning for us. And stay inside."

"You don’t have to tell me that twice, remember, I hate sand." Anakin’s grin is infectious, and Qui-Gon takes off, feeling just a little bit better about this venture.

"Shmi, would you mind if I worked in the yard today?" Obi-Wan just can’t deal with customers right now.

Shmi stares at him, concern etched deep in every line and wrinkle. "Of course. Why don’t you just relax under the canopy. Get some sleep. Don’t think I didn’t hear you tossing and turning until first dawn. "

"So that means we both had a sleepless night. And I’ll be fine, Shmi, I’m just not up to dealing with people this morning. I think I’m going to take apart that old speeder engine from Cyral, see if it’s salvageable."

Shmi runs a hand down Obi-Wan’s cheek, brushing at the sand and salt still sticking to it. "Do what you have to do. I’ll check on you in a bit."

Obi-Wan knows better than to tell her it’s not necessary. In the hot light of the Tatooine morning, he’s so ashamed of himself and his loss of control last night. He needs to do better going forward, whatever the future may hold.

The engine looks like a hunk of junk, but one of the one good things about mechanical parts on Tatooine - they don’t get corroded or oxidized. Not enough moisture in the atmosphere. Of course, the sand and dust makes up for that, but if the engine seals hold, the parts tend to last longer than on wetter planets.

It takes a bit of elbow grease to pop the speeder engine case, but it seems that Watto’s luck has held. Everything looks to be in perfect condition, but as Obi-Wan explores, he realizes this isn’t a speeder engine.

It’s a hyperdrive generator.

He doesn’t even know how he could have mistaken one for the other. He must be way too tired. Obi-Wan looks at the casing, to see if there’s any marking so he can enter this into the shop’s inventory. The outer casing is practically sand-scrubbed clean, but there’s something on the inner edge, hiding under a wad of oil and grime.

He finds a few picks and Shmi’s magnifying goggles on her workbench, and does a little bit of scraping. The clod of dirt pops off, revealing a shipyard stamping.

Nabooian Star Drives, Inc.

Obi-Wan throws off the goggles and stands up, staring at the drive. He’s looking at a Force-bedamned T-14 hyperdrive generator and he breaks into a cold sweat.

No, no, no.

This can’t be happening.

He kneels back down, puts in new seals, and closes up the drive, hoping that he hasn’t kriffed the thing up. Because someone is going to come looking for this very soon.

As they trudge through the sandy Mos Espa streets, Qui-Gon looks down at Sabé and asks, "How are you holding up?"

"I’m just fine, Master Jedi."

"Are you sure, it’s rather hot and dry."

"I’m sure. Do you need a rest."

"No, I’m just fine."

They’ve been in four junk shops, and not one of them had had either the hyperdrive or any of the parts that Anakin said they would need. But the last shop, a stall in an open-air market operated by a friendly Besalisk, suggested they head over to a place owned by Watto the Toydarian - it’s not hard to miss, with the big dome on top. Not that Watto is of any use, mind you, and he’s rarely there, but the two workers there, Shmi and someone she fondly refers to as "Li’l Obi" have vast collection of parts and pieces and know where everything is. She even draws them a map on a scrap of flimsiplast.

"Tell 'em that Cyral sent ya, and that I hope Li’l Obi’s feeling better today."

Qui-Gon thanks the Besalisk, who reminds him quite keenly of Dexter Jettster. The map is actually rather accurate and they find the shop with ease. It’s a relief to step into the relative coolness of the shadowed interior.

A tall woman, on the far side of middle age - or maybe just worn down by life on Tatooine - greets them. "Welcome to Watto’s, gentle beings. How may I assist?"

"Cyral the Besalisk sent us here, she thought that you might have what we need." Qui-Gon knows better than to ask outright about the hyperdrive, that’s just going to inflate the price. And using the connection back to the other junk dealer might just help. "You must be Shmi? I was told you know the shop inventory like the back of your hand."

"Yes, I am, and Cyral is kind to say that. We actually keep it on a computer now. Obi-Wan and I have a good inventory system. If you’ll tell me what you need?"

"We’re looking for an T-14 hyperdrive generator for a Nabooian J-Type 327 cruiser."

Shmi goes over to an ancient comp and taps in the request. "No, I’m sorry, we don’t. That’s a pretty rare unit."

"So I’ve been told. But maybe you have these parts?" Qui-Gon holds out the list he’d made after Anakin had comm’d him. Shmi takes it and something sparks in the Force.

"Oh, oh my." Shmi looks at him, and the only way Qui-Gon can describe her expression is slightly giddy. "You are a Jedi, aren’t you?"

Chapter Text

We lay
exposed and equal, like two halves of an orange,
until the evening turned dark
from your voice.

We Lay Exposed and Equal (fragment)

By Yehuda Amichai
Translated by Leon Weiseltier

"You are a Jedi, aren’t you?"  The woman, Shmi, asks. It’s not so much a question as a statement of fact.

Still, Qui-Gon isn’t sure how to answer her.  He’s on a mission and time is of the essence.  He’s already wasted half a day looking for these Sith-damned parts.   But it goes against everything in him to lie, and Shmi looks at him with such hope.  And not to mention the way the Force had sparked between them.

"Yes, I am."  He introduces himself, "Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn, at your service."

Shmi radiates hope and excitement, and she seems about to ask him a question, but then she shakes her head.  "No, wait here - whatever you do, don’t go anywhere!  Please."  The woman runs out into the back, and Qui-Gon can hear her arguing with someone.

"No, Shmi - I told you, I don’t feel like talking to anyone today."  Qui-Gon figures this must be Cyral’s "Li’l Obi".

"You have to, please, Obi.  You must - "  There’s a crash and a curse.

"All right, all right, I’ll come with you.

Shmi returns, all but dragging a young man into the shop.  "Master Jinn, this is Obi-Wan. Obi, look - it’s a Jedi.  He can help you!"

Qui-Gon isn’t sure just what kind of help he can give and then he looks at the boy and everything just stops.

It’s hard to breathe, and he struggles to see as he is hit with the Light and a ringing in the Force that’s like the birth of galaxies, a sense of joy and hope and peace, and it’s like nothing he’s ever experienced.  This boy shines in the Force like a star gone supernova. But it’s just for a single, infinitesimal moment, and then it’s gone, and Qui-Gon wants to weep for the loss.

He blinks and there are tears streaming down his face, and it’s now even harder to see. He wipes them away and his vision clears and he expects this boy to be gone as if he was never there.

But the boy is still there and he’s staring at him, shoulders back, chin up, expression carefully blank, and Qui-Gon reaches out with his own Force-sense, to try to recapture what he’d just felt.  That great, roaring Light is still gone, but what he senses from the boy is oddly ordinary - like a Temple-trained padawan.  Organized, lightly shielded, hopeful, respectful.

And then, even that, is gone.

"Hello, Master Jedi.  How can I assist you?"  The boy’s voice is practically robotic.

Qui-Gon can never ignore a mystery, and this boy is certainly that. "I think your companion said I could help you, young man."

To his great annoyance, Sabé takes the list out of his hand and thrusts it at the boy.  "We really don’t have a lot of time, we’re looking for the parts to a hyperdrive generator for a Nabooian J-Type 327.  Do you have any of these in stock?"

The boy starts laughing, a bitter, ugly sound.  "Actually, I just discovered a complete T-14 generator in the yard.  It’s in perfect condition, and it’ll be just what you need."

Sabé nods, taking over the negotiations.  "Excellent, how much."

Shmi, clearly very annoyed at Sabé’s interruption, is quick to answer, "A thousand wupiupi."

"What?  What’s a wupipu?"

"Wupiupi, and it’s Huttese currency. That’s what’s accepted here.  You aren’t planning on paying in Republic credits, are you?"   Shmi asks, her tone as hard as rocks.

Sabé squeaks and turns to him, eyes begging for help.  He should have figured, before they left the ship, that Republic currency would have no value here.  Maybe some of the queen’s regalia could be traded - there are gold and jewels in her wardrobe.

Obi steps in, and saves them. "No, Shmi - this is the drive that Cyral brought over last night. It’s not in our inventory and Watto won’t know anything about it. Let them have it."

Qui-Gon isn’t sure what’s going on between the two but he’s grateful for the young man’s generosity.

Shmi, though, is not so ready to give in. "Only if you show the Jedi your collar."

Confused, Qui-Gon asks, "Collar?"

"Yes, the slavers put a collar on him when he was captured. It’s a terrible thing, it takes away his magic."

Qui-Gon almost forgets how to breathe. Too much information is hitting him at once. These people are slaves. Of course he should have realized that. This is Tatooine, controlled by the Hutts, whose whole economy runs on slave labor.

But more than that, he’s trying to process what Shmi has just said - Obi-Wan is wearing a Force-inhibiting collar, and she knows what it does.

"May I see it?"

Obi-Wan shakes his head. "No, there’s nothing you can do about it. You can’t take it off."

"Don’t be so certain, I’ve encountered these things before."

The young man sighs and gives in, unwrapping a ragged scarf from his neck to reveal a smooth metal band lying flat on his collarbone.  Qui-Gon is about to touch it when Sabé’s shrill voice cuts through him like a 'saber.

"Master Jinn, we have to go, please. We have to get back to the ship."

"Hush, Sabé, this will just take a moment."

Qui-Gon reaches out again and Obi-Wan jerks back, his face rigid in fear. "No, no - he’s here. He’s already here."

Until this moment, Obi-Wan hasn’t had a single vision in this life, thanks to the collar. And honestly, he had been grateful for that. This hard life has been much easier without them - no premonitions, no weird feelings, no lucid dreams filled with messages and portents that he can do nothing about.

But now, with Qui-Gon's Force-presence overwhelming him, he Sees.

An interstellar flier, sleek and black, a configuration he’s never seen before, is scanning the desert wastes on the fringes of Mos Espa, lands a klick, maybe two, from the wounded Nabooian cruiser.

The Sith Apprentice, whole and young, familiar, and radiating Darkness, is racing towards the ship on a speeder, his intent clear. Kill everyone.

"Darth Maul - he’s here, he’s going to kill Queen Amidala and everyone on the ship."

"What did you say? I don’t understand you."

"Kriffing Sith-hells, this fucking collar." Obi-Wan doesn’t know what to do, except he can’t let everyone die, not again. With one hand, he grasps the collar, and the other, he pulls Qui-Gon close, so close their foreheads touch, and he can smell his master’s familiar scent.

"Listen to me, Qui-Gon Jinn. A Sith is on his way to kill everyone. Do you understand me?" Obi-Wan whispers, but he’s screaming in his mind.

Qui-Gon seems to understand him, but he is confused. "A Sith? How is that possible? "

"Don’t question me, just listen. A Sith, murderous. A Dathomiri Zabrak, he has a red light-staff. Cut it in half and go for his neck, decapitate. Make him dead. He’s powerful, fast, angry. Don’t make any assumptions, no mistakes. Don’t be arrogant. Go, go!" Obi-Wan pushes Qui-Gon off, breaking the connection.

Qui-Gon stares at him, trying to absorb what Obi-Wan just said, what Obi-Wan just pushed through the chaos block of the inhibitor collar.

Obi-Wan shouts at him, "Go NOW!"

It finally penetrates, because Qui-Gon gets a wild, worried look on his face and says, "Anakin!" He runs from the shop in a burst of Force-enhanced speed.

Obi-Wan collapses to the floor, exhausted, but relieved that Qui-Gon has understood what he’d told him.

Shmi rushes over, "Obi - what just happened? What was that gibberish? And did Master Jinn just say 'Anakin'?"

It takes a bit to catch his breath, and he’s dizzy and nauseated. Sabé kneels down next to him, "Please, tell me what happened. Is my lady in danger?"

For the first time in this life, he begs for water and Shmi rushes over to the small conservator and comes back with a half-empty bottle. It’s warm, but it helps. He sips slowly and does his best to frame his words. "I had a vision, but I couldn’t tell you. No, that’s not right - you wouldn’t hear it. I had to make the Jedi understand me through the collar."

"And he did?"

"Yes, thank all the little gods."

"That’s why he ran out - there’s a danger?" Sabé asks.

Obi-Wan nods.

"The ship, something is going to attack - the Trade Federation?"

This time, Obi-Wan just purses his lips, unwilling to confirm or explain.

"But what about 'Anakin' - why did Master Jinn say my son’s name?"

Obi-Wan doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t think the collar is going to stop him from saying anything - but how can he say a word? And this is going to be come so kriffing complicated.

Sabé looks at Shmi and asks the inevitable question. "Knight Skywalker is your son?"

"Did you say 'Knight Skywalker'? Anakin is a Jedi?" Shmi puts a hand over her heart.

"Yes, I believe that he had been Master Jinn’s student. They seem quite close."

Shmi looks at Obi-Wan, her happiness incandescent. "See, see - I told you. My son did become a Jedi. You must never give up."

"I don’t understand - you’re a slave, but your son became a Jedi? How could that happen?" Sabé is incredulous. And incredibly rude.

Shmi is gracious enough to explain. "When my baby was just a few months old, a Jedi had come to Gardulla the Hutt’s court. I gave him my child so he could have a better life. I never expected to even come this close to seeing another Jedi again, let alone knowing my son is on Tatooine."

Obi-Wan is still feeling ill and he realizes that it’s not the stress of trying to make Qui-Gon understand, it’s the proximity of the Sith. He closes his eyes and tries to reach out, not to connect with Maul, but to get a sense of where he is. He collapses, caught in another Vision.

The battle is joined, two figures in black, a red light-staff against a blue saber. Blades moving too fast for a normal eye to follow. Aggression meets aggression, and the red starts to beat the blue back, blue starts to fail.

And then a green blade descends in a powerful arc. The red light-staff is split and the Sith is suddenly fighting a battle on two fronts. Blue and green press forward, the blue blade severs the Sith’s arm and the green blade cuts off the Sith’s head.

Obi-Wan’s Sight ends when the Sith dies.

"Master, how did you know?" Anakin is panting, he has his hands on his knees. "I’ve never seen anyone fight like that - that creature did. I did my best, and the fight seemed to go on forever - " Anakin looks at his chrono. "I think we were fighting for almost a half-hour. I can’t believe it."

Qui-Gon can’t believe it, either. "Anakin - you saved everyone. I always said you were an incredible fighter, but this is a feat unheard of."

"I didn’t kill it - "

"You wore it down, and you kept it from killing the Queen. That’s what matters."

Anakin shakes his head. "Still - thank you for the rescue. How did you know?"

Qui-Gon briefly looks up from his examination of the body on the sand. "That’s actually quite the story."

Anakin drops down next to him. "Are you going to tell me?"

Qui-Gon sighs. "I don’t know."

"Master!"

Qui-Gon looks at the Zabrak’s ugly face, the shock of death frozen in rigor mortis. "I’m not trying to keep secrets. I’m just not sure I understand myself. I think the Force told me."

Anakin actually laughs. "That seems just about right for you. Did it whisper sweetly in your ear?"

Qui-Gon can still hear Obi-Wan’s harsh voice. "In a way. But let’s focus on the Sith."

"Sith? This creature is a Sith?" Anakin steps back, horrified. "You have to be kidding. The Sith are extinct!" The panic in Anakin’s voice mirrors the panic in Qui-Gon's own brain.

"No, Anakin, I’m not." Qui-Gon reaches for the still working half of the Sith’s light-staff and ignites it. "Can you hear the kyber screaming?"

Anakin nods and visibly shudders. "Turn it off, please. It’s making me sick."

Qui-Gon does. "It is an evil thing. Legends say that a Sith’s lightsaber is made of the same kyber as a Jedi’s, but the cruelty and torment that a Sith undergoes in training resonates in their 'saber crystal, fracturing it, turning it red. Making it bleed." He tucks it into his belt. "We’re going to need to bring this body back to the Temple."

"Back in the Queen’s ship? Putting a dead body in a royal’s transport must violate every diplomatic protocol you’ve ever taught me. The Queen would be horrified."

Qui-Gon still finds a way to tease Anakin. "I think Padmé is made of sterner stuff than that."

"Padmé! She is only a handmaiden. You mean Queen Amidala, Master."

Qui-Gon gives his former padawan a Look. "Anakin, you and I both know who is the handmaiden and who is the Queen."

Anakin’s lips twitch and he gives up the pretense. "She didn’t think you knew and asked me not to say anything."

"The body-double is a very good idea, but you can’t fool Jedi with such a simple stunt."

Anakin shrugs. "I guess not. It’s not like I was fooled, either."

Qui-Gon piles up the Zabrak’s body parts and goes to puzzle over the speeder bike. "Hmm, what does this tell you, padawan?"

Anakin looks at the tracks in the sand dunes, the bike, the Queen’s ship, and the Mos Espa skyline.  "He must have had a ship - he came from over there."  Anakin points in the direction of the dunes.

"Very good, padawan. Stay here, keep watch. I’m going to go investigate." Qui-Gon pauses, goes back to the Sith’s corpse and checks the utility belt for some kind of security fob or comm unit. He finds just what he needs, mounts the bike, salutes Anakin and takes off.

The Zabrak’s ship is little more than a klick away, and before Qui-Gon approaches it, he holds up the security fob. It flashes twice and Qui-Gon can feel a force field dissipate. The ship is sleek, black, all hard angles, and equipped with enough weaponry to make his stomach clench. The Sith could have simply blown the Nabooian ship into so much slag as it sat helplessly on the sand, but he wanted the sick pleasure of killing the occupants one by one.

A ramp descents and Qui-Gon rides the speeder bike inside; whoever had this ship built had spared no expense. Everything is gleaming polished black metal and red lights, but the controls are Galactic standard. There are a few that surprise Qui-Gon, like the one labeled "cloaking", but he’ll ask Anakin about that.

Qui-Gon takes a few minutes to explore, and finds quite a stash of currency - sealed rolls of Republic credits, as well as bags of Huttese wupiupi, trugut, and peggat, more than enough to pay for the hyperdrive generator at the price Lady Shmi quoted. There’s also a considerable cache of small arms, although given the Sith’s skill with his light-staff, Qui-Gon can’t imagine why he’d need six cortosis blades and a long-range slug-thrower. Tucking all of the Huttese currency in his belt pouches, Qui-Gon sits in the command chair and eases the flier into a ground-skimming flight - it takes just a few seconds to move over to the Queen’s star cruiser.

Padmé and Captain Panaka have joined Anakin outside, but they both keep their distance from the dead body.

Anakin’s eyes light up at the sight of the exotic ship. "Can something be ugly and beautiful at the same time?"

Qui-Gon points to the laser cannons. "Don’t get too excited, Padawan. This should have killed everyone, but our Zabrak 'friend' wanted the pleasure of doing it himself, up close and personal."

"Yeah, but still…" Anakin runs a hand along one of the ship’s polished edges. "I’ve heard rumors about these new ion drives, but they are hard to cool. I would love to tear this beauty apart."

Qui-Gon can see his former student going off on a tangent, probably ready to pop open the drive hatch. "Focus, Anakin."

"Sorry, Master." He looks back at the Nabooians and gives Padmé a little wave, before turning his attention back to Qui-Gon. "What should we do now?"

"I need to go back to town and get the hyperdrive generator for the queen’s ship. Yes, the last shop I was at actually had one, and that’s a whole story in itself."

"Knowing you, Master, I’m pretty sure that’s an understatement. Especially if the Force was talking to you."

"Enough of your sass and help me get the Sith’s body onto his ship."

They dump the corpse as far from the cockpit as possible. "What about the head and the arm, Master?"

"Let me ask the Queen if we can keep these on her ship - it would be best to separate the body parts."

"You think the Sith can regenerate itself? Come back from the dead?"

Qui-Gon scrubs his face. "Maybe I’m remembering too many horror stories that my crechemates and I used to tell each other after lights-out, but it is better to be safe than sorry. Once we get the Queen’s ship operational, you and Captain Panaka will fly that back to Coruscant. I’ll follow in the Zabrak’s ship."

"Queen Amidala" graciously gives the Jedi permission to store the Zabrak’s body parts in an unused conservator. Qui-Gon can tell that this masquerade is beginning to wear on Yané, as she keeps looking at Padmé for guidance.

"Once I get back with the part, Knight Skywalker assures me that it will be an easy fix and we can be airborne in a matter of minutes."

"We thank you for your continued diligence and support, Master Jinn, Knight Skywalker. Please bring back our handmaiden, Sabé, to us as quickly as possible." With a nod, they are dismissed.

Qui-Gon starts trudging back to Mos Espa when Anakin calls out to him. "Master, oh my foolish Master, whatever are you doing?"

Qui-Gon turns, a little irritated at Anakin’s disrespect, but then sees Anakin rolling out the Sith’s speeder bike, a cheeky grin on his face. "I think this will make your journey there and back a little easier."

The bike is small and Qui-Gon is large, and he’ll have to manage with a passenger and a part on the return trip, but he is a Jedi, after all.

"Thank you, Anakin. It’s been a very long day."

"Yes it has. Watch your back, Master, and stay in touch."

"I will." Qui-Gon zooms off, and this time, the trip into Mos Espa takes minutes, not hours. He pulls up in front of the junk shop, half-eager to see Obi-Wan again, and half-dreading the next encounter with the boy, too.

He pushes the shop’s door open, and is startled by the tableau he finds. Sabé is yelling at Watto, Shmi’s shaking her head, and Obi-Wan is pinching the bridge of his nose, too much like Mace with a shatterpoint headache.

Chapter Text

As for the palm of your hand,
as for the signals of my heart
and the plans of my flesh,
as for the writing on the wall,
I am always an ignoramus: I can’t
read or write
and my head is empty as a weed,
knowing only the secret whisper
and the motion in the wind
when a fate passes through me, to
some other place.

As for the World by Yehuda Amichai

Translated by Stephen Mitchell

Obi-Wan is sick with relief.

Maul is dead. There’s no coming back from decapitation, not even for a Dathomiri Zabrak with an unstoppable will for vengeance.

Or so he hopes.

"Are you all right?" Shmi touches his forehead. "You’re still too pale."

"I’ll be fine." Obi-Wan struggles to his feet, still shaky but getting stronger with every breath.

Maul is dead. Qui-Gon is alive. Qui-Gon is alive. Qui-Gon is alive.

He smiles at Shmi. "Everything will be all right."

"Are you sure? What about - " Shmi’s voice drops, "Anakin?"

Obi-Wan mouths, He’s fine.

"Oh, thank all the little gods."

Obi-Wan turns to Sabé, who is looking very confused. "Gentle lady, I did not get your name."

"I am Sabé, from Naboo."

"If our owner, the Toydarian, Watto, comes in, it’s important that you do not mention that Knight Skywalker is Lady Shmi’s son. Everyone thinks her child is dead and it could go very badly for her if our owner discovers otherwise."

Sabé nods. "How do you stand it, being slaves?"

"We have no choice." Obi-Wan shrugs, remembering his crisis from last night.

"No choice?"

"We were captured by raiders and sold. Tatooine isn’t a Republic world, it’s controlled by the Hutts, their whole economy runs on slave labor."

"But why don’t you run away? You aren’t in chains. Are you so afraid of freedom that you’d rather stay in captivity?"

"You cruel, stupid girl." Shmi actually slaps Sabé. "Do you think that the Hutts would rely on something as crude as mere physical chains? We have proximity bombs in our bodies. If either of us go two klicks beyond this shop, we’re dead, instantly."

Sabé rubs her cheek. "I didn’t know. I didn’t think." She sniffs, trying not to cry. "I’ve never been outside the Republic, I’ve never even left Naboo before this. I had no idea that people did that to each other…"

"The galaxy is a big and terrible place, little girl. I don’t know anything about your Naboo, but you need to open your eyes. Your Republic isn’t so perfect. I was born in the Core, and stolen off of an Outer Rim world, and no one gave a damn that me and my mother were freeborn. Or that Obi was taken from his family … "

"Shmi, take it easy. Our captivity isn’t this girl’s fault, nor is her ignorance."

"You’re right, Obi. And I’m sorry for slapping you." Shmi rests her fingers on the red mark on Sabé’s cheek.

Sabé lifts her chin, and Obi-Wan’s reminded of the older, wiser Sabé, who had protected and advised Padmé during her Senate years. "I deserved it, I was stupid and cruel. I spoke without understanding. You are right, I need to learn and do better."

"We live and grow and learn, little Sabé. Make the most of your freedom and do good things with it."

Watto, of course, choses this moment to return from Jabba’s palace. "What’s going on here?"

Shmi drops her hand. "Nothing, you old fly."

"Watch your tongue, old witch. I’m losing my patience with you, and when I do, I’ll end you just like that" Watto snaps his fingers under Shmi’s nose.

Obi-Wan grinds his teeth. This is not the time for a show of independence, and he needs to diffuse the situation. "Hey Watto, remember that motor you traded my labor for yesterday?"

Watto actually looks confused, and Obi-Wan reminds him. "From Cyral, at the Dash Market. An old speeder engine."

"Oh, yeah, right, right. Almost forgot about that. Don’t tell me, it’s a hunk of junk."

"No, no. I did a clean up on it this morning, and it’s for a T-21 speeder. It’s in decent condition, and will run for another dozen years now that I replaced the seals. And wouldn’t you know, these people need a T-21 speeder engine." Obi-Wan has no trouble lying through his teeth to Watto.

"People?" Watto gives Sabé the stinkeye. "I only see two slaves and a tiny human girl child. Not much older than you, Obi-boy."

"Her captain had to go get the right currency, they didn’t realize you wouldn’t take Republic credits."

"Hmm, hmm." Watto flies around the shop like he does when he gets agitated, or he thinks he can squeeze more dosh out of a situation. "And how much did you plan on selling the engine for?"

"I told them they couldn’t have it for any less than twenty-five wupiupi, since it’s in such good condition." Obi-Wan hopes that Sabé keeps her mouth shut.

"Too low, boy! I got to make a living, no less than forty wupiupi."

Sabé, the foolish girl, inserts herself into the situation. "No, that’s too much. Thirty wupiupi, not a coin more!" She stands there, chin out, hands on her hips, the very portrait of obstinance.

The old Toydarian and the young girl start yelling at each other and Obi-Wan doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Shmi sidles over to him, and whispers, "Do you think it’s going to make any difference? It’s not like the Jedi’s going to find the dosh just lying around in the sand."

"Who knows, Jedi are supposed to resourceful, aren’t they? Maybe they have something on their ship worth trading for?" The last time, there was nothing on the starcruiser, but maybe this time, things are different. Or maybe Qui-Gon and Anakin found Maul’s ship, and found something in it that could be worth something. Hell, in the right places in Mos Espa, the Zabrak’s tattooed head would be worth a small fortune.

Sabé and Watto’s argument is getting heated. Watto’s actually starts to raise the price, and Sabé looks like she’s getting ready to shoot the old fly. Obi-Wan's headache is coming back in full force, but thank all the little gods, the shop door swings open and it’s Qui-Gon.

Qui-Gon asks, "Sabé, what’s going on?"

"This old - " The girl looks like she’s about to explode with a nasty insult, but manages to restrain herself at the last moment, "Toydarian keeps inflating the price of the part we need."

He can only imagine why. The young handmaiden has no diplomatic skills to speak of, and has likely irritated the shop owner. It’s going to take all his talents as a negotiator to smooth things over. He turns to the Toydarian and bows. "Please forgive my colleague, she is young and excitable, and has little experience dealing with such wise and learned beings such as yourself."

"Hrumph. Flattery won’t get you anywhere."

"Very well, then let’s try the direct approach. What is your best price for the part?"

"Fifty wupiupi. Take it or leave it."

Considering that Shmi had first asked a thousand for the generator, that’s quite a deal. "Sold." Qui-Gon slaps his hand on the counter, indicating he’s accepted the deal and Watto can no longer change the terms.

"Need to see the dosh, Human."

"Fair enough." Qui-Gon turns around, pulls out one of the bags of currency he’d taken from Maul’s ship, and fishes out a single peggat coin. He turns back to Watto and flips it to him, saying, "I expect change for that. You owe me sixteen wupiupi at the current exchange rate."

Watto gets a sour look on his ugly face as he examines the peggat, making sure it’s not counterfeit, and when he’s satisfied, he pulls out the shop’s cashbox and counts out the change, snarling as each full coin hits the counter.

"Thank you very much, Watto. It has been a pleasure doing business with you."

The Toydarian growls, empties the cashbox into his own purse and flies out without a word.

"Pleasant fellow, isn’t he?"

Shmi giggles, "Oh I do love seeing someone get the best of Watto."

Sabé asks, "I don’t understand why the old thing was so upset."

Qui-Gon echoes the sentiment and Obi-Wan explains. "Watto’s going to have a tough time spending that peggat in town. No one here will take a coin that large, even the spice dealers and the bookies. He’ll need to take it over to Injo’s - the moneylender - who’ll charge him three percent to change it into wupiupi. But the old fly still made money - he got that part for free, just traded my labor to Cyral for the day."

"Does he do that a lot? Farm you out?" Qui-Gon is worried about that - how Obi-Wan and Shmi are treated. But honestly, his worry is more about young Obi-Wan, a Force-sensitive who has no control over his life, or even has access to his power.

Obi-Wan surprises Qui-Gon. "Not as often as I’d like. The shopkeepers at this end of town universally despise Watto, and are kind to me and to Shmi. Cyral is the best of the bunch - she won’t own slaves and she pays well, but they are all good beings, kinder than you’d expect, even though they have no qualms about enslaving other sentients."

Qui-Gon has to agree about the Besalisk. "Cyral sent me here, and she was quite concerned about you, said you weren’t feeling well."

Obi-Wan shrugs. "I’m doing better today. Let me get that generator for you."

Eager to have a few private moments with the boy, Qui-Gon offers, "I can give you a hand." He follows Obi-Wan out to the junk yard, and is surprised that the clear day has suddenly turned dark and windy.

"Oh, kriff. We’re in for a sandstorm. You’re not going to make it back right now. You and Sabé will need to come with us." Obi-Wan heaves up the generator and dumps it in Qui-Gon’s arms. "Leave this in the shop so it doesn’t get buried. You can get it in the morning."

Inside, Shmi and Sabé are pacing, waiting for Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan to return. "Come on, we’ll need to run for it."

As Shmi locks up the shop, Qui-Gon casts a sad eye at the speeder bike, and Obi-Wan shouts at him, "We’ll dig it out in the morning."

Thank the Force, they don’t have far to go - the slave quarters are downwind from the storm, and the four of them run to Shmi and Obi-Wan's house, slamming the door shut just as the sand hits.

"Well, that was fun." Obi-Wan grins, his eyes sparking with way too much enjoyment.

"Do you often outrun sandstorms?"

"Sometimes," Obi-Wan shrugs. "It makes me feel alive."

Once, early in his knighthood, Qui-Gon had been captured by a group of insurgents who’d managed to get a hold of a set of Force-inhibitor cuffs. He’d worn those kriffing things for two days and had thought he’d lose his mind from the lack of connection to the Force. He can’t imagine how Obi-Wan has survived for years in that collar.

Before he can say anything, his comm beeps, it’s Anakin. "Master - are you there?".

He can just about hear Anakin over the crackling - the storm is interfering with the connection. Shmi and Obi-Wan's house is small, and with all the windows sealed against the storm, it’s nearly claustrophobic. There’s nowhere Qui-Gon can go to take this call in privacy, unless he retreats to the 'fresher, and he’s not doing that. So he turns to face a wall and answers the comm. "I’m here, Sabé and I have been given shelter by two kind beings. We’ve secured the part."

"Did you say you’ve sucked a tart?"

"No. I said - never mind." Qui-Gon rolls his eyes. "I’ve bought the hyperdrive generator. But we won’t be able to get back to the ship until tomorrow. You and Captain Panaka need to keep everyone safe."

"Good copy, Master, will do. Skywalker out."

Qui-Gon turns around and Shmi is smiling, her expression disturbingly blissful. "Lady Shmi, is everything all right?"

"Oh, everything is perfectly fine. Your partner sounds like a fine young man."

"He is, he was my student for many years. I am quite proud of the Jedi knight he’s become." Qui-Gon is still a little puzzled, especially when Shmi sighs like a damsel in a holodrama.

Sabé actually giggles, Obi-Wan rolls his eyes, and Qui-Gon feels like he’s the butt of a joke, but for the life of him, he can’t begin to imagine what the could be.

Obi-Wan frowns and says, "Shmi, if you don’t tell him, I will."

"Tell me what?"

There’s a pause and Shmi smiles and shakes her head, "I can’t. You, please, you tell him, Obi-Wan."

Obi-Wan treats Qui-Gon to that very particular quirk of a smile. "Master Jinn, it is my honor to introduce you to Lady Shmi Skywalker, birthmother of your student, Anakin Skywalker. She gave him to a Jedi about twenty-five years ago on Nal Hutta, when he was about three months old."

Qui-Gon didn’t think this day couldn’t hold any more surprises. The Force has been fucking with him since they had landed on this planet. He is just stunned.

"Master Qui-Gon?" Shmi now looks concerned.

"I don’t know what to say." He shakes his head. "I’m not fond of coincidences, but this is a happy one, Lady Shmi. I had taken Anakin as my pupil - or as the Jedi say, my Padawan - when he turned eleven. He had always been a bright spark as a Youngling and an Initiate, extremely compassionate, a quality the Jedi nurture. He has an eager and questioning nature, and as I am a Jedi who serves the Order best by working on diplomatic missions, selecting him as my Padawan was an obvious fit. He was knighted just over a year ago, and that was the proudest moment of my life. Anakin is a fine young Jedi, centered in the Light, strong, capable, and ready to meet any challenge he might face." Qui-Gon hopes this praise is good enough. He cares deeply for his former Padawan, but he doesn’t want to construct a paragon for Anakin’s mother, either.

Shmi’s happy smile returns. "Thank you, Master Qui-Gon. You make my mother’s heart proud and happy. For all these years, I have survived on the hope that my son has flourished with the Jedi, that he has grown wise and strong, that he’s happy and healthy in his freedom."

Shmi moves around the small room, pushing Sabé and Qui-Gon into the two chairs around a table, while Obi-Wan starts to prep late meal. It looks to be some kind of noodle dish with a root vegetable, and portions that would probably feed Shmi and Obi-Wan for several days are being used for their unexpected guests. Well, at least Qui-Gon has the means to address that.

Sabé and Qui-Gon sit quietly, and Qui-Gon is uncomfortable at being served. But there is nothing he can do.

Finally, Obi-Wan asks, "How spicy to you like your food, Lady Sabé, Master Jinn?"

Sabé says, "Not too spicy."

But Qui-Gon grins. "You can blow the back of my head off, Obi-Wan."

Obi-Wan nods, but cautions, "We don’t have endless amounts of water to slake your thirst, Master Jinn."

"I understand. I grew of age with a Jedi master fascinated by all things Mandalorian, and he taught me how to eat tiingilar, a stew so spicy it’s said that some versions of the recipe are so hot they can melt beskar."

Sabé asks, "What’s beskar?"

"A kind of metal so strong it can withstand a lightsaber."

Obi-Wan looks impressed, but also a little puzzled. Qui-Gon would love to understand why.

"Very well, Master Jedi, one bowl of suka noodles and shaved kano root, with enough dubash powder to blow the back of your head off."

Qui-Gon is dismayed to see that he is given the largest serving, Sabé the next largest, and there is barely two bites each for Shmi and Obi-Wan, but he’s afraid to insult their hospitality either. The food is good, and it’s as spicy as the hottest tiingilar he’s ever had. It makes him sweat under his robes, but in a way that cools him off, just like spicy food in a desert climate should. His nose is dripping and his eyes are tearing, but the endorphin rush is as good as winning a 'saber match against his old friend, Mace. He’s smiling as he eats.

He sees that Shmi and Obi-Wan have similar physical reactions to their food, so they must enjoy the spiciness, too.

Sabé only picks at her noodles, which are likely quite tasteless without any of the spicy paste, and Qui-Gon is annoyed at both his companion’s bad manners and the loss of food that these two slaves were generous enough to share. But he can’t call her out or force her to eat.

But it seems that the death-glare from Shmi does wonders when Sabé puts down her fork and pushes her mostly uneaten bowl aside. One look and the girl picks her fork up again and finishes her food - if not with pleasure, then with determination.

Qui-Gon insists on helping with the clean-up, letting Obi-Wan direct him in cleaning out the bowls, saving every morsel, then rinsing them under a barely functioning sonic. By the time the cleanup is finished, Qui-Gon realizes that the noise from the sandstorm has died away.

Obi-Wan comes to the same conclusion. "I think it’s over." He goes to a window and lifts one of the louvers. "Yes, it’s done, but can we get out?"

"What do you mean? We could be trapped here?" Sabé’s voice rises in panic.

"Sometimes the wind blows the sand against the door and we could be trapped for a few days, until the service bots come down to this end of town to dig us out. Hopefully there will be enough water."

Qui-Gon can sense that Obi-Wan is teasing Sabé, and while the girl has not been the kindest or the most diplomatic of companions, winding her up doesn’t do anyone any good. He goes over to the front door and tries to open it; it gives a little bit before getting stuck. Qui-Gon reaches out with the Force and feels the millions of grains of sand pressing against the door - it doesn’t take much to move them away and the door swings freely. Truth be told, he could have just put his shoulder to the structure and pushed.

Obi-Wan gives him that strange little smile again. "Thank you, Master Jinn."

Sabé ducks under Qui-Gon’s arm and runs outside, breathing deeply. "Master Qui-Gon, do you mind if I walk around for a while?"

Qui-Gon looks at Obi-Wan, silently asking if it’s safe for Sabé to roam the neighborhood, and Obi-Wan gives him a subtle nod. "It’s fine, but don’t go far."

The girl takes off with a quick thanks and Qui-Gon sighs, grateful for her absence. He really wants to talk with Obi-Wan and Shmi, but mostly with Obi-Wan.

"Funny how the universe works, you just showing up here - of all the planets in the galaxy. And your former student is my fellow - " Obi-Wan’s lips twitch, "slave’s son. This Force of yours is a very strange thing."

Qui-Gon has to laugh. "There is a saying amongst the Jedi, 'the Force works in mysterious ways'. For thousands of years, the Jedi have studied the Force, but have come no closer to understanding it. As odd and as uncomfortable a thought as it may be, I am certain we were meant to be here."

Obi-Wan nods, slowly. "I think so, if just because a very rare Nabooian T-14 hyperspace generator happened to find its way into Watto’s shop yesterday and you needed one today."

"And what about Shmi being Anakin’s mother?"

Oddly enough, Obi-Wan shrugs. "Well, there aren’t a lot of Jedi, are there? If a Jedi needed the hyperspace generator, how likely, or rather, unlikely would it be that Anakin Skywalker would be on this particular mission?"

Qui-Gon thinks carefully about Obi-Wan’s question. "In the matter of raw odds, not very likely. The Order’s numbers are at an all-time high. But if I add in other variables, such as the High Council select me for this mission over another Jedi or Anakin making it back from his other missions in time to accompany me, it makes it hard to say. I picked Anakin as my mission partner not because he’s my former student. Masters are discouraged from that - we are supposed to push our padawans into independence. But Anakin has a skillset that was quite suited for this mission, so the High Council gave its blessing."

Obi-Wan takes great pleasure in hearing that the Jedi are flourishing in this timeline. He hopes that this will continue, now that Qui-Gon has survived Maul’s attack and Anakin is not destined for failure.

Then Qui-Gon asks, "I do find it strange that Lady Shmi has not asked to meet her son, do you know why?"

"Because I don’t want him to meet me."

Qui-Gon turns around, he hadn’t heard or sensed Shmi come outside. "You don’t?"

"No, not at all. I gave my son to the Jedi believing that he would have a better life. Actually knowing that he has achieved that is a dream come true, but meeting him again has never been part of that dream. I think I would die of embarrassment if I had to face him like this."

Qui-Gon is intensely relieved he doesn’t have to deal with introducing Shmi and Anakin in the middle of a critical mission, but on the other hand, the thought of leaving Shmi - his former Padawan’s mother - in bondage revolts him. And there’s still the whole issue of Force-sensitive Obi-Wan who saved his life, saved Anakin’s life. Saved the whole Force-damned mission with his timely vision.

"Can I at least tell Anakin that I met you? And let him make the decision to come back to Tatooine?"

"I’ll strike another bargain with you, Master Jinn. You test Obi-Wan's midi-chlorians and if he’s good enough to be a Jedi, you promise me you’ll do everything possible to buy his freedom and take him back to your Temple." In the fast fading daylight, Shmi Skywalker looks like one of the great bronze statues at the entrance to the Temple. "If you give me your promise to do your best to get Obi-Wan off Tatooine and where he belongs, then I’ll let you tell Anakin when you see fit."

While Qui-Gon can’t promise that he’ll purchase Obi-Wan - Jedi can’t buy slaves, no matter what the situation, he can do anything and everything within his power to help the boy out of his bondage. "You have my word."

Obi-Wan mutters, "Don’t I have a say in this?"

Both Qui-Gon and Shmi say, in unison, "No."

Qui-Gon ushers them back inside and directs his hosts to sit at their own table. He reaches into his belt pouch for his portable m-count tester, something issued to all field Jedi, and ends up pulling out the bags of Huttese currency.

Which he now has no need for.

"Obi-Wan, Lady Shmi, would you like to have these?" He drops two bags in Obi-Wan's hands, and two in Shmi’s, ignoring their stunned faces, and goes back to fishing around for the tester, and eventually finding it.

"All right, here we go. Obi-Wan, if I can have a finger, please."

His two hosts are sitting there, like statues, and Qui-Gon realizes what he’s just done. "You can buy your freedom with that."

"Shmi can, but Watto will never let me go." There is a too much resignation in Obi-Wan’s voice. "I’m the old fly’s lucky piece - he’s a gambler and has never come up wrong-sided against the odds since he purchased me. His business has flourished, every deal he strikes makes money. You can do your test on me, Master Jedi, but whatever it shows, it’s not going to make any difference. I’m going to die here, a slave."

Qui-Gon doesn’t say anything, but he swears to himself, Not if I have anything to do about it.

Shmi pushes the bags of currency back at Qui-Gon. "If Obi-Wan can’t buy his freedom, neither will I."

"Keep it, I have no need for Huttese currency, nor does the Order." He shoves the money back towards Shmi and Obi-Wan. "The matter is closed. Now, Ser Kenobi, a finger if you please?"

Obi-Wan makes a face and holds out a finger, and Qui-Gon uses the tester to take a blood sample. The unit seems to be taking an inordinately long time, and even Shmi comments, "It only took a few seconds when the Jedi on Nal Hutta tested Anakin’s blood. Are you sure your little machine is working?"

Qui-Gon isn’t. It’s been a while since he’s used it, and he’s about to do a reset when the Force-damned thing beeps. He looks at the readout and blinks. He’s not sure he’s reading it correctly. This has to be a mistake.

M-count = 43,940

Chapter Text

I think, how many still waters
can give a single night of stillness
and how many green pastures, wide as deserts
can give the tranquility of a single hour
and how many valleys of the shadow of death we need
to be a pitied shade in the merciless sun.

Summer Evening at the Window with Psalms (fragment)

By Yehuda Amichai

Translated by Robert Alter

Desperate for some solitude and some space to think, Obi-Wan climbs onto the roof and up to the top of the dome. He can’t even begin to comprehend what all of this means.

Qui-Gon had tested his blood five more times, and each result was the same or higher. The last sampling had returned an m-count of 44,020. That doesn’t even begin to make sense. In his former life, Anakin’s m-count had been over twenty-thousand, more than Master Yoda’s, who has the highest m-count on record. In that life, his own midi-chlorian count had been around twelve-thousand, perfectly average for a Jedi.

If Qui-Gon’s tester is anywhere close to accurate, his midi-chlorian count now is twice Anakin’s, and then some.

And here’s another difference in the timelines - the unit does the testing, it doesn’t have to send the breakdown to another computer for analysis. He has to wonder about that.

How strange.

But nothing is stranger than his m-count. No wonder the pirates put a collar on him, he could have turned their ship to dust with his mind.

Obi-Wan sighs and gazes up at the stars. Coruscant isn’t visible from Tatooine, and that has always broken him - if he could just see the ancient light from his home and his people, he wouldn’t feel so lost and alienated.

He sits atop the dome and tries to make sense of everything that has happened today. He comes to some conclusions, but others escape him.

His thoughts are interrupted when Qui-Gon calls to him from the street, "Is there room for me up there?"

Obi-Wan doesn’t know if he can bear spending time alone with his once-master, but he knows he can’t bear to turn him away. "If you can find your way up here, there’s plenty of room."

In a magnificent Force-assisted leap, Qui-Gon lands on the edge of the roof. "Is the dome sturdy enough for two?"

"Hmm, good point." Obi-Wan slides down to join Qui-Gon, and they sit on the edge of the roof at the furthest point from the sleeping section of the small hut he and Shmi call home.

"So."

"So." Obi-Wan has so much he wants to say, so much he can’t say. But it just feels good to sit next to his master and look at the stars. He can remember so many missions where they had done just this.

"So." Qui-Gon repeats, then adds, "In addition to having visions, you have shields."

"Excuse me?" Obi-Wan should have realized that Qui-Gon would have picked up on that.

"Jedi Younglings are taught early on how to shield their thoughts and emotions from others - it seems you were taught this skill, too."

"Are you asking if I was stolen from the Jedi?"

"Yes - and if you were, that would make it easier to reclaim you."

Obi-Wan shakes his head. "That will never happen, short of Watto’s death, or his luck turning - and I don’t see that happening. But no, I was not taken from the Jedi, I am sure of that."

"You know who your parents were - are?" Qui-Gon asks gently, not wanting to stir his grief.

"No - actually, I don’t." Obi-Wan performs a careful verbal dance, not sure how much Qui-Gon can sense. "I don’t remember anything about my parents. I woke up in agony on a slaver’s ship as it was just about to land on Tatooine. My first sense-memory was the pain in my back from where they implanted in the proximity bomb."

"Then you could be a Jedi padawan, separated from your knight-master."

Now, Qui-Gon sounds so hopeful, and it breaks something in Obi-Wan to crush that hope. "Don’t you think your Order would have been scrambling for all this time to find a student with such a prodigious m-count? Or would they even let such a child out of their sights?"

Qui-Gon sighs. "You’ve got me there. Your logic is flawless. And I’m fairly certain that Master Yoda would have taken you as a Padawan himself."

"Master Yoda?" Oh, Force does Obi-Wan hate playing dumb.

"The Grand Master of the Order, and our eldest. He is over eight-hundred years old. Nearly nine-hundred, as he often complains."

"Wow. That old, he must be quite wise."

"He is, and - please don’t tell him I said this - also quite the little shit. You’ll discover that for yourself one day soon, I hope."

Obi-Wan doubts that. His purpose in being reborn has been fulfilled. He has saved Qui-Gon’s life, and Qui-Gon has killed Darth Maul. The path of history has changed. He can live out the rest of his life on this dustball content in knowing that, even with this ridiculous midi-chlorian count. Anakin is safe and sane and loved. Let someone else figure out who the Sith Lord is…

"I’m not giving up on you, Obi-Wan. Even if you were ordinary, I would not. You saved my life, you saved everyone today. You deserve better than this." Qui-Gon shakes his head and stares out over the quiet domes of the Mos Espa slave quarters, out to the endless sand dunes, and the great swath of stars illuminating the night. "And I should cut my tongue out for saying that. Everyone here deserves better. The Jedi should be committed to erasing slavery and indenture throughout the galaxy, but we can only act within the Republic."

"Why? I thought the Jedi were peacekeepers, defenders of the innocent and those who do not have the strength to defend themselves. Why can’t they just free slaves where they find them?" Obi-Wan can’t stop himself from asking that question. After nearly two years as a slave, he understands his once-padawan in a way he never could in that other life.

"We can’t - it’s a long and complicated history lesson."

"I wouldn’t mind a history lesson, actually." Obi-Wan used to live for his master’s impromptu lessons. He’s not passing up the chance to experience another one now.

"Really?" Qui-Gon gives him a skeptical look. "You really don’t know what you’re in for. I can prose on quite a bit."

"Truly, I would like to learn." Obi-Wan isn’t above begging.

"Well, I do owe you my life, I guess I can start repaying that debt with a boring history lesson." Qui-Gon flashes him a quick grin.

Obi-Wan remembers the few semesters when he and Qui-Gon had been Temple-bound, early in his padawanship, and Qui-Gon had been tapped to teach Galactic History. There has been dozens of Padawans who would challenge each other in the training salles for places on the waiting list for his Master’s lectures.

Qui-Gon easily settles into teaching mode. "About a thousand year ago, after the end of the New Sith Wars, the Supreme Chancellor of the Republic, Tarsus Valorum, who is an ancestor of our present chancellor, Finis Valorum, proposed a restructuring of the Republic’s government, taking power away from the Chancellorship and the Jedi Order and vesting it in the Galactic Senate. It’s called the Ruusan Reformation, after the last battle of the New Sith War, where the Jedi’s Army of Light decisively defeated the forces of the Sith."

Qui-Gon continues, the inveterate teacher, "Part of the issue with the end of the New Sith Wars had been that the Jedi had become a strong military force, with a galactic army, navy and starfighter corps, a military presence across the galaxy enforcing the Republic peace. With the defeat of the Sith, the Senate did not want to maintain a standing military and have the Jedi seen as conquerors. The Order was commanded to disband their entire military command structure and ethos, and ultimately, the Jedi began taking their orders from the Senate instead of operating independently."

"You sound like this is a bad thing." Obi-Wan wonders if this version of Qui-Gon disapproves of the Ruusan Reformation.

"I don’t think that Jedi should be soldiers or battle lords, like they had been in the days of the Old Republic, but I do not like how the Senate dictates our every move these days. We should be fighting against slavery wherever we find it, even in worlds outside the Republic. Our mission should never be limited by borders or a Senate committee’s whims. The Jedi should follow the will of the Force, not the will of politicians."

Obi-Wan smiles to himself. No, this version of his master is still his master.

As the stars wheel across the sky, Qui-Gon expands his lecture on the Jedi and galactic history, answering Obi-Wan’s carefully worded questions with so much obvious pleasure that Obi-Wan can’t help but feel guilty. By the time the horizon begins to turn pink as the first sun starts to rise, Obi-Wan has a much clearer picture of the galaxy than he ever expected to have - it’s not quite the same as before, but most of the power-players are identical. The Trade Federation, the Techno-Union, Off-World Corporation (although Qui-Gon makes no mention of Xanatos du Crion), the Interstellar Banking Clan, all corporations holding seats in the Galactic Senate and wielding far too much power. He wonders how all of this is going to play out, since Anakin isn’t going to end up as Sidious’ apprentice, and the scourge of the Jedi…

"Well, did you enjoy your history lesson?"

Obi-Wan laughs. "Absolutely. It’s a pity you can’t stay here forever, Master Jinn. I could listen to you for days on end. You are a splendid teacher. Anakin was quite lucky to have you."

To Obi-Wan’s surprise, Qui-Gon blushes. "Thank you. We were a good pair in most respects."

"In most respects?"

"Anakin will be the first one to say that his strengths do not lie along the more academic or intellectual paths a Jedi can take. He is a gifted pilot - one of the greatest in the Order, despite his youth. He also has a love of all things mechanical, which I now think he got from his mother, and his skills with a lightsaber are nearly unparalleled. I didn’t get a chance to tell you and Lady Shmi, but he had held off the Sith warrior for almost a half-hour before I got back to the ship."

"I Saw what had happened," Obi-Wan whispers. "I Saw them fighting - and then you arrived. You believed my vision, about the Sith’s weapon, about how to kill him - " How different this version of Qui-Gon is, his original lifetime, his master had so often refused to believe anything that came from Obi-Wan’s foresight. Live in the moment, Padawan.

"I did - I cut the Sith’s light-staff in half, and then went for his head. Anakin cut off his arm at the same time. And honestly, if Anakin hadn’t worn that monster down, I don’t know if I would have been able to execute him so easily."

Obi-Wan nods. "Knight Skywalker sounds quite amazing."

"He is a Jedi, and you will be one, too. You have different, and equally amazing gifts. I hope to be your teacher one day, very soon."

"Some things are just not possible." Obi-Wan hasn’t given up hope, he is just a realist.

Qui-Gon replies, as Qui-Gon is wont to do. "And in the Force, all things are possible. Many things will need to happen, but I’m going to ask you this now, Obi-Wan Kenobi, when you come to the Temple, will you accept me as your master and be my padawan learner?"

Obi-Wan feels hope bloom where it had lain fallow for so long. "If the Force wills that I will some day be free, I would be honored to be your padawan, Master Jinn."

Qui-Gon is reluctant to end this quiet interlude with Obi-Wan. These few hours before dawn pass too quickly, but they give Qui-Gon a good measure of Obi-Wan, and the type of padawan he will be. The young man is so fiercely intelligent, such an eager sponge for knowledge - he is interested in everything that Qui-Gon has to say, but he is also a clever interlocutor, not afraid to ask questions and to challenge Qui-Gon’s experience and vastly greater learning.

As much as Qui-Gon had loved teaching Anakin, he had missed this kind of back and forth with his second padawan. Feemor had been smart enough, although nowhere as gifted as Obi-Wan is, and he’d come to Qui-Gon almost of age - practically an adult with little need of intellectual or emotional guidance. And, as always, any thought of his first padawan brings an ache of sadness.

"What’s the matter, Master Jinn? I think I can feel your unhappiness."

Qui-Gon smiles at Obi-Wan and heaves a sigh, prevaricating just a bit. "I am sad that I have to leave you behind. No teacher likes to abandon such a promising student. But, as I said, we will meet again, young Obi-Wan. You have my promise on that."

Obi-Wan gives him that quirky smile before jumping off the roof ledge. Qui-Gon follows and they both go into the small house, where they find Shmi and Sabé awake.

While Sabé looks half-asleep, Shmi seems like she’s been up for hours, and Qui-Gon wonders if they’ve kept her awake with their talking. She doesn’t say anything, just hands Qui-Gon a mug of something that might be tea. It is, and it’s drinkable. Barely.

"Thank you, Lady Skywalker, for your kindness and hospitality."

She nods her head in regal acceptance. "Thank you, Master Jinn, for everything you have done. I want nothing for myself, only that someday you return for Obi-Wan. He needs a better life than this."

"You both do." Qui-Gon knows that when he tells Anakin about Shmi, his former padawan will move entire star systems to free his birthmother. He may not want to form any connection with her, but he will not rest easy knowing she is a slave.

It doesn’t take long before Obi-Wan and Shmi hustle them out of the house and back to Watto’s shop. The speeder bike is buried up to is handlebars in sand, but Qui-Gon has no qualms about using the Force to shift the sand away, and he does the same with the drifts piled up against the store’s front doors.

Shmi chuckles. "That is a fine use of your magic, Master Jedi - I would love to keep you around for just that. It’s going to take me and Obi-Wan days to dig out the yard."

"Let me see what I can do." Qui-Gon marches into the back, which is somewhat protected, but sadly, about half of the parts inventory is buried in the infernal Tatooine sand. "Do you have any neighbors?Anyone who would object to a sudden influx of this stuff?"

"No, we just shovel it over the fence after a sandstorm."

"Ah, good." Qui-Gon closes his eyes and reaches out to the Force, a little deeper than he had to with the buried speeder bike and the drifts against the door, and lifts all of the sand up and over the fence, into the empty lot. "How is that?"

Shmi claps in delight. "A miracle."

As much as he wants to linger, Qui-Gon can’t. He finds the hyperdrive generator, and hefts it - it’s heavier than he’d expected - and carries it out. Sabé is all but dancing in her eagerness to get back to the ship. It takes a bit of maneuvering to get the part strapped to the bike so that Sabé can ride pillion without knocking it off, but eventually both of them are on the bike and ready to take off.

Qui-Gon makes his final farewell. "We will meet again. May the Force be with you."

Shmi wishes them good luck in their travels, and Obi-Wan just nods, but as Qui-Gon pulls away, he thinks he hears the young man say, "And may the Force be with you always, Qui-Gon Jinn."

The journey back to the Nabooian ship doesn’t take long, not with the Zabrak’s speeder bike. They arrive before the second sun starts to rise. Qui-Gon is pleased to see that Anakin has cleared all the wind-driven sand from both ships, but he’s not happy that the Sith’s ship’s bay is open and Anakin has made himself at home at the cockpit.

Along with the Naboo queen.

"Ahem."

"Oh, Master. You’re back."

"I am." He tries not to sound like a master getting ready to castigate his naughty padawan, but that’s just how he feels at the moment.

"Good, and not a moment too soon." Anakin is all but bouncing, like he’s a padawan eager to tell him good news.

"Oh?" Qui-Gon looks from Padmé to Anakin and while he senses a connection between them - it’s hard not to - he doesn’t sense that anything improper has taken place. "What’s going on."

"This ship - it’s the answer to all of our problems."

"What do you mean?" The ship is interesting, and Qui-Gon can understand that for a gear-head like Anakin, it is a fascinating piece of machinery, but he can’t quite get how it solves all of their issues.

"We need to break the Trade Federation’s blockade, right?"

"Well, what we need is for the Senate to get the Trade Federation to pull out."

"You know that’s not going to happen, Master. You know that the Corporate bloc is too strong, and they won’t even let the matter come up for a vote. The Trade Federation has violated Republic Law in building a military force and invading a peaceful system without just cause, and the Senate has done nothing. They’ll do nothing but issue a censure and a fine, and Naboo will continue to suffer."

Qui-Gon looks at Anakin and wonders who this person is. No, there is no wondering - he’s been listening to Padmé all night, which is not a bad thing. "So, how is this ship our solution?"

"We don’t go back to Coruscant. The Queen doesn’t humiliate herself before the Senate. We take out the Trade Federation droid control ship. That will disable every droid on Naboo instantly. We land, recapture Theed, take Nute Gunray and the rest of the Trade Federation representatives on Naboo as prisoners pending trial for war crimes, declare terms, negotiate a treaty."

"This is a very good plan."

Anakin visibly swells with pride.

"But there’s just one problem, Knight Skywalker, who is going to fly this ship? Captain Panaka? One of Queen Amidala’s handmaidens?"

"No, I will, of course."

Qui-Gon hates this moment. It’s one that every Jedi master faces. "You can’t, Knight Skywalker. In your zeal to protect the Naboo against an obvious injustice, you’ve forgotten one thing. The Jedi cannot take sides."

Anakin’s face falls, he looks like he’s just had his legs cut off. "But - but there’s a cloaking device on the ship, no one would even know what happened or who flew …" Anakin’s voice trails off as he realizes just how wrong his suggestions are.

Qui-Gon rests a hand on Anakin’s shoulder, squeezes it reassuringly. "It was a brilliant idea, and if we had a competent pilot who was not a Jedi, I have no doubt it would work. Now, let’s get that hyperdrive generator installed so we can do the futile thing and go back to Coruscant."

Qui-Gon turns and heads towards the exit ramp when Anakin calls after him. "What if I wasn’t a Jedi?"

He turns around, not quite sure he heard Anakin correctly. "What did you say?"

"What if I was no longer a Jedi? What if I left the Order?" Anakin stand up and stares at him, his posture stiff, his expression determined.

"Anakin." Qui-Gon stares at his beloved student, unsure of what to say. The solution is neat and perfect, but it’s also heartbreakingly permanent. "If you do this, you can’t come back afterwards. You can’t resign temporarily and then return in a few weeks or months. You know there will be Senate hearings, that the Trade Federation is going to put us - the Order - under a microscope. It will be a long time before you can return to Coruscant. Where will you go after this?"

"Anakin will always have a home on Naboo. His sacrifice will always be honored and rewarded, Master Jinn." For the first time since their escape from Theed, Padmé speaks not as the handmaiden, but as the Queen. "He will be first among my courtiers." She reaches out and takes Anakin’s hand. "And he will be by my side now, and for as long as we both will it."

Well, that’s a marriage vow if I’ve ever heard one.

Anakin smiles down at the queen, so obviously besotted. Padmé smiles back and the two of them might have stood there in endless admiration of each other until Qui-Gon clears his throat. He’s only read about knights resigning, he’s never actually witnessed one doing so. But there must be some kind of formal ceremony, and since there’ll eventually be a major shit show in the Senate after everything goes down with the Trade Federation over Naboo, he’d better document this. He sets his comm to record and creates a resignation ceremony on the fly.

He clears his throat again.

"I, Qui-Gon Jinn, Jedi Knight and a Master of the Jedi Order, and acting as a representative of the Jedi High Council, on this, the fourteenth day of the third month in the Seven Thousand Nine Hundred and Forty-Fifth Year of the Coruscant Reckoning Calendar and the One Thousand Seventh Year of the Republic, is here with Anakin Skywalker as a Jedi Knight of the Order. Are you, Anakin Skywalker, resigning of your own free will?"

"Yes, Master Jinn, I am. And I understand that my resignation is permanent, and I may not return to the Order as a knight. I thank you and the Order for your care and guidance in teaching me, but I believe my path forward in the Light needs me to be something other than a Jedi knight."

Qui-Gon remembers something he’d read about knights leaving the Order and he frowns at what he has to do next. "May I have your lightsaber, please, Anakin."

Anakin’s face falls, but he doesn’t argue. There’s a brief moment when he pauses, his hand over the hilt of his 'saber, but then he pulls it out and offers it to Qui-Gon.

"Anakin, thank you for your service to the Order and to the Light." With those last words, Qui-Gon ends the recording. "It’s done."

Padmé hugs Anakin, whispering her thanks. "I can never repay you for this."

"There’s nothing to repay, Padmé. I think I was meant to do this. It feels right."

Qui-Gon holds Anakin’s 'saber, then offers it back to Anakin. "Take this back, for now. I’m not happy letting you go into battle unarmed. You’ll give it back to the Council after they finish flagellating us for what we’re about to do."

Two standard Galactic weeks after the Jedi leave Tatooine

Obi-Wan bids Shmi a good night and climbs onto the roof. He puts on a set of headphones and points the bootleg Holonet receiver he’d built at a cluster of stars in the Eiram Sector, his best chance of getting a decent connection here on the Outer Rim.

At first, all he gets is noise, but he fiddles with the receiver and the noise resolves into voices. The thing actually works, it’s picking up the signal boosted from Starlight Beacon. In his original timeline, the space station had been destroyed by terrorists about two hundred years before he had been born, but a few weeks ago, a traveller had come into the shop looking for a transmitter part and casually mentioned the Outer Rim space station.

The first channel he locks onto is an excited voice is giving a lap-by-lap accounting of a pod race on Malastare.

Obi-Wan fiddles with the dials, hoping to find the Senate broadcast. Instead, he lands on a holo-drama, one that’s surprisingly familiar, and he pauses to listen to it for a few minutes.

“Callin, I have to go.”

“What do you mean, go?”

“I’m leaving this afternoon for Alderaan.”

“Tell me, Navin.  When will you be back?  A couple of weeks, a month?  Longer?”

“I don’t know when I’ll be back. But – ”

“But what, Navin?  I don’t understand you… I don’t understand how you could do this.  What about your life here?  I thought you wanted this life.  I thought that was why you were waiting for us on Benduday.   Tell me, damn it, were you going to leave without saying goodbye?”

"Callin…"

“After everything, after all we’ve been through - you would do this to me?  To us?  You are a piece of work, Navin Tofrey.  I thought I knew you.  I thought you were better than this.  But I was wrong.  You’re still the same thoughtless, immature, irresponsible child who lied and cheated and stole until he was sent to prison.”

“Callin, that’s not fair.  This is not about you – or about us.  This is something I have to do.”

“No, it’s always about you.  What you want, what you need.  Have you ever, in your entire misbegotten life, given a damn about anyone else?”

"That’s not true, and you know it, Callin. I - I care about you, about Sinna, but I have to go."

“Banthashit. You are a sorry excuse for a man, and an even sorrier excuse for a friend.  I never thought I’d say this but if I had the chance to make that choice again, right now, I wouldn’t take that meeting you asked for.  I don’t care that I could still be chasing the Corellian.  All your talent, all your brilliance isn’t worth the hell you’ve put me through these past four years.”

“Callin - no.  You can’t mean that.” 

“Go - get out.  Your so-called life is waiting for you.  I never want to see you again.”

“Callin, please listen to me.  I have to do this.  You have to understand.”

“No, Navin, I don’t have to understand. I don’t have to listen.  For years, I’ve been understanding, I’ve listened to your excuses.  And now, I’m done.  You say you’ve never lied to me, but everything about you is a lie.  Time after time, I’ve put myself on the line for you.  I’ve risked everything and for what?  A good fuck and goodbye, it’s been nice knowing you?”

“It’s not like that, Callin.  I’m doing this for …”

“Shut up, Navin.  Just shut up and go, you worthless criminal. And guess what, when you’re caught stealing or forging or conning, don’t come running back to me for favors.  Don’t use my name, don’t call me, don’t ask for anyone’s help at Judicial.  You’re no longer welcome here.  You get caught, you can rot in prison for all I care.  And you will get caught - a lothcat doesn’t change his spots.”

Obi-Wan scrubs the unbidden tears from his cheeks. The epic fight between Callin and Navin still has the power to make him cry.

A few months after coming to the Temple, Anakin had caught a bad case of the Blumble Phlegm, a minor illness that almost every human-variant child catches. Anakin, who only lately had received a full panel of inoculations, had gotten a lot sicker than he should have, and spent a miserable week holed up in their suite. Obi-Wan had been ill-equipped to handle a bad-tempered, sick child who was so desperately missing his mother. To stave off the boredom, they had spent too many hours curled up on the couch in the living room watching all kinds of inappropriate holo-dramas. Between the Darkness and the Dawn had been Anakin’s favorite, the story about a Judicial officer who takes on a handsome young criminal informant and all of their misadventures. The material had frankly been too adult for the average nine year old boy, more than hinting at a love story between the Judicial officer, his wife, and the criminal informant, but Anakin hadn’t been the average nine year old.

A lifetime and a life later, that story seems to cut a little too close to reality.

Obi-Wan sighs and changes the channel, not wanting to get caught up in either the holo-drama or in memories of a life that will never happen. He clicks through channel after channel until he finally lands on the Senate broadcast.

A mellifluous voice announces, "This begins a rebroadcast of the proceedings of the Galactic Senate, from Centaxday, the twelfth day of Third-Month, in the 1007th Year of the Galactic Republic…"

Two Months After the Jedi Leave Tatooine

"Obi, you really need to get some sleep."

Obi-Wan pauses before climbing out the window. "Sleep is overrated."

Shmi rolls her eyes. "You’re not that big that I can’t wrestle you to the ground and tie you to your bed."

"With what? I don’t see any rope around here, and besides, what would that accomplish?"

His friend sighs. "I don’t want you to get sick. Staying up all night listening to the Holonet isn’t healthy. You need rest."

"I get as much sleep as I need." Obi-Wan feels like he’s fourteen and arguing with Qui-Gon about staying up late to study. Wait, wait. He is fourteen.

Shmi cups his cheek. "I care about you, Obi. You get sick here, there isn’t much I can do to fix you."

Obi-Wan wonders, with his massive m-count, if the Force will actually let him get ill. Jedi are trained to use the Force to process all kinds of negative effects on the body, from intoxicants to infections to cancers and poisons. It’s why most Jedi have longer lifespans than normal for their species.

The physical effects of simple exhaustion are often wiped away with barely a thought.

"I won’t stay out too long, I promise."

"I’ll hold you to that." Shmi actually boops him on the nose, like he’s some misbehaving loth-kitten. "Now, go enjoy your holo-drama or whatever you’re going to listen to tonight."

"I could get another set of headphones and you could join me, Shmi. I could find something you’d enjoy."

"No, no. I’m too old to be climbing onto the roof. Besides, I need my sleep."

At that, Obi-Wan hauls himself out the window and onto the roof. He’s installed a small parabolic antenna that tracks to the Eiram Sector. The money that Qui-Gon had left behind is being put to good use, along with Obi-Wan's bargaining skills and well-liked smile amongst the vendors in the Dash Market. Not only has he built the receiver and antenna, but he’s managed to acquire signal boosters and decoders like the ones that he’d used during the Clone Wars to pick up Separatist traffic along the Outer Rim.

So far, he hasn’t captured anything particularly interesting - nothing from any pirate or slaver ships, but he’s listening. He’s also in the right sector to pick up transmissions from the Ascendency if they are beginning their incursion in this timeline. All’s quiet, except for the usual chatter from legit transports along the Slice.

So tonight it’s going to be more time with his favorite channel, the re-broadcast of the day’s proceedings of the Galactic Senate.

Shmi worries that he doesn’t get enough sleep, Obi-Wan could tell her that what he listens to most of the time is dull enough to put him into a coma, if it wasn’t so important.

Tonight, however, Obi-Wan hits the jackpot, and then some. He’s managed to catch the Senate Hearings on the Naboo - Trade Federation Dispute and Claims of Jedi Interference (in progress). At least that’s the title the announcer gives when he locks into the signal.

"The Jedi can’t just fly into Naboo and destroy our property! Jedi are supposed to be neutral."

"We’ve been over this, Senator Dod, it was not a Jedi who destroyed your illegally built and deployed droid controller ship. The pilot of the attack vessel was not a Jedi."

Obi-Wan can’t quite believe what he’s hearing. That sounds like Mace, and Mace sounds incredibly smug.

Even in this timeline, Lott Dod, the Trade Federation senator, sounds like a whiny gasbag. "My sources tell me that Anakin Skywalker piloted that ship, and that he is a Jedi knight, Councilor Windu. You need to do better when you lie."

"And you need to do better when you hire spies, Senator. Your information is only partially correct. Anakin Skywalker had once been a Jedi knight, but he resigned from the Order before piloting the vessel that took out the illegal droid controller ship. He was free to fly any ship he wanted anywhere in the galaxy. He is now also free to take a side in a conflict, something that Jedi cannot do without Senate authorization."

"I don’t believe you! You let Skywalker leave the Order just so you Jedi can claim you have clean hands, but when the dust settles, you’ll welcome him back with open arms."

Mace’s sigh is filled with so much satisfaction it transmits even through Obi-Wan’s dodgy connection. "That will be rather impossible, Senator, considering that Queen Amidala and Anakin Skywalker are to be married."

Obi-Wan mutes the volume on the receiver, his heart racing. Anakin has left the Order and is going to marry Padmé. It’s so strange how the patterns are the same, and yet so different. This time, Anakin doesn’t have to hide what he wanted. Maybe because in this timeline, Anakin had the right master, one who knew how to train him without stifling and repressing and denying.

He pushes the old agony aside and turns the volume back up. He needs to listen to the rest of the hearing.

Chancellor Valorum cuts off Lott Dod as he’s about to start another anti-Jedi rant, "Your time has run out, Senator, please yield the floor."

The microphones pick up the sound of the Trade Federation’s pod as it retreats to its dock.

"The Chancellor recognizes the Senator from the Chommell Sector. You have five minutes."

Obi-Wan’s blood freezes when he hears that voice.

"Thank you, Chancellor, and thank you, esteemed Master Jedi, for your Order’s timely intervention on my home world. I would like to note for the record that I find the untrammeled expansionist tendencies of the Trade Federation to be quite troublesome. Their use of droid and similar technologies to invade peaceful populations, strip worlds of their natural resources, and enforce a commercial hegemony to the detriment of self-governing peoples should not be tolerated."

There’s an audible rumble of confusion from the Senate pods and the gallery. And Obi-Wan is also confused. Why is Sheev Palpatine aligning himself against the Trade Federation?

"Let this day be marked in the Senate calendar, that the corporate stranglehold on all that is good and decent in the Republic is coming to an end. I, Sheev Palpatine, will be making it my life’s work to see the end of corporate representation in the Senate and the full representation of all individual worlds."

Palpatine’s words incite an uproar, but Obi-Wan doesn’t hear them. He hears the first words of a demagogue declaring his bid for power.

Chapter Text

Here in these mountains, hope belongs to the landscape
like the water holes. Even the ones with no water
still belong to the landscape like hope.

So I open my mouth and sing into the world.
I have a mouth, the world doesn’t.
It has to use mine if it wants
to sing into me. I am equal to the world, more than equal.

Summer Evening in the Jerusalem Mountains (fragment) by Yehuda Amichai

Translated by Chana Bloch

The doors to the High Council chamber swing open. Qui-Gon enters, stops at the usual spot, and drops a heavy satchel he’s been carrying. It lands with a thud against the polished marble floor and Master Yoda gives him a curious look.

Qui-Gon has already transmitted a preliminary report on the Naboo mission. All three sentences:

Rescued Queen Amidala

Thwarted Trade Federation

Naboo liberated

Well, technically three sentences. He hadn’t used any punctuation in the report. Master Dooku would be appalled.

The High Council, though, has likely gotten an earful from Chancellor Valorum.

Qui-Gon swallows, practically choking against the dryness in his throat. He hasn’t been this nervous about making a report since his very first solo mission as a senior padawan, and even then, the stakes had not been nearly as high.

"Master Jinn, welcome home." To his relief, Mace doesn’t sound or look terribly annoyed. For a High Councilor and the Master of the Order, Mace has a pretty poor sabacc face, so Qui-Gon takes heart.

Then Mace asks, "But where is your mission partner, Knight Skywalker?"

"That’s a long story." Qui-Gon takes a deep breath and centers himself, releasing his unaccustomed anxiety into the Force. "Rest assured, Anakin Skywalker is well, but his presence here is not appropriate at this time."

Of course, that statement arouses concern amongst the Councilors, but Qui-Gon speaks over them. "It would be best if I gave my report without interruption, from start to finish, and then answered your questions."

Mace nods, "Proceed."

He begins at the beginning, falling into the formal language and tone that Jedi are supposed to use when reporting to the High Council.

"We arrived at the Trade Federation vessel above Naboo, as requested, expecting to speak with their representatives. While waiting for the Trade Federation negotiating team, Knight Skywalker noticed that poison gas was being pumped into the room. When we escaped, we were confronted by heavily armed droidekas who immediately opened fire. The intent was to kill us. We were able to locate an escape pod and landed on the planet’s surface, not that far from the capital city of Theed. Unfortunately, our escape triggered the Trade Federation’s invasion of Naboo and within hours, thousands of droid ships landed and began to take control of the planet. Knight Skywalker and I were able to extract Queen Amidala and several of her handmaidens, as well as her security chief, Captain Panaka from Theed, and escape Naboo on the Royal Starship. The damn thing has no offensive capabilities.

"Knight Skywalker expertly piloted the Queen’s starship through the Trade Federation blockade, but the ship, unfortunately, was damaged by one of the droid fighters as we were leaving orbit, impairing our ability to sustain transit in hyperspace. We ended up making an emergency landing on the Outer Rim planet, Tatooine, just outside its largest city, Mos Espa."

Several of the council members mutter their concern about Tatooine.

"Yes, of course Tatooine would not be anyone’s first choice for an emergency landing. It’s sparsely populated, a low-tech world, and worse, it’s under the control of the Hutts. But we didn’t have any other choice. All of the other systems along the Slice are tightly controlled by the Trade Federation and if we tried to land and repair the ship, we might as well give Queen Amidala over for execution."

Qui-Gon pauses for a moment to catch his breath before continuing.

"We elected not to dock in the spaceport, better to avoid bringing attention to ourselves, so we made a soft landing in the dunes a few klicks from the poorer side of the city, where we had scanned the presence of small commercial traders, and hoped to find the parts to repair the ship. I left Knight Skywalker behind to stand guard over the Queen, who insisted I take one of her young handmaidens with me."

Master Yaddle chuckles. "Did she think your honor needed to be protected?"

Qui-Gon shrugs, "Perhaps. Sabé is young and fierce, but is not of the diplomatic bent. And the Force actually made things very interesting." He closes his eyes and remembers the first moment he saw Obi-Wan, glowing like a supernova in the Force…

"Master Jinn?" Mace calls him back to the here-and-now.

But when Qui-Gon looks at his old friend, Mace is pinching his brow, as if he’s experiencing a shatterpoint. Has Mace caught his memory?

"In a junk shop on the edge of the city, I found a young man, and I have never met anyone who wasn’t a Jedi who shone so brightly in the Light." Qui-Gon licks his lips, he’s panting. "And then the Light - almost a physical brightness - receded, and it was like I was looking at an ordinary padawan, one with a disciplined mind and strong shields. But that lasted just for a moment, too. And then all Force-sensitivity faded from him." Again, there are murmurs from the Council, but of the more skeptical kind.

"I’m sorry, I’m getting ahead of myself. There was actually another worker there - an older woman, she had once encountered a Jedi, many years before and recognized me for what I am. She had insisted that I meet this young man, and then she wanted him to show me the collar around his neck."

"A collar?" This time, it’s Master Yoda who interrupts.

"Yes, a Force-inhibiting collar. The young man, Obi-Wan, had been wearing it for years - he said the slavers who captured him put it on."

"And you think this young man - a slave - might be a lost padawan? Is he claiming to have been taken from his Master? Why didn’t you bring him back with you?" Questions fly at Qui-Gon from nearly all of the Councilors, but Qui-Gon holds up a hand.

"Please, please. Let me finish my report."

The room only quiets when Master Yoda thumps his gimmer stick on the floor. "Silence we will have, let Master Jinn finish we must."

Qui-Gon nods his thanks to his grand-master and ignores all of the questions about Obi-Wan. "When I touched the collar, Obi-Wan was thrown into a Vision. He started talking urgently and I couldn’t understand him, it was if he was talking in gibberish. But then he grabbed me and pressed our heads together, almost as if he was trying to reach beyond my shields. Only then I could understand what he was saying."

Qui-Gon closes his eyes, and tries to find the exact words that Obi-Wan had spoken. "This is what he said - ’A Sith. A Dathomiri Zabrak, he has a red light-staff. Cut it in half and go for his neck, decapitate. He’s powerful, fast, angry. Don’t make any assumptions, no mistakes. Don’t be arrogant.’ He told me to run back to the Queen’s ship right away, and I did. "

Of course, the Councilors erupt in argument. A Sith - impossible! They’ve been extinct for a thousand years.

This time, it’s Mace who needs to silence the chamber, and he’s not polite about it. "Will you all shut up, please." When he finally gets command of the room, Mace asks, "Master Jinn, over the years, you’ve made many outrageous reports, but a Sith? I think that one is going to be hard to swallow."

Qui-Gon sighs, bends down and opens the satchel. "Hope all of you have strong stomachs. Obi-Wan said that the Sith was a Dathomiri Zabrak." He pulls out the head and ignoring the horrified murmurs of the Council members, he offers it to Even Piell, who had scoffed the loudest and longest. "Here is the head of the Dathomiri Zabrak that attacked Knight Skywalker. And I know that while that’s not really proof positive that this is - was - a Sith, this is. The Sith’s weapon - the working half of a light-staff." That he hands over to Mace, who looks like he’s about to be sick.

"I think you can feel the Darkness screaming from the kyber, even without igniting it. That is why I know that this creature is a Sith - only Sith torture their kyber."

That shuts the Council up for a good long moment.

"Killed the Sith, you did?"

"Yes, Master Yoda. I cut the light-staff in half, and then cut the Zabrak’s head off, just a Obi-Wan's Vision commanded me to. "

"A very specific vision that was."

"And a very timely one. I ran back to the ship and Anakin was already fighting the Sith, wearing him down - but he was also getting worn down. Anakin pressed his attack and I cut the Sith’s head off, just as Obi-Wan told me I should."

The Councilors question Qui-Gon for what feels like hours, asking him questions for which he has no answers - especially about the Sith. Yoda, in particular, wants to know if he believes the Zabrak is the apprentice or the master.

"I don’t understand, Grandmaster."

"Always two there were, no more. One Master, one Apprentice. Rule of Bane that was."

Qui-Gon feels ill. "So now we have to find another Sith?"

"Or wait, reveal themself, the Sith will." Yoda says grimly.

Mace, however, puts a period on that conversation. "Both you and Knight Skywalker are to be commended, but there is clearly more to your report."

"Thank you, Master Windu.” Qui-Gon is drained “May I beg your mercy for brief respite before continuing?"

Mace nods and Qui-Gon excuses himself from the Council Chamber, everything suddenly catching up with him. The cool silence of the nearest 'fresher is a welcome respite, and he doffs his robes before washing his hands and face, soaking himself up to his elbows. Water splashes out of the basin and over the floor, and Qui-Gon can’t help but regret the waste. Yes, it will be recycled, but he thinks of Obi-Wan and Shmi, struggling to conserve every drop.

He hopes those two are doing well, and that it won’t be long until he can return to Tatooine and free them. The image of Shmi and Obi-Wan standing side by side in the bright morning sun as he’s about to leave them is etched in Qui-Gon’s memory. His heart aches for the pair, but especially that brilliant young man so cruelly cut off from the Force.

"Master Qui-Gon?" Reva, the Council padawan knocks on the door and calls out to him. "Are you well?"

"I’m fine. Please tell the Council I will be with them in a moment."

He dries his hands and face, fixes his hair and dons his robe before ensuring that he’s presentable. Once more into the gundark nest…

The Council is assembled and waiting for him. "Thank you, Masters, for your patience and consideration."

Yoda, the old troll, cuts right to the heart of things. "More about this young Obi-Wan we would like to hear."

"And I have much to tell about him, he is a rather singular young man, but there are other parts to this report I need to give you first, as they are important in the resolution of the Trade Federation blockade and the restoration of Queen Amidala to her throne."

Yoda grimaces, obviously annoyed, but nods for him to continue.

"With the Sith dead, we had a bit of a puzzle to sort out - where did he come from? I would venture to say he was an agent of the Trade Federation."

"Are you saying that the Trade Federation has allied with the Sith?" Agen Kolar asks.

"The Dark Side is powerful, but I don’t think a Sith just manifested on Tatooine, Master Kolar. Which is why I followed the Sith’s tracks and found his ship, about a klick away from the Nabooians. If the Sith hadn’t been so intent on murdering everyone up close and personal, he could have blown the Naboo cruiser to bits. The interceptor I found is incredibly advanced, with massive firepower, cloaking, and tracking capabilities.

Plo asks, "Where is this ship now?"

"On Naboo, Master Koon."

Qui-Gon can see the Councilors putting the pieces together. Half of them are looking at Mace, the rest of them are looking at Yoda.

Yoda nods. "Next what happened?"

He tells the Council that he flew the ship over to the Nabooian vessel so they could store the Sith’s corpse in it, and then he went back to Mos Espa to finish the negotiations for the part they needed to repair the Queen’s ship.

And to find out a bit more about Obi-Wan.

"Sabé and I were about to take the hyperspace generator back to the ship when our departure was delayed by a sandstorm. Obi-Wan and Shmi gave us shelter - "

Plo Koon interrupt him, "Did you say 'Shmi'? Tall woman, human, light-skinned, dark hair? Stern face?"

Qui-Gon shakes his head. "Master Koon, yes, this is the same Shmi you met on Nal Hutta twenty-five some-odd years ago, and yes, I know, and will you please let me relay my report as I need to?"

"Sorry, Master Jinn. Please continue."

"As Younglings, we are told that the Force works in mysterious ways, so not to put great stock in coincidence. But the entire mission, I cannot help but feel that the Force has been playing games with me. Shmi had asked me about my mission partner, she seemed unusually interested in him, and as Master Plo has already figured out, she is Shmi Skywalker, my former padawan’s birthmother."

Mace looks at his, one hand covering half his face. "So, you land on Tatooine, walk into a junk shop, meet a Force-sensitive young man who is instantly thrown into a Vision about a Sith, he tells you exactly how to kill the Sith. And when you go back, you get stuck in these peoples’ home, find out that that one of them is your former Padawan’s birthmother. Have I missed anything?"

"Yes, actually. The shop had the part we needed, in pristine condition. According to Anakin, the odds of that are almost infinitesimal. The Nabooian J-Type 327 has only been in production for five years, many of the parts are bespoke, manufactured in Theed, and only one ship has ever been scrapped. Also, it gets worse. Or better. Depending on your point of view."

"Tell us, you will, and stop dragging your report out like some holo-drama, please." Yoda thumps his stick on the floor.

"Yes, of course, Grandmaster. I convinced Obi-Wan to let me do a blood test - to get a DNA sample and check his m-count." Qui-Gon takes a deep breath. He is so not going to be believed. He takes the tester out of his belt pouch, checks the last reading, and yes, it still says what it said, and passes it to his grand-master.

"Master Yoda, will you please read the results to the Council."

If Qui-Gon hadn’t been quite so worn out, he just might have enjoyed seeing the little green troll turn a pale shade of yellow.

Mace prods him, "Well, Master?"

"Right, this cannot be." Yoda doesn’t take his eyes off the readout.

"If you scroll through the last five tests, you’ll see that all of them are within that range, give or take a few hundred points."

Yoda does as Qui-Gon suggests and nods, but his hands are shaking. "Never, in my lifetime not, in my own master’s lifetime not…"

Qui-Gon holds out his hand, "Do you want me to tell the Council?"

"No, no! I will." Yoda takes a deep breath, but his voice is shaky when he announces, "The readout says forty-four thousand and twenty. That is the midi-chlorian count for your Obi-Wan."

The Council room is dead silent.

Finally, Ki-Adi-Mundi asks, "Why did you leave him behind?"

Qui-Gon is prepared for this question. "Obi-Wan is a slave, and the last I checked, it is strictly against the Order’s rules to buy slaves, regardless of the situation, even if the slave is a Force-sensitive."

Mace rumbles, "Since when do you pay attention to the rules, Qui-Gon Jinn?"

"I wasn’t sure the Council wouldn’t send Obi-Wan back to Tatooine for my sins, regardless of his m-count." Qui-Gon glances at Yoda, who had once refused to intervene and allowed child soldiers to be sent prison in Hutt Space. His grand-master glares at him and pockets the reader.

"Besides, I did not have the means to make the purchase. It was only a matter of luck that I found a small amount of local currency in the Sith’s ship, enough to pay for the part. Tatooine is under Hutt control, the storekeeper wouldn’t take Republic credits." Qui-Gon isn’t mentioning the Hutt currency he’d left behind with Shmi and Obi-Wan. "And even if this Council amends its rules to permit the purchase of Obi-Wan, it will have a very hard time doing so. His owner is extremely attached to him.

"Watto the Toydarian is a degenerate gambler, and believes that Obi-Wan is his 'lucky piece'. According to both Shmi and Obi-Wan, Watto has prospered immensely in the two years since acquiring Obi-Wan - he never seems to lose in games of chance, his business deals all go his way, and his shop makes money, which is a hard thing in the rough edges of Mos Espa."

Master Koon nods. "Even with the Force-inhibitor collar, Obi-Wan's m-count is so high, he’s spilling a high concentration of the Light side wherever he lingers, which can be perceived as 'luck' or 'good fortune'. It would be possible to turn that luck, but one would have to keep this Watto away from Obi-Wan for quite a while. Weeks or months on end."

Qui-Gon frowns, this doesn’t sound like an easy task, or one that he’s going to be allowed to perform.

"We’d really like to hear how you managed to get the Trade Federation off of Naboo. The Chancellor has let me know that the Trade Federation made some rather unpleasant accusations about you and Knight Skywalker." Mace’s glare is epic. "I presume this is why Knight Skywalker is missing from this debriefing."

"I’m not surprised the Trade Federation is unhappy and has gone whining to the Chancellor like a whipped varactyl." That comment earns Qui-Gon a few chuckles, and even a small grin from Mace. Qui-Gon resumes his more formal stance and mission reporting tone. "When Sabé and I returned to the Nabooian ship the next morning after the sand storm had cleared, I found Knight Skywalker and Queen Amidala exploring the Sith’s interceptor, and Knight Skywalker was anxious to tell me of a plan he’d thought up in my absence. He wanted to use the interceptor to disable the Trade Federation’s illegal droid controller ship, which would immediately render all of the droids on the planet inoperable, then take out the combat ships over Naboo so Queen Amidala could land, rally her troops and arrest the Trade Federation representatives who had made themselves at home in Theed Palace, forcing their surrender and withdrawal."

Before any Council member can remind him about Jedi neutrality, Qui-Gon plays the recording of Anakin’s resignation.

Master Yoda nods. "The right thing, Skywalker did. But sad we are to lose a knight at the start of his journey."

"I am sad, too, to see my padawan leave the Order, but I think he will be far happier staying on Naboo. With the Queen. They have formed an emotional connection."

"Then the best path for him, perhaps this is. Told him, have you, about his mother?"

"No, Grand Master. I was waiting until after he made his formal resignation from the Order to the High Council. I didn’t want that to interfere with his actions over Naboo."

"Wise decision that is. Where is Anakin?"

"In his quarters, packing up his personal items to take back with him to Naboo."

"Please go and bring him to us. Commend him we will for his bravery on Tatooine. And for his sacrifice."

The Council Chamber doors close behind them and Anakin looks at him, his eyes large and a little damp.

"Are you all right, Padawan?"

Anakin purses his lips and takes a deep breath, his nostrils flaring. "Wow, that was a lot harder than the first time."

"You were caught up in the moment, back on Tatooine. You had Padmé at your side, too. And the heroics were still to come. There was a lot to worry about."

"Yeah, I guess so." Anakin heaves a sigh. "It’s strange. All my life, all I wanted to be was a Jedi knight, and then when I was faced with a choice - stay a Jedi and let Naboo suffer, or leave the Order and do my best to save them, the decision was easy. I hope you’re not disappointed in me, Master."

Qui-Gon smiles and rests a hand on Anakin’s shoulder. "I couldn’t be more proud of you. And make no mistake, the Council is proud of you, too. They’ve even allowed you to keep your lightsaber."

"I know, how wizard is that! I know I can’t wear it, but still…"

"They honor your sacrifice, and while you’ve left the Order, it’s a reminder that while you may have chosen your own path, one that’s not with the Jedi, you will always walk with the Light. You did the only thing you could in the circumstance."

Anakin sniffs and wipes his face. "Thank you, Master."

"I think it’s time you start calling me Qui-Gon." He holds his arms open and Anakin steps into his embrace.

"I’ll miss you, Master. And please don’t give me a lecture about attachment."

"I wouldn’t dream of is. And you know, there’s a marvelous thing called a communicator, it works very well, or so I’ve heard."

"Very funny, Qui-Gon."

Qui-Gon sighs. "Why don’t you come back to my quarters for a cup of tea? There’s a few things I’d like to discuss with you before you head back to Naboo."

"Is everything okay?"

Qui-Gon rolls his eyes and drags Anakin to the Council tower turbo-lifts. They manage the journey to his quarters in silence.

"Shall I make tea for you, Mas-, Qui-Gon? One last time?"

Qui-Gon shakes his head. "No, I think not. As fond as I am of you, Anakin, I’d rather not have the bitter-burnt taste of your tea-making as a last memory of our time together in the Temple."

"Very funny. The tea robot I made for you makes a perfectly brewed pot of tea."

Qui-Gon has to agree about that, but he really does prefer the ritual of boiling the water, packing the tea leaves in the ball, pouring the water over them, and waiting for the tea to steep just the right amount of time.

The sapir is brewed to perfections (or at least to Qui-Gon’s satisfaction), and he pours them each a cup. He looks at Anakin, feeling a mixture of loss and pride. "So, how do you feel now?"

Anakin takes a deep breath. "I feel … pretty all right. I’m actually happy."

"Good. That’s what I’d hoped you’d say." He looks at Anakin and there’s a warm glow about him, the Force is definitely pleased with the choice Anakin made.

"How did the Council take the news about Obi-Wan?"

Qui-Gon had told Anakin about Obi-Wan on the trip from Naboo back to Coruscant, only sharing details about the young man’s timely Vision about the Sith and about the Force-inhibiting collar that he’d been wearing for years. He hadn’t mentioned the astronomical m-count, and that’s a detail he won’t share, ever.

"They are intrigued."

"Do you think they’ll try to bring him back to the Temple?"

"It seems that way."

"Good, it isn’t right that any Force-sensitive should be left in slavery. Especially one who saved our lives."

Qui-Gon sips his tea and watches Anakin over the rim of his cup. His padawan has abandoned his tea in favor of exploring the room, stroking some of Qui-Gon's plants, touching the odd bits and pieces that Qui-Gon has collected over the years.

"I’m going to miss this place, I’m going to miss you." Anakin looks over at Qui-Gon and smiles at him.

"Come sit down, Anakin, there’s something I need to tell you, and I need you to listen before you react."

The smile slides from Anakin’s face. "What’s the matter, Master?"

How easily we slide back into the old patterns. Qui-Gon has been thinking hard on how to begin this discussion since they’d left Naboo, but there really isn’t an easy way to break this news. "Before I begin, please remember, the Force moves in mysterious ways."

"You’re making me nervous."

"Recall what I told you about the shop where I found Obi-Wan? He wasn’t alone there, there was another slave with him."

Anakin nods, "Right, you said there was an older woman."

"Her name is Shmi. Shmi Skywalker."

Anakin frowns, he looks puzzled, his brow furrows and his head tilts. "Skywalker, like me? Are we related?"

Qui-Gon has no idea how Anakin is going to take this news. As a young child, he had been prone to emotional outbursts, but had - like all Jedi Younglings - learned to control his emotions by the time Qui-Gon had chosen him as his Padawan. But there had been bumps along the way, ugly events that hadn’t been Anakin’s fault, that required some intensive time with Mind and Spirit Healers, and there still might be scars…

Qui-Gon stops beating around the bush and tells him. "She’s your birthmother, Anakin."

"My birthmother? She’s a slave?"

"I’m afraid so."

"That isn’t right, I mean - It isn’t right for anyone to be a slave. But - " Anakin’s distress radiates in the Force.

"Are you asking me why I left someone I know to be the birthmother of a Jedi knight in bondage?"

"Well, yes?" Anakin doesn’t sound sure of that.

"You know that Jedi cannot purchase slaves, regardless of the circumstances." Qui-Gon is gentler reminding Anakin than he was with the Council.

"Right, right - you would have bought that young man."

"I would have bought both Shmi and Obi-Wan if I could. But we were in the middle of a vital, time-sensitive mission. I had limited funds, and their owner wasn’t willing to part with Obi-Wan, and Shmi wasn’t willing to leave Obi-Wan."

"They are close?" Anakin sounds more curious than hurt, but there is still a bit of hurt in his tone.

"Yes, they are very protective of each other - which is to be expected in that environment."

Anakin nods, and he thinks for a bit before asking. "Does she know about me?"

"Yes. And she is so very proud of you, it was her greatest hope that you’d thrive and become a Jedi knight."

"And I guess she’d be disappointed that I’d left the Order."

"I doubt that. Shmi is proud you have done wonderful things with the life she gave you.”

Anakin lets out a deep sigh and nods.  "I want to meet her, I want to take her away from that awful planet.  I can do that now, I’m not a Jedi anymore, I’m not bound by those rules."

"No, you’re not, but there’s a few things you need to know.  I had to fight with Shmi to get her permission to tell you about her.  She didn’t want you to know about her.  She gave you up with no expectation of ever meeting you again, and while she had great hopes for you, she didn’t expect to learn if they’d be fulfilled.  Meeting you might be difficult for her, so you’ll have to temper your expectations - she may not greet you with open arms."

"I’m not exactly looking for a mother, Qui-Gon!  I’m just - "  Anakin stops, bites his lip and shrugs, "I don’t know what I’m looking for.  I was raised as a Temple child, blood parents are not something I ever wanted or missed.  But I feel like I have a duty to this woman who is still a slave!  She gave me to the Jedi and wanted me to have a better life, but she’s still suffering, and how can I call myself a Jedi - or once a Jedi - if I do nothing about that?"

"I understand."  Qui-Gon does, and he’s relieved.  He hadn’t expected Anakin to develop a sudden wealth of filial love for this unknown woman, but nothing is impossible.  "There is one thing you need to know and be careful about.  Shmi Skywalker’s son was born into slavery, and is believed dead.  You should not go to Tatooine and identify yourself as her child, it could present problems for you."

"Problems?"

"You could be taken as a slave, even though you are a citizen of the Republic. You are the child of a slave, absconded off-world. Returning to a planet under Hutt control and proclaiming your relation to Shmi Skywalker could hurt you badly."

The Force burns hot in anger, then quickly calms as Anakin controls his emotions. "I understand, and I’ll be very careful."

"That’s all I ask, Padawan. You are most dear to me, and I would hate to have to leave the Order to come rescue you."

"Master! That smacks of attachment!"

Qui-Gon shrugs. "Shhh, don’t tell your great-grand-master, all right?"

Chapter Text

We walked together, you and I,
like Abraham and his son Isaac.
But although we were a man and a woman,
and although we did not go to the sacrifice,
the knowledge of things still to happen
and the ignorance of what will befall
were close together, like lovers.

After that jaws of suitcases gaped open
and it turned out that what
we thought would be a few days of separation
became forever.

But since then there have remained between us
signs and special marks
like those exchanged by people who don’t know each
other
when they plan
to meet in places where they have never been.

We walked together, you and I By Yehuda Amichai with Ted Hughes

A Year After the Jedi Leave Tatooine

Time passes on Tatooine as it always does.

Slowly.

Except when it moves quickly - individual days that are filled with customers and errands for Watto, hauling in new inventory loads at all hours of the day and night, working for Cyral or other vendors in the Dash Market. Every once in a while, Obi-Wan sees Quinlan Vos. Their eyes meet, but Quin’s slides away, discomfort in every line of his body.

Cyral seems to know Quin, too. "What’s with that tall Kiffar? He doesn’t like you?"

Obi-Wan just shrugs. "I guess not."

"Hmm, don’t know how that’s possible. Meekah’s good people, and you, li’l Obi, are good people, too. All good people should be gettin’ along. Mebbe I need to have a discussion with that man."

"Eh, it’s all right. People can be good people and not be friends. Maybe Meekah doesn’t like red-heads?"

Cyral isn’t convinced. "Silly reason for not likin’ someone, but I’ll leave him alone 'bout this. Meekah will come to his senses one of these days."

The days turn to weeks and then to months, and it seems like a blink of an eye, Mos Espa is getting ready for the Boonta's Eve Classic again, and Obi-Wan gets a little twist in his belly.

In the weeks and early months after Qui-Gon had left Tatooine, Obi-Wan had no expectations of a swift return of the Jedi, his expectations had been tempered by his own secret experience. They’ll show up on their own time. And to his intense relief, Shmi doesn’t mention them either, although he can see a bit of longing in her eyes, yearning, perhaps, for her son.

He understands that yearning.

But when he realizes that it’s been more than a year, Obi-Wan can’t quite help but feel just the smallest bite of disappointment. Last time around, the waiting had been easier. He’d known he’d be stuck on Tatooine for the long haul, waiting for Luke to grow up. And despite the disgusting work he’d done over the years to keep himself alive, he’d never been a slave, tied to one place and subject to another being’s capricious whims.

At least now, Watto is rarely around, showing up one day in five, if that often. Sometimes, he’s gone for ten days, or two full moons, and that leaves them with a slightly unpleasant dilemma. What to do with the cashbox. The longer that Watto’s gone from the shop, the more customers like to spend. No one likes the old fly, that’s for certain.

One evening, after the doors are locked to customers, the two of them stare at the cashbox, so full it’s hard to keep shut.

"What are we to do with it?" Shmi bursts out, half in horror, half laughing.

"I don’t know. Has the old fly ever gone missing like this before?" Obi-Wan asks.

"No. A few days maybe, but never two weeks, not like this." Shmi dumps the box on the counter and starts sorting out the coins. "He should be grateful we’re so trustworthy. Anyone else would have robbed him blind."

"Maybe he’s dead? Maybe someone at Jabba’s court killed him?"

"Nah, Watto’s too tough. And besides, Jabba would have sent someone if that happened." Shmi continues to count out the wupiupi, stacking coins neatly so the box closes.

"It’s ridiculous, isn’t it?"

Shmi shrugs. "Watto must be making a fortune at the tables in Jabba’s palace to ignore this place for so long. But he’ll be back. And probably sooner than later."

Shmi’s words are prophetic. The old fly shows up the night before race day, in a euphoric mood.

Neither Shmi nor he say anything to Watto about his absence. They just turn over the cashbox, overflowing with money, to him, and Watto, surprisingly, never says a word about them cheating him or stealing from him. The old bug flies around the shop, humming to himself, his eyes too bright from the spice he’s ingested.

"Shop looks good. You two do a good job running this place while I’m gone. Make lots of dosh for me." Watto runs the coins through his fingers, then tosses a handful at them. "Nice that I can trust you." He empties the rest into his wallet, ignoring the coins that fall to the floor, and sags a bit from the weight of all the money.

"Wish your master luck, tomorrow’s the big race."

Shmi and Obi-Wan do just that, and Watto flies out.

They look at each other, bemused, puzzled, and Obi-Wan asks, "What just happened?"

"Don’t know, but I think it’s your magic, Obi. You make people like you, be kind to you - even that ragged old fly, who couldn’t be kind to his mother - if he even had a mother. I think you finally cracked him." She bends down and retrieves the spilled dosh - a half-peggat’s worth for each of them. "But don’t think it’ll last. He could come back tomorrow and be his old, mean self, ready to terminate us with a press of a button."

Later that evening, Obi-Wan again broaches an uncomfortable subject with Shmi.

"You really should think about buying your freedom."

"And where would I go?"

"Naboo." They keep having this argument, but this time, Obi-Wan is not dropping it so easily.

She smiles sadly and shakes her head. "No. Do you really think Anakin would want his old mother just showing up? He married the Queen of the Naboo, can you imagine how horrified he’d be when some ragged old slave woman arrives at the palace, claiming to be his mother?"

"I think you’re wrong." Obi-Wan doesn’t know the Anakin from this timeline, but he can’t imagine any Anakin turning his own mother away. "I wonder if Master Jinn didn’t tell Anakin about you - you had been so adamant about not meeting your son, maybe he thought it best not to tell him, to honor your original wishes."

Shmi sighs. "I suspect you’re right. And all the little gods in their heavens know that the stupid little girl with him would be horrified at the thought of her Queen marrying a man whose mother is a slave. She’ll certainly keep the secret."

Obi-Wan takes her hand, squeezing gently. "I still think you should consider it. You’re a skilled mechanic and could get your license on any world in the Republic. You don’t need to stay here."

"But I do, Obi-Wan." She looks at him like a raptor, sharply focused, intent. "I’m not leaving you alone. I know you’re strong, and I know that you have hope now, but I don’t want you to be alone. It would be too easy to lose that hope and fall into despair."

"You can’t put your life on hold for me."

"Oh, Obi - it’s my life. I can do with it what I want."

Obi-Wan just sighs and finally drops the subject.

The next morning is race day, the Boonta's Eve Classic, and Obi-Wan wonders if anything is going to happen. They open the shop as usual, and as usual on the holiday, there’s no traffic in this end of town — even the Dash Market is shuttered. But Watto has never let them take the day off, figuring there always might be a few coins to make from the racing teams looking for parts.

Shmi’s said it’s never happened in all her years working for the old fly, but hope springs eternal. Obi-Wan figures they’ll have a quiet day playing sabacc and doing nothing.

Around mid-afternoon, Shmi and Obi-Wan have finished their mid-meal and are going to waste the rest of the work day with a few hands of cards. Obi-Wan is about to shuffle the deck when the door opens and they both look up. Three people enter the shop, a Jedi, a well-armed guard by the uniform of the Naboo royal regiment, and Anakin Skywalker, dressed in the elegant linens and silks out of an aristocrat’s wardrobe.

The cards go flying out of Obi-Wan’s hands. His heart stutters at the sight of his padawan, so tall and beautiful and perfect. With two healthy arms made of flesh and blood and bone. A face unscarred, eyes bright blue.

Shmi gives him a curious look before getting up to greet the "customers". "Good day, gentle beings. How may we assist you?"

This Anakin is proving to be quite different from his padawan, he isn’t rushing to Shmi, for all that his excitement is vibrating so hard in the Force that even Obi-Wan, with that damned collar, can sense it.

"And good morning to you, gentle lady." Anakin says nothing else, he just stares at Shmi.

Obi-Wan picks up the sabacc cards and tries not to smile. This is so cute, it’s almost painful. The seconds pass and finally Shmi gets it.

"Anakin?"

He nods. "You’re my mother, aren’t you?"

"Oh, my beautiful boy, why have you come here?"

"I’ve come to free you - you shouldn’t be a slave. No one should be a slave." For just a second, Anakin shifts his gaze to Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan almost drowns in those blue eyes. There’s a gentleness there that he’d never seen in his padawan, a hurt too - like a loth-kitten left out in the rain. Unusual for a Jedi knight, even a former one.

Shmi reclaims his attention. "Don’t you know how dangerous it could be for you here?"

"Yes, and I’m not without protection. And Master Qui-Gon explained things. If anyone asks, we’re cousins."

Obi-Wan is glad to see that this version of Anakin has learned a little discretion.

Shmi takes her son out to the yard to talk privately, and the Naboo guard follows as far as the doorway, to keep an eye on them.

That leaves Obi-Wan alone with the Jedi, and it takes a moment for him to recognize her - she’s a much younger version of the famed archivist, Arsu H’syan.

In his first life, Master H’syan had been the Chief Librarian before Master Nu’s appointment, and like her successor, her contributions to the Great Archive had been too numerous to catalogue, but her great love had been collecting and preserving data from abandoned Jedi temples. Qui-Gon had told him that when he’d had needed to earn his rank as a Senior Padawan, Master H’syan had sent him on a mission to recover song-scrolls stolen from the Corellian Temple. Obi-Wan, as a Senior padawan, had consulted with her on a research project in one of those rare moments he’d been in Temple. He’d never finish the project and Master H’syan had passed into the Force during that long year when he’d been protecting the Mandalorian duchess.

So, this is just another example of how the Force has twisted the timeline.

"May I get you anything, Master Jedi?"

"I’m a just a knight. Arsu H’syan, at your service. And no, I’m fine. Are you Obi-Wan?"

"Yes, Knight H’syan, Obi-Wan Kenobi, at your service." He bows, a perfect padawan obeisance. He can’t quite help himself.

Knight H’syan frowns at him. "You do that rather well. Are you sure you weren’t stolen from the Temple?"

Damn, that was foolish. "Very certain."

"Hmm." Knight H’syan wanders around the shop, exploring the stacks of parts that Obi-Wan so painstakingly created, her gaze occasionally going to the entrance to the junkyard and the guard watching over Anakin.

"Why are you here? Babysitting the Naboo queen’s husband?"

Knight H’syan gives him a curious look. "How do you know who he is?"

Damn, damn, damn. "I listen to the Holonet. I’d heard about the resignation of Knight Skywalker from the Jedi Order and his marriage to the Queen of Naboo."

"Ahhh. You are a most clever young man, and you seem to have an answer for everything, Ser Kenobi." Knight H’syan is obviously irritated with him.

"And you haven’t answered my question." The best defense is a good offense, in lightsaber combat, negotiation, and interrogation.

"I have instructions from the High Council to tender an offer for you."

"Don’t be disappointed when Watto laughs in your face and tells you to get out."

"The Council has placed a rather high value on you, for some reason."

Wow, could Knight H’syan’s dislike for him and her mission be more obvious? "Which they’ve declined to share with you?"

"It’s not my place, Ser Kenobi, to enquire into the reasonings of the High Council. If they wish me to go against the well-established rules of the Order and procure a slave, far be it from me, a lowly Knight, to question such decisions."

"Really?" Obi-Wan is thoroughly disappointed at this version of Arsu H’syan, and he lets that take control of his tongue. "If buying a slave is illegal for the Jedi, you should be questioning that. Blindly following orders you know to be wrong is the path to fascism, dictatorship, war crimes, the slaughter of innocents, and so many other crimes. You’re committing an illegal act because you’re just doing what this so-called High Council told you to do so? What kind of 'superior order' banthashit defense is that? I thought the Jedi were better than that. Are they the guardians of peace and justice only when it’s convenient?"

Knight H’syan stares at him and Obi-Wan shuts his mouth. Where in all the Sith Hells did that rant come from? Probably from three years of fighting an unwinnable war using child soldiers as canon fodder.

Instead of arguing or getting defensive, Knight H’syan concedes the point. "You’re right, I should have demanded more information before agreeing to this mission, knowing it violates Jedi rules. But I didn’t, and when I return, I will register my concerns in my mission report and before the High Council, even if it means spending the next decade collecting fragments of old books in abandoned Jedi temples."

"I don’t think it will come to that. No matter how much dosh you’ve got to offer, Watto’s not going to sell me. The point is moot."

"You know, you argue like a High Councilor."

"That doesn’t sound like a compliment, Knight H’syan."

"No, Ser Kenobi, it wasn’t."

Obi-Wan might argue like a High Councilor, but apparently Shmi and Anakin go at it like a pair of Kowakian monkey-lizards high on spice.

You have to come with me!  You can’t stay here.  Anakin shouts.

Obi-Wan pinches the bridge of his nose.  He can picture the expression on his padawan’s face.  No, Anakin is not his padawan, no matter how much he sounds like him in this moment.

"And yelling at me won’t make me change my mind."  For the first time in all their years together, Obi-Wan hears Shmi raise her voice in anger.  Well, maybe every Anakin has a way of doing that?

Obi-Wan should be more generous.  A young man meeting his mother for the first time, wanting to rescue her, and the mother being bantha-stubborn about her rescue.

The voices moderate, but Obi-Wan can still feel a too-familiar anxiety brewing in the Force. He can also feel Shmi’s frustration. Why is it that the kriffing inhibitor-collar lets him feel these things but doesn’t let him access the Force directly?

That’s a question for another day, because this situation can’t go on.

He ignores the look from Knight H’syan and shakes off the attempt from the guard to stop him, and marches out into the yard to negotiate a cease-fire.

Poor Anakin is red in the face, and it’s not just the heat from the suns.  Shmi isn’t doing too much better.  First step is a change of venue.

"Will both of you idiots come inside?  It seems like the suns have boiled your brains."

The Skywalkers follow him back into the shop like a pair of eopies expecting dinner and a rubdown after a long day at work.  If only his Anakin had been this docile.

They stare at him, blinking in the sudden dimness, and Obi-Wan shakes his head.  "What are you arguing about?"  Of course he knows, but he still needs a starting point in this negotiation.

Of course, both Skywalkers start talking at once.

He points at Shmi.  "You first."

"I told you, don't want to move to Naboo."  She crosses her arms over her chest, looking far too much like her son.

"We've talked about this, Shmi - hasn't Anakin's presence here proven that your worries are moot?  That you'll be welcome on Naboo?"

"Mom, of course you'd be welcome!  I want you there, and Padmé can't wait to meet you."

Shmi shakes her head.  "No, no.  You and her majesty are too grand for the likes of me."

"Mom, that's not true, I told you we want you with us."  There's way too much hurt in Anakin's voice for Obi-Wan to bear.

"Shmi, you have a chance at a better life.  A real life, freedom.  With someone who cares about you."  Obi-Wan knows why Shmi is fighting this.  He needs her to say it, so he can kill it, gently, kindly.

"And what about you?" Shmi looks at him, her face set, determination in every line of her posture.  "Who will take care of you?"

"I can take care of myself."  Obi-Wan pushes every bit of will he has into those words.  Anakin steps back, so does the guard, but Shmi just shakes her head, stubborn as she always is.

"You're just a boy, Obi-Wan, with a collar that strangles your magic and a bomb in your spine.  You know Watto will never let you go until you stop bringing him luck, and the day that happens, he's going to press the button and kill you because you won't matter to him any more."

"So you'd better not be here to see that."  He smiles at Shmi.  "Get out while the going is good."  Obi-Wan thinks of Ahsoka, who had broken his heart by leaving the Jedi, but that leaving had saved her life.

"No, I won’t leave you, Obi-Wan."

"Not even for your son?"

Shmi looks over at Anakin and shakes her head.  "I gave up my baby so he could have a better life, and he now has a life I couldn't possible dream of.  You, Obi-Wan, are the child of my heart now. How can I abandon you?"

"But I’m not your child, Shmi.  You’ve been my dearest friend, and helped me through some terrible moments, and you’ve made this life bearable, but you have to go now. I'm grateful for everything you've done for me, and always will.  But it's time for you to live your life."

Shmi is relentless, "And leave you here, with that old fly?"

"If that’s my fate, yes. Yours is different now."

Shmi shakes her head, "No. No.  I’m not going."

Too familiar with the stubbornness of Skywalkers, Obi-Wan needs to do an end run around Shmi with her son.  Ignoring Shmi’s glare, he asks, "Ser Anakin, can I speak with you?  Out in the yard?"

The younger Skywalker jumps when he realizes that Obi-Wan’s addressing him directly.  "Sure, of course.  But it’s hot out there."

"I know, but it’s not like there’s anyplace else we can talk."  Obi-Wan manages not to roll his eyes.

"Oh, yeah.  Right."  He follows Obi-Wan out into the yard, and to the shade under the canopy over Shmi’s workbench.

"What’s up."

"Do you really what Shmi with you on Naboo?"

"Of course!  She’s my mother." Anakin’s sincerity shines through.

Obi-Wan still presses at him, he can’t quite help himself. "You’re a Jedi, I didn’t think Jedi put too much stock in birth-familial relationships."

"They don’t, but I’m not a Jedi anymore, and well, my wife’s family is really great and they keep asking me about my family.  And I can’t really bear the idea of my own birthmother being a slave."  Anakin’s words peter out with sadness, but then he picks up steam again.  "I mean, I don’t know her, except from what Master Qui-Gon told me.  She seems very nice, and I like that she’s devoted to you. It speaks well of her as a person."

"And it speaks well of you that you want her freedom."

"I want your freedom, too, just so you know.  Master Qui-Gon told me that you saved his life - and mine. That you had a vision and you’re a Force-sensitive. You should be at the Temple, not here. I’ve brought a lot money with me - took a bit of doing to get Hutt currency."

"Knight H’syan is supposed to try and buy me, too."

"Oh, great.  Maybe between the two of us we can make an offer that Watto can’t refuse."

"I’d be very surprised if Watto went for it."  Obi-Wan wonders if perhaps the old bug’s greed will get the better of him, and then realizes that Watto will never give him up, not as long as he’s the winning at the pod races and the gambling tables.  "But look, your mother should be your priority, don’t give a second thought about me. Shmi, she’s as stubborn as a bantha with a sick calf.  You’re not going to convince her to let you buy her freedom."

Anakin rolls his eyes.  "I had the feeling you were going to say that, so what am I supposed to do, just buy her despite her objections?"

"Yes."

"Seriously?"

Obi-Wan realizes what has to be done. "As a sandstorm.  When Watto comes in, tell him you’re her long-lost nephew or cousin, and you need to take her back to her family.  Bargain with Watto directly - he doesn’t like Shmi.  Offer him a lot of money, and most importantly, don’t listen to your mother when she cuts up a fuss."

"What about you?"

Obi-Wan shakes his head, "Don’t worry about me. Don’t get involved - it might go badly for Shmi. Let the Jedi make the offer - it’s going to get rejected anyway. You need to focus on your mother. Make your offer, don’t worry about getting a bargain with Watto, and when you have a deal, make sure you get her slave controller box. Then leave and don’t look back.  Take her to the house.  I’ll be there to say goodbye as soon as I can."

Anakin pouts just a bit. "I’m not really a big fan of overriding anyone’s autonomy."

"You’re also not a Jedi anymore.  If you want your mother off this hellscape of a planet, you’ll follow my plan.  Otherwise, you’ll be arguing with her until the oceans come back and the forests regrow."

"You know, you sound a lot like Master Windu."

"Who?" Obi-Wan is laughing to himself.

"Never mind."

They go back inside, only to find that Watto’s just returned. He’s a very happy bug, all his bets have paid off. Knight H’syan is doing her best to fade into the background, and Shmi is letting Watto fly around the shop giggling like a R2 droid who has just stuck a probe into the wrong kind of port.

"Ah, there’s my lucky charm." Watto flings a handful of dosh at him, before noticing Anakin. "Who’s this?"

"It’s a good day for Shmi, too. This is her cousin, Lord Aravel Skywalker, husband to the Queen of Naboo." Obi-Wan isn’t sure if Watto knows Shmi’s child’s name (he doubts it), but why take that risk?

Watto stops his spinning and stares at them. "And I’m the King of Toydaria."

"I’m serious, Watto. That Jedi who was here last year, the one who bought that speeder engine just before that sandstorm? He was friends with some other Skywalkers, and one Skywalker tells another, and it seems that Shmi’s family has been searching for her for a long time."

"So what, they want to buy the old witch’s freedom?"

Anakin steps up, "Yes, we do."

"How much do you want to pay?"

Before Anakin makes an offer, Obi-Wan steps in. "Watto, you know that’s not how this works. You tell the good gentle-being your price, and he makes a counter-offer." From the corner of his eye, he can see Shmi turn red with anger, but she doesn’t interfere.

"Two hundred peggat! Not one wupiupi less."

Anakin grins and slaps his hand down on the counter, signaling the deal’s been accepted. "Done."

Watto frowns, for just a second. Then he realizes that he’s accomplished two things. He’s made a lot of money and he’s gotten rid of a slave he’s despised for a very long time. "Done!"

The guard hands over a box and Anakin takes out two neatly wrapped rolls of currency. Watto, being Watto, painstakingly inspects each coin before finalizing the deal.

Obi-Wan is surprised that Shmi isn’t raising a stink, but she’s definitely seething.

"Her controller, if you will."

Watto plucks something off of his belt and tosses it to Anakin, who catches it with a Jedi’s reflexes. "Here you go, and good luck with that."

Anakin looks at Obi-Wan, who tilts his head at the door. He understands and takes Shmi out, although she’s spitting mad and won’t let him touch her. The guard follows.

Soon enough it’s just Watto, Obi-Wan, and Knight H’syan.

"A pleasant evening to you, Watto. I am Arsu H’syan, Knight of the Jedi Order."

Watto jumps almost to the rafters.

"What in all the swamps of Toydaria! Have you been here all along?"

"Yes, and I am sorry for not introducing myself before." Knight H’syan does a good job of groveling to the right degree.

"What do you want? And whatever it is, it’s going to cost you." The spice seems to have worn off and Watto is back to his old, bad tempered, aggressive self.

"I’m looking to purchase some labor."

""Mmm." Watto flies around the Jedi, eyeing her suspiciously. "Didn’t think you Jedi had much interest in slaves. Thought you were all about justice and compassion and useless poodoo like that."

"Sometime the rules need to be bent when the circumstances are dire. My ship is buried in the sand, I need a strong back."

"Well, you’re too late for buying a slave. You should have spoken up before that fancy Skywalker bought his auntie, or cousin, or whatever."

"Yes, I guess that is a pity." Knight H’syan walks over to Obi-Wan and looks him over. "This one looks strong. What about him?"

"No, no - Obi-Boy is not for sale. Not at any price."

"Not even five hundred peggat?"

"You Jedi just happen to have that much dosh on you?"

"I might."

"Hmm, no."

"A thousand peggat."

"I said, no. And get out. Obi-Wan isn’t for sale. You’ll have to take your lightsaber and cut my head off first." Watto sticks out his chin and dares her to do just that.

Knight H’syan purses her lips and steps back.

"Ah, thought so. You Jedi, you don’t have the guts to go after what you really want. And I guess you don’t want my lucky charm that bad, do you."

"No, I don’t need to kill anyone to dig out my ship. I’ll just wait until tomorrow and find someone in the Dash Market." She bows to Watto and to Obi-Wan and walks out.

The door closes with an emphatic snick and it feels like all of the air has left the shop.

"Well, Obi-Boy, it’s going to be just the two of us. How do you feel about that?"

"A little sad, sir. I’m going to miss Shmi."

Watto frowns at him. "Never understood what you saw in that old witch, but I have to say she knows her machines. Hope you know your machines, too. You’re gonna need to, to keep this place up. No slacking just because you’re working alone now."

"Of course not." There’s just the right touch of subservience in his voice to keep the old fly happy. And it does. “Watto, sir, may I go now? I’d like to say goodbye to Shmi before she leaves Tatooine."

Watto waves him off and Obi-Wan heads home. He’s about ten steps from the shop and he feels a shadow trailing him. It’s Knight H’syan. He doesn’t stop, and she follows him back to the small house in the slave quarters where Anakin’s guard is waiting outside.

From halfway down the block, Obi-Wan can hear the two Skywalkers arguing and sighs. He can already feel the headache pounding.

Obi-Wan has one just foot over the threshold when Shmi turns on him. "How could you!" Her face is red and tearstained. "I didn’t want this."

He stares at her for a good long moment, trying to feel bad about his highhanded behavior. All he can feel is an uncanny sense of déjà vu - his padawan screaming at him for some slight, or worse …

So he lies. "Shmi, I didn’t want to tell you because I didn’t want to frighten you, but I’ve been having dreams. Bad ones. Real ones. You, dying in the desert. Watto pushing the button on your controller. Tuskens raiding the slave quarters and taking you. Why do you think I’ve been pushing you to go off-world? Because I want this palace all to myself? Because I want to be alone? Because I’m fed up with you?" He thinks of his own Anakin, confused by those terrible dreams, and his of own stupidity in ignoring Anakin’s bewildered pain. He pushes those feelings out into the world, and everyone in the room visibly reacts.

"Oh, Obi - why didn’t you say something?"

"Because - " He shakes his head. "They are just dreams. And I understand about being afraid. But you have to go, Shmi. Save yourself now. Have a good life. You’re going to have grandchildren someday, don’t you want to watch over them?"

Obi-Wan can see that idea take root, and he actually asks Anakin, "You are planning on having children?"

"Oh, yeah. Padmé wants at least two. And they’ll need both of their grandmothers. You and me, we’re gonna build the best nursery droids on Naboo - right?"

Shmi shakes her head and sighs. "All right, all right. But I’m not forgiving you for your high-handed tactics so easily. Maybe you should have talked to me?" Her glare at Obi-Wan is just slightly less murderous than before. He can live with her ire.

"I’m sorry." He tries looking contrite. It was never a skill he’d been very good at.

But this time, it seems to work. Shmi’s aggravation melt like ice left out in the Tatooine afternoon, and she enfolds Obi-Wan in a tight hug. "I’m going to miss you."

"And I’m going to miss you, too. Very much." That’s the absolute truth.

Shmi asks her son, "Do you have an extra comm unit? I want to be able to stay in touch with Obi-Wan, to make sure he’s all right."

Anakin screws up his face and then turns to the guard. "Can I have your comm?"

"Sir, I don’t think that’s a good idea."

"There’s a comm in the speeder and there are spares on the ship. Please, may I have your comm." He holds out his hand and makes that universal give-me gesture. The guard sighs and hands him the unit. It takes Anakin a minute of fiddling to reprogram it and then he links it to his own comm unit before handing it to Obi-Wan. "Don’t hesitate to call me if you need anything, and I mean it."

"Thank you, Anakin. You’ve been very …" Obi-Wan fumbles for the right word, but before he can come up with the right one, Anakin wraps him in a tight hug.

"Stay safe, little brother."

You were my brother… The words hit Obi-Wan like a knife in the belly, but he manages to control his emotions, just barely. "Why are you calling me that?"

"When Master Qui-Gon takes you as a padawan, we’ll be padawan-brothers."

His head almost too full of emotion, Obi-Wan says, still stupid with feeling, "I always wanted a brother."

Anakin’s quirky grin is so beautiful, so familiar. "I did, too. There’s a story there, maybe someday Master will tell you about it."

Obi-Wan breathes deep, trying to compose himself, before turning to Shmi. "You’re going on a great adventure. Someday, you’ll tell me all about it."

She touches his cheek. "I’m looking forward to that day. I love you, Obi-Wan Kenobi. I trust you to take care of yourself, and to never give up hope."

"I won’t, I promise." He hugs her and lets her go. This is too hard, really. He can’t watch them leave.

"Ser Kenobi?"

Damn, he’d forgotten about Arsu H’syan. He wipes his eyes and bows to the Jedi. "May the Force be with you."

"Before I leave, I have something for you." She pulls a leather case out of her pack. "Master Jinn requested that I give these to you if my mission wasn’t successful."

"What’s in here?"

"I don’t know, Master Jinn didn’t tell me."

Obi-Wan takes the package and sets it down on the table. He’s still slightly annoyed with Arsu. "You really did a piss-poor job of negotiating."

She grins at him, and Obi-Wan is startled at how much younger she looks. "I know. You did a magnificent job tearing a strip out of me, and I deserved it, but what I didn’t tell you was that the High Council told me that I shouldn’t press the issue. Make the offer, double it, but if the Toydarian is adamant, I’m not to go overboard. I have a feeling that is just a feint, that there’s another operation in the works. I think I was sent mostly to backup the Naboo in case things got sticky for Skywalker."

"Oh." Obi-Wan feels a little foolish, now.

"And you are still right. I’ll make my report, registering my concerns about violating Jedi rules on purchasing sentients."

There’s a rude noise from the street, someone’s leaning on a speeder horn."

"I have to go. May the Force be with you, Obi-Wan Kenobi."

"And may the Force be with you, Knight Arsu H’syan."

She bows deeply to him and leaves Obi-Wan alone for the first time in a lifetime.

He wanders around the hovel, trying to process the events of the day and all of his emotions. The sadness at Shmi’s departure is going to ache for a good long while. He’d been working on it, wanting to get her to go to Anakin since he’d heard Anakin had left the Jedi, but hadn’t expected it to happen so abruptly. It’s good and he has no regrets at pushing her out the door, but still…

Obi-Wan takes the flask of water from the conservator and pours himself a half-cup, sipping slowly. The hut is too quiet, and it’s too early to climb onto the roof to catch the signal from Starlight Beacon. Then his eyes land on the case that Arsu handed to him, the gift from Qui-Gon. He’s almost afraid to open it.

The leather is lovely and soft, something to be treasured, and so typical of an item from the Jedi stores. He can hear Qui-Gon explaining to the Quartermaster, "It’s part of a gift…"

Obi-Wan takes a deep breath, releases his anxieties into the Force, and opens the case.

There’s a comm unit with a holo-emitter and a half-dozen data pads, each with the imprint of the Jedi Order on the back of the screen.

Oh, Master, this is a rather princely gift.

Obi-Wan touches the power-on button for the comm unit and it lights up, glowing in the dimness of the shabby hovel’s main room. A blue light flashes slowly, indicating a waiting message. He presses the message play button.

"Hello, Padawan -

Chapter Text

And it is written that we should not fear.
And it is written also that we should not change, like words,
like past and future,
in the plural and in the loneliness.

If with a bitter mouth  (fragment)

by Yehuda Amichai

Translated by Robert Alter

Qui-Gon bows to the High Council and leaves the chamber. Another somewhat successful mission, another mild rebuke for his unorthodox methods, another set of blank faces when he inquires about the investigation into the Sith he’d killed on Tatooine. And more importantly, their progress on freeing Obi-Wan from the Toydarian.

And so life, like the Force, goes on. Yet, dissatisfaction is like a pebble in his boot, a grain of sand under his belt, a flickering shadow on a sunny afternoon.

He knows what the problem is. He’s lonely.

Before Tatooine, he’d been thinking about taking another padawan, even going so far as to drop in on the Initiate classes to see if there were any suitable candidates. A few months after Anakin’s knighting, Adi Gallia had suggested a promising young Human girl with a bright, questioning mind, and while Qui-Gon had thought her capable and full of potential, she hadn’t quite clicked with him.

Master Yoda had just nodded and said, "Choosing the right padawan, an easy task it is not."

Now, of course, Qui-Gon is grateful he hadn’t selected Siri Tachi as his new learner, but he is still feeling frustrated and unfulfilled. When will the damn Council get off their collective asses and free Obi-Wan?

He needs to get out of the High Council Tower and find a quiet garden in the Room of a Thousand Fountains to meditate on this lack of serenity. Which is why he keeps pressing the call button for the tower elevator, as if that would summon it any quicker.

Finally, the door opens with whoosh, and to his shock, Knight Arsu H’syan steps out, nearly crashing into him.

"Excuse me. Oh, Master Jinn!" She bows, the obeisance smooth. "My apologies, I was caught up in my own thoughts."

Qui-Gon has to laugh. "I have to say the same. I think it’s a common affliction for those coming and going from the High Council chamber.

Knight H’syan nods. "Quite true, either one is preoccupied with the words about to be spoken, or mulling over the words just said, wishing for more eloquence or less temper."

"Exactly." Qui-Gon takes a breath and asks. "Tell me, were you able to deliver my gift?"

She nods. "Yes, and I must say, Ser Kenobi is quite the extraordinary young individual. Not at all what I had expected."

Qui-Gon grins. "No, he isn’t, is he."

"When you told me that he was fifteen years old and a slave, I was expecting an angry snot-nosed brat, someone pissed off that no one hadn’t come to free him yet. What I found - " Knight H’syan shakes her head. "Was someone who argued like a High Councilor. He dressed me down like a Teaching Master giving me a failing grade, but he had the patience and wisdom of a Jedi Sage when dealing with Anakin and his mother."

Qui-Gon rocks back on his heels, infinitely pleased by the young knight’s report. "What did Obi-Wan do?"

"For starters, he took me to task for trying to buy him on Council’s orders. I should have questioned any assignment that violated the core tenets of Jedi law, even if the assignment was expected to fail."

"He argued against his own interests?"

"Most convincingly. I told him it was not my place to question the High Council and he looked at me like I was a pile of freshly dropped banthashit. I can even remember his exact words. 'If buying a slave is illegal for the Jedi, you should be questioning that. Blindly following orders you know to be wrong is the path to fascism, dictatorship, war crimes, the slaughter of innocents, and so many other crimes. You’re committing an illegal act because you’re just doing what this so-called High Council told you to do so? I thought the Jedi were better than that. Are they the guardians of peace and justice only when it’s convenient?’"

Qui-Gon rocks back on his heels, shocked and absolutely delighted. "He really is quite extraordinary, isn’t he?"

"To put it mildly."

"And is he all right?"

"He seems to be, for all that he’s a slave on an Outer Rim planet under the control of the Hutts." Reva, the Council Padawan on duty approaches, telling Knight H’ysan that the Council is ready for her. "Since I’m going to be dressing down the Council for this assignment, our paths may not cross again for a while, Master Jinn. I’ll probably be sent on some terminally boring assignment for the next five years. It has been a pleasure. I’ll send you a complete report of my encounter with Ser Kenobi after I finish with the High Council. May the Force be with you."

Qui-Gon bows to the young knight. "And may the Force be with you, always, Arsu H’syan."

While the encounter with Knight H’syan improves Qui-Gon’s state of mind about Obi-Wan, he’s still unable to find his emotional center, despite two hours of meditation in his favorite garden.

The needs of the body drive him to his feet and back to his quarters, where he finds a decently stocked kitchen. Even though it’s been over two years since Anakin’s been knighted, he hasn’t quite forgotten the necessary habits of being a Master caring for a padawan, and it only takes a minute to send a message to the Quartermaster asking for a restock while in transit back to the Temple.

The conservator reveals a container of stew, plenty of fresh veg, a loaf of bread, a block of butter and one of cheese - perfectly satisfactory for supper. He sets the stew to reheat, chops up some of the vegetables to brighten the standard commissary fare, and slices some of the bread and cheese as an accompaniment.

The only thing missing is a padawan to set the table and discuss the day’s events. But that will come soon enough.

So Qui-Gon hopes.

He lingers over the meal, catching up on the doings of the Temple via the newsletter on his data pad. Four knightings in the last month, twenty-seven Initiates have been selected as Padawans, his old friend, Micah Giiett has been appointed to lead the Council of First Knowledge, replacing Jocasta Nu, who has resigned to focus on running the Archive. The newsletter also mentions several new scholarly publications that are now available and in general circulation, the replication of the contents of the Corellian Archives have been completed after starting almost exactly two-hundred Standard years ago. And the newsletter ends with the same closing note that’s appeared in every edition for the last three hundred some-odd years: the Jedi Genetics Bank is still hoping someone might find a mate for Lonesome Lughashe, the massive, long-lived Force-sensitive Testudinoidial that has been living by itself in the Temple’s zoologic park for the last five-hundred years.

Qui-Gon smiles. The Temple newsletter hasn’t changed since he was an Initiate. Probably since his master had been an Initiate.

Although, it would be a stretch to say, since his Grandmaster had been an Initiate. The Order and the Temple were quite different when Master Yoda had been young.

With that thought, Qui-Gon shakes his head. Contemplating the distant past isn’t something he’s up for this evening. The negotiations on Jabiim had been lengthy, difficult, and ultimately, not as successful as hoped for.

As a non-Republic world, the Order has little influence over Jabiim, but the Senate had put together a package of incentives that Chancellor Valorum hoped might lead the consortium of mining companies to abandon their reliance on slave labor and join the Republic. The offer wasn’t rejected, but taken under "consideration" until the next convocation of mine owners. No fixed date for that event had been set, and Qui-Gon departed Jabiim with a polite bow, knowing full well that the mine owners are not going to give up on their slave labor - not without greater incentive from the Republic.

Tired and just glad to be back in the Temple for the foreseeable future, he dumps his dinner dishes in the sink, rinses them off, and fills the tea kettle for an evening brew. There’s three months worth of recorded holo-dramas to watch, a well-broken-in couch, and a comfortable blanket to snuggle under.

Even Jedi are entitled to their creature comforts. Qui-Gon smiles at a memory of Master Yan religiously tuning into The Wild Sons of Serenno, a long-running holo-drama that had been based on an ancient myth about two feuding brothers from his home world on the Outer Rim. To the best of his knowledge, that particular drama is still in production, and Master Yan is still watching it even on Mandalore.

Qui-Gon’s tastes lean to more modern tales, heavier on the interpersonal strife rather than the expensive costumes and turgid poetic dialogue. One of his favorites is Between the Darkness and the Dawn, a silly bit of fluff about a Judicial officer in love with his criminal informant, who is constantly getting them both into deep poodoo.

Tea brewing, he checks the recorder, and to his delight, there are seven episodes waiting for him. He’s about to settle down with the tea and a packet of ginger biscuits when he notices the message waiting light blinking on the suite’s comm unit.

Most people will contact him on his personal comm unit, the one he carries with him everywhere, but there are a few who like the niceties of leaving a message with a holo-transmission. His former padawan, Anakin, is one of them, especially since he now has the means to do so.

Qui-Gon sighs, scoops the tea ball out of the pot, drops the cozy on it to keep it warm, and presses play on the comm unit.

As expected, the first message is from Anakin.

Hello, Master Qui-Gon, I hope this message finds you well. Anakin bows, as if he’s standing before the Council, the little shit.

When he straightens, even in the flickering blue light of the holo-transmission, it’s clear that Anakin is exceedingly happy. "I’ve just returned from Tatooine and, well, I’ve met my birth mother. And freed her. Padmé was very finally able to help me obtain the rest of the funds for that. It was a very weird thing, to buy a sentient - especially my own mother. And let me tell you, she was very unhappy about the whole process. She didn’t want to leave Tatooine - you were right about her being very attached to young Obi-Wan. She fought me every step of the way."

"We might still be arguing if not for that singular young man and his suggestion on how to pry Shmi loose from that old Toydarian. I’ll tell you about that when we have a chance to talk."

He pours a cup of tea and listens to Anakin as he burbles on about his mother, about Padmé and her many perfections, about the rebuilding of Theed. He’s been tasked to take the lead with working with the Gungans, the sentient natives who live in technologically advanced aquatic biospheres, but traditionally have been distrustful of the human colonizers of Naboo.

Qui-Gon listens with half an ear, paying more attention to the tone of his padawan’s voice, noting how happy and content he sounds, rather than Anakin’s actual words.

"Please comm me when you get back from whatever mission the Council’s sent you on. I’d love to talk with you. May the Force be with you. Skywalker out.

Qui-Gon makes a note to send Anakin a message, arranging for a holo-call at a mutually convenient time. He drains the rest of the tea and is about to turn in when the "message waiting" flashes again.

Surprised, Qui-Gon presses the play button. The holo-emitter does not light up, and the audio quality is dubious.

"Master Jinn, this is Obi-Wan Kenobi."

Qui-Gon hits the pause button and then the replay, not sure he’s heard correctly.

"Master Jinn, this is Obi-Wan Kenobi."

Yes, he did.

"I hope you don’t mind that I’ve contacted you. I wanted to thank you for your gift. Knight H’syan delivered it several days ago, and I have been enjoying the lessons you’ve composed with great relish, particularly the ones on Galactic History."

Qui-Gon stares at the comm unit, still not sure how he’s hearing young Obi-Wan’s voice from an impoverished Outer Rim planet like Tatooine.

"The funds you left behind have been put to good use, and I’ve managed to scrounge up parts for a long-range antenna. Mos Espa is on a direct line of sight to the Eiram Sector and the Starlight Beacon, so not only am I able to catch the signals boosted from the Core, I’ve been able rig a transponder that will decode and travel on the Station’s inbound frequencies. I was able to route this call to the Jedi Temple on Coruscant, and the main communications center forwarded me to your comm unit in your quarters. I identified myself as a colleague with similar interests in history. My comm window is small, but it’s possible that with luck, we might actually be able to talk in real time. If you’d like that." Obi-Wan sounds almost heartbreakingly diffident about that

Qui-Gon actually claps in delight, like a Youngling promised a special treat. "Oh, Padawan, that would be a thrill." He presses the play button and lets the rest of the message play out.

"Master Qui-Gon, words are insufficient to express my gratitude for your gift. Even if it is my fate to remain on Tatooine for the rest of my life, I will take strength from your kindness and compassion. May the Force be with you always. Obi-Wan Kenobi, out."

It is infinitely difficult not to go down to the Temple landing dock, commandeer a two-seater, and fly out to Tatooine, the High Council and Jedi Law be damned. Obi-Wan belongs here, at the Temple, as his Padawan, under his protection and guidance. The thought of that brilliant young man suffering as a slave, trapped in that damned Force-inhibiting collar is unbearable. And he’s all alone, now that Anakin’s managed to pry his mother out of the Toydarian’s greedy clutches.

The Council has been doing an excellent job of stonewalling him whenever he asks about their progress in prying Obi-Wan loose. They’d only told him about sending Knight H’syan after he’d threatened to go rogue. If he hadn’t bumped into H’syan, the bloody damn Council would never had told him anything.

Qui-Gon takes a breath, and then another. Anger is dangerous, so is attachment. It’s a little shameful that young Obi-Wan, not even a Jedi, seems to have better control over his emotions than he does.

Tomorrow, he’ll hunt down his Grandmaster and seek his advice. For now, sleep.

Obi-Wan really has no regrets about getting Shmi off of Tatooine. There’s always been a worry in the back of his mind about her fate in this timeline, given how strongly Watto despises her, for no good reason. But he feels her absence in every moment of the day, from the time he awakens to the time he climbs down from the roof and back through the window into the empty house.

When the loneliness begins to eat at him, Obi-Wan tells himself that he’s endured so much worse. That Darkness does not hold sway over the Galaxy - at least not yet. And his fate is far from written.

From what Master Qui-Gon had told him during their precious hours on the rooftop, in this timeline, the Jedi are far stronger and more numerous than they’d been when he’s last lived. The various conflicts that had eaten away at the Jedi Order’s strength and influence have either not occurred or the Jedi have been triumphant. Which makes Obi-Wan wonder if the Sith are incompetent or are playing a much longer game.

The shop bell rings, distracting him from his distracting thoughts. It’s past second noon, and the busiest part of the day. He looks up from the small drive he’d been attempting to repair, and is surprised to see Cyral.

"Well, hello there."

"Hey, li’l Obi."

"What brings you here?"

"Can’t I just be checkin’ up on a friend?" The big Besalisk grins at him and drops a container of something that actually smells delicious onto the counter. "Thought you might be hungry or somethin’, now that Miz Shmi ain’t around anymore to share the load. Haven’t seen you in the markets much."

Obi-Wan smiles back. "Thank you, Lady Cyral." He takes pleasure in watching her wattle turn purple at the courtesy. "It’s been busy. Watto’s not been around much."

Cyral sniffs. "Heard he’s been hanging a lot with our buddy Meekah, down at Jabba’s palace. Don’t know what the Kiffar’s wanting with that old fly, but they’ve been fast friends for months now."

Obi-Wan finds that strange, too. "You hear, or you been seeing?"

"Mebbe both?"

"Aww, Cyral, don’t tell me that you’ve been going Jabba’s."

She shrugs her lower arms. "Dukka and I gotta do something with our evenings. And it’s just every once and a while"

Obi-Wan grimaces. "That’s not a place for good people like you and your mate, my friend. Who’s going to bring me supper and check up on me if you get caught in up the nastiness that goes on there? Even I’ve heard what happens to guests who displease Jabba the Hutt. He’s got a Rancor in the pit below the throne room. And when it gets hungry, some unlucky guest gets to feed it."

"You’re sweet to worry, Li’l Obi. But I don’t play the old Hutt’s games. Ducca and I go and listen to the jizz for an hour or three when Max Rebo’s on the keyboards, then we roll out. We always carry a blaster or eight when we come and go, and only a fool would bother us."

For all that Cyral has been kind to Obi-Wan, he shouldn’t forget that she’s sharp-witted and has not just survived on Tatooine, but thrived.

He pats her huge hand. "I’m allowed to worry, too. You’re my friend, after all"

"Yes, you are." Cyral looks around the shop. "Is there anything you need help with?"

"No, I’ve got everything in order. Shmi and I had a good system worked out, and Watto hasn’t dropped any new inventory on me since she left."

"Well, if he does, and you need help, let me know. I’ll help you get it sorted."

"Thank you."

The shop bell rings as the door opens and a pair of Rhodians enter, the Vrsk brothers, long-standing customers of the shop who are always needing a part or three for their decaying CEC light freighter.

Cyral smiles at Obi-Wan, reminding him, "Now, don’t you forget to have your supper," then glares at the newcomers before making her way out into the hot Tatooine afternoon.

The rest of the day is busy and Obi-Wan doesn’t have a moment to himself before turning the "closed" sign and locking the door. The week after Shmi’s departure, Obi-Wan convinced Watto to put in an in-ground cashbox, so that Obi-Wan wouldn’t have to worry about the day’s receipts if Watto didn’t show up to collect them. He convinced Watto to build it so that he could just dump the dosh in without having to open it, and only Watto would have the key.

Watto had given him ten wupiupi as payment for the "bright idea" and sent him home. Obi-Wan had figured the old fly didn’t want him to see where he was hiding the money.

Tonight, like every other night, Obi-Wan counts out the day’s receipts, makes a note of the total in the account book, and dumps the contents into the lockbox.

Back at the hut he’d once shared with Shmi, Obi-Wan opens the container Cyral had delivered, and finds a nerf-steak sandwich with fried root vegetables. It would have been better if he’d eaten it when it was hot, but it’s actually still delicious. This is a very generous gift and Obi-Wan's not sure he knows what he’s done to deserve it, other than Cyral’s pure kindness.

He finishes half, tucks the remainder in the conservator for tomorrow night and is about to climb out the window for his usual evening’s foray into the Senate proceedings. But the full belly and a long day is an irresistible combination, and he thinks that maybe he can just give it a pass for just one night.

Even the data pads with their wealth of information about this timeline are too much for him tonight and Obi-Wan sighs and climbs into bed. He closes his eyes and lets himself think of his Master in the Temple, in his rooms, perhaps sitting on that tattered old couch with a cup of Sapir, watching some old holo-drama. It had been quite the shock, when Qui-Gon had brought him back from Bandomeer and they’d begun to settle down as Master and Padawan, and his master had asked him if he wanted to watch a holo-drama before going to bed. Qui-Gon had simply said that Jedi were allowed to enjoy things that all other sentients enjoyed, even mass-produced entertainment like holo-dramas.

Maybe that is why, when Obi-Wan falls asleep, he starts to dream so vividly and lucidly, it’s as if he’s in one of those holo-dramas. At first, he doesn’t recognize the location, but that’s fine. It’s a dream and in the way of dreams, he’s not worried about the landscape. He walks and lets the gentle sunlight wash over him, the deep blue sky, and in the corner of his eye, a Jedi cloak flickers in and out of his vision.

"Slow down, Padawan. Enjoy the moment." It’s Qui-Gon, his voice deep and steady, coming from behind him.

Obi-Wan turns to face his master, but he’s confused. This is not the Qui-Gon Jinn he’s been apprenticed to for the last dozen years. This Jedi is years younger, maybe a decade or more. From the lines at the corners of his eyes, this man seemed more accustomed to smiling than frowning, unlike his own master. And then it hits him, this Qui-Gon Jinn is the one Obi-Wan had saved from Darth Maul on Tatooine a year ago. He is not-yet his Master, and maybe never will be his Master, but Obi-Wan can still enjoy the dream.

"We need to be at the Temple by sunset, Master." He doesn’t slow down.

"It’s not like the Organas can start the ritual without us." Qui-Gon reaches out and puts a heavy hand on his shoulder. "Slow down, Padawan and live in the moment. Take the chance and appreciate what we have here."

Qui-Gon lifts his face to the sky and smiles into the bright sun. "This is an impossibility on Coruscant, no? It has often confounded me that the Order chose to consolidate its base on such a world where the Force is so thin. Why not here? Or on Tython? Or Felucia? Or any one of a thousand worlds where the Jedi could have flourished? I’ve asked my Grandmaster that question on more than one occasion and he’s never answered it properly."

"Perhaps because of the proximity to the Senate and the governing body of the Republic? Obi-Wan winces, that answer is far too facile.

"Perhaps, but I think, it the long run, the proximity to the body politic doesn’t serve us well. Distance would be better, why have the Senate watching our every move?" Qui-Gon then looks at him. "And if you even mention the New Sith Wars and the Ruusan Reformation at me, I’m going to take back the Senior Padawan bead from your braid." Qui-Gon actually reaches out and tugs on Obi-Wan’s braid for emphasis.

"Is it fair for you to take the best arguments off the table, Master?" Obi-Wan laughs.

"Just handicapping my brilliant padawan. I know you can construct an argument supporting a Jedi Order based outside of the Senate’s watchful eye half-drunk on Corellian brandy."

"I appreciate the vote of confidence, Master." Obi-Wan preens, just a bit, it’s rare that Qui-Gon compliments his academic prowess like this. He suggests that the benefit of the Order’s proximity to the Galactic government it is not that the Senate is keeping watch over the Jedi but the Jedi keeping watch over the Senate. "If the Jedi are to be involved in the very fabric of Republic life, instead of becoming ascetic hermits dedicated to composing hymns to the beauty of the Force, it is better that we keep watch over those who control that life. Do you not think, Master?"

The air stills around them and Master Qui-Gon turns and looks at him, frowning. "That is a most interesting argument, Padawan. Identical to the one I made to my own master - practically word for word."

Obi-Wan opens his eyes, momentarily surprised to find himself in a small hut on Tatooine. The dream, and the presence of his Master had been so vivid, even though they never had such a conversation, and in all of their travels, had not once been to Alderaan.

He gets out of bed and looks out the window. Two of Tatooine’s three moons are still ascendant, it’s still hours before first dawn. Obi-Wan sighs and scrubs his face, there’s no falling back to sleep for him. He picks up the transceiver, heaves himself out of the window, and up onto the roof. If he can’t sleep, he might as well listen into the state of the galaxy.

"If the Jedi are to be involved in the very fabric of Republic life, instead of becoming ascetic hermits dedicated to composing hymns to the beauty of the Force, it is better that we keep watch over those who control that life. Do you not think, Master Qui-Gon?"

The air stills around them and Qui-Gon turns and looks at his padawan, frowning. "That is a most interesting argument, Obi-Wan. Identical to the one I made to my own master - practically word for word."

Qui-Gon snaps his eyes open. What an odd dream. But still delightful for its oddity. To dream about his future padawan, so far into their apprenticeship, but yet, in a setting that he and his own master had experienced.

He picks up his chrono, it’s still hours before dawn, and honestly, he’s tired and wouldn’t mind a few more hours of sleep.

Qui-Gon rolls over, pulls the blankets over his shoulders, clears his mind and drifts back off into a peaceful slumber.

Chapter Text

“What kind of man are you?” people ask me.
I am a man with a complex network of pipes in my soul,
sophisticated machineries of emotion
and a precisely-monitored memory system
of the late twentieth century,
but with an old body from ancient days
and a God more obsolete even than my body.

What Kind of Man (fragment)

By Yehuda Amichai
Translated by Chana Bloch

Two Years Since the Jedi Visited Tatooine

Not for the first time, not for the hundredth time, Yoda looks at the m-count tester his grand-padawan gave him and frowns.

He isn’t dismayed at the readout. 44,020 is a massive number, far surpassing his own midi-chlorian count. But numbers matter not. It’s how a being interacts with the Force. In his centuries, Yoda has seen Younglings with high m-counts who have never been able to master the basics of control over the Force, and have never been selected as padawans. And there have been countless padawans, talented with a 'saber, but lacking the essential understanding of what it means to be a Jedi - compassion, mindfulness, a commitment to peace and justice.

This young man that his grand-padawan has found - with the astronomical m-count - could easily be another one of those failed Younglings and Padawans. More likely than not, given his upbringing.

A slave, cut off from the Force for so many years.

Yoda can’t repress a shudder. Once, a very long time ago, centuries ago, he’d been put in one of those terrible collars, and had been cut off from the Force. He thought he’d lose his mind.

It was only for a day, but the pain is still a living memory. And for anyone so strong in the Force, even someone untrained, to be cut off, is a horror that Yoda cannot bear to contemplate.

But first, he has to make sure that this number is right.

The Temple’s Life Sciences laboratory is in the same wing as the Healers, but he can’t seem to find the entrance to that department. He’s stopped three times by Jedi medical personnel asking if he needs something for his aching joints or his uncertain digestion, or if he’s visiting someone.

"Looking for Vokara Che, I am."

The young Healer who offered their assistance actually frowns. "Master Che is in the Life Sciences department."

"Yes, yes, know that I do."

"May I have the honor of escorting you there, Master Yoda?"

"Lived in this Temple nearly nine hundred years I have, I can find my way on my own!" He thumps his gimmer stick in annoyance.

"My apologies, Grand Master, but the Life Sciences department was relocated last year. It’s now in the North wing, adjacent to the Zoological Sciences department."

"Hrumph." Yoda nods. "Appreciate this information, I do, Healer Glein."

The Healer smiles and a quiet pleasure radiates from them.

"Push-Feather I played with you in the creche. When a Youngling you were, I was your escort to Ilum and helped you build your lightsaber. You named your crystal Debik. Of course your name I remember, young Jedi."

They nod and bite their lip. "Of course you do, Grand Master."

"Come, with me you will walk. Tell me about being a Healer, you will."

It is a very pleasurable half-hour as they make their way across the Temple, through the vast Room of a Thousand Fountains, and down to the new offices of the Life Sciences department. Healer Glein delivers Yoda right to Master Che’s office and waits with him until she answers the door. He thanks Healer Glein and makes a mental note to send a message of thanks to their superior before turning his attention to Vokara Che.

"Master Yoda, what brings you to my domain today?" She gestures for him to enter.

Yoda looks around the bright and sterile environment for a place to rest his aching bones, but Master Che’s office is an extension of the lab, and all of the seats are lab stools. Yoda could use the Force to get himself onto one, but that would be improper.

Thankfully, Vokara sees the problem, and pulls out a Yoda-sized seat for him, and he settles into it with a grateful nod.

"So, how can I help you, Master Yoda?"

"Interesting problem I have, Master Che. One, only, that you can solve." He takes the m-count tester out of a pocket. "Possible is it, for you to verify the results of this?"

"When was the test done?"

"About two years ago."

Vokara frowns. "Then I’d have to say, no. Midi-chlorians pass into the Force within a few hours after the blood leaves the host body, I can’t rerun the test on the stored sample."

"Know that I do." Yoda can’t help but sound testy. He knows all too well about the life-cycle of midi-chlorians. "But verify can you the accuracy of the test results?"

"May I ask, Grand Master, why? Can’t you simply redo the test?"

"Easy that won’t be."

Curiosity gets the better of Vokara and she taps the power button on the tester and gasps. "Grand Master?"

"Understand, you do, why your help I need?"

"Yes." The number makes her lekku twitch. "Yes I do." Even though she can’t rerun the m-count, there are other tests that can be run on the stored sample, and she ejects the cartridge. "Damn, the knight who ran the test didn’t do proper maintenance on this tester. There are multiple blood samples in here."

"Six times ran the test on the same subject did the knight who gave me that tester. Believe the results of the first test he did not."

"That makes sense." Vokara nods.

Yoda watches intently as Vokara adds a few drops of a neutral solvent into the tester’s storage cavity, extracts the sample and deposits a few drops onto a slide. She moves carefully with the sample as she inserts it into a machine.

"Extract what information do you hope?"

"DNA, planet of origin, familial data. You have told me nothing about the test subject."

Yoda just nods.

"And you want some answers yourself."

"Yes."

"Can you tell me why you’ve waited so long?"

"My own, reasons, they are. Also, politics." Politics is always a good excuse. Visions make some Jedi twitchy. Visions on Ilum are even worse.

"Ah."

"Shall I make us some tea why we wait for the results?"

"Nice, that would be, Master Che."

She doesn’t even have a chance to fill the kettle when the analyzer chimes, the sound strangely discordant.

"Hmm. That is odd."

"Problem there is?"

"I don’t know." Master Che looks at the readout. "No, that can’t be."

Now Yoda is getting worried. "Master Che, tell me, please, what problem there is."

"The readout - it’s showing that there are living midi-chlorians in the sample."

"Contamination, is that possible?"

"Unlikely, but anything’s possible. I’ll run another test."

And the results are the same.

"Master Che, the m-count, please check on that sample."

She nods and runs that test. "Forty-three thousand two-hundred ninety-seven. Off the top of my head, that’s more than ninety-eight percent of the original amount."

Vokara collapses onto a lab stool across from Yoda and stares at him. "This is - " She waves a hand at the lab equipment. "I don’t know what this is. But it is beyond anything I’ve ever seen. Have you heard of something like this?"

Yoda is blunt. "No." Then he adds. "The mysteries of midi-chlorians, not my purview." He doesn’t explain that he despises the concept of those sentient little buggers, and regretted that they’d ever been discovered.

"About this, tell no one. The sample, give to me."

Vokara chuckles grimly. "I suppose it is kind of hard to destroy material that is immortal. And sentient. Unethical, too." She puts the slide into a case and restores the m-count reader to its original condition before giving both back items to Yoda.

"A quandary that is." He thinks for a moment, then hands the case with the slide back to Vokara. "About the subject, the information I still need. The tests, can you run?"

She takes the slide back. "Yes, Grand Master. I’ll have that data for you tonight. Shall I bring it to your quarters?"

"Appreciated, that would be." He hops down and makes his way to leave. "If we succeed in bringing this being into the Temple, what you’ve discovered will need to be kept hidden."

"Even from the Temple Healers?"

Yoda bows his head. "Quite possibly, them, most of all."

As promised, Master Che delivers her report, and the slide, to his quarters, by the eleventh hour. She apologizes for the lateness. "My lab equipment and this sample were not exactly compatible. The living midi-chlorians kept interfering with the data processing. But I persevered."

Yoda grimaces in annoyance. Stupid microscopic sentient life-forms. But he doesn’t say that, just asks, "Information interesting, is it?"

"Yes and no. The test subject is a human-variant male, certain markers suggest that at least one or more ancestors is from Stewjon. No genetic abnormalities, no diseases, which makes sense, given how closely connected he is to the Force. Out of curiosity, I ran the DNA against the Temple database, and there is no match, not even a partial kinship, going back to the Foundation of the Order. Your massively midi-chlorian blessed test subject has no connection whatsoever to any Jedi, ever."

"Interesting. Very interesting. Thank you, I do, Master Che."

"And on that note, I bid you good night, Grand Master."

Yoda closes the door and contemplates what he has to do.

"Tatooine? Why do you need to go to that Force-forsaken hell-hole?" Even Piell asks after Yoda makes his announcement.

No, he doesn’t ask. He shouts.

"Forgotten, have you? The Force-sensitive child who saved Master Jinn and Knight Skywalker with his vision of a Sith? Still in slavery he suffers."

"And we are working to free him, Master Yoda." Mace reminds him. "You know it’s going to be a long process."

"Understand that, I do. But worried I am. Visions I’ve had. Important it is that I see this child for myself. Interfere I will not with the plans already in place."

The Council, as one, tries to dissuade him. When rationale argument doesn’t work, they descend into shouting.

"Free being am I. Knight and Grand Master of this Order am I. Go where I will I shall." He thumps his stick on the floor, signifying that the discussion, such as it is, is done.

But it’s not done. Ki-Adi-Mundi tries to be the voice of reason, "You should not be going alone. It’s too dangerous. Tatooine is under Hutt control, and remember what happened last time you went there?"

"Hrumph. Last time, foolish Padawan I had. Insulted Jabba the Hutt he did. This time, no Hutts will I be seeing. Just a young Human. No danger will I be in. Also, Jedi I still am. Lightsaber I still wield. Or forgotten that, have you?"

Mace pinches the bridge of his nose. "Is it too much to ask that you take one of us with you?"

Perhaps a good suggestion that is. Yoda looks around the room, immediately discarding Ki-Adi-Mundi, Yareal Poof, and Even Piell. And certainly Oppo Rancicis. Useless idiots all. Yaddle might be a good companion, but she’s as much of a trouble magnet as ever. She might end up freeing the rancor in Jabba’s palace and riding it through Mos Espa just for giggles. Mace? No, someone needs to keep control of the Council while he’s gone. Pity Plo Koon is away. There’s a being with some common sense.

And there’s another being on the Council with common sense. He hopes not too much, though.

"Adi Gallia, accompany me to Tatooine will you?"

She looks up, surprised. "Me?"

"You, yes. Time, do you have, to travel with me?" Yoda gives her his most winsome smile. Mace covers his mouth to hide a laugh.

"Yes, of course Grand Master. When do you wish to leave?"

"Now. Today. Made ready my ship has been - Tython-One at launch bay Esk-5, our departure two hours past noon. Will leave without you I will if late you are." Yoda hops down from his seat and marches out of the Council chamber, ignoring everyone’s cries of outrage.

Obi-Wan opens his eyes, and like most mornings over this past year, he’s surprised to see the cracked brick dome of the slave hut he’s been living in for the last four years. His dreams are so vivid, it’s as if the world inside his head when he sleeps is more real than the waking world. Missions with Qui-Gon, but never a rehashing of old trials. Every world they visit together is a new experience, and Qui-Gon himself is both familiar and strange. He’s still the same wise Jedi, quick-witted, and even quicker to stop to examine some odd plant or life form, but there’s a kindness to this version of Qui-Gon that had often been absent in his master, who had suffered so many personal losses. Obi-Wan is enthralled by this man, and wonders if the real Qui-Gon of this timeline is anything like the Jedi master who populates his dreams.

On more than one occasion, Obi-Wan wakes feeling disloyal to the memory of the Qui-Gon Jinn. The colder and more exacting Jedi who had trained him in his original life, and who had returned to him during the long years of his exile to teach him a second time.

He puts thoughts of Qui-Gon out of his head and starts his day. Not that there’s much to do. Like the time of his first exile, he sleeps in the same clothes he lives in, except that there are a few layers he takes off when he gets home. He laces up what could barely be called footwear and thinks longingly of his Temple-issued boots. He heads to the 'fresher and looks at himself in the mirror. Even after four years into this new life, it is still a shock seeing his young face in this mirror. There’s just the beginnings of a beard covering his cheeks and chin, growing in bright red. His hair, which hasn’t been cut since he’d arrived on Tatooine, is bound into a long braid that falls almost to his waist. There’s no reason why he can’t cut it, but something always stops him.

It’s just a little bit of rebellion.

Tatoo I is just beginning to crest past the far edge of the Dune Sea and the stars are beginning to fade when Obi-Wan unlocks the gates and opens Watto’s junk shop for the day. Two Rhodians, the Vrsk brothers, are already waiting for him, and one of them, Slyp, offers him a cup of caff.

"Sorry we’re so early. Making a run at over to Tarkula, but our power converter is shot. Cyral says you might have the parts."

"Come in, give me your list." He’s done business with this pair for almost as long as he’s been on Tatooine, and while he would’t exactly trust Slyp and Grck with the cashbox, he knows they aren’t going to cosh his head and rob the store.

A half-hour later, he’s filled every item on the pair’s list, charged them a fifty percent premium on top of Watto’s usually high prices, and settles down to a very busy day. And yet, for all that there’s steady traffic in the store, Obi-Wan can’t shake the feeling that there’s something strange on the horizon.

As in her wont, Cyral stops by shortly before second noon, and drops a greasy bag on the counter. "Thanks for hooking up the Vrsek brothers with the parts they needed."

Obi-Wan unwraps the sandwich. Once again, Cyral’s splurged and brought him a fried nerf-steak with pickled radishes. "Thank you for the referral. And for this - I haven’t had time to eat all day."

"Then eat, little one. I’ll take care of anyone who walks in."

Cyral leans on the counter, a large, almost threatening presence, but Obi-Wan doesn’t care. The sandwich is too good and his belly has been clawing at him. Like always, he finishes half, wraps the rest to have for dinner, licks his fingers clean and sighs happily.

"Thank you, my friend. You are the best."

Cyral’s wattles turn purple with pleasure. "Anythin’ for you, Li’l Obi. Friends help friends."

"How’s the weather out there?"

"That’s a strange question. Weather’s the same as it’s always been. Sunny. Hot. Dry. It’s Tatooine."

"No sandstorms brewing, maybe?"

"Not in town. Who knows what’s a’goin’ on in the Wastes, tho’. Why you askin’ ?"

"Got an itchy feeling in the back of my neck."

"Want me to scratch it for you?"

"No, no thank you." Last thing Obi-Wan wants if for Cyral to touch that Force-bedamned collar. "Probably just caused by a bad night’s sleep and the Vrsek brothers’ over-brewed caf."

"Hmm. And sometimes, you should listen to those itches, Li’l Obi. They can save your life. Ya know what, I’ll come by at closing time and walk you home."

Obi-wan knows better than to argue with the Besalisk. Not only is Cyral stubborn as a bantha with a newborn calf, she’s a friend. "Thank you, Lady Cyral. I’d appreciate that."

She pats his hand and lumbers out of the junk shop.

Most days are busy open to close, but some days like today, the afternoon is quieter than the morning, as the heat from the two suns drives most of Tatooine’s residents inside. For the next few hours, the junk shop’s only customers are a couple of Jawas looking to trade some scrap, likely stolen, and Obi-Wan sends them off with a firm "no".

As the day progresses, the uneasy feeling grows, and Obi-Wan tries to pick it apart. It’s not a premonition, exactly. Or one of his "bad feelings". It’s just a sense that something is coming. Something big.

If Shmi were still here, he’d ask her to mind the front of the store and he’d sneak away to try and meditate, as hard as that is with the collar. But he can’t leave the shop unattended, even in the quiet of the slow afternoon.

The feeling continues to build, and it starts to feel familiar. Obi-Wan curses and tugs at the collar, knowing that without the damn inhibitor, he could see what’s coming. And then he laughs to himself.

Bitterly.

He’d spent half a lifetime with a Sith right under his nose, not seeing anything until it was far too late.

Obi-Wan doesn’t want to think about those losses.

He works on the shop inventory, stacking parts in neat piles and taking satisfaction in the minor accomplishments. The shadows lengthen and the odd feeling stretches out and Obi-Wan tells himself to live in the moment, and to remember, as Master Yoda says, the future is always in motion.

The door opens and Obi-Wan tries to see beyond the bright sunlight into the shadows at who has entered the shop. There’s a buzzing in his ears as he thinks he recognizes one of the silhouettes, but that’s not possible.

He says, as he always does, "Welcome to Watto’s Parts Emporium. How may I assist you?"

Then a familiar voice reaches across time and memory. "Looking for Obi-Wan Kenobi we are."

Obi-Wan takes a deep breath and moves out from behind the counter. He nods slowly. "I am Obi-Wan, gentle beings. How may I assist you?"

An Hour Ago, Maybe Two, Depending on Mos Espa Traffic

Yoda doesn’t bother arguing even with himself about using his hover chair once they arrive on the hell planet known as Tatooine. He knows from experience that the Tatooine sands are going to burn right through the calluses on his feet, nine hundred years old they may be. He fits a pair of sun-specs on, slaps a hat on his head and pushes the controls forward.

Adi Gallia does the same and the pair of them descend the landing ramp into the seething mass of beings in the Mos Espa spaceport.

"I’ve arranged for us to rent a speeder, it’ll be safe than walking through town."

Yoda frowns. "No fun you are. Master Yaddle should have brought with me. Rancor-riding we might have gone."

"I’ve forgotten how dangerous it is traveling with you, Grand Master. How prone you are to causing trouble.

"Hmmm. When nearly nine-hundred years old you are, take your fun where you will," Yoda cackles. Looking forward to this, he is. Loves speed, he does. Dreamed once, of pod-racing, but greater was the call of the Force. And now too old he is.

To Master Gallia’s annoyance and Yoda’s pleasure, the land speeder she’d reserved isn’t available, but they offer her a bike with a sidecar, big enough that his hover chair fits in snugly.

Of course, Adi Gallia drives sedately through the city, so slowly that Yoda’s ears don’t even flap. Boring.

"Infant I am not. Fragile I am not. Go faster you can."

"Do you want to drive, Grand Master? Oh, you can’t. Your feet won’t reach the pedals."

Yoda only thinks of some very choice insults.

Eventually, they reach the outskirts of the city, where Qui-Gon had said he met the extraordinary young man. This is also where Quinlan Vos is living and working as a Shadow operative.

Master Gallia brings the bike to a halt and Yoda grumbles.

"It’s too crowded to ride here. Not unless you want me to knock some beings down?

"Good idea."

"What’s with you, Grand Master? I’ve never seen you behave like this. You’re not just impatient, you’re being downright silly. I’d say you’re intoxicated, but you haven’t consumed anything." She pulls off here sunshades and stares at him. "Or have you?"

"Drunk, I am not!" Yoda rears back, insulted at the implication. But then he considers his behavior and it is not normal, not for him. He breathes deeply and lets himself fall in a shallow meditation, except there is nothing shallow about the great ocean of Light that envelopes him. It is like nothing he’s ever experienced; the Force so eager and happy that he, old Yoda, is here. This is the source of his odd giddiness.

"Grand Master?"

"Feel it too, you should." He reaches out and touches the back of Adi Gallia’s hand "Open yourself up to the Force."

Her shock is a palpable thing. "What is that?"

"The Light. Pure. By darkness untouched."

"Is it Tatooine itself?"

Yoda laughs. "No, again you must look."

Adi touches his hand again and they both see the outline of a sturdy young man enveloped by the Light.

"Could this be the Chosen One?"

Yoda makes a rude noise. "Prophecies, much foolishness they are. But we cannot ignore what the Force is telling us."

"Then let's go find him."

Adi has the map provided by his grand-padawan and updated by Knight H’syan, but it’s still slow going as she pushes the bike through the crowds of shoppers. Yoda can barely contain himself, he feels like a Youngling on the way to the crystal caverns on Ilum. The streets become seedier, less crowded, and Adi finally is able to get back on the bike to go the short distance to the place called "Watto’s Junk Shop".

"We’ve arrived, Master Yoda." Adi’s voice is a whisper, as if she’s afraid to disturb the Force.

He feels the same way. But this great Light is nothing to fear, and he hops out of the sidecar, leaving his hover chair behind. He will meet Obi-Wan Kenobi on his own two feet, sentient to sentient.

Chapter Text

And so farewell to you, who will not slumber,
for all was in our words, a world of sand.
From this day forth, you turn into the dreamer
of everything: the world within your hand.

Farewell (fragment)

Yehuda Amichai

Translated by Stephen Mitchell

Yoda stares at the young man trapped in this sad place, but he sees not a slave, but the embodiment of the Light. Much like the Vision he’d just shared with Adi Gallia, and like the one that Qui-Gon had told the High Council after the mission to Naboo…

"In a junk shop on the edge of the city, I found a young man, and I have never met anyone who was not a Jedi who shone so brightly in the Light. And then the brightness receded, and it was like I was looking at an ordinary padawan, one with a disciplined mind and strong shields. But that lasted just for a moment, too. And then all Force-sense faded from him."

But for him, the brightness only recedes a little, just enough that Yoda can perceive a young man, glowing in the Force. The only oddness - not Darkness - is an absence of Light around his neck. That must be that damned collar.

Yoda wonders if his own strength in the Force is allowing him to see this, or if the great strength in this young man is calling to him.

And then, it all disappears. The Light vanishes and the being before him is an ordinary Human boy. Just like what Qui-Gon had experienced.

The boy steps out from behind the counter and greets them, perfectly polite. "Welcome to Watto’s Parts Emporium."

Yoda has always been a good sabacc player and gives nothing away. "Looking for Obi-Wan Kenobi we are."

"I am Obi-Wan, gentle beings. How may I assist you?"

Behind him, Adi Gallia closes the door and turns the lock. "It would be best that we speak in private, young Ser Kenobi."

The boy smiles, but shakes his head. "It would be best if you left the door unlocked, please. It is still the business day, Masters Jedi, and Watto, the owner of this shop, would be most unhappy with me if he found I’d closed early."

Yoda lets Master Gallia take the lead for the moment, content to observe. She acts mildly surprised when she asks, "How do you know that we are Jedi?"

"You feel like Jedi, ma’am."

"And you’ve met enough Jedi to know what we 'feel' like? Even with a Force-inhibitor collar on?"

"I think so, ma’am. I’ve met Master Qui-Gon Jinn, with whom I’ve shared a Vision. And Knight Arsu H’ysan. And Anakin Skywalker, even though he’s since left the Jedi Order. You feel like those beings, but much more powerful. Even with the collar, I can still sense something of your power.”

Yode knows when someone is splitting the truth, and young Kenobi is using a blade worthy of a scientist working with sub-atomic Whills. But all thought of calling the boy out on this clever speech leave his mind when the boy turns to hims and says "You, great ser, feel like an ocean of stars. The light of ages echoing through space and time, welcoming me home."

Yoda is appalled. For this untrained young man to perceive him through his shielding so easily, and his words! They resound like the great Temple bells that have not been rung, the ones that have been silent, since before his own master passed into the Force. “Yoda I am, Grand Master of the Jedi Order. Master Adi Gallia, my companion is, a member of the Jedi High Council."

"And really what brings you to Watto’s? Is your ship in need of a part?" Young Kenobi asks in all seriousness.

"You really have brought us here, young man."

Kenobi sighs, but no anger or bitterness can Yoda sense. "For what? I am a slave, I am going nowhere." He shrugs. "My owner will not part with me."

Yoda knows that. Here to get the measure of this boy he is. Has to ask, he must. "And feel about that, how do you? Angry you are? Bitter?"

"I would be lying if I said that I was content with my lot here. That I am happy being a slave. Happy to be cut off from the Force. But angry? No. There is no purpose in anger, Master Jedi. I will either be freed from my bondage or I will not. I will either die a slave or I will be free. There are a few things that within my control, but my freedom is not one of them. Getting angry over that is pointless."

Yoda hears Obi-Wan’s sincerity ringing in the Force like those bells. "And if freed you were, a Jedi would you like to be?"

"A little old aren’t I? Aren’t Jedi brought to the Temple as infants?"

Adi rightfully points out, "You seem to know quite a bit about Jedi matters, young man. How is that?"

"When Master Jinn was here, we spent some time talking about the Jedi. He asked me that same question, and said there might be some difficulty getting the High Council to accept me as a - what is the word - padawan? That I’m too old."

"A hundred years old I was before I started my training." Yoda thumps his stick on the floor. True, he didn’t start talking until he was seventy-four, but that’s not the point.

"And how old are you now, Great Ser?"

"Nine hundred years, a decade or two give or take." Yoda grins. "Age and size matters not. Are you willing to learn?"

"Willing and eager." Obi-Wan smiles shyly. “Justice, peace, compassion. Those are grand ideals. And to study the history of the galaxy, the philosophy of the great sages. Languages. Poetry. Music. You must know so much, great ser.”

Yoda has to wonder if he’s being played, but he only feels a wistful sincerity from young Kenobi. Interesting it is that the boy doesn’t mention lightsabers, which are a universal attraction amongst every child when they learn about the Jedi. He finds that quite favorable.

“Make this happen we shall. To the Temple you shall come and the collar remove we shall. But patience you must have.” He hears Adi gasp at this promise. It is unlike him, but he feels the Force urging him towards this course. A long time it has been since the Force has spoken to him so directly, and listen to it he must.

"Not keep you we shall, from your labors, right now. Later can we talk?"

"Of course, Masters Jedi. I live not far from here." The young man grabs a piece of flimsi from the counter and sketches a map. He’s just about to hand it to Adi when there’s a rattle on the doorknob, then someone is banging on the door.

"Obi-Wan, you piece of bantha-shit, why have you closed up the shop! There’s still hours to go before the day’s over."

Obi-Wan’s eyes go wide and he radiates fear. He whispered, "Oh kriff, that’s Watto. Do you have any dosh on you? Wupiupi?"

Adi nods. "Yes, we came prepared. I’ve brought quite a bit."

"How much?"

"About two thousand - mostly in peggat."

"Good, good - just follow my lead and don’t interfere, please. And mention Cyral at the Dash Market if it seems appropriate." Obi-Wan opens the door and he’s all smiles as a very angry Toydarian flys in. The first thing he does is smack the boy hard enough that he falls to the floor.

"I’m sorry, Watto!" The boy doesn’t make any effort to get up.

"Sorry no good enough, you thieving little womprat!" The Toydarian hovers over him. "First I lose at the tables, now you try to put me out of business. Maybe I should put you out of life!"

Yoda feels the violence and malice pouring out of this creature. It’s not Darkness, but it’s still revolting and repulsive and antithetical to the Light. It’s obvious even from a distance that the Toydarian is addicted to spice and has little control over his reason. Yoda finds himself reaching for his lightsaber. Adi, wise Jedi, sees what is happening and steps between them.

"Please forgive young Obi-Wan, it is my fault that the door was locked."

That takes Watto’s attention off the boy, who gets up and moves behind the counter. "My apologies, Watto, but this gentle being is buying the VCX-100 hyperdrive generator, it’s an expensive part and she asked to lock the door before taking out her money."

"Hmm, hmm. Good story, but I don’t see any dosh on the counter."

"And there’s no part in the shop, Toydarian. This young man was just about to fetch it from the yard." Now Adi’s voice is as hard and cutting as Yoda’s ever heard come from her. "I don’t think we want to do business here if this is how you treat your customers. The Dash Market is filled with more reputable vendors, and it’s not like the VCX is an uncommon model. Its hyperdrive generator is interchangeable with a half-dozen different CEC models."

The Toydarian turns to Obi-Wan and snaps his fingers at him. "Get the generator, quick."

The boy limps a bit as he slowly hobbles into the yard.

"How much did Obi-Boy tell you the part will cost?"

Obi-Wan calls out, "Two hundred and twenty-five wupiupi, and don’t charge them a fraction more."

Watto calls back, "And you don’t tell me what to charge! Remember your place, slave." He turns to Adi. "Three hundred wupiupi and not a fraction less."

"Two-twenty-five, that’s what was agreed upon and that’s what we’re paying. We’ve already seen hyperdrive generators at the Dash Market, Cyral has one for a VCX-150 that will do just fine, and it’ll only cost two-hundred and ten wupiupi. My chief engineer didn’t want to have to deal with the retrofitting. I just don’t like you and that trumps his irritation."

"Fine, fine. Two-hundred twenty-five wupiupi."

Adi slaps her palm down on the counter, signifying the deal’s been accepted. Obi-Wan limps back into the shop hefting a large part. "Shall I bring this out to your speeder, gentle lady?"

"Please do."

"Not until this thief pay me, Obi-Boy."

Adi grimaces. "Of course. Interesting how one thief recognizes another." She looks more kindly at Obi-Wan. "Please put the part down before you injure yourself by even worse, young man."

Obi-Wan sets the part on the floor and sits on a crate next to Yoda. Yoda doesn’t want to attract the Toydarian’s attention, but he’s worried about the boy. Obi-Wan glances at him and smiles, mouthing, "I’ll be fine."

It doesn’t look that way to Yoda, not with the trickle of blood still oozing from a cut on Obi-Wan’s forehead. Wonder, he has to, if the boy is often subject to such violence. And then the Toydarian’s first words register on Yoda — First I lose at the tables…

This is what they’ve been working for, separating Watto and Obi-Wan long enough that the effects of Obi-Wan’s massive m-count are wearing off, and the Toydarian’s luck changes enough that he’ll part with the boy. But maybe they’ve miscalculated. If Watto’s has a propensity for violence once his luck has turned, they could lose Obi-Wan…

"Two-hundred twenty, two-hundred twenty-one, two-hundred twenty-two, two-hundred twenty-three, two-hundred twenty-four, two-hundred twenty-five. That’s it. I’m taking my hyperdrive generator and leaving. And you better hope I never see you again, you thieving little bug." Adi grimaces and sticks her nose in the air. "Obi-Wan, will you be a dear and carry the part out and help strap it to my swoop bike?"

"Certainly, ma’am." The boy hefts the drive and staggers with it out the door.

Adi looks at him, and her eyes say Forgive me, Master Yoda, as she scoops him up. "Come, don’t struggle, we’ll be back on the ship soon, and you’ll have a nice bowl of loth-creature kibble and fresh water, then you can snuggle up in your bed like a good pet."

At least Adi doesn’t carry him over her shoulder like a baby. If she did, Yoda would have farted in her face.

All too conscious of Watto’s beady eyes watching him from the doorway, Obi-Wan is quick as he lashes the hyperdrive generator to the back of the Jedis’ speeder bike.

"All right will you be?" Master Yoda asks in a quiet voice.

Obi-Wan shrugs. "Don’t know. Watto’s luck has turned. That’s not good for his lucky piece."

Adi Gallia shocks him when she says, "Maybe we should have bought you instead of this damn hunk of metal."

Yoda thwacks her with his stick. Obi-Wan is glad there are some constants in this timeline.

"I better get back inside, before Watto comes out to see what’s taking so long." He ties the last knot. "You have the map?"

"Yes, young man. We’ll see you at your house."

"There are no locks - there’s nothing inside worth stealing." Well, nothing that anyone would know to look for. "I’ll see you in an hour or so."

He doesn’t wait to watch the Jedi ride off, but goes back to the shop, careful to pretend to limp.

The old fly is still buzzing around, and Obi-Wan can feel his anger, it’s like a physical thing. It’s nothing like the portentous weight in the Force that presaged the arrival of Adi Gallia and Master Yoda. This is just a vile malice, too ordinary but still dangerous.

"I lost." Watto hovers right up in front of Obi-Wan's face. "A bet against that damn Kiffar, Meekah. Five thousand wupiupi. A turn of the card. I never lose, but I did. All your fault, Obi-Boy."

Obi-Wan doesn’t know what to say.

Watto screams at him, "What have you done?"

"Nothing. I get up every morning, I come here, I sell parts to people, I keep your inventory. Every day is the same."

"I DON’T BELIEVE YOU!" Watto hits him and when Obi-Wan doesn’t fall, he hits him again.

There’s an urge to fight back, but he can’t. Not if he wants to survive this. So he becomes the Negotiator, trying his best to work out a solution that will keep him alive. "I’m sorry, Watto. I don’t know what happened." Until Qui-Gon had done the m-count test, He’d never quite believed that he was responsible for Watto’s run of good fortune, but with that massive number, it makes sense. Even with the inhibitor around his neck, such a concentration of midi-chlorians has to be affecting everyone in his vicinity.

"You need to pay for my losses, you dirty thievin’ scum. I don’t know why I bought you, you’ve been nothin’ but trouble —" Watto has gone insane - the spice he’s addicted to has to be affecting his reason. He flies over to a stack of speeder transmissions and picks up a linkage coil. "Gonna beat you until you bleed, then I’m gonna blow you up."

Obi-Wan isn’t going to just lie there and let Watto beat him to death, when the old fly swings the pipe at him, Obi-Wan grabs the end of it and pulls it out of his hands, flinging it across the shop. "I’m not going to attack you, but I’m not going to let you hurt me."

"You’re my property, Obi-Boy, I can do whatever I want to you and no one can stop me. You lift a hand to me, that’s a death sentence."

"I said I’m not going to attack you." Obi-Wan crouches down, behind the counter, which is no real protection against someone that flies, but Watto is erratic. Instead of looking for Obi-Wan, Watto just starts flinging parts at him, and he gets lucky. A vaporator coil clips Obi-Wan on the side of his head, right where Watto hit him earlier. The coil cuts deep and blood pours down Obi-Wan’s face, into his eyes.

"Stop it, Watto. You don’t want to do this."

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t kill you, you good-for-nothing …" Watto throws something else at Obi-Wan, which lands right on his ribs.

"Who’s going to run this shop? You don’t like being here." Obi-Wan dodges another vaporator coil and loses his temper. "And you know what, no one likes doing business with you, either. I keep this place running. I keep you in the dosh, so you can lose it making stupid bets. You kill me, you might as well just close up shop, because no one’s going to buy a rusted bolt from you."

After that, there’s just silence and Obi-Wan wonders if he’s gone too far. He’s dizzy from the head wounds and maybe some ribs are broken because it’s gotten hard to breathe.

"Then it won’t matter if I blow you up." Watto starts muttering to himself and Obi-Wan can’t hear what he’s saying. He wipes the blood off his face and peeks out from the dubious shelter of his hiding space, feeling too much like he’s caught a firefight in the middle of a battle during the Clone Wars, not knowing which way the enemy is coming from.

Watto is digging through a box, and Obi-Wan wonders if the old fly’s looking for the slave controller - if the damn thing’s been in the shop all along.

"Aha! Found it. Come on, come out you little womprat. I want to see your eyes when I press the button!"

"Drop dead, you piece of shit." By the Force, after four years, that feels so good to say. Obi-Wan stands up. Not to give the ragged old bug any satisfaction, but if he’s going to die, he’s going to die like a man, on his feet, facing his executioner.

Again.

Except at that moment, Cyral ambles in, takes one look at the situation and moves faster than Obi-Wan thought possible for any Besalisk. The prongs on her head crest immediately rise to their full height and the skin of her wattle darkens in fury. She grabs Watto by the arm - the one holding his slave controller - and there’s an audible snap. Watto shrieks, the controller falls to the floor, and Cyral shakes Watto like a loth-wolf killing its prey.

"You ain’t murdering my Li’l Obi, you stinkin’ old bug. And don’t give me no bantha poodoo about him being your slave and you can do whatever you want to him. I’ll break your other arm, rip off your wings and bury you out in the Wastes before I let you hurt him, you hear me?"

"Obi-Boy’s mine, my slave, I can - " Watto’s words end in a squeak as Cyral’s massive fist closes around the old fly’s throat.

"Nope, nope, and nope. I heard what happened at Jabba’s. How you bet big against Meekah and you lost. Everyone’s real happy about that. And when they find out you hurt Li’l Obi? They gonna come and burn you down. Maybe instead o’ causing trouble here, you should go back to Jabba’s palace and see if Meekah wants a rematch so you can win some of that dosh back."

Cyral throws Watto against the wall, but Watto manages to right himself before making contact. He glares at Cyral and doesn’t look at Obi-Wan before flying out of the shop, cradling his broken arm.

"You all right, Li’l Obi?"

Obi-Wan clings to the counter. "I think so." Then he promptly proves himself a liar and faints.

And Somewhere, on Malastare, Qui-Gon Is Having a Bad Day

Qui-Gon can’t shake the feeling that something’s very, very wrong.

It’s been too long since he’s heard from with Obi-Wan. Admittedly, they don’t get much of a chance to speak in real time and conversations are always brief, just a few minutes in real-time using the Starlight Beacon uplink. But it’s gratifying to have even that time with his padawan-to-be. But he’d gotten accustomed to getting messages from Obi-Wan on almost a weekly - if not daily - basis, and responding accordingly.

When they do speak in real time, they don’t spend time with pleasantries. Qui-Gon does what a Jedi Master is supposed to do with a Learner, he guides his student’s education. Obi-Wan tells him what he’s studied - either based on the data pads that Knight H’syan had delivered, or on the political state of the galaxy.

Qui-Gon’s critiques are tempered by the brevity of the call, but he always tries to convey his pride in the work that Obi-Wan’s accomplished. He longs for the day when they can work together, here in the Temple and on missions, challenging each other - intellectually, spiritually.

He is missing the more frequent messages that Obi-Wan has been leaving on his com link, whether they are brief questions about an academic question or something he’d heard in a Senate rebroadcast - the boy is so curious about the state of the galaxy. Obi-Wan’s absence leaves him feeling bereft and he doesn’t know what to do about it, other than abandon his duties.

Which he can’t do. Not really.

Qui-Gon's tested his com link twice - annoying Micah in the process, but the tech works just fine. Obi-Wan is just out of communications range, and Qui-Gon is worried.

And it’s not like he can march up to the nearest High Councilor and tell them. They have no clue he’s been conducting a stealth padawan-ship for the last year, and Force knows what will happen if they find out.

The only thing worse would be for the Council to learn about the dreams. Those lovely hyper-realistic dreams he has after every message Obi-Wan leaves, after every time they talk.

They aren’t salacious, nothing of the sort. He’d take himself to a mind-healer if that was the case. But there’s such great intimacy between him and Obi-Wan, in a way that’s impossible to verbalize. Qui-Gon feels like the Obi-Wan in his dreams is real and is experiencing the same moments that he is. He has gotten to the point that he resents awakening, but even if he falls back to sleep, he can never recapture that particular dream - or at least, a dream with Obi-Wan.

Qui-Gon doesn’t know what this means, and he’s afraid to mention it to anyone.

During the last week or so, his sleep has been difficult and restless, he feels like he’s searching for his padawan-to-be. One night, he’s traveling through the Tatooine desert, a great formless landscape, devoid of sentient life. There are other bizarre dreams, one where an armored Obi-Wan is leading millions of men into battle, men all wearing the same face. Even more bizarrely, Qui-Gon knows that face - it belongs to Jango Fett, the adopted son of Jaster Mereel, the current Mand’alor and good friend of Qui-Gon’s own master, Yan Dooku.

The oddest dream is the dream he had last night. And was it a dream or a nightmare? A middle-aged Obi-Wan had been on a world of fire and lava, and is fighting someone bathed in Darkness, someone that Qui-Gon can almost recognize. Qui-Gon watches with pride as Obi-Wan defeats his opponent, cutting off his head, but is startled as his padawan picks up the fallen Jedi’s red-bladed lightsaber and runs off, leaving the man to die in a pit of lava.

Hours before this morning’s dawn, Qui-Gon wakes from that dream crying, the sense of anguish coming from Obi-Wan echoing through the dream into his waking moments, and sends Qui-Gon to his meditation mat for several hours. He might have spent the day there, but he has work to do. He’s on Malastare, for yet another round of negotiations for energy mining rights. It feels like his entire career as a Jedi has been punctuated by negotiating with the Dugs for these rights. Every five years he’s back here, renewing the contract, trying for better terms, clawing his way out of a thousand new clauses the Dugs want to add, none of which benefit anyone. All of which are designed to frustrate the Republic negotiation team to the point that they’ll either give in or walk away.

What’s the expression that Master Nu uses? "There’s no rest for the wicked."

It certainly feels that way. The Dugs’ chief negotiator has set a grueling timetable for completing the new treaty, and that means the Republic team has no days off until it’s done.

There are three other Jedi with him on this assignment, a young and ambitious Nautolan, Kit Fisto, and Qui-Gon’s dear friend, Tahl Uvain. Even though Tahl is an archivist, more at home in libraries and record rooms, she also an indefatigable resource during negotiations like these. She has an eidetic memory and doesn’t hesitate to call any party on their banthashit. Her young padawan, a tiny Mon Calamari named Bant Eerin, is cut from the same cloth. Her huge pale eyes seem to unnerve the Dug negotiators, and Bant doesn’t hesitate to stare at them when they start getting difficult.

The morning session is brutal and Qui-Gon finds himself fantasizing about all kinds of inappropriate things, to the point that Knight Fisto spills a full cup of fresh tea into his lap, necessitating a break in the action.

"Excuse me - I’ll need to return to my room for a fresh change of clothing." He bows and limps out, the tea was fresh off the boil and caught him in sensitive places. From the footsteps that follow, it’s Kit and not Tahl who is trailing him. He is so not looking forward to this confrontation.

At least Kit waits until Qui-Gon closes the door to his suite.

"What in all the Sith-hells is going on with you?"

"Did you need to boil my balls?" Qui-Gon tosses his robes and tabards aside, pulls off his leggings and undergarments before going into the 'fresher.

Kit, thankfully, doesn’t follow. But he does call out, "Someone had to put a stop to whatever the fuck you were doing."

Qui-Gon gets out a tube of bacta from his travel kit and applies it. The burning sensation eases immediately and he washes his hands. His cock and balls will survive.

Now, to deal with Kit. "This is the fifth time I’ve done this excruciating negotiation with the Dugs over the energy treaty terms. I’m tired of them. I’m tired of going through the same old song and dance every five years. I started this process when I was a padawan."

"You were thinking about killing all of them - your shielding is utter crap and you were broadcasting."

"I’m sorry about that - but it was just a nice little fantasy."

"But you’re a Jedi!"

Qui-Gon can hear the panic in Kit’s voice.

"And I’m not a saint. Even Master Yoda gets frustrated." Qui-Gon knows that’s not the best answer. "My apologies for my crappy shielding. I had a very bad night. When we get back to Coruscant, I’ll spend some time with the mind-healers. But in the meanwhile, why don’t you take the lead for the rest of the day. Tell the Dugs that I am indisposed and will not be able to keep up. I have every faith in you, Knight Fisto. It’s time that fresh blood took control of this important relationship."

Kit looks startled. "Really, you think I can take the lead?"

"Certainly. You are one of the best and brightest of your generation. It won’t be long before you’re tapped for a Council seat. Getting this contract renewed will be a huge step in making that happen."

"Thank you, Master Jinn. I appreciate your confidence in me."

Kit all but runs out of the room, and it’s only when the door clicks shut does Qui-Gon realize that he’d had that entire conversation with Kit without any pants on.

Chapter Text

The waves bring back even things we haven’t lost.
I choose a smooth pebble and say over it,
“I’lI never see that one again.”
Eternity makes more sense
in the negative:
“I’ll never see. I’ll never come back.”

At the Seashore (Fragment) by Yehuda Amichai
Translated by Chana Bloch

Yoda is not surprised at how comfortable he is in Obi-Wan’s tiny hut. But then, he’s always enjoyed small spaces. Unlike Adi, he resists the urge to snoop and just relaxes on one of the two chairs at the small table. Except for the ever-present sand, the place is clean. There is one plate and one cup, stacked next to the small conservator. The bed is narrow, and if his nose isn’t lying to him, stuffed with bantha-hair. There’s two worn blankets at end of the bed, folded, both are bantha-hair brown.

What intrigues Yoda is the wire neatly attached to the window frame, almost hidden by louvers and a worn out curtain.

"Master Gallia, when done you are looking into things you shouldn’t be looking into, maybe the wire hanging down from the rooftop you would examine, please?"

Adi rolls her eyes at him, closes the conservator and goes outside. Yoda hears a thump, and when he sees a shadow of a cloak over the window with the wire, he guesses that his companion jumped onto the roof. His ears pick up footsteps climbing up the dome, and then a few minutes later, down the dome. There’s another thud as Adi hits the sand and she comes inside.

"Our enterprising Obi-Wan has hooked up a transceiver. I suspect he’s picking up signals from the Starlight Beacon. Tatooine is in the line of sight with the Eiram Sector."

"What listening to he is, curious I am."

"Holo-net dramas, likely."

"Or Senate broadcasts."

Adi gives him a skeptical look. "Master Yoda, no matter what kind of prodigy that young man is, he’s sixteen. He’s certainly not listening to the Senate broadcasts in his off hours."

"Bet me, will you?"

She sighs. "This is a sucker bet, but I’ll wager ten credits."

"Ten credits it is."

Adi gives him an annoyed look, takes the other seat, but then asks, "Will you meditate with me, Grand Master?"

"Honored I will to join you in meditation." Closes his eyes Yoda does and reaches out to the Force, finding Adi’s presence steady and bright. The bright light of Obi-Wan's presence he also finds easily, but turmoil there is surrounding the boy. A malicious presence in the Force, the Toydarian is, radiating anger and confusion, magnified by a long-term addiction to spice.

Adi breaks their meditation when they both perceive the Toydarian’s attack on young Obi-Wan. "Master?"

"Nothing can we do right now. Interfere we cannot."

She sucks in a breath and holds it for a too-long moment, before nodding. "I know, but - "

"Well, all will be." Believes that, Yoda must. Too much is riding on this moment.

And interrupted the moment is when the door flies opened and a massive creature lumbers in. Both he and Adi reach for their 'sabers, but disciplined well they are, and wait to draw their weapons. Good thing they do. It’s a Besalisk, carrying young Obi-Wan.

"Hello? And a’who might you two be?"

Obi-Wan lifts his head, a bloody mess it is. "These are friends, Cyral. Jedi friends. Yoda, Adi - meet Cyral. Cyral, meet Yoda and Adi."

Nothing but worry and affection from the Besalisk Yoda senses. With care she handles the boy, placing him on the narrow bed.

"That old fly was gonna kill my Li’l Obi here. I arrived just in time. You are Jedi, can you fix him? He might be hurt really badly."

"I’m all right, Cyral. Watto only clipped me in the head - and humans have hard skulls. We just bleed a lot." Obi-Wan struggles to sit up, but Adi doesn’t let him. Joins her, Yoda does. Vokara Che’s words about this young man’s immortal midi-chlorians present in his mind they are.

Adi tries to soothe the boy. "Ser Kenobi, please let us take a look at your injuries."

Obi-Wan groans. "Are you a healer?"

"I have some training in the medical field. As does … Yoda."

Admit he has to that it is strange to hear a fellow Jedi leave off his title. But better that is, with the Besalisk in the room. Friendly she may be, but unknown quantity she still is.

Yoda touches Obi-Wan’s bloody forehead and that might have been a mistake. The boy’s midi-chlorians sing as they touch his old skin, and his own midi-chlorians react just as joyously. He struggles not to gasp at the sensation of renewal. Like a Youngling he feels, except he has words.

Then worried he gets, words does he still have? "The Toydarian, why attack you he did ?" Ah, yes, thank the Force.

"It seems that I’m no longer Watto’s lucky piece. He lost big at Jabba’s palace." Obi-Wan flinches at Yoda’s probing. "And Watto’s completely spice-addled now. Has no reason anymore, stupid old bug."

The Besalisk echoes the boy’s words. "Dumb ol’ fly. He was gonna blow up sweet Li’l Obi-Wan because he’s too stupid to know when to stop playing Sabacc."

"Blow him up?" Adi asks, appalled.

Cyral takes a small box with a red button out of a pocket. "You don’t know much about slaves on Tatooine, do you, Jedi people? The slavers, they put bombs in the slaves before they sell them. That’s how a slave owner keeps control. You do somethin’ your owner doesn’t like, they press a button, you go kaboom. You go too far from your owner, you go kaboom. When you’re born a slave in the court of the Hutts, the big ol’ worms got the tech that has bombs that move around the bodies, so it’s not gonna leave a scar and it’s hard to find and take out. If you’re like Obi, and captured by slavers, they attach a bomb to your spine and you get crippled if you try to remove it, unless you got some serious dosh to see a Core-trained healer. This is Li’l Obi’s controller. Watto was about to use it. I broke his feckin’ arm before he could press the button."

Cyral places it carefully on the table.

Yoda stares at the evil thing. Buy Obi-Wan he cannot. Free Obi-Wan he cannot. Steal Obi-Wan he cannot. But maybe save the boy from a terrible fate he can.

"Obi-Wan Kenobi, question I have for you. Answer it honestly you must."

"Yes, great ser."

"The bomb in you, if remove it I can, will you remain here, in this situation?"

"As Watto’s slave?"

Nod, Yoda does. "Interfere, Jedi must not, on a non-Republic world. But save a life, a Jedi must wherever possible. Great conundrum this is."

"I will stay here, I will not run away. I promise." The boy offers him his bloody hand and Yoda doesn’t hesitate to take it. It’s only when Obi-Wan releases his hand and there is no sway over his own midi-chlorians does the inhibitor have, that Yoda again feels the amazing rush of renewal.

"Adi, help me, will you?"

"Of course." She joins him at the boy’s bedside.

"Can I help, great Jedi?" Ask, the Besalisk does. "Li’l Obi means a lot to me."

Yoda doesn’t know what the creature can do to assist. "Keep young Obi-Wan calm, you must. Delicate process this is. Adi and I need to … " Explaining the Force, he’s not accustomed to.

"Access the Force?"

Blinks, Yoda does. Surprised he is.

"Grew up in the Core, met my mate, Ducca, when we worked with some Jedi to excavate an old temple on Yavin IV. So yeah. 'Course I know about the Jedi. Might look dumb like all Besalisks do, but not really all that dumb." Cyral smiles. "It’s good camouflage. Tell me what you need."

Yoda tells Cyral to turn Obi-Wan onto his stomach, and then sit by the boy’s head and hold him still. Adi lifts up Obi-Wan's tunic and Yoda doesn’t need the Force to see the long scar that runs parallel to the boy’s spine, about as long as Yoda’s own hand-width.

Closes his eyes he does, and he reaches out, joining with Adi before trying to find what’s been implanted in Obi-Wan.

She shields him from the infinite distraction of the massive number of midi-chlorians in Obi-Wan’s body. The inhibitor collar barely seems to keep them in check and they greet Yoda like long-lost family. He thinks he hears them cheering - or something equally deafening.

Behave. Quiet you must be. Delicate, this work is.

And to his surprise, they obey him.

He finds the bomb and the transmitter. Crude thing it is, and yet great finesse is needed to disengage the transmitter without activating the explosives. But soon enough it is done. Then, even Adi’s shielding and Yoda’s centuries of discipline cannot kept Obi-Wan’s midi-chlorians in order. They swarm around the bomb, impelling it up and out of Obi-Wan’s body, repairing the path they leave behind. In the process, they also fix the damage to the ribs and skull that the Toydarian had inflicted.

Break the connection Yoda must, and open his physical eyes he does, to find a slightly bloody chunk of tech, the size of a Republic credit, floating a few centimeters above Obi-Wan's undamaged skin.

Adi grabs it and wraps it up in an old rag.

But ever-curious Yoda is, and reaches out he does and touches the inhibitor collar. Vile thing it is, filled with touch-me-not spells. He pulls back like he’s been hit with a vibro-whip. This is something he can’t remove. Not here. Not now.

Obi-Wan asks, "Masters Jedi? What’s happened?"

"Feel different do you?"

"Mmm, yes. I think." Obi-Wan rolls over and sits up. He rubs his back. "Did you take the bomb out?"

Nods, Yoda does. "Yes, but your promise you much remember."

"We should go." Adi frowns. Understand her issue, Yoda does not. But much time they will have to discuss these events on the long trip back to Coruscant.

"Yes, yes." Yoda pats Obi-Wan’s hand and to Cyral he gestures. "Outside, please come with me. Question for you I have."

Inside, Adi remains, to talk with Obi-Wan, while Yoda takes the Besalisk to their speeder bike.

"Buy from the Toydarian we had to, this hyperdrive generator. Do not need it. Give it to you. A gift, in thanks, for saving young Obi-Wan."

An unhappy look the Besalisk gives him. "I don’t need any gift or thanks for saving Li’l Obi. He’s my friend. But I know you don’t mean to insult. How 'bout if I sell this and give the dosh to Obi?"

Pleased, Yoda is by Cyral’s solution and her generosity. "Yes, yes. Good idea that is."

A moment it takes for Cyral to remove the unneeded part from the speeder bike and bring it back inside Obi-Wan's hut. But wait outside Yoda does, figuring quicker it would be for Adi Gallia to come out.

And right he is. From the hut, Adi and Obi-Wan soon emerge. Very sad Obi-Wan looks.

"Thank you, Master Gallia, for your wisdom. Patience is something I’m well accustomed to, after four years on Tatooine. And I will do my best not to incite Watto, hard though that might be. He’s lost his reason to the spice."

"I’ll be stayin’ with you every day, Li’l Obi. My mate will run the booth in the Dash Market. And no arguin’ on that."

"Not going to argue, Lady Cyral." Smile Obi-Wan does, but there is no happiness in the expression.

"Well you will be, young one. Of that, I am certain. And soon again I will see you. May the Force be with you."

Adi starts up the swoop bike and Yoda hops into the sidecar.

"Thank you, Masters Jedi, for everything. And may the Force be with you."

Look back Yoda does not as Adi pulls out. The Force already mourns this parting.

Obi-Wan is bone tired, in a way he can’t remember feeling in this life. His body aches like he’s just slogged through the mud on Umbara after a months-long pitched battle. His mind hurts, too. Seeing Adi again, alive and whole has been a shock to the system. He’d contained himself well when she’d walked into the shop.

Seeing Yoda, though… That’s something else.

No wonder he had been feeling odd all day. His midi-chlorians must have sensed the little green troll’s arrival on Tatooine.

"You doin’ okay, my friend?" Cyral smiles down at him. She’s way too big for this little slave hut, but that doesn’t matter.

"I’m doing all right, my friend. Thank you for everything. Don’t know what I’ve done if you hadn’t arrived when you did." Died, likely.

"I heard what happened. It’s the talk of the market, how the old bug finally lost big. Meekah’s strolling around like he’s got a set o’balls made of Nova rubies. He’s not telling everyone that he won five thousand wupiupi off of Watto last night. But everyone knows it anyway. The creepy Twi'lek, Bib Fortuna was in town, spreading the news."

Obi-Wan’s jaw drops. "Five thousand - "

"Yeah. And I heard from Greedo, that slimy Rhodian bounty hunter that hangs out in the old Hutt’s court, that it’s actually more like eight thousand. Watto had the dosh, 'cos Meekah don’t play for credit. And it was just one hand. Watto was riding high. Meekah wanted to cut his losses and walk away, but the old fly just insisted on playing one more hand."

"Stupid bug. Doesn’t he know that it’s better to quit when you’re ahead." Obi-Wan picks up the slave controller. "Going to need to do something about this. Watto might tell Jabba you took this from him. Isn’t interfering with a slaveowner’s right one of the only real crimes on the books in Mos Espa?"

Cyral scrubs her face. "Yup, but I’d do it again."

"We should put it back in the shop, on the floor. Say that Watto dropped it. You weren’t even there until later, when you found me beaten up." Obi-Wan pats his pockets and frowns. "Where are my keys?"

Cyral holds them out. "You wanna go now?"

"Better now than in the morning."

Even though Cyral hadn’t locked the shop doors, no one had broken in.

"Probably out of respect for you, li’l Obi. Stars know, if it was just Watto, the place would be empty to the walls."

"Probably." He grins at her. "Now, where should this go? How about here?" Obi-Wan tosses the controller under the counter where it’ll be easy enough to find if Mos Espa’s so-called "authorities" pay a visit.

"Hey, can’t forget this." Cyral grabs the bag with the nerf-steak sandwich. "You gonna have dinner. Gotta eat and restore your health."

Obi-Wan isn’t the least bit hungry, but he appreciates the sentiment. "Thanks, my friend. For this, for everything."

Back at the little hut, Cyral hefts up the hyperdrive generator. "Your li’l old Jedi master gave me this. I’m gonna sell it and give you the dosh."

Obi-Wan sighs. "Cyral, you don’t have to do that."

"Nope, but I want to, okay? You gotta realize that Watto ain’t gonna give you any dosh for food or water anymore. Someone’s gotta look after you."

"And that someone is you?" Obi-Wan hasn’t felt like this since Shmi had left with Anakin. Grateful that he has someone who cares about him.

"Yup. I’m with you until you don’t need me anymore, Li’l Obi."

He puts his hand atop hers. "Thank you, my friend. I hope, one day, to be able to return the favor."

Quinlan doesn’t believe his eyes. The little green troll and Master Gallia are here on Tatooine. In his favorite cantina.

Kriff.

His first instinct is to run.

But there’s nowhere he can run, can he?

Master Gallia gives a little Rhodian boy a coin and a piece of flimsi before she and Yoda leave the cantina, and of course, the boy comes straight for him.

"Here, dis for you."

Quinlan sighs and gives the boy a quarter-wupiupi for his work and finishes his drink before unrolling the message.

Landing dock Jenth-12. One hour.

Quinlan sighs again, reaches for the filthy ashtray the barkeep uses and burns the message. He pours the dregs of his drink into it, ignoring the bone-thin Twi'lek’s dirty look.

It’ll take him just about an hour to get over to the spaceport. He doesn’t ride his swoop bike in town, too dangerous, too much chance for it to get stolen, his legs are good enough.

He flips a full wupiupi to the bartender and heads out. The first sun has set and the second isn’t far behind. Whatever the little green troll and Master Gallia want, he hopes it doesn’t take long because he needs to get back to his place and get ready for the evening’s festivities at Jabba the Hutt’s palace.

It’s frustrating, this long diversion from his primary mission. But orders are orders, and Quinlan Vos is a good Shadow. He knows how to do his job, how to stay on task even when he’s bored out of his mind.

Sith-hells, maybe talking with High Council members isn’t such a bad thing. Maybe they can enlighten him about what he’s doing here.

He dodges a pile of freshly dropped eopie shit, avoids a trio of Jabba’s Gamorrean guards heading towards the local brothels, and takes a shortcut that skirts the edge of the Espa rift. The lights from the spaceport are right ahead, and Quinlan walks right up to bay Jenth-12. The ship, an ST-70 class Razor Crest, with no astromech socket, but a full complement of armaments, screams Official Republic Business but it’s full dark now and Quinlan has natural camouflage.

The landing platform lowers, an invitation that he has no choice but to accept. The platform closes behind him.

Master Gallia nods in greeting. "Thank you for coming, Knight Vos."

"I didn’t think I had much choice."

"Choice, you always have."

Quinlan bows to Yoda. "And I am curious, Masters, why you want to see me. And maybe I can get some long-overdue information about this unusual side assignment."

Yoda’s ears, usually a barometer for his emotions, don’t move one bit, but there is a sparkle in those great ancient eyes.

"Questions you have. Then ask."

"I was sent to the Outer Rim to keep watch on the Hutts, to infiltrate Jabba’s court and try to establish a relationship with Jabba himself."

"And you have, most successfully." Master Gallia’s praise soothes and irritates at the same time.

"My end game is to destabilize Hutt rule, or barring that, gather credible intel on the Hutt’s work with criminal gangs in the Outer Rim. I’m not even close to doing either. Instead, about two years ago, I was told I needed to focus my efforts on bankrupting some smalltime junk merchant so he’ll give me a young slave in exchange for his debts. Why?"

Master Gallia pinches the bridge of her nose, much like Master Windu might if he were experiencing a shatterpoint. Or when he’s just annoyed. Master Yoda does nothing and says nothing.

Finally, after losing the staring contest, the old troll thumps his gimmer stick on the ship’s deck. "Understand your frustration, Knight Vos, we do. But important this mission is. Tell us can you how you are doing?"

"I’ve finally made some progress. That damn Toydarian has had some crazy luck, even when he’s higher on spice than the old worm himself. It’s almost like he’s cheating, but no one dares cheat in Jabba’s court. Not unless they want to become a snack for the Rancor or lunch for the Sarlaac. Just last night, I took a huge pot from Watto. I need to get back there, because Watto’s going to try to win back his losses. And I’ve got to be able to capitalize on last night’s success."

"Do that you must."

"You’re not going to tell me what’s so important about some random slave, are you?"

"No, Knight Vos. That’s not something you need to know."

"Figured.

Master Gallia offers him a small box. "This should help your cause."

He opens it and sees rolls of neatly wrapped currency. "I’ll say so - looks to be about two thousand wupiupi - mostly in peggat."

"Give or take a few hundred wupiupi."

"This should help, indeed. Even when he’s strung out on spice, Watto’s still a canny gambler. Mean as all kriff, but still a savvy player with some Force-blessed luck."

Oddly, neither Yoda or Master Gallia say anything about luck or the Force. But Yoda drives home the importance of this bizarre mission. "Soon, need you to acquire the Toydarian’s slave. More than soon."

"And after that happens? What am I to do? Escort him to Coruscant myself? Put him on a transport alone?"

Yoda’s frown is, as a Youngling might say, epic. He looks to Master Gallia, who also frowns.

Yoda then offers some help. "The slave has a friend, a Besalisk. Know her you might."

"The only Besalisk I know on Tatooine is Cyral, she has a booth in the Dash Market. Not a bad being, though I’ve seen her and her mate at Jabba’s palace a few times. Likes to come when the music’s good. They don’t gamble, and leave when the music is over. Why do you ask."

"Escort him to Coruscant the Besalisk can."

"And if she won’t go with him?"

"She will." Master Gallia is convinced of that. "We’ve met her, and she’s very devoted to this young man. Use the funds you win from the Toydarian to pay for first class transportation for both of them. They should travel in comfort and safety."

Far be it from a lowly Shadow to contradict High Councilors. "I’ll follow your instructions, Masters. And hopefully bring this phase of my mission to a rapid conclusion. May the Force be with you." Quinlan bows and departs.

He has a long night’s work ahead of him.

Chapter Text

And it is written that we should not fear.
And it is written also that we should not change,
like words,
like past and future,
in the plural and in the loneliness.

If with a Bitter Mouth (fragment)

By Yehuda Amichai
Translated by Robert Alter

Yoda keeps an eye on Adi as she runs through the departure checks. Sadness and a degree of anger run off her the way filthy water runs down the streets on Coruscant’s lower levels. But wait he will until cleared off of Tatooine’s atmo they are before questioning her he will.

And they don’t have long to wait. This hour of the night, there are few ships asking for clearance to depart.

Yoda does his job as co-pilot, cross-checking the status of the hyperdrive and the fuel supply. "Clear we are on all levels. Completed, check and cross check are."

"Thank you, Grand Master." Adi opens the comm link to Tatooine flight control, "Tython-One, bound for Coruscant, requesting clearance for departure."

"Departure clearance granted, Tython-One. Safe travels."

He hits thruster control and they leave the dustball behind. Waits, Yoda does, until the ship slips into the hyperspace lane and Adi asks him if he’d like a cup of tea.

"Tea, not what I need. Answers, what I want for my questions."

"Questions, Grand Master?"

"Disturbed you are. Anger I sense. When you left Obi-Wan, angry you were."

Sighs, Adi does. "Angry is not the right word. I was - and am - concerned."

"About what?"

"That boy."

Silent, Yoda remains. Stares at his young colleague he does. Patience he has.

A while it takes, of strong stuff Adi Gallia is made. But give in she does. "He seems too good to be true. How can he be so kind? So patient? So - " She shakes her head, searching for the right words.

"So like a Jedi?"

"Yes, exactly! He’s barely sixteen, if that. He says he woke up four years ago, no memory, on a slavers’ ship, with a bomb in his back and a collar around his neck. He has no idea about his family, where he came from, or why he ended up on that ship, but he seems to know a bit about the Force. And yes, he is intensely interested in the state of the galaxy - and I owe you ten credits by the way, because young Obi-Wan spends his nights listening to the Senate rebroadcasts from the Starlight Beacon. And maybe once or twice a week, a holonet drama for an hour if the Senate hasn’t been in session."

Perturbed Adi is. "And he told me he’ll wait forever and even if the Order never manages to free him, he’ll never lose hope because we believed Master Jinn and we came and we did what we could. And that is good enough. He will be at peace with that. He made me cry, damn the stars." Adi sniffs and wipes her nose on her sleeve like a Youngling barely out of the creche. "And I can’t stand the thought of leaving him behind but…"

"But have to we must. Trust in young Quinlan we must."

Nods, Adi does. "Do you think Obi-Wan would accept me as his master when he finally comes to the Temple?"

Appalled Yoda is by this question. "My Padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi will be. Seniority I have."

But remind him, Adi does. "It is the Padawan who must approve and accept the master’s offer."

Yoda wonders if it will be possible to convince the Council that this most special Padawan deserves multiple masters. After all, the rules only prohibit an individual master from having multiple padawans.

All too conscious of the small fortune tucked under his cloak, Quinlan hides himself in the Force and runs. His Master, Tholme, not to mention Master Yoda, would be most irritated with him for such an extravagant use of the Force, but needs must…

Quinlan’s back at his lodgings, no worse for wear, and he gets himself ready for another night at the wretched hive of scum and villainy, otherwise known as Jabba’s Palace.

His cover as Meekah the Kiffar isn’t difficult to maintain. Meekah is a dealer in antiquities, moving rare bits of beautiful contraband across the Outer Rim, and he doesn’t touch spice or sentients. Jabba likes Meekah because Meekah has been willing to part with some interesting baubles for less than market price. In his own way, he’s like a spice dealer, letting Jabba get a taste - just enough to get hooked.

Of course, nothing he’s been passing onto Jabba has genuine historical value. Every few weeks, via channels Quinlan doesn’t enquire about, a package arrives, containing a few different items. Some even have tags from Deep Core museums.

All faked, of course. Temple artificers are the best in the Galaxy.

Quinlan, as Meekah, has been steadily raising his prices to the old worm. Jabba doesn’t gamble, unlike his fellow Hutt and occasional rival, Gardulla, and the spice dealers don’t dare charge him for product. It also helps that "Meekah" is fluent in several dialects of Huttese, and once, as a Boonta’s Eve gift for the worm, he’d given Jabba a book of Huttese poetry celebrating the birth of the great god Boonta himself, only Quinlan had it transcribed and replaced all of the references to Boonta's with "Jabba". Jabba had let him drink for free for months after that.

Last night, when he’d taken over eight thousand wupiupi off of Watto, he’d thought he’d broken the old fly, but to everyone’s shock, the Toydarian had the dosh with him. Even Jabba had muttered something about taking a look at the junk shop, that maybe Watto’s running spice along with old parts, if he’s got that much cash on hand. And if he is, why isn’t he paying Jabba for the privilege?

Quinlan changes out of his street clothes into something flashier, and shrugs into a coat made of dewback hide. Damn thing is kriffin’ heavy as armor, but it’s saved his life more than once, and he has a feeling he’s going to need it tonight. He pockets two rolls of the dosh that Master Gallia gave him, tucks a vibro-knife into each boot, and a tiny spring-loaded blaster into his sleeve. Technically, one is not supposed to go armed into Jabba’s presence, but Meekah is a favored guest and will not be searched. He also knows enough to tip the guards very well. For protection during the trip out to the Palace, he slings a bowcaster and bandolier over his coat. The edge of the Dune Sea isn’t the friendliest neighborhood - the local Jawas and the beings that come and go from the palace are smart enough not to kriff around with the regulars, but sometimes the local Tuskens get antsy and a tiny blaster isn’t going to scare off a determined tribesman or woman or whatever those beings are. He’ll check those weapons when he parks the bike.

Last thing he takes is a small gift for Jabba. This time it’s a lesser Krayt dragon skull inlaid with Lothal fire rubies and carved with the prayers of B’omarr monks. If the thing were real, it would be worth a small planet.

The ride out to the palace is uneventful and he tips the brawny young Devaronian relegated to vehicle valet duty generously to keep his swoop bike and weaponry accessible for quick departure. "Sure thing, boss. Hope you win big again. The old fly’s already here and he’s whinin’ and primin’ for a rematch."

Quinlan flips the boy another whole wupiupi for the intel and makes his way inside. The music’s loud and not very good tonight. Which is a pity, he’s in the mood for some of Max Rebo’s smooth jizz.

The corridor down to the throne room is busy as guests come and go, and it seems that Meekah is a bit of a celebrity tonight. That’s a little annoying as he prefers to shun the spotlight, but it also means that he won’t have to wait too long to be summoned into Jabba’s presence. The old worm likes a winner.

The usual wait is cut down to nothing. Bib Fortuna, that smarmy fucker, takes his coat first and then takes him right to Jabba, and the old worm is particularly sharp-eye’d tonight.

"A gift for me?"

"One that is barely suitable for your greatness, Lord Jabba."

Bib Fortuna holds out his hand, but Quinlan just stares at the creepy Twi'lek until he retreats, then Quinlan does the unthinkable. He stands on the trap door, kneels before Jabba and presents the gift with both hands.

One of the Gamorrean guards takes the box, lift the lid off and gives it to Jabba, which is just fine.

The whole court gasps as the fire rubies glow and the B’omarr prayers start to hum in their own holy place. Those Tenple artificers know their craft, to make a fake respond like the real thing.

Jabba, of course, laughs with delight.

"Meekah, you outdo yourself. Again. We’ll talk business tomorrow, after second noon."

"Thank you, Exalted One. You favor me." He rises quickly and steps away from the trap door, not willing to test Jabba’s good humor.

"Unlike the Toydarian. He’s becoming a pest. Might need to feed him to my pet, who’s getting hungry."

There’s a roar from underneath the floor, emphasizing the point. The music and the conversation stop and the silence is painful. But then Salacious B. Crumb, Jabba’s court jester and the most annoying Kowakian monkey lizard in the galaxy, lets out a scream of hysterical laughter and breaks the tension.

A bounty hunter in Mandalorian armor nods at Quinlan as he walks backwards from the throne towards the game rooms in search of Watto.

The Toydarian isn’t hard to find. Watto is buzzing near the sabacc tables and his ugly face gets uglier when he sees him enter. Oddly enough, one of his arms is in a sling.

"You. You gonna give me a chance to win my dosh back."

"Not your dosh anymore, you old fly. You lost it to me." He goes to the cashier and exchanges a few hundred wupiupi for chips. "But I’ll play a couple of rounds with you as a gesture of kindness."

While friendly games of sabacc don’t use dealers - the players handle the cards themselves, this is Jabba’s place and he has to justify the ten percent he takes on cash-in and cash-out and on any note of credit a bettor puts on the table. The dealers, like the cashiers, are decorative and distractive. They are also smart, and know just who to favor. Watto may be a fixture here, and a winner at that, but he’s a piss-poor tipper and often cruel to the boys and girls who work the floor. They’ll do the old fly no favors tonight.

As Quinlan approaches, Watto’s expression is just shy of murderous, it’s only because he wants a chance to win his dosh back that he’s being barely civil.

They take their seats and buy into a game in progress. Greedo’s here, and so is the Weequay pirate, Hondo. The pair seem more interested in banter than strategy. Not that it matters, since the cards don’t seem to favor either of them tonight and they are out within three rounds of play.

Watto has taken about half their dosh and Quinlan wonders if that means the Toydarian’s luck has turned. But once they settle down to serious head-to-head play, it’s clear that Watto’s losing streak has resumed. By the fourth round, Watto is down another five thousand wupiupi. Plus another five hundred he’s spent on spice.

"Old man, maybe you want to slow down, keep your wits about you?"

Watto just spits at him and mumbles something about his mother mating with multiple Jawas.

"Now, that’s not nice. I’m going to remember that when you want a favor from me."

A serving girl comes over with a glass of ice water and a tray of dainty bites that appeal to humans. Quinlan takes the glass, which is an extravagance even in this place. He looks over at Jabba and nods in thanks before taking a sip. It’s pure and cold and fucking delicious. But he doesn’t let himself get distracted.

The play continues and no matter how good Watto’s hands are, Meekah’s always got a better hand.

When Watto’s down almost another five thousand wupiupi, Quinlan asks, "You sure you want to play on, my friend?"

"Not your friend." The old fly gestures to the cashier and buys another thousand in chips.

He loses that and Quinlan wonders how deep Watto’s pockets go. He’s played against him for over two years now, and the old fly has always won, but never for life-changing stakes. Quinlan’s heard, though, that Watto will bet big at the pod races, except one being’s idea of "life-changing" is another’s idea of “pocket change”. It’s just that everyone’s says that Watto never loses.

Until now.

And it’s Quinlan’s job to make sure he keeps losing, and he loses big to him.

"Will you take my marker?"

Quinlan never takes a marker, but if Watto’s down that far, it could mean things could end right now.

"Why should I? You haven’t been very nice to me, now, have you?"

"I’ve got a shop, makes me a lot of dosh."

"Your marker is your shop? Everything you own?"

Watto nods.

"I need to hear you say that, Toydarian."

"I’m wagering my shop, everything I own."

"What about the slave?"

"Him most of all."

"Don’t know. You seem too eager." He looks over at Jabba, who has to approve all markers.

The Hutt confers with Bib Fortuna, who comes over. "My Master recommends that you accept the Toydarian’s marker, Ser Meekah." Bib turns to Watto. "And whether you win or lose, Toydarian, you will owe the house ten percent. Jabba will give you until second sunrise tomorrow to pay, otherwise you will be Rancor fodder."

Bib grins and steps back. A cashier approaches with a recording device. Quinlan says that he will accept Watto’s marker for twenty thousand wupiupi. Watto confirms that he is offering a marker for that amount, secured with his shop, its contents and his slave. And Watto will, on pain of death, pay the fee of ten percent to the house no later than second dawn tomorrow. The recorder spits out the receipt and the curl of flimsi drops onto the table.

Right now, the pot is almost fifty thousand wupiupi, including the marker from Watto for twenty thousand.

"The deal’s on you, Kiffar."

Quinlan tosses a card, pulls a card and likes what he sees. Very much.

Watto grunts, and takes one card.

The dealer announces that bets are due.

Quinlan yawns and pushes all his chips in, "All in."

The old fly chortles. "Call," and flips over his hand. "Beat this." He’s holding Full Sabacc, the second best possible hand in the game.

Quinlan flips over his cards. "Sorry, friend. Got Prime Sabacc, you can’t seem to win no matter how good your hand is. Which means this is all mine." He reaches for the marker and tucks it into his shirt. "I’ll be by your shop first thing tomorrow to collect on this."

Watto is silent, but if looks could kill…

Quinlan signals to a cashier to convert his chips to cash, and he tips both the cashier and the dealer a peggat each. One of the pretty young Twi'lek boys is staggering under the weight of his dewback coat as he heads towards the exit, and of course Quinlan tips him, too.

He’s equally generous with the Devaronian, who fetches his swoop bike and bowcaster double-quick.

One might think it could be dangerous to ride alone with all the dosh he’s carrying. But Jabba’s made it clear that anyone who goes after someone leaving the palace, particularly someone that Jabba himself likes, is going to end up as lunch for the Sarlaac.

He’s home and safe before the third moon has set. The note and the winning, and his extra dosh is locked up safe in the same box that holds his lightsaber and his Temple comlink. Tomorrow, after he sends the ex-slave and the Besalisk off to Coruscant, he’ll let his handler know that this mission has been successfully completed, and that he’s refocusing on breaking down the Hutts hold on the Outer Rim.

There’s still work to be done tonight, though. He has arrangements to make.

No rest for the wicked.

Obi-Wan wakes hours before first dawn up with the oddest feeling.

That today is going to be his last day on Tatooine.

And he tells himself that it’s not possible, that it’s just wishful thinking. A product of Adi Gallia and Yoda’s impromptu visit yesterday. And having the bomb taken out of his body. He rubs his back and revels in the smoothness. Even the scar is gone.

But that means nothing. He has to be patient. Whatever plans the Jedi have for removing him from Watto’s greedy hands is clearly a long game, and it’s going to take time. Obi-Wan suspects that it involves Quinlan Vos and Watto’s propensity for gambling. But that’s dangerous, Watto is so spice-addled, he might just kill him before parting with him.

And yet, everything in him says that today is his last day on Tatooine.

He can’t quite help himself and packs up his few possessions - the case with the data pads that Master Qui-Gon had sent, via Knight H’syan, an ancient volume of Alderaanian poetry printed on actual pulp paper, not flimsiplast, that he’d found in the Dash Market, two letters from Shmi along with holo-images of her new-found family. Obi-Wan has always found it hard to look at the pictures of Anakin and Padmé in their wedding finery, but conversely, the pictures of Anakin, Padmé, and Shmi delight Obi-Wan to no end. Shmi on Naboo looks half her age - she still doesn’t smile a lot, but there’s a serenity in her eyes that tells of profound happiness. The communicator that Anakin had given him goes next to that.

The only other thing left for Obi-Wan to pack are the bags of money Qui-Gon had left with him. There still quite a bit of dosh left. Obi-Wan has been frugal with his purchases, and honestly, there had been a lot of money in those bags to begin with.

As the sky begins to warm with first dawn, Obi-Wan grabs the keys to the shop and feels a little foolish as he hefts the pack with his stuff. But as Master Qui-Gon had been prone to saying, listen to the Force. Worst thing that can happen is that he’ll have to put everything away tonight.

It’s been a long time since he’s thought about his original Master, it always hurts to much to think of what had happened to him in the other timeline. I hope you are well, dear one, wherever you might be.

Obi-Wan pays for his distracted thoughts. When he arrives at the junk shop, not only is Cyral there. So is Watto, along with three Gamorrean guards from Jabba’s palace.

And Quinlan Vos, who seems to recognize him from that long-ago encounter at the Dash Market. His eyes go wide in shock and Obi-Wan realizes that no one ever told Quinlan the name of the slave he was assigned to acquire.

Just as Quinlan has a role to play, so does Obi-Wan. He’s still a sixteen year old boy, a slave with a Force-inhibitor collar around his neck, who knows nothing about anything.

"Umm, good morning gentle beings."

"You’re late, Obi-Boy." Watto sniffs and glares at him before saying in a voice filled with self-pity, "Not that it matters anymore."

Obi-Wan knows better than to ask. He glances over at Cyral, her eyes are burning red and she’s sniffling, like she’s about to burst into tears. And he makes it a point not to look at Quinlan; the last time the two of them were in such close proximity, the Force really fucked him over.

Instead, Obi-Wan unlocks the shop door. Watto pushes past him and flies out to the yard, yelling for the Gamorreans to follow.

The three of them - Obi-Wan, Cyral, and Quinlan - stand at the back doorway and watch as Watto tells the guards to lift up the flat stones in front of the workbench, since his arm is useless.

Obi-Wan understands why. This is where Watto’s been hiding his extra cash.

He doesn’t let the guards carry the box into the shop, and it’s painful to watch the old fly struggle, but that’s what they do. At least Watto has his dosh neatly rolled and for whatever reason, he’s paying Jabba’s guards a fortune.

Cyral whispers to him, "Watto placed a huge marker last night, Jabba needs to get his cut before second dawn."

"Ah." He finally looks at Quinlan, who seems way too smug. Watto must have lost that marker.

The count ends and Watto screeches about a receipt as he gathers up the few remaining wupiupi. One of the Gamorreans grunts and tosses a slip of flimsi at him before marching out the door. Cyral purses her lips, her wattle bright purple and her crest raised as she follows the guards out the door.

Obi-Wan doesn’t know what to make of this abandonment.

Watto flies in circles around the shop, muttering about cheats and bankruptcy and how he’s going to live now.

Obi-Wan can’t quite bear it and he ducks under the counter to retrieve the slave controller box, before asking, "What’s going on?"

"Watto is now your ex-master. Last night, he lost everything to me. Although I usually don’t trade in sentients, you, pretty boy, are now mine." Quinlan takes the slave controller box. "And so is this." The smile he gives to Obi-Wan might truly frighten him if he were actually a sixteen year old boy who has no idea who he is dealing with.

Quinlan gaze goes from Obi-Wan to Watto. "I’m not particularly interested in owning a junk shop. I think I’m going to take your slave and make a profit."

"Well, Obi-Wan’s gotta be good for something. He’s not bringing me luck anymore."

"That’s his name? Hmm, not that it matters. Gonna put him an off-world brothel that specializes in pretty young boys."

Quinlan touches him, his gloved finger gently rubbing Obi-Wan's lower lips. "If you’re smart, if you stay docile, eventually you might even get a day off from the sexwork."

"Just what Obi-Boy deserves," Watto cackles. Then he pushes his luck. "So, I get to keep my shop?"

"No." Quinlan’s voice is colder than space. "You have until second sunset to clear out. I’ll be back on then to make sure. If you’re still here, I’m torching the place."

Watto screeches something incomprehensible, flies out the back of the shop and disappears into the Tatooine morning sky.

"Come, say your goodbyes to this place." Quinlan pulls Obi-Wan out of the front of junk shop, his grip tight.

"I’m not going to run, Ser Meekah." It is beyond weird not to use Quinlan’s real name.

"I know." Quinlan ignores the small crowd gathering in front of the shop and whispers to Obi-Wan. "Don’t fight me."

Someone, Obi-Wan doesn’t know who, shouts, "You can’t take him! He’s done nothing wrong." Other voices in the crowd echo that sentiment.

"Damnit, why do you have so many friends?"

Quinlan addresses the crowd before everything gets out of hand. "You want to blame someone, why not Watto? He’s the one who put Obi-Wan on his marker! He’s the one who’s a degenerate gambler and a spice addict. I told him he should quit while he’s ahead."

Quinlan’s words are just words, there’s no Suggestion in them, but the crowd turns and starts banging on the front of the junk shop.

Obi-Wan stares at Quinlan in disgust.

"Come on. I don’t care if they torch the place - Watto’s long gone. Why should you care either?" Quinlan pulls him towards a swoop bike and throws him onto the jump seat. "Hope you can hold on, we’ve got a ship to catch."

Quinlan Vos is still the same crazy daredevil he’d been in the last life, and Obi-Wan is sure they are going to crash horribly a dozen times before they get to the spaceport.

When they careen to a stop in front of a large luxury transport, Cyral is climbing out of her mate’s land speeder, carrying a duffle bag, and she’s all smiles even though her eyes are still red.

"Hey, Li’l Obi, hope you weren’t scared before. Meekah knows we’re buddies, and after he took the marker off of the old fly, he comm’d and asked me what to do with you. I said we got to get you to the Jedi people. That the little old Ser, Yoda, and the grand Lady Gallia would know how to get that collar off ya."

Obi-Wan blinks, he had no idea that Cyral knew about the collar.

"Miss Shmi told me about it. Told me that it strangles your magic and that you need to go to the Jedi for them to take it off ya. That I’m to look after you. And last night, Meekah called me and told me and asked if I’d go with you to the great Jedi temple on Coruscant and I said, of course!"

Obi-Wan doesn’t really know what to say. "Bless you, Lady Cyral."

"Nothing to bless me for, Li’l Obi. You’re my friend, and I care about you. But you see, I ain’t no great an actress, so Meekah here told me I should leave with the guards."

Obi-Wan nods, "I figured something was up. But you did manage to look like you were about to burst into tears, your wattle turned purple." Obi-Wan grins.

"I sniffed some dubash powder this morning. Spicy stuff."

"You know, I’m going to miss dubash powder, probably won’t be able to get that in the Core. I should have packed the container this morning."

Quinlan frowns at Obi-Wan. "You knew that something was going down today? You even had your bag with you. How?"

Obi-Wan shrugs. "Force told me."

Quinlan drags him a few feet away from the Besalisks and whispers, "And did the Force tell you who I am, too?"

Obi-Wan nods "In a way." When Quinlan looks like he’s about to interrogate him, Obi-Wan adds, "I can’t really say any more than that, and I don’t think you want to hear more. Maybe one day, in a very distant future, I’ll be able to tell you everything."

"I didn’t know you were the one I was supposed to be freeing. Maybe if I did, I would have worked a little harder at it."

Quinlan goes to pull off a glove but Obi-Wan stops him. "No, you don’t want what I am in your head. At least not now."

"Okay, but someday, we’re going to have to talk. I don’t like knowing that I walked away from you like I did that day."

"You fixed it now, and it’s just fine."

The call for boarding blares out, too loudly.

"I got you and Cyral first class accommodations all the way to the Deep Core. You’ll have to change transports a few times before you get to Coruscant, but you should have a good trip. Travel well, Obi-Wan Kenobi.

"Thank you for everything, Meekah the Kiffar. And may the Force be with you, always."

Chapter Text

Shepherd of the wind returned
from the pasture
In the world’s courtyard, blossoms of stone opened
consecrated to strange gods.
Trembling ladders dreamt about
humans dreaming about them.

The Visit of the Queen of Sheba, Stanza 5 - Solomon Waits (fragment)
By Yehuda Amichai

Translated by Stephen Mitchell

The best decision Qui-Gon has made in recent memory is letting Kit Fisto take charge of the energy treaty negotiations on Malastare. The young knight has far more patience with the machinations of the Dug Council than Qui-Gon ever had. Kit and Tahl make for a brilliant negotiating team. Even young Bant is in her element.

For the last three weeks, Qui-Gon has just sat back and nodded sagely when appropriate, approved decisions as needed, and on rare occasions, stepped in to course correct.

There’s still another standard month to go, but if the work continues like this, they will actually finish on time. Walking back to his suite, Qui-Gon wonders if this is how Master Yan had felt when he had turned the Malastare energy treaty negotiations over to Qui-Gon, only two years after he’d been knighted.

There’s a banquet planned this evening to celebrate the parties’ agreement to all the terms in the hundred and fifteenth clause. Or is it the hundred and fiftieth? He’s lost count. There will be too much food and alcohol tonight. The Dugs are not an acetic people. While this celebration won’t require formal dress, Qui-Gon - and all of the Jedi - will need to freshen up.

Tahl and her padawan, Bant go into their suite, Kit into his, and Qui-Gon gratefully palms the scanner for his own rooms.

And the first thing he notices is the bright, blinking light of his com unit. Not the one that comes with the suite, but his Temple-issued unit that has to be left behind during the work day.

His stomach drops. In all the months that the team has been on Malastare, Qui-Gon has never received a message from the Temple. Of course, he is in regular communication with the High Council - almost daily, in fact, going over the progress of the negotiations. But they have never reached out to him until now.

This can’t be good.

His hands are shaking as he presses the play button. Mace’s form fills the small emitter pad, and even the normally hard-to-read blue of the holo, his face looks too stern, too official.

"Greetings, Master Jinn. It is imperative that you return to Coruscant immediately. Your presence at the Temple is required as soon as possible. Based on the reports you and your team have filed, we will not be sending a senior Jedi to replace you at the negotiation table at this time, as Knight Fisto and Master Tahl are doing an excellent job of taking the lead on the contract renewal process. We have already advised the Dug negotiating team about your recall. May the Force be with you. Windu out."

The emitter pad goes dark.

Qui-Gon plays the recording again. And one more time. He finally relaxes into annoyance and then resignation. Whatever is going on back at the Temple can’t be life or death, he would have felt it.

He calls Tahl and Kit, and as he suspected, at least one of his colleagues has received a similar message. Tahl tells him to get his act together and pack, and that she’ll see him in a few - she’s getting ready for the banquet. Kit doesn’t answer his comlink.

He’s packed and ready to go in about fifteen minutes. Even for a lengthy negotiation assignment, Qui-Gon travels light. He is a Jedi, after all. He double-checks the 'fresher and finds a favorite hair tie and a jar of boot polish, and just as he opens the door, a functionary arrives with yesterday’s laundry - which saves Kit from having to ferry his shorts and socks back to the Temple when the assignment is completed.

Qui-Gon stuffs them into his pack and sighs. He has no clue why the Council is recalling him to the Temple. He’s not worried; this isn’t the first time that’s happened, it won’t be the last. And he’s not unhappy to be leaving Malastare, Kit and Tahl and Bant have control of the process, and both the Republic oversight team and the Dug negotiators are more than awed by this trio. Qui-Gon's absence from the table won’t be a problem.

As he steps into the hallway, Tahl is there. She asks, "Do you know what’s going on?"

"Nope. I got a short, stern message from Mace telling me to get my ass back to Coruscant. The Council won’t be sending anyone to replace me - they have faith in you and Kit to finish the negotiations."

Tahl shakes her head. "Adi Gallia left a similar message for me, except she told me I better not screw this up. I wonder who Kit heard from?"

A door opens behind Qui-Gon. "From the Little Green Troll himself. 'Great faith the High Council has in you and Master Tahl. Help will be provided if needed, by me personally. But ask you must.’ I can’t think of greater incentive for us to do a good job."

"Last time Master Yoda was on Malastare, he challenged the reigning pod-racing champion to a match. Three laps around the Great Cullasutin Energy Field. He won the race by a lap and a half. The Dugs were not happy and nearly refused to sign the treaty. You definitely want to keep Yoda off of Malastare. Please, for the sake of the Republic, diplomacy, and your careers."

Kit looks at him like he wants to call bantashit on the story, but Tahl chuckles and rubs the poor disbelieving knight’s arm. "You have no clue what a speed demon our Grand Master is, do you. You think he’s just a sweet old troll who likes to give sweets to Younglings and tell them stories about the early days of the Republic, or remind young Padawans and Knights about the dangers of attachment. Master Yoda can be, when the mood strikes him, he’s a spinning chaos molecule, if it suits the Light."

Qui-Gon adds to that, "Next time my Master is in Temple, I’ll see about arranging a dinner for us. He can tell you a few stories that will make your tentacles twitch."

Kit perks up at that offer. "Oh, right. I’d forgotten that Master Dooku was Master Yoda’s last padawan."

"Yes. And on that note, I must get going. Please pass my regards and apologies to the Dugs, even though they have been told that I’ve been recalled."

"Will do, boss." Kit claps him on the shoulder. "And thank you again for letting me - " He looks over at Tahl and amends his words. "Letting us take the lead here."

"You’ve been doing a spectacular job, Knight Fisto, Master Uvain. I couldn’t be prouder of your work, or more confident that you’ll finalize the treaty on time. May the Force be with you." He bows to them both.

Kit and Tahl return the blessing as Qui-Gon heads off.

Obi-Wan has his own cabin, right next to Cyral’s, on what must be one of the most luxurious transports to service the Outer Rim.

There’s even a full-service water-based 'fresher, something that Obi-Wan had rarely experienced on any transport in his first life. Even on the Negotiator, personal cleaning was sonics only, given the vast numbers of clones who lived on it. In the war, water had always been a precious commodity.

But despite the first impulse to strip down to his bare skin and spend the next hour or three in the shower, Obi-Wan controls himself. After all, it’s not like he has clean clothes to put on.

He sighs and flops down on one of the couches, waiting for Cyral to come by. They agreed to have their meals in his cabin rather than deal with eating in one of the restaurants on board. Again, it’s a clothing problem.

Obi-Wan picks up the in-cabin data pad and peruses through the offerings. He’s not surprised to find several clothing shops on board. The prices are suitably outrageous, but he has enough dosh to buy what he needs, its just …

He sighs again. He had so wanted his first new clothes to be tabards and tunics and cloaks and leggings and boots from Jedi stores, not overpriced dreck from some cruise liner.

A knock on the door interrupts Obi-Wan’s aggravated musings and he gets up to check the door panel. It’s Cyral and he lets her in.

"How ya doin’, Li’l Obi?"

He shrugs. "I think I’m doing all right."

Cyral settles onto the couch Obi-Wan had just vacated and pulls him down to join her. "What’s wrong, other than this being such a big change? Being a free person?"

"That’s just it. It’s big, almost too big. I’m nervous, I guess. Worried. It’s everything I’ve been hoping would happen and now that it’s happening - "

"You scared, right?"

Obi-Wan nods. "Yeah. I’m thinking about stupid things. My clothes." And trying not to think about arriving at the Temple and loosing my composure over what I saw the last time I was there. All the dead bodies. All the murdered children. Everything I lost.

"Oh, oh, stupid me. I forgot to tell ya. Meekah gave me a lot o’ dosh for you. Lot’s for me, too. But lots and lots for you. Said to get you clothes and stuff so you wouldn’t look like somebody’s poor orphaned cousin or somethin’. Said that fine transport ships like this always have good shops, and I’m not to let you scrimp and go cheap."

Obi-Wan shakes his head. "I won’t need a lot, not really. Once I get to the Temple, the Jedi will clothe me."

"It’ll be at almost two weeks before we get there, so you can’t keep wearing rags. You gotta have some clothes, Li’l Obi. And don’tcha argue with your Lady Cyral."

"All right." Obi-Wan folds like a bad hand of sabacc. "You going to help me pick what I need?"

"Sure, would be my pleasure, not that I know what a boy would wear, though."

Obi-Wan picks up the data pad and the two of them spend a pleasant hour selecting a simple wardrobe for him. Cyral’s disappointed at the lack of bright colors and flash, but Obi-Wan figures that everything he’s picked can be integrated, somehow, into a padawan’s regulation wardrobe. Everything except the shoes. Those will go into an incinerator at the earliest possible moment.

The clothing is delivered within an hour, and Cyral returns to her suite. She wants to experience the glory of a water shower for the first time in a decade. "It’s the only thing I regret about letting my Ducca convince me to move to Tatooine. The lack of water. We Besalisks, we are a hardy species, don’t need a lot to thrive, but we do like some pleasures."

"Like water showers?"

"And swimming holes. Yavin IV was nice, lots of water everywhere. Also lots of things that’d kill ya. But water …" Cyral hums and her wattle flushes blue with pleasure. "Anyway, there’s a bathtub in my suite big enough for a Besalisk to float in, and I’m gonna enjoy it."

"I think I’m going to do the same, and then put on my new clothes. Then we’ll have dinner here."

"Are ya sure you don’t wanna go to one of the restaurants?"

Obi-Wan shakes his head. "No, I think that’ll be too much. Maybe some other night."

"Okay, I gotcha, Li’l Obi. It’s a lot to take in after everything you’ve been through. Buzz me when you be ready for a meal, okay?"

"I will, and thank you."

Cyral shakes her head, bemused. "I got an all expenses paid holiday, and you’re thanking me? Li’l Obi, you are something else."

Along with the delivery of the clothes and shoes, comes a small furry creature. It looks vaguely like a tooka or loth-cat, but it’s not a tooka or a loth-cat. Those cats have spindly legs and claws like birds, this beast is built more like an Alderaanian manka-cat, with furry legs and padded toes, and what feels like retractable claws. It has a smaller mouth, too. But its teeth are just as sharp, as Obi-Wan discovered when the little pest bit him as he’d tried to pick him up.

Gently. Just as a warning.

"What are you doing here?"

Of course it doesn’t answer, but Obi-Wan gets the oddest feeling it’s laughing at him.

It’s taken up residency on the couch in the suite’s living room, staring at him with unblinking blue eyes.

"You’re just going to sit there, aren't you?"

Again, no answer. It’s a standoff.

"May I join you?"

That, at least, gets a response. The creature moves two steps to the right and sits down again. Obi-Wan takes a seat in the cushion the beast abandoned and they resume their staring contest. Cat-creature twitches its tail and leaps.

Right into Obi-Wan’s lap.

It’s heavy for its size, but the weight is oddly comforting, and Obi-Wan cautiously strokes a hand down its back. Its fur, white and gray, is the softest thing he’s ever touched. He can’t help himself and he strokes the cat-beast again. And again.

It starts to rumble. Obi-Wan can feel it through his body, and it’s like someone has just told him, all right, it’s time for you to be happy now.

He keeps petting the creature, but now, he starts from its head, and his palm snags a bit on a collar around its neck.

"You too. May I look?"

Now the beast understands him. It doesn’t stop its rumbling, but it lifts its head, and shows off a pretty metal tag to Obi-Wan.

"Hmm, you are Rori, and your guardian is Saja Edea." There’s a comlink number, but Obi-Wan isn’t quite ready to call this Edea to come and retrieve their straying creature. Its rumblings are so very soothing.

He sits there, dressed in new clothing that he doesn’t want, stroking this strange and beautiful animal, finding peace and serenity for the first time in a very long time. Maybe two lifetimes? Even the quiet time, in the years when he’d been watching Luke grow to manhood, when he’d found a modicum of emotional equilibrium and acceptance in what had happened, after Qui-Gon had left him finally, he hadn’t felt this clear-headed.

Is it the beast on his lap, or is it the lack of the Force?

"Mrrp."

"Well, that’s not exactly the answer I was expecting."

He stops stroking Rori, who turns around and gives him that stare. Obi-Wan is reminded, oddly enough, of Master Yoda, in one of his more philosophical moods. Then Rori blinks and puts his front feet on Obi-Wan’s chest and pads gently at his shirt, managing to undo the closure. Obi-Wan fights the creature, not wanting it to get tangled in that damn collar, but that’s exactly what it does, first one then both of its paws slide under the collar and the beast doesn’t move.

It just stands there, looking at Obi-Wan, unblinking and Obi-Wan gets lost in its gaze. It’s like falling into the core of the galaxy.

Trust yourself, Champion. Trust the Force. All will be well.

And then the door chime rings, breaking the connection - if that’s what that was. Rori jumps off his lap and runs to the door.

Obi-Wan remembers to breathe.

He checks the camera feed and sees a young-ish being - Human or Human-variant - dressed in robes that are somewhat reminiscent of a religious order. They are smiling into the camera. Obi-Wan closes his tunic before pressing the speaker. "Hello?"

"Any chance my cat is in your suite?"

Obi-Wan looks down at the creature. A cat. What a plain name for such an extraordinary being. "That’s what you are? Is this your guardian?"

"Mrrp."

"You have a very limited vocabulary."

"Hello? Is everything alright?"

"Does your cat have a name?"

"Rori. He’s gray and white with blue eyes."

"Yes, he’s here. He arrived with the clothing." Obi-Wan opens the door. Rori doesn’t race to his guardian. Instead, he returns to the couch. And mrrps.

"Hi. I’m Edea. You have my cat?"

"He’s taken up residency on my couch." Obi-Wan tilts his head back towards the piece of furniture in question.

"Can I come in?"

"Of course." Obi-Wan steps aside, and lets the young being into his suite. They make soft kissing noises, and Rori begins to make that soothing rumble noise again, but now he’s flopped onto his back, and his paws are in the air, batting at nothing.

"Oh, he must love you."

"He let me pet him for a bit. He’s very sweet."

Edea gives him a tilt-headed look, a bit too piercing for Obi-Wan’s peace of mind. "You’re a Force-sensitive, aren't you?"

Obi-Wan can’t get a read on them - they are not Jedi and the collar isn’t giving him any leeway now. "Are you?"

"You must be a Jedi, to answer a question with a question. I’m a Saja - one of those Force-user sects that your kind don’t like to think too hard about."

Obi-Wan has a vague memory of the Saja. Something about teachers of the Force, but nothing more than that. "I’m not a Jedi yet, on my way to the Temple. They want me to become a padawan."

"A little old for starting that now, aren’t you?"

He shrugs. "My circumstances are a bit unusual." He wants to change the subject and so he gives them a little bit of a lie. "I don’t think I know anything about the Saja."

"Tell me your name and I’ll tell you a bit about us."

"Fair enough." He introduces himself and gestures for Saja Edea to take a seat. They do, and Rori jumps into their guardian’s lap.

For some reason that she can’t explain, Shmi has taken to carrying the long-range comlink that Anakin had programmed for her. The only number on it is Obi-Wan’s, and despite all the tinkering she and her son have done to it, the foolish thing can only receive messages.

Not that Obi-Wan has been able to leave messages for her. When she’d first left Tatooine, Obi-Wan would try to contact her every few days or so, but the messages he’d leave were always garbled. Anakin had done his best running the data stream through his robots and other tech, recovering bits and pieces, until Shmi just told her son to stop.

It was too heartbreaking. And maybe it was for the best.

Darling Padmé had offered to send one of her people to Tatooine to check up on Obi-Wan, and a part of Shmi wanted to accept that offer, but she could see just how badly every hand was needed on Naboo. The blockade and invasion had been brief, but it had done an amazing amount of damage. She didn’t feel right about taking resources away from the rebuilding just to satisfy her curiosity.

She knew Obi-Wan was doing just fine. He had Cyral to look after him, and there is not a more trustworthy being on Tatooine than Cyral. After the Jedi had come and gone, after the revelations about Obi-Wan’s magical blood and her own son’s fate, she had the feeling that some day, sooner than later, Obi-Wan was going to push her to leave. That Anakin was going to come for her.

Someone needed to watch over her friend, the sweet, foolish boy who needed all the protection in the galaxy, but protected her like she was his heart-sister.

Shmi had trusted the Besalisk with some of Obi-Wan’s secrets, not all of them of course, but some. She told Cyral about the collar, about meeting Qui-Gon Jinn and who he was to her, and about how Obi-Wan needed to go to the Jedi. And how she thinks that Obi’s magic is why Watto always wins his bets.

She’s never told anyone else about Obi-Wan’s great magic. That seemed dangerous. It’s not that she doesn’t trust her son or Padmé, but she doesn’t really know them. And that’s the crux of things. Anakin is a good man, and likewise, Padmé is a good woman. They seem to be, at least, when they deal with her and her issues.

To be fair, Shmi knows she’s not an easy person. So many years as a slave doesn’t make for a cheerful personality.

And her son and his bride are dedicated to Naboo and this beautiful planet and all the people here.

As much they care about her, she knows they really don’t understand her. Anakin and Padmé really don’t know true, longterm hardship. Not like her. Not like Obi-Wan. Not like anyone who’s lived on Tatooine, in the dreary back end of Mos Espa, just on the edge of the Rift. Even the free people suffer, with the scarcity of everything.

Shmi sighs and pockets the nearly useless comlink. She has to go meet her son and daughter-in-law and head down to Theed and meet with some people. They are planning a small celebration to commemorate the reopening of a market in the city, in one of the areas most badly damaged during the invasion. It’s a pity that so many of the shop owners have left Naboo for other planets in the sector. But still, Padmé and Anakin want to celebrate the milestone and have asked for her advice on some mechanical issues. She doesn’t think her help is needed, but she’ll contribute whatever she can, of course.

And wonder of wonders, just as she’s about to walk out the door, that damn comlink chimes.

Shmi nearly drops it in her haste to answer it.

"Hello there!"

"Obi-Wan! I can hear you! As clear as anything - like you’re standing right next to me."

"Shmi, you’re not going to believe this, but I’m off Tatooine. I’m on a ship heading to the Mid Rim, and then on its way to Coruscant. I’m going to the Jedi Temple."

She stares at the small device, at a loss for words. But Obi-Wan doesn’t notice. He just tells her what she needs to hear.

"Watto’s luck finally turned! The old fly made a bet he couldn’t cover - and it was to Meekah the Kiffar."

"What!!!!" Shmi had never quite trusted that young bravo. "And why is that good news?"

"Let’s just say that Meekah’s an unexpected ally and leave it at that, all right? He showed up yesterday morning with Watto’s marker. Meekah made a good show of it, being all nasty to Watto and to me, but the Kiffar’s all right. He’d pre-arranged everything with Lady Cyral. Got me to the spaceport, bought first class tickets for both of us on a pleasure cruiser. We’ll have to change berths a few times before continuing to Coruscant. I couldn’t wait to tell you."

"I wish I could see your face, Obi. I mean, you sound so happy. But to see you!" Shmi can’t really quite believe that Obi-Wan is free.

"Do you have a comm in your suite that’s equipped with a holo-emitter? I could call you back when you are free."

"Oh, I’m free now. I was just about to start my day doing make-work for the children. This is more important than anything. Hold on." It takes just a moment for her to shoot Obi-Wan the digits for her suite’s comm unit and seconds later, he appears on the emitter pad. The handheld device lets out a high-pitched squeal from the feedback between the two connections.

Shmi disconnects the handheld and sits down, to smile and stare at her beloved friend. "Hi there."

"Hello, dear one. You look wonderful."

"You look good too. Very blue."

Obi-Wan laughs so freely, so joyously. That is not a sound Shmi’s familiar with.

"I like your clothes."

Obi-Wan plucks at his shirt. "Cyral talked me into buying some from the shops on this ship. Overpaid, but I was wearing rags. Like everyone else in the slave quarters."

That reminds Shmi about something very important. "Did Meekah give you your controller?"

"Yes, but I didn’t tell you the best part. The day before everything went down, two Jedi showed up and they took the bomb out of me. So I didn’t even need to worry about that. Not that Meekah knew. Cyral was there when the Jedi did their … magic. You can tell Anakin that Master Yoda and Master Adi Gallia came to Tatooine. Dropped in to the shop to see me. Right out of the blue."

"I will." Shmi bites her lip. "I know from Anakin that Jedi are not really big on letting their students keep ties with their families, but do you think, if Anakin came to your Temple to visit, and brought me with him, they’d let us spend a little time together? I just would want to make sure you’re doing all right."

"I would insist, dear one."

There’s a knock on the door, and Shmi knows from the sharp decisiveness of the sound that it’s her son. "Hold on, Obi-Wan." And she calls out, "Come in, Anakin."

Of course her son is wondering what’s keeping her, but she doesn’t care about that. She gestures for Anakin to join her at the comlink. "Come say hello to Obi-Wan. He’s been freed and he is on his way to Coruscant."

Chapter Text

Pain remains between phylacteries,
no remedy. My heart fasts nearly every week
whether I drop a scroll to the ground or not. Whether
the Temple is destroyed or rebuilt.
I don’t drink wine, but whatever wine
does not do to me is a black pit, without
intoxication, a dark empty vat where the pressers tread
wounding their feet on the hard stone. My body is a dry dock
for what is called my soul. My body
will be dismantled and my soul
will go out to sea, its form the form of the body
in which it was, its form the form of the sea,
the form of the sea the form of my body.

The Travels of the Last Benjamin of Tudela (fragment)
By Yehuda Amichai

Translated by Ruth Nevo

Qui-Gon is surprised to find the Master of the Order waiting for him at the Temple transport station. Since he had traveled without the rest of the Jedi team, he’d needed to take a commercial flight back from Malastare. Once he’d arrived on Coruscant, that meant a short trip from the nearby spaceport rather than a shuttle landing in the Temple docks.

Since he still doesn’t know why he’s been recalled, getting greeted by the Master of the Order can’t be good news.

"Mace?"

And then his friend smiles.

"We’ve finally freed Obi-Wan."

Qui-Gon nearly collapses in relief. "And you couldn’t tell me that in your message?"

"It was a very delicate Shadow operation. Don’t ask for details."

"All right, but - "

"No details means no details, Qui-Gon. You know the rules about those ops."

He does. His older padawan-brother, Rael, had been a Shadow for decades. "Where is Obi-Wan now?"

"He and a trusted companion - a Besalisk - had been put on a slow pleasure cruiser that traverses the Outer Rim. From Tatooine around the Slice to Canto Bight and then to Takodana. From Takodana, they transferred to something more, ah, corporate, and then to the Core. One more transfer, last night, at Alderaan. He left Alderaan this morning, local time and they’ll be arriving in Coruscant in - " Mace checks his chrono, "three hours."

"You really cut it close." Then Qui-Gon realizes something. "Wait, the High Council didn’t want to recall me, did they?"

"No, they didn’t. Or at least some of them didn’t." Mace’s frown is terrifying. "I hate to tell you this, but Yoda wants to take Obi-Wan as his padawan."

"What?" Qui-Gon isn’t sure he heard that right. For decades, Yoda had sworn that Dooku would be his last padawan.

"Your Grandmaster is already making plans for his newest padawan."

"I don’t understand. Your words aren’t making any sense. Why would Yoda want to take a mostly grown youth as a padawan? Someone who has never stepped inside the Temple? Is it just because of his m-count? We all know the Grand Master’s piss-poor point of view on m-counts."

"Yoda and Adi went to Tatooine. A few weeks ago, the little green troll announced that he was having visions about Obi-Wan and needed to get there as soon as possible. The Council was not happy about that and yelled at him until he agreed to let someone go with him. They came back from that dust bowl just fine, but they are both enchanted by the boy. Adi as much as Yoda. She is drafting a petition to permit multiple masters in extraordinary situations."

"And how is that going over?"

"Worse than my demand to recall you from Malastare - actually, it’s deader than the plant you gave me for Life Day last year. Yoda and Adi are not happy about the competition. I’m afraid it’s going to be like some holo-net drama, all of you vying for the boy’s mastership. I had to remind those two, and I’ll remind you, when there are multiple offers, the padawan choses and their choice is final."

"Of course." Qui-Gon is touched that his old friend thought of him first.

"My friend, you need to meet their shuttle when it arrives at the spaceport. Do not wait for him to arrive at the Temple. Yoda will snatch the boy up like a piece of candy. And I’m afraid that Obi-Wan will feel compelled to accept Yoda’s offer. Something happened on Tatooine, Yoda and Adi aren’t saying what. But they are both very sure of the boy. Yoda’s only words about him were, 'an exceptional Jedi he will be' and then he thumped his cane and walked out of the Council chamber."

"You’re serious." Qui-Gon is appalled.

"As you were when you announced the return of the Sith. And stay out of Yoda’s way until they arrive. He knows you’ve been recalled, of course and he’ll do everything he can to keep you from the boy. He’s even talked about stepping down from the Council to better serve his new Padawan."

"Maybe I should just head over to the spaceport now. Do you have his arrival information?"

"It’s already on your comlink, I sent it when you were getting off the transport. That and ground shuttle tickets to get the two of you back here."

"Yoda is going to be very unhappy when Obi-Wan and I arrive together."

"Yup." Mace rocks back on his boot heels. "I care for the old thing more than I should, but he’s as much an agent of chaos as any Youngling hyped up on cookies and muja juice. Maybe more so. He keeps too many secrets."

"Do you think he knows something about Obi-Wan? Something important? Maybe about where he’s from?"

Mace shrugs. "Anything is possible. I didn’t quite buy the whole 'vision' thing when he announced it to the Council and I still don't. But call the Grand Master a liar to his face? He’s got an agenda and I can’t figure it out."

"Any shatterpoints?"

"Let’s just say I’ve had a perpetual migraine since you brought that damn Zabrak’s head into the Council chamber like it was some kind of souvenir."

"Sorry, my friend."

"There’s nothing to be sorry about, Qui-Gon. I’m just glad to know there’s something coming. I just wish my own vision was a bit clearer." He sighs. "You should get going." Mace grabs the travel bag from Qui-Gon’s shoulder. "And I’ll leave this in your room."

"Thanks, see you in a few hours."

"You okay, Li’l Obi?"

Obi-Wan’s been pacing his quarters for the last two hours. "I don’t know."

"You still nervous?"

He drops his ass into the chair across from Cyral and lets out a gusty sigh. "Yeah. And getting more nervous by the moment."

"We don’t have to go to the Jedi, you know. You’re a free being now. You can do anything, go anywhere."

"I want to be a Jedi, Cyral. I’ve been dreaming about that for two years." For a lifetime. "It’s just …" He certainly can’t explain to his friend why he’s so anxious. The last time he was on Coruscant, his whole world had died. Everything he’d ever loved, his family, his place within the galaxy, had been ripped away from him in one horrific night of blood and fire.

"I understand." She pats his hand. "It’s a big change. And I’m not gonna be there to watch over you."

Obi-Wan smiles and turns his palm up, wrapping his hand around one of her massive fingers. "I am going to miss you, Lady Cyral of the Dash Market. My dearest friend and protector."

Cyral blushes blue and purple. "And I’m gonna miss you, too. It’s not gonna be the same. Been thinking about moving back to the Core, Ducca and I. We did well on Tatooine, but it’s not like we’re wedded to that sand ball. You’re gone, Miss Shmi’s gone. Maybe it’s time to try our luck someplace new."

"Like where?"

"Was looking at the postings in the Alderaa City spaceport while we were waiting to board. There is some nice work on that planet for some strong folk like me and Ducca. I took the info and sent it on to her. She’s gonna do some investigatin’ and maybe if she likes what she sees, she’ll just meet me on Alderaan and we’ll just get started on a new life there."

"Just like that?"

She shrugs her lower arms. "Yup. Just like that. Why go all the way back to Tatooine?"

"Makes sense, and I like knowing that you’ll be in the Core."

"We’ll practically be neighbors." Cyral laughs. "You can pop on over for caff and gossip whenever it suits your mood."

Obi-Wan laughs at her silliness. But he’s curious as well. "What kind of work?"

"Huh?"

"What kind of work are you interested in doing?" He wonders if the Jedi would be able to help Cyral and Ducca get settled properly. Call in a favor, maybe.

"There’s quite a few openings for high-country timber management. Not really harvesting but conservation, replanting from deadfall, nurturin’ the new trees. Kinda lonely work, but if Ducca and me, we’re all we need. The data sheet says if we complete a full year and the work meets spec, we’ll get citizenship and a home — that’s what’s the most interesting and pays the best. We’d be responsible for a pretty big track of forest — harvesting and replanting and managing the deadfall in the old-growth. There’s also openings in spaceport maintenance, farming, postal work. Either Ducca or I have done all those things at one time or another. We’d gotten the bug about becomin’ entrepreneurs, that’s how we ended up on Tatooine. I ain’t got no regrets about that, 'cos I got to meet you. But I think it’s time for a change. No problem with doin’ labor again as long as we’re treated right and paid well."

Obi-Wan spends the rest of the trip asking Cyral about her life before Tatooine and the time passes quickly. All too soon, an announcement blares through the ship that the ship has arrived at its destination and has received permission to shuttle passengers to Coruscant and passengers should prepare for departure.

He hefts his satchel and takes a deep breath. "This is it."

"You gonna be jus’ fine. You gonna become a great Jedi Knight."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because you are the smartest, kindest, dearest person I ever met. I look at you and I see nothing but goodness. The galaxy is a better place because you exist, Li’l Obi." Cyral shakes her head. "I ought to stop callin’ you that. You are Obi-Wan Kenobi, now. But you always will be my friend."

Obi-Wan sniffs, overwhelmed and trying not to get too emotional. "I kind of like being your Li’l Obi. It’s nice, knowing that someone cares about me out of the goodness of their heart."

"Lotsa people do. You’d be surprised. Watto’s gonna have a hard time when he finally shows his ugly ol’ face again. He may have to go all the way to Mos Eisley if he doesn't want to get his wings ripped off. Or maybe Bestine or Anchorhead. Or maybe even Mos Pelgo, if that place actually even exists. Everyone who you’ve helped likes you, and thinks good of you. They’ll be happy to know that Meekah’s freed you."

"Meekah told Watto that he’s putting me into an off-world brothel." Obi-Wan tells Cyral with a laugh.

"And when Watto spreads that news, people will call him a filthy, disgusting liar, since Meekah hired me to escort you to the Deep Core, all the way to the University of Alderaan!"

A steward knocks on their door, announcing that the shuttle to the north-eastern hemisphere will be leaving soon.

Obi-Wan’s stomach flutters. "That’s us. Time to go."

Qui-Gon recites the Jedi Code a half-dozen times while waiting for the shuttle from the Alderaan Star to land. He hasn’t been this excited since, well, since the getting picked as a Padawan by Master Dooku.

That seems more than apt.

And then the Arrivals Board flashes as it announces the arrival of the shuttle he’s been waiting for, and if Qui-Gon had thought he was excited before…

He’s never more grateful for his height than he is at this moment. He can see a Besalisk ambling down the corridor, and they are talking to someone, but to Qui-Gon's disappointment, the Besalisk is not the Besalisk he’s waiting for. This one is male and accompanying a group of Rhodians.

"Master Jinn?"

Qui-Gon’s head snaps up so fast he almost does himself an injury. "Obi-Wan?"

"Well hello there." Obi-Wan is smiling and his joy at finding Qui-Gon is like a beacon. People stare at him and smile and stumble a bit, but just keep smiling. The Besalisk standing next to him has both sets of arms crossed, and she looks worried, her crest partially raised.

"Li’l Obi, no one said anythin’ about any Jedi meeting us here. Said we were to go right to the Temple."

"It’s all right, Cyral. This is my friend, Master Qui-Gon Jinn, we met on Tatooine and it’s a pleasant coincidence we met him here." Obi-Wan, with more presence than most trained diplomats, takes control of the awkward situation and makes formal introductions.

"Cyral, formerly of Tatooine, my guardian on this trip and my dear friend, may I introduce you to Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn, who I met several years back, when he had business on Tatooine. Master Jinn, I am pleased to make known to you Lady Cyral."

Cyral chuckles. "Sweet Li’l Obi always likes to be so proper. Makes me blush, the way he calls me 'Lady'. But it’s a pleasure to see you again. Jedi Master Jinn. Don' know if you remember me - we met at the Dash Market 'bout two, two and a half years ago. You were lookin’ for a part for a Nabooian cruiser. " She holds out one of her primary hands. "I sent you to Watto’s."

"Of course I remember you, Lady Cyral, and I’m glad to have the chance to thank you. Sending me to Watto’s was invaluable. I met Obi-Wan there, and he has become a dear friend of mine, too, despite the brevity of our association." Qui-Gon looks over at the young man, who ducks his head and smiles, clearly pleased at being called a friend. "And I am glad to know that you care for him, too."

The overhead announces the arrival of another shuttle, and Qui-Gon realizes they are standing in the middle of the passageway. "Shall we move off? Find a seat somewhere and talk for a bit?"

"Sounds good, Jedi man. We’ll follow you."

Qui-Gon leads the pair back to the spaceport cafe where he’d passed the last few hours. Thankfully, the staff are droids who wouldn’t know how to give customers sass. He also wonders about Obi-Wan and luck when a trio - two humans and a Wookiee - vacate a table just as the three of them enter the cafe.

"Take a seat, friends, I’ll get us something. What would you like?"

Obi-Wan just shakes his head. "I’m fine, Master Jinn."

"I’m good, too."

"Unfortunately, for the pleasure of occupying space here, we have to buy something - and it’s my treat. Do you like sweet things?"

Obi-Wan shrugs, but Cyral nods.

"I’ll be right back."

He gets both of them iced jogan fruit tea, and a slice of spice cake. Obi-Wan jumps up to help him carry everything back, and Qui-Gon sits down with a sigh. "Enjoy, please."

"What about you?"

"I sat here for a few hours and had several cups of tea. I am quite all right. You enjoy your treat and tell me about your trip."

Obi-Wan takes a cautious sip. "It was pleasant. A nice change from working at Watto’s."

Cyral snickers.

Qui-Gon has to laugh, too. "I can see you’ve mastered the fine art of understatement."

"It was a little weird being on a ship owned by the Hutts. It was so ordinary. Nice, but ordinary. Nothing freaky. No slaves, just droids or Humans from Core worlds. But I was still relieved when we transferred at Takodana."

"What?" Cyral is startled. "How did you know that the cruise ship was owned by the Hutts?"

"I read the documentation - it’s in the fine print. It’s owned by Jabba’s clan - the Tiures. I guess they have legitimate businesses. And you have to figure that if the Hutts didn’t own it, it would be fair game for pirates, right?"

Cyral nods slowly. "I didn’t give that a thought." She looks at Qui-Gon. "This is the type of thinking they teach the little Jedi?"

"Yes, eventually." Qui-Gon looks at Obi-Wan and beams with pride. "Though I must say that not too many experienced knights would put that together."

"That’s very kind of you, Master Jinn. Maybe if the knight had spent time in the Outer Rim?" Obi-Wan is clearly uncomfortable with the praise.

"Perhaps."

Obi-Wan sips his drink and then frowns.

"What’s the matter?"

"You said you were waiting here for several hours - you didn’t just happen to run into us, did you?"

"Ah, you caught me." Qui-Gon makes a face. "I suppose it won’t hurt to let you know."

"What’s the matter?"

"You’ve make quite the impression on both Grand Master Yoda and on Master Gallia."

Cyral comments, "The li’l green fellow was nice. So was her ladyship. They helped Li’l Obi when Watto hurt him bad."

That news startles Qui-Gon. "What? You were hurt?" He asks Cyral, rather than Obi-Wan. "What did Watto do to him?"

"Watto lost his luck at Jabba’s palace. Lost a lot of dosh and started beating on Obi. He was going to blow him up, but I stopped him. Broke the old fly’s arm, took the controller away from him, brought Li’l Obi home. The two Jedi people were waiting there and they did somethin’ with their magic. Took the bomb out of Li’l Obi’s body. Made Obi promise not to run away, not that it mattered, because he got freed the next day, but a promise is a promise, right?"

"Cyral was the hero of the day, but the great ser - Master Yoda, and Master Gallia - they saved my life, too."

Qui-Gon wonders just what Obi-Wan isn’t telling him.

That’s when Obi-Wan asks, "But what’s the problem with Master Yoda?"

"He is planning on asking you to be his padawan learner."

Cyral whistles, clearly knowing this is something impressive.

"And so is Master Gallia."

Obi-Wan turns pale. "But I want you to be my master. My teacher. You already asked me, on Tatooine. Are you regretting that? Do you want me to let you withdraw your offer?"

Qui-Gon grins and shakes his head. "Certainly not. I’m here, aren’t I? The Master of the Order, Mace Windu, caught me before I made it back to the Temple and told me what was happening. I thought it best to wait here and make my offer again, before either Master Yoda or Master Gallia could convince you that you would be better being a Council Padawan. Or Master Windu himself jumps in and makes his pitch."

"Even though I’m years older than a normal Padawan and I wasn’t raised in the Temple?"

"I think the discerning Jedi will find that an interesting challenge."

The young man frowns. "I don’t want to be an interesting challenge. I want to be your student, Master Jinn."

"You know, if you’re uncomfortable calling me 'Master', we can figure something else out."

"No, it’s fine. I never once called Watto by that title. I was barely respectful to the old bug. He didn’t deserve it and I wouldn’t give it to him. The best he got out of me was 'Sir'. That’s it. You don’t own me, I know that."

"All right, as long as it doesn’t make you distressed."

"It’s fine, but thank you for checking that it’s all right."

"So, you accept my offer?"

"Yes, I accepted it on Tatooine, and I accept it here on Coruscant. I would be honored to be your padawan learner, Master Jinn." Obi-Wan holds out his hand and Qui-Gon takes it, shaking to seal the deal.

Obi-Wan is still worried, though. "Will Master Yoda be angry that I’m going to turn him down?"

"No, because Yoda doesn’t get angry." Explaining the Code is going to be interesting. "But he will be disappointed and he will try to convince you that you have made a mistake. I am occasionally considered something of a rogue, and my not-so-fond nickname among High Council members is 'The Maverick'. And of course, Master Gallia will make her pitch, too."

Obi-Wan frowns. "They were very kind to me. I think they were expecting someone else when they came into the shop. I think they were surprised, I don’t know why."

Cyral chuckles. "I bet they didn’t think they’d find someone so impressive. You are amazin’, Li’l Obi. No slaves are like you. Even Miss Shmi was bitter at times. And angry. She could be sharp with you if you weren’t careful. You weren’t like that. You were kind to everyone, even that mean ol’ fly. You never get angry, you accept and understand and do your best with what you have. You don’t weep and wail and bemoan your fate. That’s why they want you for the Jedi."

Qui-Gon isn’t quite sure where this Besalisk is from, but in a very rudimentary way, she’s just described the Jedi Code.

And Obi-Wan is unhappy with her praise. "I’m not a saint, Cyral. I’ve certainly had some very bad moments, and I’ve been angry about being a slave. I’ve despaired of ever being a free being. Sometimes going on had nearly been impossible."

Qui-Gon hears the truth of those words ringing quietly in the Force. "I’m sorry it’s taken so long."

And then Obi-Wan smiles at him and shakes his head. "Oh, no, Master. None of my despair rests on your doorstep, or the Jedi’s. In fact, I’ve felt none of that since we met. I knew that everything would be fine once I saw you."

Qui-Gon also hears something else, something that troubles him just a bit. Once I saw you, once I had the Vision that saved you. Nothing else mattered after that…

But this is not the time or place to mention such things.

Cyral rumbles. "And this is why I’m giving my blessing to you and Li’l Obi, Master Jinn. This, and because you are family to me."

Qui-Gon is honestly confused by that. "Family? Why?"

Obi-Wan laughs softly and nods. "Yes, I see that."

"Could you explain, Padawan?" The title slips out and it feels perfectly ordinary and absolutely momentous.

"Cyral considers me part of her family. So is Shmi. You were Shmi’s child’s teacher - but like a father, too. So, by extension, you are part of Cyral’s family, now."

"You trained Shmi’s Ani to be a Jedi, and now you’ll train my Li’l Obi to be a Jedi. That’s only right. The little green Ser is a good Jedi, but it’s better for family to teach family."

Qui-Gon burst out laughing. "Oh, my dear Cyral. You are amazing. Grand Master Yoda is my Grandmaster, he trained my own Master. Which means he’s like my grandfather in the Order. "

Cyral chuckles, too. "So the little Ser will be Obi’s great-Grandmaster, then?"

"Exactly. If he doesn’t cut me down and abscond with Obi-Wan in a fit of pique."

"You’re joking, right?" The Besalisk is appalled.

"Of course I am." Qui-Gon grins and pats one of her hands. "Master Yoda will be annoyed and will spend quite a bit of time trying to convince Obi-Wan that he’s made the wrong choice, but ultimately, he will accept Obi’s decision."

Cyral nods sagely. "Good. Just as long as my friend is happy. He’s very nervous right now. It’s a big change, you know. But it be good for him. Better than anything on that dustball. Even better than going to some fine university. Obi-Wan Kenobi is meant to be a Jedi."

Qui-Gon couldn’t agree more.

And of course the subject of this conversation blushes.

Once upon a time in another life, Obi-Wan has been the Initiate that no Master had wanted to take on as a Padawan.

Now he has Yoda, Adi Gallia, and potentially Mace Windu wanting to teach him.

This life is very strange.

"I guess I should be letting you folks go." Cyral sighs. "Gonna find someplace to stay until my mate decides about Alderaan."

"Alderaan?" Qui-Gon asks.

"Yup." Cyral explains about resettling back in the Core. "Can you recommend a place to stay, Master Jedi? Don’t need nothing fancy, but I don’t feel like dealing with criminals either. Coruscant ain’t exactly friendly to tourists who don’t know their way around."

"Why Alderaan?"

"Heard they always welcome non-citizens, and the work that was posted seemed interesting." She tells Qui-Gon about the jobs that she’d read about.

"You and your mate really want to do timber management? That’s lonely work, and you seem the gregarious type."

"Don’t exactly think we’re going to have the capital right away to open a shop in Alderaa City. So we work hard for a few years, save up, then open a shop. Besides, after all the years in the Tatooine heat, it’ll be nice to get back to our natural environment."

"You know …" Qui-Gon frowns, an expression Obi-Wan is too familiar with. "Are you set on Alderaan?"

"It’s up to Ducca, my mate. We like to make these decisions together."

That’s when Qui-Gon asks, "What about Naboo?"

"Naboo?" Both Cyral and Obi-Wan say at once.

"Yes, Naboo. Small planet in the Chommell Sector."

"That’s Mid-Rim, right? Where Miss Shmi went to live." Cyral’s crest goes up and down. "Ain’t that where her Anakin married the Queen?"

"Yes it is, and it is a lovely planet, but it’s recovering from an invasion. A large chunk of the population has relocated in the last two years. To other planets in the sector," Qui-Gon adds.

Obi-Wan frowns. "The human population?" He thinks quickly, trying to remember if the coursework that Qui-Gon had provided covered the colonization of Naboo.

"Yes, the native Gungans have remained in their underwater cities - they hadn’t experienced the same losses as the humans. Anakin has become the Queen’s ambassador to the Gungans, trying to forge closer relations, but they want little to do with the surface dwellers."

Cyral asks. "What’s this got to do with me?"

"When you said you were thinking of resettling, I immediately thought you would do well on Naboo."

She frowns and her crest goes to full height. "Dunno. Planet settled solely by humans probably don’t like having Besalisks come in, taking over a human business. Ducca and I been through that, don’t want to go through that again. Alderaan, they are known for their open doors. Big planet, lots of resources, always willing to share. Naboo is tiny, don’t think they gonna treat strangers well. No, I think Alderaan will be better for me and Ducca. Unless Ducca has other ideas."

Obi-Wan agrees with Cyral. While Padmé Amidala had fought hard for the Gungans right to representation in the Galactic Senate, she hadn’t been able to do as much to open her planet’s doors to non-human refugees from the Clone Wars.

Qui-Gon nods. "If you ever want to go to Naboo, you can just reach out to me, and I’ll be happy to contact Anakin about your emigration. And I’m sure you can talk to Shmi too."

"That’s most kind of you, Master Jedi."

The three of them seem to come to a consensus and they get to their feet. Qui-Gon takes Cyral to a mid-priced lodging attached to the spaceport and they exchange comlink numbers. Obi-Wan feels like he’s abandoning his only friend to a gundark’s nest.

"Doncha worry, Li’l Obi. I’ve traveled the galaxy, you know. This place is safe and clean and it’s not like I can’t take care of myself. Got four arms and four fists." Cyral grins. "But I’ll comm your Master Jedi and let him know what’s what, just so you won’t worry. And once it’s possible, I’ll be in touch when Ducca and I get settled on Alderaan. And I promise, if we don’t like it there, we’ll consider movin’ onto Naboo." She gives him a tight hug with all four arms.

"All right, my friend. You and Ducca be well and prosper in all your endeavors." Obi-Wan can’t help but sniffle, just a bit. "May the Force be with you."

"Aww, thank you for your Jedi blessing, Obi-Wan Kenobi. May the Force be with you, too."

Obi-Wan sighs as he watches Cyral disappear into the hotel.

"Are you all right, dear one?"

He looks up at Qui-Gon, heart slightly stuttering at the endearment. "I will be. Thank you for your help in trying to get Cyral settled. She is a being of great pride and wisdom. She likes to give the impression of slight simplicity, but she’s anything but simple."

"It is rare to meet people who are so generous and kind and good. You are fortunate in your friendship."

"Thank you, Master." Obi-Wan can feel Qui-Gon's satisfaction at the title.

"You’re welcome, Padawan." Qui-Gon sighs. "We’ve lingered long enough that we’ve likely caused some consternation at the Temple."

"How bad do you think it will be?"

"I don’t know. Yoda’s frown will be fearsome. But I don’t know what else they can do. I made the offer, you accepted. Years ago."

Obi-Wan remembers his own struggles with taking Anakin as a padawan, his threat to leave the Order if the Council did not approve the pairing, and wonders if they are going to face something similar. "Could they still block my status as a padawan? I am not Temple raised and too old, after all."

"Cutting off their noses to spite their faces? Anything is possible, but Yoda is still our wisest. He’ll find a way to deal with it."

Chapter Text

I've never been in those places where I've never been
and never will be, I have no share in the infinity of light-years and dark-years,
but the darkness is mine, and the light, and my time
is my own. The sand on the seashore—those infinite grains
are the same sand where I made love in Achziv and Caesarea.

The years of my life I have broken into hours, and the hours into minutes
and seconds and fractions of seconds. These, only these,
are the stars above me
that cannot be numbered.

I Wasn’t One of the Six Million: Open Closed Open (fragment)
By Yehuda Amichai

Translated by Chana Bloch and Chana Kronfeld

Obi-Wan is a little surprised when Qui-Gon heads not to the public transport station, but to the taxi stand, with its rank of air-cars and speeders for the relatively short trip.

"Come on. We’ll travel in style - at least for your first trip to the Temple." Qui-Gon claps him on the shoulder. "We’ll have a lifetime of crowded train rides to deal with."

Obi-Wan can do nothing but nod and follow Qui-Gon, already feeling very much like his young padawan self, trailing along in the wake of his vibrant, dynamic master.

The taxi ride from the spaceport isn’t a long trip, but it’s long enough to give a wide-eyed Obi-Wan a taste of the upper levels of Coruscant in this timeline. And he’s relieved, in a way, to see that nothing is too different. The Senate dome still gleams in the sunlight, the luxury apartment buildings, including the very recognizable bulk of 500 Republica, still tower nearby. They zip past the Opera House and the glittering shopping complexes for the wealthy and the powerful that are still clustered around the Senate district.

All too soon, the speeder glides to a stop at the end of Processional Way, at the base of the Temple steps, between the great bronzium statues. Obi-Wan's heart pounds. It is impossible not to remember what he’d seen the last time he’d been here. All of the death and destruction.

"Padawan, are you okay?"

Obi-Wan nods. "Just nervous. Sorry."

Qui-Gon’s smile is gentle and understanding. "There’s nothing to apologize for. You’ve traveled across the galaxy, but entering the Temple is almost a much greater journey."

You have no idea… For the first time in a long time, Obi-Wan curses the Force-inhibitor collar around his neck. Without access to the Force, he has no idea if he has any shields, and any way to block his thoughts and reactions. He just has to remember, this isn’t that life, and everyone he’d loved is still alive.

Still, in his mind, he builds a wall. Not to keep anyone out, but to keep his own horrors contained.

Qui-Gon has paid the driver and opens the speeder door. "We do have to get out, even if you do want to turn around and go someplace else."

"No, no - this really is where I’m supposed to be." Obi-Wan gets out of the taxi, lifts his chin, and marches forward. The massive ceremonial staircase is still flanked by the four grand statues - the two Warrior Masters and the two Sage Masters, their names lost to time. Obi-Wan can’t quite help himself and bows to the ancient statues - they are old and dear friends.

Then he turns to Qui-Gon. "I’m ready, Master. Let’s go inside."

No one stops them as they walk through the massive bronze doors, but once inside, a young padawan rushes forward. "Master Jinn, finally! Did you locate Ser Kenobi?"

"Yes, Reva, I have, and you get the honor of being the first at the Temple to meet him." Qui-Gon makes the introductions. "Reva Sevander, Council Padawan, I am pleased to introduce you to Obi-Wan Kenobi, late of Tatooine."

Obi-Wan does his best not to react at that name. In his original timeline, Reva Sevander had been Third Sister, an Inquisitor under the Galactic Empire, instrumental in the kidnapping of Leia Organa in an attempt to lure him out of hiding, but that had been part of her own deep plot of vengeance against Darth Vader.

Now, though, she’s a smiling, gentle-eye’d teenager with a long padawan brain, heavy with beads. "Master Windu himself has commanded that you and Ser Kenobi appear before the High Council upon your arrival."

"Impatient buggers, aren’t they?" Qui-Gon shakes his head and gives Obi-Wan a long-suffering look.

Reva giggles. "I should tell them you said that."

"Oh, padawan, I’ve called them so much worse." He pats Obi-Wan’s shoulder. "Don’t worry, I’ll protect you."

Reva shakes her head and gives Obi-Wan a mock-sad look. "Master Jinn is really quite incorrigible, isn’t he."

"Maybe, but I like him."

"Yeah, I like him, too. Although he gives my own Master, Yaddle, a lot of heartburn." With that, she leads them to the elevator for the High Council spire. Obi-Wan’s stomach swoops a bit on the swift ascent. And the thought of what’s to come.

The doors open and Obi-Wan takes a deep breath, prepared to see the horrors that had haunted his nightmares for nineteen years - the dead guards cut down trying to protect the Younglings. But there are no dead bodies, just the dappled sunlight of the Council antechamber, with its lush greenery and benches for waiting Jedi. How many times over the years had Obi-Wan sat here, waiting for his turn to give a mission report - either as Qui-Gon’s padawan or Anakin’s master?

Reva leads the way to the Council chamber, ignoring the guards and not even pausing to knock on the doors. She just throws them open in the most absurdly dramatic fashion possible. "High Council Members, as tasked, I have brought before you Ser Obi-Wan Kenobi. He was accompanied from the spaceport by Master Qui-Gon Jinn."

Obi-Wan centers himself in the here and now, ruthlessly blocking the horrible memories of the last time he set foot in the High Council chamber. That is a life that has not happened yet, and Force willing, will never happen. He focuses on the startlingly youthful Mace Windu, seated at the center of the semi-circle and bows.

"Welcome to the Jedi Temple, Obi-Wan Kenobi."

And here we go…

"My thanks to the Order for everything that you have done to secure my freedom." He bows to Master Gallia and Grand Master Yoda. "It is good to see you again, and I’m glad it’s so soon after your visit to Tatooine."

Master Yoda nods and smiles. "Good it is, to see you, young Obi-Wan. How fare you?"

A simple question that is, deceptively simple from one of the most complex beings in the galaxy.

"I am well, Great Ser. Although it has been many days since my freedom was achieved, I still find difficult to believe that I am actually free."

"Time that will take, and sessions with mind-healers you may need."

Obi-Wan is amused how Yoda speaks as if his entry into the Temple is a foregone conclusion. Qui-Gon’s opinion is one thing, but there’s a reason why he’s been brought before the High Council.

"So, I am to be trained as a Jedi? Even though I am so much older than usual for a student?"

"It would be unusual to take a human who has nearly reached adulthood, but we have been told you have great gifts." Yaddle leans forward. "We would be remiss in rejecting such gifts just because you are a little older than is custom."

"I don’t know about these gifts, Great Sera. I’ve been wearing a collar as long as I can remember, about four years."

"And yet, you’ve had Visions." Of course Mace has to point that out.

Obi-Wan nods. "Just one, really. When I first met Master Jinn. I Saw the Zabrak and that he was going to kill everyone, including Master Jinn. I Saw how to stop him, and it was the hardest thing I ever did but I forced my words and thoughts past the collar - it didn’t want me to speak - and I told him what to do."

A Councilor he only recognizes from a holo-image leans forward in his seat. "When you had that Vision, were you frightened? How did it make you feel?"

"That is a hard question to answer, Great Ser. In the moment, I was overcome - I needed to make the Jedi understand me. He couldn’t when I first spoke, it was if there was something blocking my words, or making them come out garbled. I kept seeing this terrible danger and - and - I could get the words out. But something propelled me towards Master Jinn - I grabbed the collar and I pressed my forehead against his. That’s when my words became comprehensible. I wasn’t frightened of what I Saw. I was - " Obi-Wan shakes his head, unwilling to lie or obfuscate his feelings in that moment. "I was frightened at what would happen if I failed to communicated what I Saw. I am just grateful that Master Jinn believed me."

The Councilor questioning him nods. "Thank you, young man, for your honesty. My name is Sifo-Dyas. I am frequently gifted with Visions, and their intensity can be disturbing. I am always eager to know how others manage a gift like this."

Mace thanks his fellow Councilor and resumes his interrogation, his tone hard and testing. "Were you afraid that no one was ever going to come and take you away from that terrible place? That you were going to remain a slave forever? Were you angry that you had been left behind?"

"No, Great Ser. On Tatooine, Master Yoda asked me the same question. I understand the constraints of the Jedi and the laws of the Order. I was never happy being a slave, and I never was content in my servitude, but I wasn’t angry about it either. I also accepted that there are things within my control, and my freedom was never one of those things. Being angry about that is - " Obi-Wan sighs, "futile. Though I can say now that I am very glad to be free."

"Well said, young man." Mace finally smiles at him. "Why do you want to be a Jedi? After all, it is not an easy life."

"My life, up to this point, hasn’t been easy. And it is important for me to help people like those I’d seen hurt and brutalized over the last four years because no one knew what was happening to them. Being a Jedi, a guardian of peace and justice, is the path to achieving that goal."

"Idealist you are." That comes from Yoda.

"I guess I am. I know there will be limits - hard limits - to what can be done. The Jedi are constrained by their own rules and their agreement with the Galactic Senate. But even still, much can be done with knowledge. And not everything has to happen at the end of a lightsaber."

Obi-Wan wonders if he’s gaming the system, knowing just how to answer these questions. And then he decides, it doesn’t matter. The Force wants him here.

To Obi-Wan's surprise, every single Council member present nods, and even a few of the high sticklers - Oppo Rancisis and Even Piell - actually smile at him, something that never happened in his last life.

"Wise words from such a young man," Yaddle murmurs. "Will you excuse us, young one, while we conduct our business?"

"Of course, Great Sera." Obi-Wan bows again and leaves the chamber, Qui-Gon at his heels.

As soon as the doors close behind them, he asks, "Did I make a complete bantha’s ass out of myself?"

Qui-Gon just stares at him.

"Master? Master Jinn, are you all right?"

"I think you’ve broken me, Padawan. How in the Force did you become so wise?"

Obi-Wan shrugs, but worries that he’s given himself away. "Is it wisdom? Or experience? Or learning? The materials you sent me were very comprehensive and I’ve spent a lot of nights listening to the Senate proceedings. It’s not like I had anything else to do."

Qui-Gon looks at him with such pride that Obi-Wan wants to squirm.

Only a few minutes go by before Reva opens the doors and calls them back in.

Obi-Wan takes up his position over the great Starbird seal and waits for the High Council’s verdict.

Mace, not Yoda delivers it. "The vote was unanimous. Obi-Wan Kenobi, welcome to the Jedi Order. Now comes the not-so-simple matter of removing the Force-inhibitor collar from your neck."

Qui-Gon follows half of the High Council out of the Chamber and to the elevator. Mace, Yoda, Yaddle, Plo Koon, and Adi Gallia surround Obi-Wan like an honor guard. He isn’t surprised at the contingent - these are the most powerful Force users in the Order, and they may be needed to contain Obi-Wan when the collar comes off.

Obi-Wan, for his part, seems unnaturally calm. Or perhaps he’s just ignorant of what’s to come. Removing a Force inhibitor collar is never easy, not for the wearer, not for the Healer staff overseeing the process, and not for the Jedi warding the room.

Although the technology in those damn collars has been know for centuries, they’d started to become a common weapon against the Jedi about thirty years ago. As a newly minted knight, Qui-Gon had been on a team that recovered a Zabrak Jedi who had been in an inhibitor collar for nearly a month. The Zabrak, whose name Qui-Gon has long since forgotten, had nearly gone mad from the loss of his connection to the Force. When the Healers had cut the collar, restoring his connection with the Force, every piece of glass in the room had shattered, every piece of metal had twisted into deadly ropes.

No one, not even the Zabrak, had survived the unintentional mayhem.

Qui-Gon doesn’t know how the Healers are going to manage Obi-Wan’s situation, except there’s a difference between Obi-Wan and the poor Zabrak. Obi-Wan is sane. He doesn’t seem to have any memories of a time when he could use the Force, when the Force had been a part of his life. Maybe that will be the difference.

He hopes so, because it would be unbearable to lose Obi-Wan now, when he’s just managed to achieve his freedom. When Qui-Gon has managed to bring him home.

The elevator stops at a sub-basement level that Qui-Gon is unfamiliar with and he gives Mace a quizzical look. Mace holds back as everyone else exits.

"We’ve built a hardened facility for this process. We don’t want a repeat of what happened with Knight D’rvak."

Ahh, D’rvak, that was his name. "Good, but will Obi-Wan be safe?"

"As safe as we can make him." Mace pats his arm in an attempt to reassure him. "He’s a bright young man. I really am tempted to make an offer, myself."

"You can try, but Obi-Wan’s already accepted me as his Master."

"Hmm, I can be very convincing. And charming when I put my mind to it."

"Not that charming, old friend."

Mace chuckles and pats Qui-Gon on the shoulder.

They get to the facility and Qui-Gon is surprised to see his age-mate, Vokara Che, handling the process, not one of the Temple healers. She and Yoda are in deep discussion.

Qui-Gon gives Mace a questioning look, and Mace shakes his head. "Yoda told me he was taking care of this - I guess he picked Vokara to lead the process."

"But why? She’s in Life Sciences now. She used to be a healer, but she left that department a decade ago. This is a weird choice."

"Do you want to challenge the Grand Master?"

"No." Qui-Gon sighs. "And perhaps Vokara has done this before?"

"I don’t know, but I don’t think that Yoda would jeopardize either Obi-Wan or the safety of the Temple."

Qui-Gon agrees with that, but he still wonders at the choice.

Vokara takes Obi-Wan into a small cube made of entirely of transparisteel. Qui-Gon would have liked to have gone in with his padawan, to reassure him that all will be well, but watching Vokara talking with Obi-Wan, she seems to be doing a good job of that herself. His padawan smiles at her, and although he looks a bit nervous, Qui-Gon can’t sense any great fear from him, just a low level anxiety.

Mace says to him, "We are here to supplement the built-in Force dampeners and shield the Temple against any Force surge that might erupt when the collar is removed. Would you like to join with us?"

"Of course." Qui-Gon will do his part to protect both his padawan and his home.

Vokara has turned on a speaker relaying the conversation in the cube.

"How are you doing, Obi-Wan?"

"To be honest, I’m a little worried, Master Che. I don’t know if you know, but I have no memory of my childhood life before the slavers put this collar on. With one exception, I have never used the Force."

"One exception?"

Obi-Wan tells her the story about his Vision. Vokara looks out of the cube, at him, and Qui-Gon nods, to confirm the truth of Obi-Wan’s words.

"All right then. I understand that you are rather blessed with midi-chlorians. And the Force does want what it wants. Let’s get the collar off."

She unbuttons Obi-Wan’s shirt and reveals the dull gray strip of metal resting against his padawan’s neck and collarbone. Vokara puts on a pair of gloves before touching it, but when she does, both she and Obi-Wan wince.

"There seems to be some kind of repulsion component built into this."

"Yes - I’ve aways had a hard time handling it. Have you ever encountered anything like that before?"

"Not this strong. Whoever put this on you must have paid a lot money for it." Vokara keeps handling the collar but from her facial expression, it’s obviously causing her some distress.

Obi-Wan says something that makes Qui-Gon want to weep for his padawan. "I remember one of the slavers saying I had nearly screamed the ship apart before they put this on me - but I have no memory of that. I was probably about twelve when that happened. I wish I could tell you more."

Vokara tries to soothe him. "It’ll be all right."

"How can you be sure?"

"I just have a good feeling about this.".

Obi-Wan asks, "So, what now?"

"I’m going to try to cut it."

As simple as that?

"Hopefully. If the metal shears don’t work, we’ll put you in protective gear and escalate to a laser cutter.". Vokara reaches for a pair of manual bolt cutters. "Here we go. Council members, please raise your shields."

As Vokara starts to cut Obi-Wan's collar, Qui-Gon connects with Mace and the rest of the group, forming a barrier against any possible Force-surge. She slices through the metal and there is a bright flash of Light and a great rush of power flows out from the cube.

But it’s unlike anything Qui-Gon or the High Council had planned for.

It’s both gentle and inexorable and despite the power of the Jedi linked together to hold back the tide, the Force flows through them like their shields are piles of feathers, over and around them, into the Temple, relentlessly.

Power seeks out power, and Light seeks out Light. Ancient sigils, laid down a thousand generations ago to protect the Jedi, and long forgotten, are recharged. Grievously injured Jedi in the Healer Wing, sustained on life support or in bacta tanks, wake up fully healed. Jedi holocrons in the Archive that no one has been able to access for since the Destruction of Ossus pop open, revealing their contents and Master Nu doesn’t know whether to faint or cry or get to work.

In the Jedi’s zoological park, Lonesome Lughashe, the last known Force-sensitive Testudinoidial that has been living by itself, lovingly cared for by Jedi zoologists for the last five-hundred years, grows gravid with a thousand fertile eggs.

And in the Great Spire, five bells that had been silent since the end of the New Sith Wars begin to ring in pure harmony.

Throughout the Temple, dozens of major and minor miracles abound, some so great they are hard to credit, others so seemingly minor they pass by unnoticed.

Obi-Wan sits in the transparisteel cube, unaware of what he’s released throughout the Temple. He revels in the Light, and the joy in all of his brethren’s lives shining so brightly throughout the galaxy, and he swears to himself that he will not let the Darkness touch them ever again.

Chapter Text

The world is filled with remembering and forgetting
like sea and dry land. Sometimes memory
is the solid ground we stand on,
sometimes memory is the sea that covers all things
like the Flood. And forgetting is the dry land that saves, like Ararat.

In My Life, On My Life (fragment)

By Yehuda Amichai

Translated by Chana Bloch and Chana Kornfeld

The Force returns to Obi-Wan like an old friend.

No, more like an old lover, powerful and welcome and dominating. And in this initial moment, when the Light is overwhelming and blindingly bright, Obi-Wan wants to cede control. It would be easy to let the Force take over after so long, but he knows how dangerous that can be.

The Force whispers of power and strength and control, of everything that Obi-Wan has been without these last four years. It’s not easy to ignore the seductive possibilities that the Force is offering, but Obi-Wan Kenobi really isn’t really an untried youth, but a former slave honed by privation and cruelty and hardship. He’s also a fifty-seven year old desert hermit who had guarded his charge with unwavering dedication, a former war general and a one-time member of the Jedi High Council. He’s been a master to a difficult padawan and a Force ghost providing guidance to his padawan’s son.

Obi-Wan knows just how dangerous an uncontrolled and over-powered Force user can be, and he is not going to repeat the problems his Anakin had.

So, let’s begin as we mean to go on.

He reaches out, using all of the discipline of a lifetime and more, and corrals the billions of joyous midi-chlorians within him, taking control of the Force until it settles down and obeys him.

"Obi-Wan? Are you okay?" Vokara looks at him, her expression awed and concerned.

"I think so." He smiles at her. "It feels so amazing, all this life and Light around me. Are you all right?"

She nods and lets out a little laugh. "Yes - but I’ve never felt anything quite like that." Then Vokara turns to look at the Jedi Council members still arrayed outside the protective cube. They all seem just as stunned.

Obi-Wan swings his feet off the examination table and stands up. He feels a little shaky at first, but in a few seconds he gets his strength back. He’s eager to restart his life, he has a second chance as a padawan, and more importantly, he has work to do, a mission to start on. "I feel fine. Just perfect. Can I go now?" He starts buttoning up his shirt.

"Not so fast. I would like to get some baseline measurements - " She points at a scale and takes his height and weight. "And I need to do some blood tests first, and then you’ll need a full round of inoculations before I can release you into the general population. I don’t want you picking up some stray bug and getting sick."

"Or spreading something I’ve got brewing in my own bloodstream. Who knows what I’ve picked up on Tatooine."

"That’s true." Vokara pricks his finger. "Just doing a recount on your midi-chlorians." She sets aside the tester. "Roll up your sleeve, please. We’ll start with the standard broad-spectrum vaccine for your species variant, and proceed from there."

Obi-Wan remembers how many illnesses Anakin had contracted his first year as a padawan, despite the full panel of shots, and wonders if he’s in for the same problems.

Vokara runs through a list of common illnesses that normally ravage the creche, asking if Obi-Wan's had any of them.

"I can’t say if I have or I haven’t had those. I have no memory of my childhood before I was captured by the slavers and woke up with the Force-inhibitor collar. Couldn’t you run titers on my blood to check for antibodies?"

Vokara blinks at him. "Hmmm. That’s a very sophisticated question, Obi-Wan. I don’t think one Jedi in a hundred would know to ask that, let alone someone without any formal education."

Oh kriff, that was a dumb move. Obi-Wan employs the excuse that’s served him well when he’s made this kind of stumble before. "I used to listen to a lot of rebroadcasts from the Senate via the Starlight Beacon satellite, I must have picked that up from a subcommittee session on medical funding for the Mid- and Outer Rim worlds. I can’t think of how else I might have learned of it. There weren’t any medical droids in Watto’s junk shop."

"No, I don’t imagine there were." She jabs him with another pressure syringe.

"Would it be possible for my master to join us?" That should change the subject.

"Master? You already have a master?"

"Yes, Qui-Gon Jinn asked if I would be his padawan, and I accepted." He glances at the assemblage outside the cube. Yoda is frowning and Adi Gallia is shaking her finger at Qui-Gon. Mace is grinning like someone has just told the Galaxy’s greatest joke. But Vokara ignores the High Councilors and asks Qui-Gon to join them.

Qui-Gon comes into the room, and while he’s not upset, he does reprimand Obi-Wan. "Well, you’ve set the gundarks among the tooka-kittens, my Padawan."

Obi-Wan grins. "Well, we had to tell them some time."

Qui-Gon grimaces. "I was planning on a softer approach, not ripping the bandage off. But it’s out there now, and no putting the beer back in the bottle."

"How upset is Master Yoda?"

"He didn’t say anything, but Master Gallia is ready to send me to the Outer Rim on permanent assignment as a Watchman."

At that moment, Master Che’s m-count tester pings with its result, and Obi-Wan asks, "Have I lost any midi-chlorians?"

She looks at it and frowns. "Do you remember what the results were when Master Jinn tested your blood?"

Obi-Wan looks at his Master for confirmation. "About 44,000 or some ridiculous number."

Qui-Gon nods.

"Well, your m-count has increased significantly. It’s now over 48,000." Vokara shows him the tester, and the number doesn’t lie - 48,440. "I suspect that it has something to do with the removal of the inhibitor collar, but that’s only a guess."

"A jump of nearly ten percent? How is that possible? Is your equipment more sensitive than the unit used by Master Jinn?"

"Possibly, but not so much so to account for such a disparity. And Obi-Wan, it’s entirely possible that neither the field equipment and this tester can’t accurately count the density of midi-chlorians in your blood."

"At this point, does the number really matter?" Obi-Wan can’t quite keep the skepticism out of his voice.

Master Che gives him a hard look. "From a scientist’s perspective, it absolutely does matter. A ten-percent change is significant. I’ll have to work on a more precise way to measure your midi-chlorians."

Obi-Wan is a little confused. Vokara Che is a Healer, isn’t she?

"But in the mean time, let’s get the rest of these vaccines into you." She jabs him with pressure syringe after pressure syringe, but Obi-Wan doesn’t really feel any discomfort.

He’s just reveling in the sensation of the Force, and all the Light around him. The multitude of Jedi in the Galaxy - he can feel all of them, more than he’d ever felt in his last life, even before the war. The strength of the Light is such a heady, wondrous thing, he’s almost drunk with it.

Unlike his other High Council members, no worries had Yoda about removing Obi-Wan’s inhibitor collar. The boy had no experience with the Force and had shown no distress or anxiety about being cut off from it. More concerned, Yoda is, about Obi-Wan going wild when he first feels the Force. Out of ignorance, misusing the power he’s been given, or worse - abusing it.

Bypasses the Healers he does, and goes directly to Vokara Che, tasking her with removing Obi-Wan’s inhibitor collar. No reason why this work needs to be done by a Healer, and Vokara has the training needed to preserve Obi-Wan’s life if critical things become.

But anticlimactic the process is. Mostly. There is a great rush of the Force - like a powerful wind - that sweeps out of Obi-Wan as the collar is cut - but beneficent it is. Surprised Yoda is as he hears the bells in the Great Spire ringing, possible that should not be. Silent, those bells have been for a thousand years - permanently stilled by the hand of his own master’s master on submission of the Jedi to the Senate under the Ruusan Reformation.

Perhaps in joy the bells ring to welcome home a child of the Force.

Depart quickly, Plo Koon and Yaddle and Mace Windu do, concerned they are about what may have happened elsewhere in the Temple, but Yoda and Adi Gallia remain behind. And his grand-padawan.

Eager, Adi is, to present her case to Obi-Wan about becoming his Master. Or eager she had been, until ask Obi-Wan did, for his Master, Qui-Gon, to join him. Amusing it is to watch Adi yell at Qui-Gon about sneaking in ahead of her to take Obi-Wan away from them.

After Qui-Gon goes to Obi-Wan, Adi turns to him, her outrage now sadness and disappointment. "Why aren’t you upset about this, Master Yoda?"

"Maybe better it is that my grand-padawan train Obi-Wan. Much that young man will need to learn and other responsibilities both of us have. Resign from the High Council are you prepared to do? Devote all of your time and energy teaching Obi-Wan the basics of the Force as if Obi-Wan a Youngling is?"

Frowns, Adi does. "When you put it like that, teaching Obi-Wan does not seem like such a great job after all, even though he is an unusually intelligent young man."

"Perhaps teach him you can, but on your own specialized subjects? After acclimated Obi-Wan becomes to Jedi precepts and life in the Temple."

Nods thoughtfully, Adi does. "As always, Grand Master, your advice is wise." But glares she does at the Master-Padawan pair inside the transparisteel cube. "I’ll be keeping an eye on Qui-Gon and his progress as Obi-Wan’s master. Your grand-padawan is a very unorthodox Jedi and it would be a shame for him to ruin such a promising student." With that, Adi sweeps out of the room, not letting Yoda defend his lineage progeny.

Not wrong her assessment of Qui-Gon is. Correct Adi Gallia is to call his grand-padawan unorthodox. Well-earned is the moniker "The Maverick," too. Annoying this is, sometimes. But proud, usually, Yoda is, of his grand-padawan. Has taught his own padawans well. Will teach Obi-Wan well, too, certain of that Yoda is.

But certain Yoda is that he will regret not training Obi-Wan himself. Not just because of Obi-Wan’s unusual m-count and the concerns he has about Obi-Wan's immortal midi-chlorians, but because so long it has been since Yoda has met a Youngling that has shone so brightly in the Force. A personification of the Light Obi-Wan is, a gift of the Force.

Still, even if Qui-Gon is Obi-Wan’s master, Yoda can teach him.

Loses himself, he does, in creating a special curriculum for young Obi-Wan. The history of the High Republic, the Great Sages, and eventually, the Splinter Sects and the reform of the Jedi Code…

"Master Yoda? Are you well?"

Yoda blinks and startled he is to realize that Obi-Wan himself is talking to him.

"Well I am, young one. And surprised too, that you have already found a master." Can’t help himself, tweak Obi-Wan he has to. "Was going to offer to train you myself. Would have resigned from the High Council to do so."

"And I would have been honored to be your student, Master Yoda, if Master Qui-Gon had not already made the offer to train me."

Puzzled, Yoda is. "And this offer, when did Qui-Gon make it?"

"On Tatooine, sir. When he suggested that I could be a Jedi. He explained about masters and padawan learners, and asked me, when the time came, if I would like to be his student. I agreed." Obi-Wan bites his lower lip. "But then Master Jinn mentioned, before we left the spaceport, that he had been told that you would like to be my teacher. And that would be a great privilege to be your student."

"Hrmph. Too old I am, to take on a padawan." Yoda tips his head and looks at Obi-Wan. Which isn’t easy, at how brightly the boy does shine, now that off the collar is.. So brightly in the Light. "But too old not I am to teach you about things that you should know, secret things."

Of course, worries his grand-padawan does. "Grand Master?"

"Between Obi-Wan and I this is. Not your business, Qui-Gon Jinn." He grins at Obi-Wan. "Summon you I will, to tea and sweets, frequently. Discuss important things we will. Keep secrets you will, young Obi-Wan." At that, he thumps his gimmer stick and leaves the Master-Padawan pair to sort themselves out.

Obi-Wan is intensely relieved that Master Yoda isn’t upset that he picked Qui-Gon as his master. Since Qui-Gon had told him that Yoda had planned on asking him to be his padawan learner, he’d had visions of the High Council sending Qui-Gon into exile or outright rejecting his own future as a Jedi. But Yoda, for all his tetchiness and worry about attachment, is still the wisest of the Jedi. Obi-Wan also has the feeling that the Yoda of this timeline is something of a troublemaker.

But enough about Yoda, he has a padawanship to concentrate on - a second chance to make things right. "What now, Master?"

Qui-Gon frowns thoughtfully. "Well, you do need to be kitted out, and I’ll have to check with the crechemasters about the next scheduled trip to Ilum so you can find your lightsaber crystal. If there isn’t a trip in the next ten days or so, we’ll have to go on our own."

Obi-Wan can’t quite stifle his gasp. "A lightsaber crystal?" Since Qui-Gon had told Obi-Wan that he should become a Jedi, he’d managed to block all thoughts of 'sabers and kyber and what it would mean to go to the caverns of Ilum.

"Yes, of course - you need to get your first kyber directly from the crystal caves on Ilum. It’s a rite of passage every Jedi goes through, usually as a Youngling. And it’s not going to be an easy one for you. I suspect Master Yoda will insist on coming with us."

Obi-Wan lets out a deep breath. All of this is very real now.

Qui-Gon pats him on the shoulder. "Let’s go to the Quartermaster’s office. It’s time for you to start looking like the Jedi padawan you now are. Tabards, tunics, cloaks - "

And Obi-Wan can’t help himself. "Boots?"

"Of course. Socks too."

"It’s probably very un-Jedi like, but I was quite envious of your boots when we first met. Still am envious." He can’t lie. Obi-Wan still misses his Jedi-issued boots and half-wonders if he had overcome his terror of returning to the Temple with the thought of acquiring a new pair of beautiful, sturdy boots.

Qui-Gon dismisses the covetousness with a simple explanation. "Yes, well, it’s often said that a Jedi’s life is their lightsaber, but more practically, unless a Jedi is one of Master Yoda’s species or a very rare Force-sensitive Wookiee, they won’t go very far without their boots."

Obi-Wan ducks his head and smiles. He can remember his first Master Qui-Gon saying the very same thing.

The trip to the Quartermaster is a strange journey. Jedi young and old are whispering throughout the corridors about all of the odd "miracles" that just happened - the strange figures lighting up on the walls, the bells in the Great Spire ringing, the Great Tree bursting into blossom.

His master looks at him. "I wonder …"

"I don’t think it’s much of a mystery.” Obi-Wan is unnerved.

Then Qui-Gon shakes his head. "We’ll talk about it later."

Before they reach the Quartermaster’s office, Qui-Gon stops and pulls Obi-Wan into a small, unused room. "Master?"

"I think it best to perpetrate a small lie - for your sake."

"I don’t follow."

"I am going to tell the Quartermaster that you were a lost padawan who has been recently recovered from a non-Republic world on the Outer Rim."

Obi-Wan frowns. "Lies like that have a way of biting you in the ass."

"True, but I really don’t want anyone to know why the High Council agreed to accept a sixteen year old former slave as a padawan. If you chose to tell your age-mates about your situation on Tatooine, you can do so, but your m-count is - " Qui-Gon frowns and shakes his head. "That is something beyond extraordinary. It is uncanny and may make you a target for unkindness."

Obi-Wan understands this - he knows just what Anakin when through. "All right. But will you discuss the lie with the High Council, please? I don’t want you to get in trouble." It feels like he’s had this conversation a few hundred times with his Master already.

"Of course." Qui-Gon's smile is sunnier than Obi-Wan’s ever seen. "I should have thought about it before, and I’ll talk with Mace as soon as we get back to our quarters."

That taken care of, they proceed to the Quartermaster, and it turns out that Qui-Gon doesn’t need to spin a perfectly plausible story about his new padawan. He just asks for a complete kit for his padawan and points to Obi-Wan.

The Quartermaster on duty couldn’t care less about anything but the miracles he’s just witnessed, particularly the sigils that had lit up the entire warehouse, imbuing their blessing on the entire store of clothing for a generation of Jedi.

As they walk away, laden with everything that Obi-Wan needs, Qui-Gon chuckles. "I wonder if this means that no cloaks will ever get lost and no bootlaces will ever break."

"We should only be so lucky."

"Ah, but a Jedi doesn’t believe in luck. Only the Force," Qui-Gon teases.

As they make their way back through the Temple, the whispers about the strange miracles persist, and Obi-Wan is getting a little freaked out. He’s pretty certain he’s responsible for all of these events - or at lest the cutting of his collar. He just wishes he knew what it means.

What he’s not freaked out by is the familiar path Qui-Gon takes through the Temple, to the north quadrant, and up to the fifth level. The walk down a long and quiet hallway to a door on the western side. The name-plate over the keypad just reads "Jinn".

"After Anakin was knighted, the Temple housing people asked me when I was going to take a new padawan - the two-room suites are hard to get and many Master-Padawan pairs don’t share quarters - Padawans prefer the communal life of the dormitories. But I insisted on keeping these rooms, that I would be taking a new padawan soon."

"And they didn’t evict you when you were away from the Temple on a mission?"

"Nope. I had spread a rumor that I have rare and carnivorous plants in my suite, and if anyone disturbs them, they might lose a digit, or worse."

Obi-Wan gasps, "My master is evil!"

"You know, it’s not too late for me to take you over to Master Yoda’s quarters." Qui-Gon enters his code and gestures for Obi-Wan to precede him.

"Oh, no - you go first, Master. If there are carnivorous plants in there, you should let them know I’m skinny and dried out, not tasty at all. Certainly not worth the energy."

Qui-Gon chuckles. "I see we’re going to be a good team, Obi-Wan." He turns on the lights and Obi-Wan is struck through the heart at how familiar the room is, down to the old couch, the faded blue blanket draped over one arm, the wealth of plants arrayed on stands in front of the balcony window, and the baked-in aroma of sapir tea.

"What do you think of your new home?"

"A vast improvement over my old one, Master."

Qui-Gon doesn’t comment on that. "Come, let me show you your bedroom, and you can put down your kit. Are you hungry? It’s been a while since you had the snack at the spaceport, and it’s almost time for late-meal. I can call the refectory to send us something to eat, or we can go together, but I suspect you’re going to hear a lot of chatter about what happened this afternoon."

"Which we both know was because my collar was cut." Obi-Wan lets out a shuddering sigh. "I don’t know what to say about that, Master. I feel … wonderful. Alive. But not really all that different. Should I?" How easily he’s falling into the natural rhythms of a padawan - constantly seeking his master’s approval.

And this version of Qui-Gon is unstinting with it. "It’s an odd thing, Padawan, but you feel like you’ve been at my side for years, not hours. Your Force-presence is strong, but not overwhelming."

Obi-Wan can actually feel his master probing their nascent bond.

"And I think you have somehow harnessed control over the Force - I don’t know. And it’s not a question either of us are going to solve on an empty stomach. How does this sound - why don’t you go put on one of your new tunics and tabards - "

"And my boots." Obi-Wan is clutching those boots to his chest like he’d once held an infant Luke. No, don’t think about that.

"And your boots. So you won’t stick out like a sore thumb. And we’ll go to the commissary for late-meal."

"Sounds like a good plan. And you’ll call Master Windu? About what you told the Quartermaster? And maybe telling everyone else?" Obi-Wan has thought about Qui-Gon’s lie - it’s not a bad idea at all.

Last thing he wants is anyone else knowing his m-count. It would be too easy for that information to leak out to the Sith Master.

Qui-Gon isn’t surprised that his new Padawan is worried about the rules. He might not have respected his owner, but he understood the constraints he lived under - and how easily his life might have ended. Rules, spoken and unspoken, had defined Obi-Wan’s life, and needed to be respected. Qui-Gon is going to enjoy teaching his Padawan just what rules can be broken. But not tonight.

Obi-Wan closes his bedroom door and Qui-Gon comms Mace for a quick call.

"Don’t tell me you’re having problems already?"

"Not in the least, but something occurred to me, and I’d like to clear it with you."

"That’s a first."

"You know, I could just call Yoda…"

"All right, what gives?"

"I’ve now got a sixteen year-old padawan that no one has ever met. While there are still a few satellite temples left, none of them support Younglings or Initiates. Training has been consolidated here on Coruscant for a thousand years."

Mace easily picks up his train of thought. "I can see how Obi-Wan's going to raise more than a few eyebrows."

"And given what happened in the Temple today… "

Mace sighs. "Your padawan has created quite a bit of a stir without even trying. The entire High Council is on miracle collection duty."

"I don’t think anyone outside of the High Council should know about Obi-Wan’s m-count. Please tell me you agree with me."

"Of course I do. His records are sealed."

"When we went to the Quartermaster, I was going to tell him that Obi-Wan is a lost padawan recently recovered from an Outer Rim world, but he was more interested in telling us about the miracles he’d observed, so I just muttered something about Obi-Wan having lost everything he owned and needed a complete replacement - skin out and boots up. The Quartermaster just nattered on about the sigils in the walls lighting up and blessing the stores, took Obi-Wan’s measurements, then handed everything over. I’m calling you because Obi-Wan agreed that the 'lost padawan' is a sound cover story, but he’s concerned about me lying without Council approval."

"If I didn’t like your boy before, I definitely like him now. Mace’s chuckle is sly. "Asking the Council for sanction to lie, that’s a new one. And you have it. I’ll personally make the changes in Obi-Wan’s records to cover this, in case someone slices into them. But I’m making one change to the story - he wasn’t lost as a padawan, but as a Youngling. He went missing during an outing to the Senate more than decade ago. People have memories - and his age-mates would certainly remember a padawan who went missing just four years back."

"That sounds extremely specific. Did it actually happen? Did we lose a little boy like that?" Qui-Gon is horrified at the thought.

"Unfortunately, yes. About twelve years ago - when you and Anakin were on that retreat to the Temple on Jedha. A Youngling from the Cloud-Hawk Clan vanished in the Senate building - it’s still an open case with Judiciary."

"That is terrible, but is a good cover. Are you going to report the child as found?"

"No - because we have no conclusive proof that Obi-Wan is that child. And very conveniently, Obi-Wan has no memory of his past."

"What about the medical records?"

"This is the oddest thing - " Mace’s tone is grim. "Both Judicial’s records and the Order’s records were sliced - the medical files on the boy were deleted about a week after his disappearance. And very conveniently, there was no surveillance in the corridor where the boy was last seen. It’s very possible that Obi-Wan could by the missing boy, but there’s no way to prove it."

"Except the Temple never had a Youngling with such an extraordinary m-count. And don’t tell me that it’s possible to add midi-chlorians."

"You’re right - I’d manage to forget about that. So - let’s just leave it that Obi-Wan is possibly the Lost Youngling. And when someone asks about it, say 'the Force moves in mysterious ways' and leave it at that. For my part, I’ll have a few Council members circulate the story through the Temple, so people will hear that and not fall on you and your Padawan for information."

"That’s actually quite devious of you, my friend. And much appreciated." He ends the call just in time for Obi-Wan to come out of his bedroom, looking nearly like a perfect padawan in his new clothes.

"Well?"

Qui-Gon tells Obi-Wan about the Lost Youngling, and his padawan nods, accepting the change in the story. He then gives him a few pointers on how his belt should be buckled - right-to-left, corrects the folds on his tabards, and the frowns.

"What’s wrong, Master?"

"Hmmm. Something’s missing."

"Well, I don’t have a lightsaber yet."

"No, it’s not that."

Qui-Gon starts at the bottom, from Obi-Wan’s precious new boots, to the neatly pressed leggings, the properly belted tabards, his clean tunic, to his long length of sun-bleached auburn hair neatly bound in a thick braid.

"A braid! You need your padawan braid!"

"My what?"

"It’s a symbol of our relationship, and your training status." Qui-Gon gestures to one of the chairs in the small dining area. "Come, sit down. I need to get the grooming kit. Hold on, I’ll be right back."

Obi-Wan takes a seat and Qui-Gon runs off to the 'fresher. While he’d told the Temple housing administrator that he was planning on taking a new padawan soon, his true plans were a little more - ah - fluid. After Anakin has been knighted, he’d tossed the grooming kit under the sink. But he finds it easily enough and hurries back to Obi-Wan, sitting patiently at the table.

"Current protocol says I’m supposed to cut your hair into a nerf-tail."

"What’s that?"

"A short cut with just enough length in the back that you can bind off - about fifteen centimeters or so."

Obi-Wan frowns and protectively strokes his long length of hair. "Do you have to?"

"It’s a fashion, not a rule. Female padawans are not subjected to this, and honestly, if you want to keep your hair at the length it is, I won’t force you to cut it. You are not an enslaved person anymore, you shouldn’t have to conform to an arbitrary grooming standard. And if anyone gives you grief about it, tell them to see me."

Qui-Gon unbinds Obi-Wan’s braid and separates out a small section at the front. "I will need to trim this to about chin length."

"All right."

The scissors cut cleanly through Obi-Wan’s hair and Qui-Gon catches the strands before they fall and he puts them aside. Separating the section of hair into three, he takes a deep breath and recites the ritual speech, pouring his heart - and his connection to the Force - into the words. "The braid a padawan wears symbolizes the connection between the Learner, the Master, and the Force, and the promise made between master and padawan." Qui-Gon folds one length over the other in the age-old pattern. "The bond begins here, with your vow of obedience and my promise to protect you. To teach you all that you will need to know on your journey to knighthood."

"You have my oath of obedience, Master Qui-Gon Jinn."

"And you have my oath of protection, Padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi."

Qui-Gon takes a bead from the kit and threads it onto the braid, and then binds the braid with a length of thread. "The Force hears our oaths and weaves us together." He presses a kiss on Obi-Wan’s forehead. "So our journey together begins. May the Force be with you, Padawan-mine."

"And may the Force be with you, my Master."

Without asking, Qui-Gon re-braids the rest of Obi-Wan's hair and steps back. "Yes, now you look like the perfect padawan. Shall we go scandalize the rest of the Temple?"

The tintinnabulation of the ancient Temple bells resounds not only within the Temple itself, but all throughout the Federal District of Coruscant and beyond. These bells have one purpose, they are the call to arms in times of mortal danger to the Jedi and the Republic itself, but that purpose has been long since forgotten by the Jedi.

Not by everyone, though. Sheev Palpatine might be a Sith Lord, but that doesn’t mean he’s ignorant of his enemy’s history and by extension, its weaknesses.

He’s half-asleep in his pod, as some senators are debating a funding bill for famine relief to some unimportant Mid-Rim planet, when the bells start to toll. He doesn’t so much hear them, but he feels them - a deep and existential - dread resounding in his midi-chlorians.

Palpatine looks around him to see if any of his colleagues notice what’s happening, and yes, a few of them do, as the ringing becomes audible. The sound of the bells grows louder and Palpatine struggles to breathe, as the Light begins to choke him. No one notices as senators and functionaries start to panic and that ineffectual fool, Valorum, calls for order.

But just as abruptly as the ringing had started, it stops, and he can breathe again.

He waits for the chamber to empty, as long as that takes. Sheev Palpatine knows better than to be conspicuous in a situation like this. He moves slowly, nodding to colleagues, making inane small talk until he reaches the exit for his tier and then walks purposefully to his office. His aide, of course, wants to talk about those bedamned bells, but he cuts the man off and locks himself in his inner office.

And waits.

It takes about an hour, but one of his contacts within the Temple reaches out to him. Not his acolyte, a disgraced Jedi who is bound to menial service in the Senate. This contact is a functionary highly placed within the Order, and while he hasn’t yet been turned to the Dark, he’s a venal sort. Sheev pays him well for the accurate information he provides.

"Well?"

"The bells in the Great Spire started ringing."

"Yes, they were heard in the Senate chamber."

"Ah, that is good to know."

Palpatine frowns, annoyed at himself. Information should only go one way. "Anything else - I’m not paying you for something I already know."

"The Temple walls lit up with protective spells. The Great Tree bloomed."

He leans back in his chair, more concerned than ever. "Any reason why these things would happen now? Anything unusual going on?"

"Not that I’m aware of. And I’m a Council Secretary, I am aware of everything."

"All right. Your fee will be deposited in your account tonight."

"Thank you, Senator. Always a pleasure doing business with you."

Palpatine ends the call. He needs to tell his Master what has happened. But not just yet.

Chapter Text

Life is called life as the west wind is called
west, though it blows toward the east.
The way death is called death, though it blows toward life.
In a cemetery we remember the living, and outside it—
the dead. As the past leads to the future
though it's called past, as you to me and I to you in love
though I'm called by my name and you by yours.

In My Life, On My Life (fragment)
By Yehuda Amichai

Translated by Chana Bloch and Chana Kronfeld

Two Weeks After Obi-Wan Arrives at the Temple

It’s an odd thing, of all the memories that Obi-Wan has, all the bits of minutiae about a life he’d once lived, the one memory he can’t fully grasp is his trip to Ilum as a Youngling. He’d must have been eight or so, which is the age when lightsaber training begins for real - not just with battened sticks or demonstrations by senior padawans.

Obi-Wan remembers getting on the ship with Garan and Reeft, huddling with them in the chilly confines of the ancient transport, avoiding Bruck and his cohort. He even remembers the name of the ship - it was called The Crucible. Master Yoda had made the journey with them, which hadn’t been unusual. The little green troll loved going to Ilum with the Younglings, and rarely passed up a chance to make that journey.

But he has no concrete memories of his actual time on Ilum. He can’t recall going into the Crystal Caves and finding his kyber. He knows he did, he had that blue crystal for over fifteen years, until he lost his 'saber on Naboo, in the battle with Maul. He’d carried his Master’s lightsaber for only as long as it took for everyone to return to Coruscant and for him to go to the crystal storeroom in the Temple. He’d turned in Qui-Gon’s 'saber and asked to pick through a selection of blue kybers.

The one he’d chosen had matched the color of his late Master’s eyes.

He wonders what this search will bring.

"Excited, padawan-mine?" Qui-Gon hefts a pack.

"Actually I think I might be sick." He’s that nervous. It also the first time he’s leaving the Temple since he had arrived.

"You’ll be fine." Qui-Gon claps him on the shoulder. "There’s nothing to worry about."

"I’ve done a lot of reading about this Ilum thing. How I’m supposed to experience visions."

His master’s smile fades. "Visions can’t hurt you, Obi-Wan. They aren’t real."

Obi-Wan can’t help himself, and he contradicts his master. "That’s not true - what I Saw on Tatooine was very real."

Unlike the other Qui-Gon, this one doesn’t shut him down with a reminder to "live in the moment". "You’re right, your vision was quite real and it saved my life, it saved Anakin’s life. But - and pay attention to my words - there is a significant difference between spontaneous Force visions and what happens in the Crystal Caves. The high concentration of kyber and a Jedi’s midi-chlorians will trigger visions that are more like hallucinations. They might feel troubling, but they are harmless."

Obi-Wan is horrified. Last time - which he has no memory of - his m-count was about twelve-thousand. "Master - I could go insane in those caves."

"You won’t. I promise you. Master Yoda goes to Ilum all the time, he collects crystals for the Temple stores several times a year, and he has never gone mad."

"Or maybe he is insane and no one has figured it out yet."

Qui-Gon just gives him a Look before telling him to fetch his warmest cloak and his pack. "You’ve packed extra socks, I hope."

"Yes, Master. And extra socks for you, too."

"For me?"

"Just in case."

Qui-Gon blinks and smiles at him. "That is very thoughtful of you, Padawan."

In truth, carrying extra socks and ration bars for his Master had been a long-standing habit from Obi-Wan’s first padawan-ship, and when he saw the pair of Qui-Gon's socks in the pile of clean laundry waiting to be put away, he’d grabbed them and tucked them in his pack without a second thought.

Now, his Master gently bullies him out the door and down to the Temple landing dock.  "Since it’s just the two of us and Master Yoda, Master Yoda has offered to pilot us on his personal transport.  He won’t leave without us, but it will be rude to keep him waiting. And we don’t want to miss our departure window.”

"Grand Master Yoda does enough traveling that he has his own ship?"

"He does, and woe betide anyone who insists on grounding him.  He’ll agree to take another Council member with him on Outer Rim jaunts, but most of the time, he likes to roam the galaxy on his own.  He feels that the Jedi will become too insular if he - and the other long-lived Councilors - remain hunkered down here."

"That seems wise, if I may venture an opinion."

"Between us, you may always speak your mind, my Padawan.  And I agree with you.  But my Grandmaster is dear to me, and I can’t help but worry when he is out and about.  The Galaxy is a dangerous place."

The Temple dock is still the same chaotic place it had been in Obi-Wan’s memory, with power and fuel lines running everywhere, and droids and techs scrambling to keep the Order’s small fleet operational.  The sight of an Aethersprite sends a stab of nostalgia through Obi-Wan, although he’d hated those ships with a passion.

Qui-Gon leads him to an old ST-70 class Razor Crest, with a full complement of armaments, which surprises Obi-Wan at first.  But then he realizes that Master Yoda is also a skilled warrior and is always armed.  Just because his ship has guns doesn’t mean he’ll use them without reason or just cause.

The boarding dock lowers and Yoda is standing there, wrapped in a fur-lined cloak.  "Come now, all day we don’t have.  Launch window closing soon."

Obi-Wan sighs and rushes up the platform, Qui-Gon follows.  "Thank you, Grand Master, for taking us to Ilum."

"Thanks, there is no need, young one. Looking forward I am to seeing you find your first crystal.  Bets there are in the High Council about the color.  A green crystal you will find, please. Share my credits with you if I win."

Master Yoda closes the ramp and leads the way to the cockpit.  "Co-pilot will you, Grand-padawan?"

"Certainly, Grandmaster."

Obi-Wan had never flown with Master Yoda, at least not like this, and watches the little green troll intently as he goes through pre-flight, finally opening comms for departure clearance.  "This is Tython-One to Coruscant Air Traffic Control, ready for departure."

Obi-Wan is shocked at Yoda’s use of Galactic standard grammar.

"Tython-One, you have one minute until your launch window commences."

Yoda nods to Master Qui-Gon, who begins the ignition sequence for the engines.

And finally, "Tython-One, you are cleared for departure, please observe all speed limits until you are out of Coruscant atmosphere.  Safe journeys."

Of course, Master Yoda punches it.

The journey to Ilum should take little more than half a standard day, via the hyperspace lanes and the Grand Master’s creative piloting.

Just long enough for Obi-Wan to get space-sick.

Well, he never did enjoy interstellar travel.

He makes it to the 'fresher before he empties his stomach, thank the stars. And Yoda is there, waiting, when he comes out. How delightful.

"Well, you are now?"

Obi-Wan nods.  "I think so."

"Nervous you are, your master said."

"Yes, I am."  Obi-Wan isn’t afraid to admit that.

"About the visions."

He nods again.  "Master Qui-Gon said that they are really just harmless hallucinations. They will be brought on by my Force-sense in the presence of all of the kyber.  Or actually, my midi-chlorians.  And I have a lot of midi-chlorians.  He’s reassured me that you are fine when you go into the caves."

"Mostly fine, I am.  Sometimes visions I still have.  Had a vision about you, last time I came to Ilum.  Saw you surrounded by the Light, but also that danger and Darkness were near. A threat to you, maybe.  Important I knew that I should see you for myself."

"I am glad you came. I don’t know if your visit accelerated my manumission, but it was wonderful meeting you and Master Gallia."

"And removing the bomb from you, good that was too."

Obi-Wan shrugs. "Yes, but it wasn’t a priority. I appreciated it, but I think the Force was protecting me. For a long time, Shmi Skywalker was my friend and had always tried to shield me from the worst of Watto’s meanness, and then I had Cyral at my side, watching over me."

"Oh ho! Now the Force you believe in?"

"It’s funny, but I have always believed in the Force, even when the only thing I remembered about myself was my name. I remember trying to reach for the Force when I woke up on the slavers’ ship and was terrified that I couldn’t. So how can I not, Master Yoda? After everything I’ve experienced?"

The little green troll smiles and his ears perk up - a sign of his approval. But of course he is still Yoda and has to issue a warning. "Remember, young Obi-Wan, in motion the future always is.  Important it is not to be overwhelmed by visions.  Important to be focused on the here and the now."

Obi-Wan takes comfort in the very ordinary, very Yoda-ness of Yoda.

"So, I have to go into the caves alone?"

"Rite of passage the Gathering is, for every Jedi. Usually as a Youngling, but fine you will be, if focused you stay.  Concentrate, you must, on who you are, not on what you should become."

With that, Yoda insists that they return to the cockpit. Qui-Gon smiles at him and offers him a cup of warm tea. "To settle your stomach."

He takes it gratefully and settles down in the jump seat. The hours pass quickly, Qui-Gon and Yoda share stories - mostly about Yan Dooku, master and padawan. They are amusing and filled with affection for the man, but they set Obi-Wan's teeth on edge. In this timeline, he has not Fallen, is still a revered Jedi, and never developed a fascination with Sith objects. Instead, he has turned his vast intellect to all things Mandalorian and is now the Jedi Ambassador to the Court of the Mand’alor - a noble and important role, since Mandalore is not part of the Republic, but plays an important role in galactic politics.

But it is still unnerving to hear Qui-Gon and Yoda speak of the man with such regard and with such affection. Especially in the present tense.

"Meet you will, your own Grandmaster, sometime soon. Soon he will return to the Temple."

Obi-Wan just nods and swallows some bile. "I’m looking forward to it."

A beep from the control panel lets them know that the ship will be dropping out of hyperspace and their arrival at Ilum is imminent.

Yoda sets his ship down with far more care than he’d shown with his take off from Coruscant. A good thing, because Obi-Wan is queasy again.

"Feel all of the kyber, can you?"

"Yes, Grand Master. It’s like a living presence."

Qui-Gon frowns and looks at the ground.

Obi-Wan notices that reaction. "You can’t feel it, Master?"

"No, Padawan-mine, I’m sorry to say, I don’t. I am more attuned to the Living than the Cosmic Force."

Without thinking, he takes Qui-Gon's hand and lets the sensation flow through him. Qui-Gon’s eyes go wide and Obi-Wan drops his master’s hand, apologizing. "I shouldn’t have done that - that was a very wrong thing to do, wasn’t it? A terrible breach of —"

His master cuts him off. "It’s all right, Obi-Wan. Just unexpected - and you should ask before Sharing like that."

Yoda looks at both of them and mutters something unintelligible before heading down towards the Temple entrance.

"Come Padawan, you’ll freeze solid if you linger out here." Qui-Gon wraps an arm around his shoulders and they follow Yoda to the security of the Ilum Temple.

Once inside, Obi-Wan realizes he remembers this Temple. It’s sparsely furnished, with just a circular fireplace and benches in the center of the room that everyone gravitates towards. Some droids approach with hot beverages that they all gratefully accept.

No one bothers to take off their cold weather gear, though.

From one doorway, a builder/architect droid appears, and Obi-Wan’s memory supplies a name. Professor Huyang. He’s sentient and ancient, as old as the first Force-using cultures, as old than the Jedi order itself. Maybe even older than the Seeing Stone on Tython, perhaps even older than the first temple on Ach-To.

"Ahh, Young Master Yoda, it is good to see you again."

The little green troll lets out a wheezing laugh. "In your eyes only, am I young, Professor Huyang. Today, my grand-padawan and great-grand-padawan, I bring to you. A kyber crystal my great-grand-padawan needs. Returned to us Obi-Wan is, after a long separation."

Ah, so even Master Yoda is adopting the polite fiction and with a droid, surprisingly.

Huyang turns his sensors on Obi-Wan. "Welcome to Ilum, Padawan."

"Thank you, Professor Huyang." Obi-Wan bows to the droid, out of respect of his age and sentience.

"Teach you, Huyang will, how to construct your lightsaber, after your crystal you have found. For thousands of generations, guided young Jedi he has."

There is no more delaying the inevitable, and Yoda takes him to another door. "To the Crystal Caves this leads. What I told you on the ship, remember you must."

"Yes, Grand Master."

Yoda all but pushes him through the damned doorway and it closes behind him with a thud. There are lights to guide seekers and multiple pathways - each one of them feels correct to Obi-Wan. He wishes he could remember his childhood journey here, so he would have some idea which way he should go.

He hears his own voice, from his last life. Use the Force, Luke…

Stars, is his mind just being silly or is he having a hallucination already?

There really is no wrong path, is there? But he listens to his older self and reaches out with the Force. It tells him to turn right. He turns right.

Something in him really wants to turn left (no, that’s Anakin-thinking).

Obi-Wan walks, counting the paces and making mental note of the landmarks. He reaches a lake covered in ice floes.

Cross the lake.

Really?

Cross the lake.

So he does.

Obi-Wan hops from one floe to another and gets to the other side without ruining his beloved new boots. There are no signs of any crystals though. Where to next?

Keep going.

The Force is certainly chatty here. Obi-Wan keeps walking, and he wonders where the light is coming from - there are no fixtures to illuminate the way. He keeps walking, following a narrow path through the cavern and counting the steps and then he forgets everything.

The pathway opens up into a massive cave lined with kyber crystal, so bright it hurts Obi-Wan’s eyes. It’s like staring into Tatoo I at noon.

He blinks, his eyes tearing up in reaction to the brightness, and he rubs at them. When his vision clears, the painful brightness has receded a little and he can see someone approaching from the far side of the cavern, coming out from an enormous outcropping of kyber. The figure is tall and black and moves with slow and deadly purpose.

Obi-Wan knows that gait. He wants to run, he needs to hide. He has nothing but his words to defend himself and he doesn’t think Darth Vader will be swayed by the Negotiator’s golden tongue. Then he remembers his Master’s words and Yoda’s, too.

He stands his ground as Darth Vader comes ever closer.

He wants to cover his ears to block out that horrible sound, the steady whoosh of his once-padawan’s respirator, but he doesn’t. He lifts his chin and walks forward to meet the image of his doom.

"Hello, Darth."

The figure before him says nothing, the sound of the monster’s mechanical breathing filling the cavern like a strange sort of tocsin, the beat at first steady and then it begins to match Obi-Wan’s own heartbeat. It finally moves, not to attack, but to lift off its helmet.

The face behind the feared black mask is not the ruined visage of Anakin Skywalker, but of an older Obi-Wan Kenobi - his mouth bracketed by lines of bitterness, brow furrowed by pain, eyes turned Sith-gold.

Obi-Wan whispers, "No, no - not possible." And then his intellect overrides the panic and he begins to parse out what the Force is telling him.

This is a warning.

Darth Vader had been Palpatine’s creation, and in this timeline, Palpatine is still the senator for the Chommell sector and is making moves to secure a power base. Is this the way the Force is telling him that he is at risk for becoming Palpatine’s creature, just as Anakin had?

The black figure dissolves into a pool of star shine.

"Very good, Champion."

Ignoring the title and feeling embarrassed by the praise, Obi-Wan says, "I didn’t think the Force had a voice."

"For those who we want to hear us, we will always speak to them. The kyber magnifies our thoughts."

Obi-Wan nods. "All right, that makes sense."

"You do love your logic." The Force is amused, that is undeniable.

"It helps. But why me?" Obi-Wan has wanted an answer to that question since he woke up on the slaver’s ship all those years ago.

"You have an infinite capacity to endure. Your strength is boundless. We have watched you in this life, in every life."

"I was once told that I was made for infinite sorrow. Is that the Force’s doing? Your doing?"

"We are sorry for all of the pain you have endured, but it has been necessary. You are tempered now, like the strongest of substances. You won’t break, no matter how brutal the strain."

Obi-Wan doesn’t know what to say. That sounds like he’s facing another horrible future filled with loss of everyone he’ll love, and he swallows against the sinking feeling in his heart.

"Warning we have for you."

Obi-Wan can’t quite stifle the laugh when the Force adopts Yoda’s speaking mannerisms. But then he gets serious. "I am listening."

"In this life and in every life you have and will live, you are our real chosen one and Champion. Not to bring balance to the Force, but to defend the Light and defeat the Darkness." The voice of the Force now sounds like Senator Padmé Amidala, excoriating the Senate at the fall of the Republic. "We have given you many gifts to help you along the way, and you have allies - some you will not be aware of until the battle has been met.

"I was afraid you were going to tell me this, that I really wasn’t reborn just to save Qui-Gon’s life on Tatooine."

"That was your first test, Champion. And you passed it most admirably." Now the Force has borrowed the voice of The Daughter. "Many other tests you will face before the final battle, and each one will require different strengths and different skills, but all of this will need your full commitment to the Light. Waver for one heartbeat, doubt yourself once, and all may be lost. The Darkness will seize upon your doubt."

"I understand."

"The Darkness searches for you. And we have done our best to hide you until you are ready, but in time, the Darkness will learn of your existence. You need to keep quiet."

"What does that mean?" Obi-Wan is afraid he already knows the answer to that question, though.

"It was not the collar that has kept others from understanding your words when you tried to tell them who you were."

Obi-Wan can’t help himself and blurts out. "Wait - the slavers didn’t put the collar on me. You - the Force - did."

The star shine pulses, as if in thought. "We have acted through others to preserve your life, Champion. And to preserve our hope. To put you through the cycle of death and life again would have weakened us, put the universe at risk. It was a painful choice and one we still believe necessary."

"I understand. It wasn’t all terrible, actually. I could feel the Force quite a bit, but I couldn’t use it. And not being able to tell anyone has been a pain."

"We have silenced your voice and your heartbeat within the Force for your own safety. The Darkness hears a pin drop halfway across the galaxy, and listens closely all the time. You cannot speak of things that have not happened yet, or did not happen, or may not happen."

"And yet, you can speak of it here." Obi-Wan finds this dichotomy puzzling.

"The kyber of Ilum is a connection to the Wellspring of Life, Our birthplace, it is the nexus between Living and the Cosmic Force. The Pivot Point between life and death and everything in-between."

Obi-Wan shivers. Qui-Gon had mentioned The Wellspring of Life just once, and then never again.

"Your life before this is not to be spoken of, and we will not permit you to speak of it."

Obi-Wan is stunned. "Ever?" He had hoped one day to tell Qui-Gon what he’s gone through. And maybe Master Yoda, too.

The Force is silent for a moment. "When you have defeated the Darkness, return here and ask us again. We will consider your request, Champion."

He accepts the edict with grace. "That is all I can ask of you."

"And yet, we ask everything of you."

Obi-Wan bows to the pulsing pool of star-shine. "It is always my honor and duty to serve the Light."

"Advice we have to offer, listen will you?"

"Of course. How could I ignore the wisdom of the Force?"

There seems to be a subtle laughter ringing through the cavern. "To the here and now, you must commit, Champion. Do not forget who you were and the lessons you learned in your last turn upon the wheel, but you must live your now-life as if it is the only life you have."

It takes Obi-Wan a moment to understand what the Force is telling him. "Commit to being a padawan, and not think of myself as a fifty-seven year old playing at being a padawan."

"Yes, Champion. You will be happier, healthier, and better able to face the challenges ahead. Your past life will integrate with your present. Enjoy the gifts we have given you, Champion."

"Thank you. But I have a question."

The star shine pulses, waiting.

"What about the cat, the one that travels with the Saja priest?"

Obi-Wan gets no answer. The Light of the Force grows unbearably bright again, too bright to bear, and there is a quick popping sound before it disappears.

It takes a few moments for Obi-Wan’s eyes to readjust, and when they do, he finds two kyber crystals at his feet, each the size of his thumb and glowing bright white.

He takes both of the crystals and stows them carefully in a belt pouch. The trip back to the Temple is much easier than his outbound journey. The ice floes on the lake have solidified into a solid mass, and he’s able to see his own bootprints leading back to the Temple doorway. The door swings open with a touch, and his Master, Master Yoda and Huyang, sitting around the fire, all turn and look at him in surprise.

"That was very quick, Padawan. You were successful?"

Obi-Wan pauses for a few seconds to catch his breath and to put away everything the Force told him. "Yes, Master."

"And what did you find?" Qui-Gon is smiling and his happiness is like a song in the Force.

"Two crystals - they seem to be matched. Do you think the Force wants me to learn Jar'Kai?" He takes the two stones out and shows them to the Jedi and the droid.

"Hmm, big crystals those are. Matched they are." Master Yoda turns to Huyang. "What think you, old friend?"

The ancient droid nods. "I would agree that the Force is suggesting a matched pair of 'sabers for you, Padawan Kenobi. Perhaps one should be dual-phased, so you can adjust the length if you want a shoto blade. Shall we get started with the building?"

As they head to Professor Huyang’s workshop, Qui-Gon asks, "Did you have any problems?"

"You mean did I have a Vision?"

His master favors him with a bit of a grin. "You don’t have to be so blunt, padawan-mine. But yes, that was what I was asking."

"I should learn to be more - what’s the word - diplomatic, right? And yes, I did. But I’d rather not talk about it."

"Yes, diplomacy is an essential quality for a Jedi, and you’ll learn. And no, you shouldn’t talk about your vision. That is between you and the Force."

Oh, Master, if you only knew…

Obi-Wan remembers constructing his first 'saber on the transport ship back to Coruscant, under the watchful eye of Professor Huyang.  As an Initiate, the 'saber had only been equipped with a low-powered emitter, to be swapped out for a full-powered one when he would be taken on as a padawan.

Now, of course, he’s going to build at least one - likely two - fully powered lightsabers.  The idea of learning to wield Jar'Kai is a bit unnerving, but also, it makes sense.  He doesn’t think he’ll be able to maintain the facade of a novice for long, and he’s going to fall into his old form preferences quickly.

"What kind of hilt do you want, Padawan Kenobi?"

Obi-Wan doesn’t want to recreate what he’d had in his last life, that is for certain.  "Something clean and simple, not a lot of frills."  Oddly enough, he thinks of the very basic and extremely powerful lightsaber Luke had built, using a Mygeeto kyber crystal he had left for the boy hidden deep in his hut’s cellar, waiting for Luke to use the Force to find it.

Professor Huyang shows him a variety of materials.  "These are all starting points, young one.  You will refine your hilts and tune your emitters throughout the course of your life.  Some Jedi are careless with their 'sabers and lose them, or have fought in terrible battles and damage their crystals.  The Temple maintains a store of crystals, so you will not need to come back here if you don’t want to.  And truthfully, most Jedi do not want to - only young Master Yoda returns regularly to retrieve crystals for the Jedi stores."

"Perhaps I’ll come back.  I found the search most … "  Obi-Wan licks his lips and hunts for the right word, "Interesting.  Despite my initial trepidation."

Yoda’s chuckle is like sandpaper across his nerves.  Master Qui-Gon says nothing and Obi-Wan can’t sense what he’s feeling.

So he turns his attention to the build, taking his time to locate two matching hilts.  It’s a difficult search, harder in a way than finding the crystals.  Obi-Wan ends up on his knees, under Professor Huyang’s workbench, pulling out an ancient crate that that droid had suggested might have some possibilities.

Underneath a mess of things that look like they have nothing to do with lightsaber construction, Obi-Wan finds two perfectly matched hilts, milled out of some darkly silvered material.

"May I use these, Professor?"  He holds them out to the droid.

"Oh ho!  I had hoped you would find those, padawan.  Do you know what that material is?"

Fifty-seven year-old Obi-Wan does, but sixteen year-old Obi-Wan wouldn’t.  "No, sir."

"They are made from pure beskar, gifts from Tarre Vizla over a thousand years ago. He was the first Mandalorian to become a Jedi.  He sent them to me after he’d left the Order and become Mand’alor.  A certain young padawan, much infatuated with Mandalorian culture, might have wanted one of those hilts, but I couldn’t bear to see them separated, so I put them away.  Pure beskar is one of the few materials in the galaxy that is resistant to a lightsaber blade.  It is one of the reasons why the Mandalorian Wars were so violent and devastating."   Huyang sighs.  "It feels like it was only yesterday …"

His master says drily, "I guess, Professor Huyang, when you have been in service for over twenty-five thousand years, four-thousand years ago can seem like yesterday."

"Very aptly put, Master Jinn."

Obi-Wan and Professor Huyang spend quite a bit of time examining the hilts.  "Even though the beskar is durable enough to resist a lightsaber, it still can be worked with the right tools.  And fortunately, I possess those tools here in my workshop.  So let us see what adjustments need to be made to make these hilts comfortable for your hands."

Master Yoda and Master Qui-Gon retreat back to the warmth of the fireplace in the Temple atrium, letting Obi-Wan and Huyang work without their commentary.

It takes a few hours to mill out the interior for the brackets to hold the crystal and the emitter on each of the hilts, and then get the placement of the power buttons correct for Obi-Wan's hands.

Obi-Wan asks, "How do you manage to oversee the lightsaber build for each one of a class of Initiates on their journey back to Coruscant?  Even if it’s only six or seven of them, it has to take quite a while."

"Building a lightsaber as an adult is a much more intensive exercise.  The parameters are more complex.  An Initiate’s 'saber has a power cell, a low-powered emitter, and a basic hilt, and of course, a power switch.  Nothing more than that.  Your second blade is going to need a dual-phase emitter, and that’s going to take some skill in setting up.  I’ll talk you through the process, but ultimately, it’ll be your task."

Obi-Wan nods.  "Let’s do the standard blade first."

Professor Huyang steps aside and lets Obi-Wan begin work.  Using the Force, Obi-Wan sets the power cell, the emitter matrix into the hilt, then he takes out the first of his kyber crystals.  This is the most crucial moment - setting the crystal in the bracket with the Force.  If the crystal is reluctant or if Obi-Wan is too eager, he could damage the kyber permanently.  But four years under a Force-inhibitor collar hadn’t damaged his control, and Obi-Wan floats the kyber into the bracket - the last step in the construction before closing the hilt.

"Very good work, padawan.  Are you ready to ignite it and awaken the Force within the kyber?"

"Yes, Professor."

Huyang guides him over to a clear space on the other side of the work room, intoning the ritual blessing.  "May the Force be with you."

Obi-Wan presses the activator button and gasps when he sees the color of his new blade.

Qui-Gon hates to admit it, but he’s bored.  The temple droids have plied them with tea and snacks, and his Grandmaster dozed off almost an hour ago.  Foolishly, Qui-Gon hadn’t thought to bring any reading material with him, he’d left his pack on the ship.  Obi-Wan, though, had taken his own pack and Qui-Gon is tempted to rustle through it for something to read.  It’s only been two weeks and he already knows that his padawan goes nowhere without a datapad or a flimsi book to pass the time.

Force bless the boy.

But something stops Qui-Gon from invading his padawan’s privacy.  If it had been him and Anakin, he’d have no problem (not that Anakin would have brought a real book, and his datapads would be filled with holonovels and games). Maybe he can’t because he knows what Obi-Wan’s life had been like - not so long ago, he’d belonged to someone else, and had no right to any privacy or personal autonomy.

So he sits and waits and thinks that maybe he just might take a walk through the crystal caves.  A Force vision or hallucination would be better than this endless boredom.

What about meditation?

Well, there is always that, and a particularly fitting activity when sitting in a Jedi temple filled with the power of the Force, and with nothing else to do.

Qui-Gon takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, calming his thoughts and centering himself.   He’s just about to fall into a trance when he feels the star-bright presence of his padawan approach.

"Master Qui-Gon, Master Yoda!  I’ve finished my lightsabers."

Bless the stars, but his padawan is so happy.  Obi-Wan is usually so calm and serene, almost preternaturally so, given his past, but now he is practically bubbling with joy and Qui-Gon can’t help but smile in response.

His padawan doesn’t quite burst into the atrium, but he is moving with purpose.  Huyang is right behind Obi-Wan, and somehow the droid seems amused.

Yoda is awake now and he is looking at Obi-Wan expectantly.  "Finished both of your lightsabers I see."

"Yes, Grand Master."  Obi-Wan turns and bows to the droid.  "Professor Huyang was most helpful in guiding me.  I am grateful to him for his assistance."

As always, Qui-Gon is impressed by his padawan’s courtesy to others.

"See, we must, the color of your blades."

Qui-Gon has a funny feeling that his Grandmaster is going to be very disappointed.  Had he known there was a betting pool, he’d have put some credits in on blue.

Obi-Wan grins, unclips one of the pair of 'sabers from his belt, and ignites it.

The blade is shimmering pale purple - what poets might call "violet".

Obi-Wan leaves his master and great-Grandmaster to the cockpit and their frustrated amazement at his purple lightsabers. He needs to retreat to one of the bunks on the lower level. That will give him a little privacy to think what happened on Ilum.

As far as he knows, the Force gives Visions, but it has never directly talks to anyone. Not to Yoda, not Anakin, not even to Qui-Gon, who claimed to follow the Will of the Force instead of doing what the Council required.

But the Force has chosen him to have a long and detailed conversation…

And sends cats to chat with him, too.

"In this life and in every life you have and will live, you are our real chosen one and Champion.  Not to bring balance to the Force, but to defend the Light and defeat the Darkness."

Not for the first time, Obi-Wan wonders about the prophecy of the Chosen One, and how real it had been.  During his long exile on Tatooine, he had too much time to think about things he would have preferred not to, especially after discovering the identity of Darth Vader, the Emperor’s Fist.  The prophecy of the Chosen One, the child of the Force destined to bring balance to the Force, had been one of the most dubious of prophecies.  Mentioned once in a single holocron by a mystic so obscure there are no other works in the Archives attributed to them.

In the other timeline, his master had loved bits of old legends and lore, probably something he’d picked up from his own master.  How he became fixated on the prophecy of the Chosen One Obi-Wan will never know, but he wouldn’t be surprised if it had been planted by the Sith and Qui-Gon had somehow been lead to it by Dooku.  In his years of study with Qui-Gon after, he’d never had the courage to ask - and it had no longer mattered.  What had happened, happened.  It was best to focus on the here and now, not live in the past, which couldn’t be changed.

Shows what he knew…

Obi-Wan wonders if the Chosen One prophecy still exists in this timeline.  He could ask Master Yoda one day, when they know each other a bit better.  He will be patient, he knows how to wait and watch and stay alert.  Those are skills he’ll never forget.

Thinking about living in the here and how, he can’t help but think of the advice the Force had given him. To commit to this life - to be the sixteen year old padawan.

That’s going to be difficult. He knows the Force isn’t telling him to pretend ignorance of skills he shouldn’t know. The advice is more subtle than that. He’s being going along, thinking of himself as a fifty-seven year old man playacting as a teenage padawan. Emotionally cool and distant, overly mature - which isn’t unexpected, given his past, but it’s going to throw up walls - first with his peers, and ultimately with his own master.

He has to commit to who he is now, not flip back and forth. So maybe he’s not so stoic and cool, maybe he can let some things out. Perhaps it’s time to lance some of those old wounds.

Chapter Text

The western winds have returned to the west like expert sailors.
The eastern winds lie in wait for their moment
like Essene monks in the caves of the Judean desert.
And in the silence between the winds you can hear once again
the voices defining you and your actions
like the voices in a museum or in school.

Summer Begins (Fragment) by Yehuda Amichai
Translated by Chana Bloch, Chana Kronfeld, and Stephen Mitchell

Two Months After Arriving in the Temple

Siri Tachi is terminally curious.  Her master has often told her, in tones both humorous and despairing, that her penchant for sticking her nose into matters and places where it doesn’t belong might just be the death of her.

And Siri has always replied, "But isn’t a Jedi supposed to be curious about the Galaxy around them?  Always questioning?  Never accepting the status quo?  Also, aren’t you training me to be a Shadow?"

At the rejoinder, Master Quillis just rolls her eyes and sighs.  "If you get yourself into trouble, Padawan-mine, I may rescind  your privileges.  So, be warned and be careful."

"So noted, Master."

Shadow training aside, Siri has, since her Initiate days, been a popular person among her age-mates.  It’s not just that she’s objectively attractive for a female humanoid - tall and fair-haired, with the kind of breasts that male and female humanoids like.  She works at it, going out of her way to be kind to others - females, males, and other genders across the spectrum of species at the Temple.  It’s just good politics - get along with people, they tell you things.  Also, life is easier when you’re nice.

It helps that Siri actually likes other beings and likes being around them.  Because it’s difficult to fake niceness.  Unless you’re really into being a sociopath.

Despite the multitude of age mates who like to say they are her friends, she really only has a very few close friends - Aayla Secura, Bant Eerin, and Bruck Chun.  Sometimes Asajj Ventress floats into her circle, but they end up sniping at each other for some reason or another and she drifts off again for a while until one of them apologizes.

Right now, she and Asajj are on the outs and she’s pretty certain that Asajj isn’t even in the Temple.  Not that it matters, Asa is terrible at gossip and rumors.  Bruck and Aayla, though.  That pair could launch their own gossip-based Holonet channel if they wanted.

Which is good, since Siri needs information about Master Qui-Gon Jinn’s mysterious new padawan.

The four of them are sitting together at mid-meal, a rarity these days, and Bant is telling everyone about her recent mission to Malastare, where she and her master had assisted in the new energy treaty negotiations.

"And then, a few weeks in, Master Jinn just hands the treaty negotiations over to Knight Fisto.  It was the strangest thing.  He and Kit Fisto had some sort of silent argument and Knight Fisto dumped a cup of hot tea onto Master Jinn’s lap.  They went back to quarters, but only Knight Fisto returned and there were instructions from Master Jinn giving him the lead in the negotiations.  The Dugs weren’t happy, but Master Jinn had said he was unwell and given the tight timeline, no one had a choice."

Aayla asks, "How did our smiling Nautolan do?"

"Brilliantly."  Bant flushes pink and then violet, and it’s clear she has a crush on the knight.  "What’s even weirder is that just as the negotiations were reaching a critical stage, Master Jinn was urgently recalled to Coruscant by the Council.  Had he not turned over the lead to Knight Fisto all those weeks before, the whole treaty would have been so much bantha poodoo.

"Look at you, Padawan Eerin, using such strong language!"  Bruck teases their crechemate.  "Didn’t think you even knew those kinds of words."

"My master is an archivist, she has taught me several dozen languages - including all of the crudest idioms."  Bant blinks her huge eyes.  "If you’re nice to me, Padawan Chun, I might teach you a few of them."

Siri can’t believe that her friends have handed her the perfect entry.  "Speaking of Master Jinn, has anyone noticed his new padawan?"  Siri keeps her voice low.  "The redhead?  He’s got one bead on his braid and two 'sabers."

Aayla nods.  "I noticed him a few weeks ago, right around the Day of Miracles.  I don’t think I saw any 'sabers on his belt, though.  Just the baby padawan braid.  And all rest of that hair!  Little gods but he’s lucky that Master Jinn didn’t make him cut all of that gorgeousness into a nerf-tail."

"For a member of a hairless species, you seem awfully invested in some oddball padawan’s follicles," Bruck teases.

Aayla yanks at Bruck’s nerf-tail.  "You’re just jealous."

"I freely confess to that." Bruck frees his hair from Aayla’s fingers and combs through it. "Now that you’ve assaulted me, I’m no longer in the mood to share the juicy gossip I heard yesterday about the mysterious new padawan that none of us has ever met." Bruck sniffs and makes to get up from the table with his lunch tray.

Siri, sitting across from him, reaches out and clamps a hand on one arm, Aayla helps and pushes Bruck back into his seat. "You’re not going anywhere, pretty boy. Not until you give up the goods."

"Oh, so you think I’m pretty?" Bruck bats his eyelashes at them.

And yes, he’s objectively as good-looking as Siri and Aayla is on the humanoid scale, but it’s all an old cloak - Bruck isn’t making a play for any of them. He’s a boy-whore, and has been since his balls dropped. But Siri wants the info and butters him up. "You are gorgeous, and you know it."

"All right, so Master Gallia and Master Yaddle were in the Halls of Healing yesterday…"

Bant, bless her, cuts Bruck off immediately. "You should know better than to gossip about what patients say in the Halls. That’s confidential!"

"I know that, Bantling." Bruck rolls his eyes. "They weren’t there for medical consultation, they were picking up some flimsi-work relating to the Day of Miracles. And my master was chatting with them. Master Gallia and Master Yaddle were talking about Master Jinn’s new padawan, and saying that with all the uproar over the miracles, they were grateful that he didn’t arrive until afterwards. So much more flimsi-work about recovering a lost Youngling." Bruck leans back in his chair, smug as anything.

Siri gasps. "A lost Youngling? They found him? They actually found the Lost Youngling?"

"Seems that way." Bruck actually buffs his nails against his tunic.

Aayla asks, confused, "You know what they were talking about?"

Bant nods slowly. "I remember when that happened. I cried for days. Most of us didn’t know the boy but we all cried."

Siri explains to Aayla. "It was terrible. You weren’t at the Temple yet. We were all very young, so I don’t remember a lot of the details. And the little boy wasn’t from our creche, I think he might have been in Stone Bear Clan, but everyone had heard about it and we were all heartbroken and scared. You see, every year, each creche takes the four year old Younglings to the Senate. That’s their first trip out of Temple. There are Temple Guardians - at least two - to protect the class. About eleven or twelve years ago, a Youngling disappeared. A little boy. Just vanished in the Senate building. It was a terrible scandal."

"And this new padawan is that missing boy?"

Bruck nods. "Seems so."

"Did you hear anything else?" Siri demands.

"Yup. Master Gallia said to Master Yaddle that she hopes the Grand Master doesn’t have any more visions. The next time he needs to go to the Outer Rim, Master Yaddle is going to go with him instead."

"That’s it?"

"Master Xanatos saw me hovering in the doorway with the flimsi reports and the Councilors stopped talking. But that is a lot. Come on, we now know that Master Jinn’s new padawan in the missing Youngling. Isn’t that incredible?"

"But how did he end up on the Outer Rim?" Siri doesn’t think to question Grand Master Yoda’s Vision.

Bruck shrugs. "They didn’t say. I think we need to befriend the mysterious padawan, don’t you?"

Siri nods and looks at her compatriots. Aayla shrugs and says "Sure."

"Bantling, are you in?"

"I don’t want to be mean to him. The Force only knows what that poor kid’s been through." Bant is bleeding sympathy through the Force.

"We don’t have any nefarious purposes, do we?" Siri pins each of her friends with her patented glare, particularly Bruck.

"No, of course not." Bruck holds up a hand. "I swear on my oath as a Healer, and by the Force, that I’ll be kind to Padawan Mysterious."

"Good. Now, we need to find out his schedule. He’s not in any classes yet - so everyone, keep your eyes open."

Obi-Wan's days at the Temple quickly fall into a very familiar pattern. Early mornings are spent in meditation. That should be easy, but despite his intense compartmentalization of his prior life and his commitment to living in the here and now as a sixteen year old padawan, there’s a fair bit of difficult pretense involved. He’s all too aware that no matter what, he’s going to come across as a prodigy in a lot of areas, and meditation is going to be one of them, but there has to be limits. Which means he has to shield a lot, and also hide his shields.

So every morning, he’s up early and on the meditation mats at least an hour before his master, with his past life locked tight behind the star shine of the Force, and a layer of youthful emotion brimming over that.

They spend an hour meditating together, and he follows Qui-Gon’s lead in training his emotions to the currents and eddies of the Force. And after that, they spend hours working on his control of the Force.

At first, Obi-Wan had some issues with how he can control his use of the Force, sending the soft balls Master Qui-Gon uses as training tools sailing in every direction at high speed. But within a week, his control returns, and his Master’s pride is boundless.

"I have to confess this is something I was most worried about. You are so very strong, it would be too easy to get overwhelmed by the Force, but it seems like you have a natural sense of command and control. I really can’t help but wonder …" Qui-Gon trails off, shaking his head.

"Wonder what, Master?" Obi-Wan can pretty much figure it out, but he has to ask anyway.

"If you really are that Lost Youngling." Then his master shakes his head. "My apologies, my padawan. I shouldn’t have mentioned it - your past is a closed book, locked and sealed. I will not bring it up again."

Qui-Gon sounds so remorseful that Obi-Wan pats his hand. "It’s all right, Master. It’s natural to be curious. And I guess we’ll always wonder about it."

A few days after their return from Ilum, after they emerge from a joint meditation, both of them a little exhausted but satisfied, Obi-Wan asks the question that every Initiate asks. "If the Force is accessed primarily through emotion, then why does the Code tell us, 'There is No Emotion, Only Peace'?"

His master sighs. "It does seem like a conundrum, doesn’t it? It is meant to remind us that while we need our emotions, we must control them. Jedi will Fall when they allow their emotions to control their access to the Force. We must always be mindful of our state of mind when we are using the Force - negative emotions, such as anger, hate, even frustration, can bloom in the Force. Think of it like needing to catch the tip of a whip - there is tremendous power there, but ultimately, you’ll get badly hurt in the process."

Obi-Wan nods, thinking that this might be the best description of accessing the Dark Side - it certainly describes what had happened to his own poor padawan.

"And that is a simplistic explanation - one better suited for an Initiate first learning the Code, as my own Master has told me. And remember, the Code itself isn’t law or precept, it is a mantra we use to help us achieve a clearer state of mind in our meditations."

That sets the pattern for the mornings that follow. They meditate and then, over first-meal, Obi-Wan asks questions about the precepts of the Jedi Order - the actual rules under which they live and operate and Qui-Gon answers them at great length. At first, his master’s responses are haphazard, but after a few days it becomes clear that Qui-Gon has started to prepare himself for these sessions. The conversations become spirited intellectual discussions, continuing as the pair of them wash the dishes, get dressed and - once Obi-Wan gets his crystals - make their way to the training salles.

Today, almost two months after Obi-Wan's trip to Ilum, Qui-Gon has put his huge booted foot down and tells Obi-Wan that he needs someone more skilled than his old master to teach him Jar'Kai.

Obi-Wan almost wants to tell Qui-Gon that he doesn’t want to learn Jar'Kai, and he’ll put away the second 'saber, but he can hear the Force telling him that he needs to continue on this path, that the Force gave him two crystals on Ilum for a reason.

"I understand, Master, but I’ve barely got the basics down, maybe I should have those more solidly under my belt before I start on something as advanced as dual-wielding?"

"No, no - if you want to learn to properly use two 'sabers at once, you need to start at the beginning of your training. It’s not a skill you just add to your repertoire. I’ve asked the Battlemaster to give you lessons on Jar'Kai. I’ll continue to work with you on the basics, teaching you the katas that every Jedi needs to know, and we’ll work in parallel."

Obi-Wan isn’t so sure that Battlemaster Cin Drallig is going to be pleased about training him, but he keeps quiet. Maybe this is a moment when he needs to shine a little bit more. Qui-Gon has definitely been impressed at how well he’s picked up the katas for Shii-Cho, the most rudimentary of all lightsaber forms. His master is quick to tell him that although Shii-Cho, or Form I, is the most elementary of lightsaber fighting styles, that doesn’t mean it’s the easiest. It is grounded, it does not rely on the wielder’s ability to use the Force, and it can be the most difficult to overcome in group combat.

"Mastering Form I will give you entree into every other form you need, Padawan. Don’t dismiss it because it lacks flashy acrobatic maneuvers or Force pushes."

"Do you use Shii-Cho?"

Of course his Master laughs. "Nope, not since my Initiate days. I prefers those flashy acrobatic maneuvers of Form IV. And no, I’m not showing you those, not just yet."

Today is definitely going to be interesting. They get to their assigned salle and find the Battlemaster waiting.

Obi-Wan hangs back as Qui-Gon and Cin Drallig greet each other. This is another example of the twists in the timeline. The Battlemaster in Obi-Wan’s last life had been considerably older - he’d technically been Yoda’s padawan right after Dooku, but from the looks of it, Qui-Gon and Cin Drallig could have been crechemates.

Qui-Gon gestures for Obi-Wan to approach, and when his master introduces him, Obi-Wan bows. "Thank you for your time today, Battlemaster."

"Hmm, you are polite. Grand Master Yoda warned me about that. 'Polite and charming Obi-Wan Kenobi is.' He sounded quite proud of that."

"Does that offend you, sir?"

"No, but it makes me suspicious." Master Drallig glares at him.

"It’s just good manners. If it will make you feel better, I can try to be rude. I don’t think it’ll work, but I can try." Obi-Wan hunches his shoulders and lowers his brow, trying to pull a ferocious frown, staring at the floor.

That gets a startled laugh out of both of the Jedi masters. "Alright, lad, you’ve proven a point - you can’t do rude very well. Stop trying and straighten up."

"Oh good, that hunch was hurting my back." Obi-Wan falls back into parade rest.

Master Drallig isn’t quite smiling. "Yes, polite and dangerously charming. But that’s not going to do you any good in a 'saber fight. Let’s see what you’ve got."

"It isn’t a lot, sir."

"I know that, you’ve only been at the Temple for about two months and had your 'sabers for about half of that time. Your master sings your praises on how quickly you’ve picked up Form I katas, but he’s quick to admit you’re clumsy when you try working with the shoto blade. Now, I don’t want to repeat myself again. Let’s see what you’ve got."

Master Drallig doesn’t comment on the color of his lightsaber blade, other than a single "hmm". He runs him through the full set of closed-hand Form I katas with a single blade, and Obi-Wan can feel his surprise and reluctant approval in the Force. When he does those same katas with his second 'saber and turns clumsy, the Battlemaster’s relief is a palpable thing.

"Hmm. Why are you using a reverse grip, Padawan? And a shoto length blade?"

Obi-Wan is careful not to look at his master when answering the first question - Qui-Gon had recommended the reverse grip. "Several of the training videos recommended the reverse grip with a shoto blade. And when I build my 'sabers, Professor Huyang had me build the second blade with a dual phase emitter so I could use it either full length or as a shoto."

"Those training videos should be banned on the Temple 'net. They are terrible for padawans settling into their form. I’m glad we caught this early. I want you to use two full-length lightsabers, direct grip. Now, run those katas again."

To Obi-Wan’s relief, Master Drallig’s diagnosis of his problem is correct, mostly. The exercises go much smoother and he doesn’t feel like he’s about to impale himself with the second blade. He’s still not perfect, but with practice, he’ll get there.

When Master Drallig tells him to put down the second blade and asks him for a spar, Obi-Wan doesn’t quite know what to say. He looks over at his own master.

"Go ahead, Obi-Wan. You’ve earned it. Fight with everything you’ve got."

From his last life, he knows that Master Drallig isn’t one to humiliate anyone. He’s a teacher, first and foremost. But he’s going to be schooling Obi-Wan in his own weaknesses pretty quickly.

Or maybe not.

"I’ve read about Temple dueling rules, sir. Are they in effect?"

Master Drallig nods. "Best two out of three touches. Let me see your 'saber’s settings and you can check mine."

Once the training settings have been confirmed, Obi-Wan and Master Drallig assume the standard Shii-Cho fighting pose and Qui-Gon, as the match referee, says, "Go."

Master Drallig is aggressive and his reach is longer than Obi-Wan’s, but Obi-Wan is quick and he can’t completely suppress decades of muscle memory. He keeps his feet on the ground - no fancy Ataru acrobatics - but all of the defensive Soresu maneuvers come back, as easily as breathing. He blocks strike after strike, looking for an opening.

And it comes when Master Drallig tries to get under his defense. Obi-Wan taps him on his ribs.

"A Mark of Combat for Obi-Wan, a fatal blow if this was actual combat."

Master Drallig nods and they reset. This time, Obi-Wan doesn’t bother with the Shii-Cho stance and falls into the Soresu defense. His opponent nods, gives him a twisted grin and comes at him like a turbo-hammer. Oh, this one is familiar - Djem-So - Anakin’s favorite form. When he wasn’t worn down from fighting an unwinnable war, he could hold his padawan off for an hour, maybe more. In his prime, the only Jedi who could take Obi-Wan was Mace, and even that wasn’t a sure bet.

Obi-Wan loses all sense of time, he’s just focusing on finding an opening as Master Drallig tires. Unless Djem-So is his preferred form and he practices regularly, he’s not going to last an hour. Or even a half-hour. But no matter how long it takes, Obi-Wan will outlast him. Finally, the Battlemaster starts to flag and Obi-Wan sees his opening. He comes up under Master Drallig’s saber to lay his blade against his opponent’s throat.

Master Drallig surrenders with the traditional “Solah".

Obi-Wan steps back and bows deeply. "Thank you, sir, for the education and for the spar." He disengages his saber and clips it back onto his belt.

Master Drallig growls, disgusted with himself. "By all the kriffing little gods, Padawan. How in the Force did you learn Form III and master it in the month since you got your blades?"

Obi-Wan tells the truth, from a certain point of view. "The Force taught me."

Master Drallig looks over at Qui-Gon. "What is this banthashit?"

"Cin, believe him, please."

"You believe him?"

"I do, absolutely." Qui-Gon’s support is a relief.

"And what about every other lightsaber form? If the Force is teaching you, why can’t you use a second blade like an experienced master?"

"I don’t know - I haven’t been asked to duel with two blades, sir." He’s slicing and dicing the truth very fine now.

"Hmm." Master Drallig paces. "I am troubled by the idea of a Force-taught prodigy. But I also like you, Padawan Kenobi. We will have private lessons, every day. I’ll have to move things around on my calendar, and I’ll send you a schedule by the end of today. I’m also sending a report to the High Council. Someone should know about this."

Obi-Wan isn’t nervous about that. The Council is, as far as he knows, keeping a very close eye on all facets of his education. He is their Force-born miracle maker, and doesn’t think they will be surprised at what has happened here today.

Siri can’t believe her eyes, but Padawan Mysterious is here, sitting in the cafeteria having mid-meal all by himself, no sign of Master Jinn. It’s been two weeks since the confab with the rest of the group and they’ve been able to learn nothing else about him, not even his name. Bruck - their best source of gossip - has heard a couple of High Council members talking, but every time he gets close, they get quiet. He’s even gone as far as asking his Master about the boy, but Master Xanatos told him he himself knows nothing, and Bruck believes him.

Both Bant and Aayla are off-world on missions, and Siri is waiting for Bruck to get his meal.

He comes up behind her. "You just going to stand there, or are we going to …"

"Shut up and look." She tilts her head at Padawan Mysterious, still sitting by himself at a table that could seat three. "Follow me and follow my lead."

As casual as she can be, Siri cuts across the cafeteria towards Padawan Mysterious, holding her breath and praying that no one else sits down with him before she and Bruck can get there. Her prayers are answered, and they arrive without incident. Padawan Mysterious has his head down, buried in a datapad, the remains of his mid-meal pushed aside.

Siri doesn’t wait for him to notice her and says, "Hi."

The boy looks up and he gasps - an odd reaction. Except his gasp transforms into a sweet smile and replies with his own greeting. "Hello there."

She pushes forward with a well-practiced intro. "I’m Siri Tachi, and I’ve seen you around the Temple a few times the last couple of weeks. Have to admit I’ve been a little curious about you. Can I join you?"

From behind her, Bruck clears his throat.

"Can we join you? This is a friend of mine, Bruck Chun."

Padawan Mysterious’ eyes widen, but then he nods, gestures to the empty seats and introduces himself. "I’m Obi-Wan Kenobi, and of course, please sit down." He pockets the datapad.

There’s a little bit of awkwardness as the two of them settle in, and Obi-Wan stares at both of them like they just might be a pair of gundarks waiting to rip his face off.

Siri decides that the direct approach is best. "Are you really the Lost Youngling?"

The expression that crosses Obi-Wan's face is hard to read. It might be aggravation, it might be sadness. It also might be disgust. "Truthfully, I don’t know."

"How’s that possible?" Bruck says and Siri slaps the back of his head.

"Because I have no memory of my life from before I was about twelve."

Siri nods. "Ahh. Mind-wipe drugs. Heard of them. Didn’t the Temple Healers try to reverse the effects?"

Bruck now gets to smack her. "Talk about being insensitive, Padawan Tachi. There’s a very short window for administering an antidote, even on a Force-sensitive, and the results are not guaranteed. My own Master, Xanatos, has been trying to improve the efficacy of the standard treatments for amnesia drugs. I’m surprised no one brought you into the Halls of Healing, though, for an assessment."

Obi-Wan shrugs. "Maybe the masters just thought too much time had passed? They were just happy to have me back?"

"Possibly."

Siri doesn’t like the unhappy look on Obi-Wan’s face. This conversation is clearly making him sad. Time to change direction. "So, what do you like best about being back at the Temple. About being at the Temple?"

Now the boy smiles. "I like my master. Qui-Gon is smart and funny and kind."

Siri can appreciate that. "I had hoped that Anakin Skywalker would be knighted early, and that Master Jinn would be quick to take a new padawan. Not that Master Quillis isn’t wonderful, but Master Jinn is The Maverick, and well, he’s the ultimate field knight. As his padawan, you’ll learn so much."

"That’s what I’d been told. But I’m kind of Temple-bound until I catch up on my academics."

Bruck chimes in. "Poor you. Not that Temple life is bad. The food is great, and speaking as someone who hates going off-planet, I love my bed in the dorms. It’s comfy and has clean sheets every few days, not like some of the places where you padawans on the field knight track get sent."

Siri wants to smack Bruck again but resists. She keeps her focus on Obi-Wan. "What else do you like?"

"You’ll laugh, I know, but I love my new boots."

Siri finds that odd. "Boots are boots."

"Not when you don’t have good ones. Or boots at all." Obi-Wan makes a face.

"True." And Siri has to ask, given what Bruck had learned. "Rumor has it that Master Yoda found you on an Outer Rim planet. I’m guessing it was a poor one."

"One of the poorest, I’d say. Tatooine."

"That’s in the Arkanis sector, right? Has two suns?" Siri remembers studying it in her astro-geography class.

Obi-Wan just nods.

Then she remembers something else. "It’s a Hutt-controlled planet isn’t it?"

"Yes, it is. Like most of the Slice."

"Ugh." Bruck, little ass-hat that he is, can’t keep the disgust off his face. "What were you doing on Tatooine?"

"Working in a junk shop eighteen hours a day."

Obi-Wan is very quiet and his hands are curled into fists. Siri doesn’t get the sense he’s about to throw a punch, more like he’s tired, or that he’s ashamed. She’s about to change the subject when Bruck asks, "Why, in all the Sith Hells were you doing that?"

"I didn’t have much choice, I was a slave."

Siri feels her stomach roil and Bruck says, "A slave? Really?"

And without a word, Obi-Wan takes his tray and gets up, leaving the pair of them with their jaws agape.

Chapter Text

I am a penniless prophet. I live within the hopes of others,
as within a beam of light not meant to light me up,
I cast the shadow of my image, of my likeness,
my body hides the famous lovely view.
I come between the seer and his vision.

I Am a Penniless Prophet (Fragment) By Yehuda Amichai
Translated by Robert Alter

After a career roaming the galaxy, negotiating until everything falls apart, then fighting until the dust settles, Qui-Gon finds he likes being Temple-bound with his new padawan. He’s been given a teaching rotation - subbing in on a class of advanced Galactic history for a master that’s been called out to address a diplomatic crisis - a common enough event. In addition, he’s teaching Ataru lightsaber techniques to more senior padawans. And there are still many hours in the day when he’s not teaching classes or working with his padawan that he can spend catching up with old comrades. Tahl had been back in Temple, briefly, after the successful renegotiation of the Malastare energy treaty, and is back now off to some ancient Temple site to help conserve a library. His other friend from his creche years, Micah, is permanently based at the Temple now. He’s the newly appointed Caretaker to the Council of First Knowledge, replacing Jocasta Nu, who had stepped down to focus on the Archives.

After months of scheduling conflicts, Qui-Gon and Micah had finally arranged to have lunch in his office today - at least until the Force all but shouted at Qui-Gon to get back to the apartment.

Micah had just rolled his eyes when Qui-Gon apologized and excused himself. But it’s really is a pity that the Force doesn’t have a better sense of time management. It’s been nearly an hour since he’d cut short lunch with his old friend to follow the Will of the Force and returned to his quarters in a rush.

And now, all of the first-meal dishes washed, dried, and put away. Laundry is folded and put away. Plants watered and hummed at. As soon as Qui-Gon thinks about leaving the suite, the Force is almost audible in its command to stay put. So he stays put, puts up water to boil for tea, and settles down with the latest batch of essays to grade.

And is immediately distracted by the sense of misery emanating from his padawan as he enters their suite.

"Obi-Wan? What’s wrong?"

"Master? What are you doing here? I thought you were having lunch with Master Giiett."

Qui-Gon doesn’t like what he hears in Obi-Wan’s voice - sadnesses and self-defeat.

"It ended a bit early, and I’m glad of that - given how poorly you sound."

Obi-Wan bends over to unlace his boots. "I’m fine, Master. If you don’t mind, I’m going to go to my room to study. I’m scheduled to take the qualifying exams in mathematics this coming Centaxday."

"Is that why you’re so miserable, Padawan?"

"Master?" Obi-Wan stands up and eases his feet out of his boots, setting them on the rack by the door. "I’m not miserable."

Qui-Gon frowns at his padawan. "We haven’t been together very long, but I’ve gotten to know you well enough that I’ve been pretty damned impressed with your shielding. You rarely let any emotions leak, except in extraordinary situations - such as your joy when you built your 'sabers. That might be it. And now. I can sense that you are almost desperately unhappy. If it’s the exam that’s troubling you, there’s no reason why the test date can’t be pushed forward by a few days or even a few weeks. We can work on the material together - that’s why I’m your Master and you’re my Padawan Learner, remember? I’m supposed to teach you."

Obi-Wan sighs and scrubs his face. "My apologies, Master Qui-Gon, for leaking through my shields. I didn’t mean to disturb you. The problem, such as it is, has nothing to do with the mathematics exam."

"Then what?"

"It’s nothing that you need to worry about, sir."

Obi-Wan sounds like a politician telling him to get stuffed, in the most exquisitely politest of ways and oh, Qui-Gon does not like that tone. Not one bit.

"You should know that ever since I was knighted, I have the frustrating habit of following the Force rather than orders. Usually that means I’m aggravating the High Council in my mission reports, but it sometimes means I end up frustrating my friends when I walk out of lunches they’ve planned weeks in advance, because the Force had whispered I needed to be in my apartment for some reason."

"Master?" Obi-Wan’s look of confusion is adorable - or would be if he still didn’t look so sad.

"The Force told me I needed to be here in our suite right now - not why - but that it was important. And I’m glad that I listened. You look like someone just killed your loth-kitten. Now, tell me what happened and how I can help you fix it."

"I don’t think there’s anything you can do, Master. I - " He shakes his head. "I made a mistake and I’ll just have to live with it." Obi-Wan shields go up even higher damn it if Qui-Gon can’t feel a single bit of his padawan’s emotions.

"Stop being so damn cryptic, Obi-Wan. Talk to me."

"Do I have to?"

"Yes, Padawan-mine, you do."

Obi-Wan glares at him and huffs out a sigh. At least that’s normal teenage behavior. "There were some padawans in the cafeteria and they sat down at my table. They were curious about me."

Ahhhh. "Were they rude?"

"A little, but not because they meant to be, but because they were curious. It’s natural." Trust Obi-Wan to defend the brats. "I don’t blame them and we both knew that this was going to happen. We got lucky at the Quartermaster’s - he was too concerned with the miracles to pay much attention to me."

"Stop deflecting, Obi-Wan. I want to know why you feel so terrible."

"It’s really nothing, Master. Just let me take my foul mood into my bedroom so it won’t bother you."

"No." Qui-Gon reaches out and gently grabs Obi-Wan’s arm as he tries to escape into his room. "You need to understand, I care about how you feel and what makes you happy and what hurts you. I don’t want you running off and hiding when you are distressed and unhappy, thinking that you shouldn’t be bothering me."

Something terrible crosses his padawan’s eyes, like the death and rebirth of hope, like learning that a lifetime of pain and suffering has been pointless. Qui-Gon can understand this. Obi-Wan may have had friends on Tatooine, but he’s only been able to rely on himself for so long for his emotional wellbeing.

"When was the last time someone hugged you?"

Obi-Wan, like always, has an answer, "Cyral, at the spaceport. When she was saying goodbye."

"Well, I think it’s time for another hug. I don’t have four arms, but I have long ones. They are good for hugging." Qui-Gon holds out his arms and hopes that Obi-Wan doesn’t walk away.

And he doesn’t. He steps into Qui-Gon’s embrace and Qui-Gon wraps his arms around him, holding him tightly. "Whatever happened, it’ll be all right, I promise you."

Obi-Wan hiccups and sniffs. "It was my fault. I got annoyed at their questions and I shouldn’t have. So I told them the truth - about what I was. On Tatooine."

Qui-Gon understands. "Ahh. There’s nothing to be ashamed of, Obi-Wan. Ever."

"They were so disgusted."

"And that’s their problem. Not yours." It’s a bit awkward, but he pulls Obi-Wan over to the couch without letting go. "And now you are going to learn about aggressive padawan soothing."

"Master?"

"It’s an essential part of your education. Just like aggressive negotiations. Only please don’t draw your lightsaber on me." Qui-Gon had told Obi-Wan about aggressive negotiations shortly after their trip to Ilum.

Obi-Wan cranes his neck to look him in the eye. "That’s a terrible joke."

"I know. But now you’re smiling, just a little bit."

"Call me a sucker for your horrible witticisms."

After a bit, Obi-Wan wriggles, trying to get up.

"Oh no, you aren’t going anywhere, Obi-Wan. Aggressive padawan soothing isn’t fully administered yet." Qui-Gon pulls Obi-Wan back. "Just relax, take a deep breath. Now let it out."

At least Obi-Wan is obedient and follows his directions.

"And again."

Their breathing falls into sync and Obi-Wan finally relaxes naturally against him. This had always worked with Anakin when he’d start to have a panic attack.

"Thank you, Master. I think I’m doing better." And again, Obi-Wan tries to get up.

"You’re not going anywhere."

"I’m going to embarrass myself if I don’t get up and go."

"Ah, do you need to use the 'fresher?"

"No." There’s an odd pause, and Qui-Gon can feel the edge of Obi-Wan’s discomfort before it’s masked behind his too-strong shields.

He lets his padawan go. "I won’t hold you here, but I really wish you’d talk to me."

Obi-Wan sits up, but he doesn’t leave. He stares at his hands, they flex into fists and then stretch out. Qui-Gon watches those hands too - and they are shaking. He’s so caught up in that odd phenomena that he almost misses it.

A tiny sob. The catch of a breath.

"Obi-Wan?"

His padawan doesn’t say a word, but just shakes his head.

Qui-Gon can’t stand it and he reaches out and turns Obi-Wan’s face to him. The boy is crying.

"Please talk to me, Padawan. Tell me what’s wrong. Is it something I’ve said?"

Obi-Wan looks at him with those sea-drowned eyes and purses his lips against whatever words are trying to escape. He shakes his head and the tears flow.

Qui-Gon cups Obi-Wan's face and rubs his thumbs against his cheeks, trying to understand. Obi-Wan leans into him, shudders once and whispers, "I’m sorry."

"Oh, no, you have nothing to be sorry about."

"I didn’t expect you to be so kind, so understanding. I - " That catch of breath nearly destroys Qui-Gon. "I didn’t think you would be so caring about me as a person."

Qui-Gon is almost angry at the unspoken implication in Obi-Wan’s words. As opposed to a massively midi-chlorian blessed miracle-maker.

He can’t let his padawan think, even for a moment, that he doesn’t care about him. "You are my padawan, not some pathetic life form I’ve picked up on some mission. You matter - your well-being matters, physical, spiritual, and emotional. And I’ll keep repeating that until you believe that."

Obi-Wan wipes his face. "Thank you. I - uh - I - I needed to hear that."

Qui-Gon hugs him again. "Sometimes you scare me with how self-possessed you are. I think it has to be a survival mechanism. You constantly amaze me, Obi-Wan, and I’m proud to be your Master. And if you sometimes need a hug, well, I’m glad to be here to give you one."

The fifty-seven year old man that lives quietly inside teenaged Obi-Wan is appalled at his reaction to the inquisition by Siri and Bruck, and then by his own master’s kindness.

Never in his life has he broken down in tears - well, not since he was an Initiate and Bruck - the other Bruck - had goaded him into an anger-fueled fistfight. Of course, there had been moments when he’d shed tears - when his Master had been killed and passed into the Force, when he’d killed (or thought he’d killed) his own padawan. But this eruption of emotion, this outpouring of pain and grief - is met not with stern disdain and a command for self-control, but with compassion, solace, and help. And it has nearly broken all of his carefully maintained shields. How different this timeline’s Qui-Gon is, how very much like his dream-Master.

"Are you alright, Padawan-mine?" Qui-Gon rubs his back, that big hand warm and heavy over his tunic.

"Yes, my Master. Thank you. I appreciate the ah - aggressive padawan soothing. It was very effective." He gives Qui-Gon a small, swift smile. "Shall I make tea for us? The kettle is simmering."

"Hmm. Tea would be nice, but how would you like to go out for a bit? Get some fresh air? Not that there’s any real fresh air on Coruscant, but you know what I mean."

"Leave the Temple?" Somehow the idea of going outside is shocking.

"It is allowed, you know." Qui-Gon grins.

"Where would we go?" Obi-Wan has a sneaking suspicion…

"I’d like to surprise you."

Of course, Obi-Wan is thoroughly delighted when they arrive at a certain diner in CoCo Town, and there is Dexter Jettster behind the counter, a familiar/unfamiliar presence to warm his soul.

"You!"  The big Besalisk greets Qui-Gon with a happy growl.   "Jedi, you haven’t graced my doorway in years.  I thought something happened to you."

"I’m fine, Dex. Just been busy."  Obi-Wan winces as Dexter gives Qui-Gon a four-armed squeeze. Dexter is half again as big as Cyral, and her hugs had been rib-crackers. He might even remember a hug from the big Besalisk, but he’s not quite sure…

"Where’s little Ani?  He all right?"

"Ani isn’t so little anymore.  He became a knight - more than three years ago, now."

"Oooh, you must be so proud."

"I am.  And a bit sad, too.  He met someone who became more important to him than the Order." Obi-Wan isn’t surprised that Qui-Gon doesn’t go into the political ramification of Jedi neutrality. But still, Dex looks confused.

"He fell in love and wanted to get married."

"Wait, you Jedi can’t get married?"

"Generally, no, or not unless there are very extreme circumstances.  Anakin wanted to live a life and do things outside of the Jedi Order’s mandate, so the Order released him from his oath.  But we talk frequently. He is well and delighted with his new bride and his new home.  I’ll be happy to give him your good wishes."

"Please do, and please tell him there’s a plate of Dex’s Special, plus a milkshake, and a slice of snowball cake waiting for him and his bride, whenever he comes back to Coruscant.  The best in all of CoCo Town."

"I certainly will. And I want to introduce you to my new padawan, Obi-Wan Kenobi."

Obi-Wan steps forward and offers his hands. "It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ser Dexter."

Dex lets out a booming laugh. "Ser Dexter! Oh, stars. Where did you find this one, Qui-Gon? In the courts of the Queen of Alderaan?"

Obi-Wan doesn’t take offense. "Actually, no. I’m a freed slave from Tatooine. And my best friend was a Besalisk shopkeeper named Cyral. She saved my life a time or two. So you will pardon me if I am extremely fond of Besalisks."

Dex gives him a skeptical look for just a moment, and then takes his hands. "Well, we do get around the galaxy. And we’re always happy to be helpful. Welcome to Coruscant, Obi-Wan Kenobi. And please, if you’re gonna call me anything, call me 'Dex', because otherwise, I’m gonna think that you’re from Judicial and you’re here to arrest me."

Obi-Wan laughs, "All right. And so you know, Cyral would blush whenever I called her 'Lady Cyral'. But I’m pretty sure she liked it, too."

"Not to insult your friend, but a Besalisk’s got to be a little crazy to settle on Tatooine. We’re really a cold weather kind of people."

"They were the roving kind of beings, but she and her mate did well there. They’ve moved on now, and resettled on Alderaan, actually. They took a contract doing timber management. I heard from Cyral a few days ago, and she and her mate are doing very well. She told me that the Queen of Alderaan - "

At that, Qui-Gon, Dex, and Obi-Wan all chuckle.

Obi-Wan continues, "Paid a visit to their forestry camp, she wanted to see the conservation efforts in practice. According to Cyral, the Queen had been so impressed with their work over the last two months that she awarded them permanent Alderaanian citizenship, a home, and a pension."

Dex slaps the counter with two hands. "That’s what I’m talking about. Besalisks are the best kind people in the Galaxy - strong backs, smart minds, and always know where to be at the right time."

"Clearly." Obi-Wan isn’t so sure that Cyral and Ducca’s good fortune has as much to do with them being Besalisks as it does with the Force and Cyral’s close proximity to him during the trip from Tatooine to Coruscant. Obi-Wan had become her lucky piece.

Dex finally hustles them over to his "best" booth and doesn’t bother giving them menus. "Two specials for my favorite Jedi. Spicy or extra spicy?"

Obi-Wan asks for the extra spicy, Dex gives him a worried look.

"Are you sure, little one?"

"Do you know what dubash powder is, Dex?"

"'Course I do! Too much of that stuff will blow the spines off my crest."

"It’s my favorite spice - so, extra spicy, if you please."

Still, Dex looks to Qui-Gon for confirmation. "You heard my padawan. Extra spicy for both of us."

The platters of noodles and meat, along with the attendant milkshakes, arrive quickly and Dex stands by, both sets of arms crossed over his torso, waiting for Obi-Wan to beg for something else, but Obi-Wan hasn’t enjoyed a meal this much in thirty years. Probably not since the last time he’d eaten at Dex’s - just before the war started.

He sucks down the last of the milkshake, chases the last noodle and scrap of fried nerf-steak around the plate, and pronounces himself so full he doesn’t think he’ll need to eat for the rest of the week.

"Thank you, Master Qui-Gon for bringing me, and thank you, Dex, for this delicious food."

Dex stares at him as if he still can’t believe he ate the whole serving. "I guess you’ll want your snowball cake to-go?"

"What’s snowball cake? That sounds delicious." Sometimes he hates this masquerade.

"It is. We can take it back to the Temple, but it’s best eaten fresh."

Obi-Wan pats his belly. "I think I can manage."

Qui-Gon nods at Dex and two slices of cake are delivered along with cups of tea. The tea isn’t great, but the cake is delicious. Obi-Wan would have finished all of it if he could have, but only manages a quarter.

"Oh, that was good. Thank you again, Master."

"My pleasure, Padawan. I’ve been looking forward to bringing you here. And one day, in the distant future, you’ll bring your padawan here for a meal - to soothe their hurt or celebrate a triumph."

"And you’ll be there to tell mildly embarrassing stories to your grand-padawan about me." Obi-Wan is going to do everything possible to make sure Qui-Gon lives to embarrass him to his padawans and grand-padawans.

Siri is just about ready to give up and go back to the dorms. Bruck abandoned her almost an hour ago — he had been called to report for emergency duty, something about a rescue mission. But the memory of the pain and the shame on Obi-Wan’s face keeps her glued to the door for the Jinn-Kenobi suite.

She hadn’t intended to hurt the kid - the interrogation wasn’t supposed to go bottoms up like that. And she’s not even sure how it did - she’d diverted Bruck from his prosing on about treatments for mind-wipe drugs, and Obi-Wan seemed to lighten up when talking about his Master and what he liked about Temple life. But then she had to step in it when she asked him why the damn boots were so important.

Ugh, it’s all her fault. She should have figured the Lost Youngling didn’t have some cushy life, stashed away in some Core-world mansion with fake parents, until the Grand Master rescued him. But she didn’t figure he’d been a slave.

How was she even going to apologize for that?

Siri tries to organize her thoughts, the way her Master has taught her, but she mostly fails, distracted every time she thinks she hears a footstep. But she eventually works out the words to an apology, practices it and polishes it until it sounds sincere in her head and she hopes that -

"Padawan Tachi? Is everything okay?"

Siri looks up and there is Master Jinn staring down at her, and Obi-Wan - Padawan Kenobi - standing behind him, frowning. He’s not upset, just puzzled.

She springs to her feet like she’d just fallen into a gundark nest. "Uh, um. I - " Siri catches her breath and tries to remember those words. "I came here to apologize to Padawan Kenobi for my behavior earlier."

Master Jinn looks over at his padawan, who nods.

"Let’s take this inside, shall we?"

Siri follows them into a surprisingly spacious apartment. She’d heard rumors about these Master-Padawan suites but knows no one who lives in one - well no one except Obi-Wan Kenobi, now.

The pair divest themselves of cloaks and boots, tuck something in the conservator, and Master Jinn asks, "Would you like a cup of tea, Padawan Tachi?"

"No, thank you."

"Then I’ll leave the two of you to your business." Master Jinn retreats to another room, presumably his bedroom, and gives them a semblance of privacy, but the door is left open a bit.

Obi-Wan just stands there, looking at her, his expression not so much blank as neutral.

"I am sorry about my behavior this afternoon, Padawan Kenobi. I interrogated you out of vulgar curiosity and persisted even when it was clear that my questions were out of line and causing you distress. I want to make it clear that you shouldn’t have felt the need to reveal anything to me and my friend, Bruck, and that I am not the least bit bothered by what you told me. I was shocked, yes - but only for your sake - that’s it. And what you told us will go no further, you have my sworn promise and Bruck, who had to report to the Halls of Healing and couldn’t be here, asked me to tell you that he will not say anything to anyone either." Siri lets the last words peter out, and then she bites her lip, waiting for Obi-Wan's reaction.

"Thank you, Padawan Tachi, your apology is accepted." Obi-Wan smiles and it’s full and bright and damn, he’s really kind of beautiful. "I also want to apologize. I overreacted to your questions. I should have either held my tongue or kept my seat. But it’s the first time I’ve actually told anyone what I was. Master Yoda knew I was a slave when he found me on Tatooine, and I’ve talked to Master Qui-Gon quite a lot about my life there, but he also knew what I was. Actually saying those words - 'I was a slave' - to strangers was hard and painful. You and Bruck were really pushy, but I made a bad call in that moment. And I’m sorry about that."

All her anxiety from this afternoon relaxes. "Your apology is accepted, Padawan Kenobi."

"Are you sure you don’t want some tea? My master and I went to a diner in CoCo Town for late-meal and I brought back a dessert. You could share it with me."

"Dex’s? Don’t tell me you got snowball cake?"

"Okay, I won’t tell you."

Siri grins and teases him. "Don’t be a brat."

Obi-Wan puts up water to boil. "Dex is cool. I couldn’t finish my dessert and he gave Master Qui-Gon and I extra slices to take back, in case we got hungry."

Soon enough, Siri is sitting at the dining table with Obi-Wan, a cup of tea and half a slice of cake in front of her. She notices that Obi-Wan doesn’t take any cake.

"Still full, I’ll have it later or tomorrow."

"Well, thank you for sharing yours with me."

"Consider it a peace offering."

Siri’s just about finished when Obi-Wan says, "I notice you carry two sabers, too. I guess you’re a Jar'Kai practitioner."

She makes a face. "I’m trying. Oh, whoops, I’m not trying. I’m learning. In case you haven’t heard it yet, one of Grand Master Yoda’s favorite sayings is, 'There is no try, only do'."

"Ah. I was going to ask if you’re any good."

Siri wants to lie and say that she’s one of the best of her year with two 'sabers, but she can’t. Too easy to be proven wrong - and she’s pretty much given herself away. "Nope. Not good at all. Can’t seem to get the right rhythm to using two blades."

"Then why persist?"

"I found two crystals on my Gathering trip to Ilum as an Initiate. That’s supposed to mean I should dual-wield. But it’s been more than four years since I’ve been training with them and I’m still struggling. I notice that you have two 'sabers - so you’re learning to dual-wield, too?"

Obi-Wan nods. "It’s not easy. And I’m kind of coming to all of this late. I’ve been able to pick up the basic katas with a single blade, but I’m not so comfortable with using two."

Siri is hit with an idea, one of her better ones. "Would you like to practice together?"

If she’d thought that Obi-Wan’s smile was bright before, it’s blinding now. "That would be lovely."

Qui-Gon has kept his bedroom door open, not to eavesdrop, but to make sure that his padawan is all right.

He knows Padawan Tachi’s master, Quillis Berona, a mostly retired Shadow, fairly well. They had been age-mates during their Initiate years, and intensely competitive in the salles and 'saber competitions and classrooms. They’d rubbed along fairly well through their teenage years, but then lost track of each other - Quillis disappeared into the Shadow program and Qui-Gon had followed the field knight and consular Jedi path under Master Yan.

They’ve crossed paths regularly since he’s taken on his brilliant new padawan and would not like to comm her and complain about her padawan’s behavior.

Listening to the two padawans talk, Qui-Gon is impressed. Siri Tachi seems to have a good head on her shoulders - her apology is thoughtful and it rings with sincerity in the Force. He’s not surprised that Obi-Wan accepts it without incident. He is also pleased that Obi-Wan owns up to his own overly-emotional behavior. Offering to share the extra slice of cake is a very nice touch.

And best of all, his padawan has acquired a sparring partner to build up his Jar'Kai skills.

No, that’s not best of all. What’s best of all is that he seems to have made a friend his own age, something Qui-Gon hadn’t been sure would even be possible.

Chapter Text

Writes on, as if from the stress of memory.
Now he has stationed his body like a dam
Behind whose walls everything is stored.

Poet (fragment)
By Yehuda Amichai
Translated by Chana Bloch and Chana Kronfeld

A Month Later, Three Months After Obi-Wan Arrives at the Temple

Qui-Gon bursts into the main room, interrupting Obi-Wan's morning routine. "Come, Padawan, no time for meditation this morning. We have been summoned to the High Council!"

Obi-Wan is up and off the meditation mat like he’s been bitten in the ass. "Is something wrong?"

"No, or at least I don’t think so. Mace comm’d and said we need to appear before the Council as soon as we get our boots on. That usually means there’s an urgent mission."

Obi-Wan gasps. "They are sending us out? Finally?"

Qui-Gon gives him a fond look. "It’s only been three months that you’ve been my Padawan."

"Feels like forever, Master." Obi-Wan goes to the boot rack by the door and retrieves his footwear. And isn’t that the truth. And then he realizes just how insulting his words are. "I want to work by your side, Master. To be your partner, to learn what it means to be a Jedi out in the Galaxy."

"I understand what you mean, Obi-Wan. You are raring to go, but don’t be surprised if all we’re offered is a milk run. Delivering documents, witnessing a treaty signing. You are still very new - and despite your age and experiences, you are not ready to be thrust into dangerous situations." Qui-Gon rests his hands on his shoulders. "Be patient, dear one. You have a lifetime of adventure in front of you."

Obi-Wan sighs. "I know, but still…" This is just one of the many problems with being a fifty-seven year old Jedi Master in the body of sixteen year old padawan who just arrived at the Temple. And damn, he really needs to remember the advice from the Force about that…

"Let’s get going. As you will learn, it’s best not to keep the High Council waiting. They tend to get testy if kept from their naps and snacks. Particularly the elders - they have a lot in common with the Younglings in the Creche."

Obi-Wan nearly chokes on his laughter. "I would think they’d nap in their chairs." He does remember dozing off once or twice, himself.

Down one set of turbo-lifts, across the Temple proper and up another set, which is an express ride right to the High Council chamber. Reva, half-asleep, greets them. "Hello, Master Jinn. Hey there, Obi-Wan. Settling in all right?"

"Yes, and thanks for asking."

"Let’s have lunch sometime. I’m free during mid-meal, so comm me this week, 'kay?"

"Sure." Obi-Wan doesn’t say anything about getting sent out on a mission. "That would be great."

"Let me announce you and then you can go in."

Reva disappears into the Council chamber and comes out not a minute later. "The High Council will see you now."

This is the first time he’s appeared before the Council as Qui-Gon’s padawan in this timeline, and he remembers to stay a few steps behind his Master. Despite the Force’s guidance to put away his former self, Obi-Wan can’t quite pack away all of the dissonant feelings and memories as they spool through his mind as he enters the chamber - the bodies of the dead children and their defenders, his own time as a Council member, the years as Anakin’s master, and then the dozen years he’d spent as Qui-Gon’s padawan. It takes an effort to reinforce his shields as he steps across the threshold and his master must have sensed something - he turns and frowns at him.

Whatever Qui-Gon might have said is forestalled when Mace thanks them for reporting so promptly.

"The negotiations with Felucia has broken down and we need you to return and see this through, until the treaty is signed. Chancellor Valorum has specifically requested that you go, Qui-Gon."

Obi-Wan would almost prefer to return to Tatooine than go to Felucia. How many pointless battles did they lose there? How many lives…

"My padawan and I will be ready to leave as soon as we review the briefing from the Senate - "

"I’m sorry, but your padawan will not be accompanying you on this mission. The situation on Felucia is volatile and while Obi-Wan is clearly an exceptional student - " Mace looks at him directly before continuing, "It will be too great of a risk to send him out with you. The Council is unanimous in this."

Obi-Wan feels like he’s been slapped. No, worse - it’s like the moment when Qui-Gon had publicly repudiated him in favor of Anakin…

Before his master can object or say anything, Obi-Wan steps forward. "May I ask a question, esteemed Councilors?"

"Go ahead, Padawan," Mace says.

"Am I being held back because of my inexperience or because of my unique midi-chlorian level?"

Mace frowns and he gives Obi-Wan that very familiar stop giving me a headache look, but he answers honestly. "Both, Padawan Kenobi. You have been at the Temple for just three months, and while we’ve heard only great things about your abilities — I’ve read the Battlemaster’s glowing reports — you are still, in many respects, a Youngling. We do not send out Younglings on field missions, no matter how precocious or exceptional. We also have to recognize the value of your unique nature and are curious what it will mean to the Order and to the Galaxy itself. That is not something that can be put at risk."

The thing is, Obi-Wan understands that. The Force itself told him directly and in very specific terms that he is here to stop the Darkness. He needs to stay alive and not get eaten by some random angry plant on an Outer Rim planet.

"Thank you, Master Windu, for your honest explanation."

Mace continues. "You won’t be spending the time apart from Master Jinn roaming the Temple halls like a badly programmed mouse droid. You will, for the duration, serve as a Council Padawan, taking lessons from High Councilors as time allows, but mostly from Grand Master Yoda and from Master Gallia, when she returns from her current mission. Master Yaddle’s padawan, Reva, will show you the ropes, and the two of you will divide duties as you best see fit."

Council Padawan is both a burden and an honor, and not an easy role to fill. It’s also a way for the High Council to keep their eyes on him. Annoying. Obi-Wan doesn’t let that show and bows respectfully, as the once-Perfect Padawan might have. "Thank you for the honor, I am overwhelmed." He steps back behind his master.

Mace nods and Yoda, that agent of chaos, is wearing the tiniest of smirks. Qui-Gon bows and ushers him out of the chamber. Reva trails behind them, mercifully silent.

A master-padawan pair are coming out of the turbo-lift, but Obi-Wan doesn’t recognize them. Qui-Gon does, and he nods in passing, holding the doors to let Obi-Wan enter first.

He can feel his master’s seething as the lift descends, as they walk across the Temple and then head back up to their apartment.

As the door shuts behind them, the only thing Obi-Wan can do is apologize. "I didn’t mean to embarrass you before the Council, Master."

"What? Embarrass me?"

"When I questioned their decision."

"No, Padawan, you didn’t embarrass me. Not at all."

"But you’re furious."

"Not at you. At that collection of kriffing pirates. They have no karking right to interfere in the relationship between a master and a padawan learner. Yoda planned this from the start, the damned troll. If it wasn’t Felucia, it would be some other urgent diplomatic crisis. He’s trying to separate us."

"Not happening, my Master. Not in this life." Obi-Wan, mindful of what the Force told him on Ilum, doesn’t let his anger get the best of him. "You are my master, and you will always be my master, even after you cut my braid and call me Knight Kenobi for the first time. I will always look to you for advice and guidance, no matter how much experience I have out in the Galaxy, because you will always have more. I chose you, and I will always choose you, Qui-Gon Jinn, regardless."

Qui-Gon stares at him, lips pursed, then grabs him in a tight hug. "Thank you, Obi-Wan. I needed to hear that. I don’t know why I felt so insecure."

"You’re not the only one, Master. I’m worried that you’re going someplace dangerous without anyone to watch your back. Maybe I should hide away in your transport." He’s only partially joking.

"No, no. I’ll be all right, and I promise to comm you as often as I can." Qui-Gon takes a deep breath. "There’s something I’ve been meaning to discuss with you, but I just keep putting it off. I don’t know why, but it’s foolish of me not to speak of it."

"What is it?"

"I’d like you to consider speaking with a mind-healer. About your experiences on Tatooine. I worry about you, Obi-Wan. You are so - " Qui-Gon shakes his head. "So calm, so even-tempered. Almost nothing fazes you."

"Except when it does, then I fall apart." Obi-Wan grimaces against the sour taste of truth in his mouth.

"That is a bit of an exaggeration. But I want you to be the best person you can be. Healthy and strong physically and mentally. And you can’t do that if you are burying your trauma."

"Can I think about it?"

"Of course. I won’t bug you about it, but I hope you will do the right thing for yourself."

Obi-Wan nods and starts thinking of a way to work with a mind-healer without running afoul of the Force’s dictates. It’s so hard to say no to Qui-Gon the Kind.

"All right, I need to pack. And look at the mission brief. Times like this, I wish I was a Cerean like Ki-Adi-Mundi, with two brains."

"But then you’d need to be a Besalisk with two sets of arms."

"True." Qui-Gon sighs, frustrated.

Obi-Wan suggests a solution. "I can read the brief to you while you pack, if that will help."

"Oh, that’s a splendid idea, Padawan-mine. Thank you."

Two hours later, Obi-Wan escorts his master to the Temple landing docks, and the Aethersprite that had been reserved for Qui-Gon’s trip to Felucia. Qui-Gon takes one look at the red-painted starfighter and frowns. "I’m going to spend the next thirty-six hours in this thing and will be crippled upon arrival." He hands his bag to one of the techs standing by and sighs. "Oh well, I am a Jedi, sworn to protect the Republic, I go where I’m commanded."

"Master, you’re whining."

"I know, I know." Qui-Gon opens his arms. "A hug I’ll have from you, Padawan-mine."

Obi-Wan doesn’t hesitate. "May the Force be with you, my Master."

"And may the Force be with you, always. And don’t forget to annoy Master Yoda as much as possible. Ask him very tedious questions about the Code, that will irritate the old troll as much as possible."

"I promise to try> my best," Obi-Wan replies with a wink.

"See that you do that," Qui-Gon gets the joke, of course, and tugs Obi-Wan’s braid for good measure..

Obi-Wan watches as his Master climbs into the Aethersprite and waves at him as the canopy lowers. He feels bereft, watching Qui-Gon head out into the Galaxy. Bereft and worried about how much could go wrong on Felucia.

Obi-Wan heads back to the apartment, trying not to trudge, reminding himself every step of the way that he is a Jedi and Jedi do not trudge. He’d certainly lectured Anakin on that often enough. He just feels like he’s been left out in the Tatooine sun too long - dry and crusty, a disappointed old man, bitter about his failures, stewing in his grief.

And with that thought, Obi-Wan stops. Takes a breath. No. He’s not an old man. He’s not grieving. He’s -

The Force’s Champion.. Ugh, that title is too much. But it’s important that he remembers he has work to do and he’s exactly where he’s to be.

Instead of going back to the apartment to sulk and worry about Qui-Gon and the dangers on Felucia, he heads to the training salles. He has an appointment to spar with Siri this morning and then his daily lesson with Master Drallig. After that, he’ll need to report to the Council Chamber and work out a schedule with Reva for his Council Padawan duties, then spend time with Grand Master Yoda.

And won’t that be interesting.

At the salle, he’s surprised to see Bruck waiting with Siri. Honestly, seeing a teenaged Bruck in healer-blue tunics is still a shock to the system. The boy in his memory had been a few days shy of his thirteenth birthday when he’d died, caught up in a darksider’s machinations. This teenaged version of Bruck is happy, charming and well-liked, a padawan who has found his place in the Temple.

"Hey there Obi-Wan." Bruck steps away from the wall, a diffident smile on his face. "Can we talk for a few? In private?"

"Sure." He nods at Siri, who heads into the training salle. "What’s up?"

"I wanted to apologize to you - for what happened the other week. I would have done this sooner, but I was sent out to Ryloth on a disaster relief mission and only got back two days ago. I was tied up in finishing my reports and reporting to the Healer council and then to the High Council. I don’t want you to think I skivved off. I was waiting with Siri the evening after - but I got called away to prep for the mission."

"She told me. And it’s all right, Bruck. You were pushy and I over-reacted." Obi-Wan holds out his hand. "We’re good."

Bruck takes it. "Thank you. And you are a better person than I am. I would have slugged you if our positions had been reversed."

Obi-Wan can’t help but chuckle. This Bruck might not be so different. "Well, that isn’t really the Jedi way, is it?"

"Nope, I guess not." Bruck laughs, too. "Do you mind if I watch you and Siri spar? I’m pretty crap with a 'saber. Barely know which end lights up."

"Um, sure - as long as Siri’s all right with it."

"Already asked. She told me to check with you."

"Then come on. I have a 'saber lesson with Master Drallig right after the sparring session." Obi-Wan pushes open the doors of the salle and strides through. He takes off his tabard and starts stretching, putting everything out of his mind, focusing on the katas he’ll be practicing with Siri before their spar.

When he’s done, Siri calls out the planned exercise. "Form V, Jar'Kai, the Gundark’s Nest Kata, mirrored, half-speed."

"Agreed." Obi-Wan offers her his 'sabers so she can check the settings and she does the same.

This is a particularly challenging kata, especially at half-speed. On the recommendation of the Battlemaster, they are working on the Djem-So variant of the form, which emphasizes saber-to-saber combat. It seems to be working, at least for Obi-Wan, who had experience with the form when training with Anakin. He’s becoming more proficient with the second 'saber, and can disarm Siri in almost every encounter now, even though she has been training in Jar'Kai for almost five years.

They complete the kata the requisite eight times and Obi-Wan asks, "Shall we repeat at full speed?"

"I’d rather have an actual spar. I have an exam to study for this afternoon, and would like not to feel like a sack of mud for the rest of the day."

From the balcony, Master Drallig offers his point of view. "Padawan Tachi, you still haven’t truly mastered the fundamentals of Jar'Kai and the only way you’ll do that is practice, practice, practice. Running katas in mirror at full speed is a better drill than a spar with random movements. Padawan Kenobi has managed to lock down in weeks what you haven’t learned in years."

Obi-Wan feels badly for Siri. Yes, Master Drallig is right, but this kind of criticism isn’t helping Siri. "Sir, please don’t compare us. I have had the advantage of one-on-one tutelage with you."

"You are also much more dedicated, Padawan Kenobi, and it shows." Master Drallig comes down from his observation perch with a Force-assisted leap. He says to Siri, "As the Grand Master is fond of telling us, 'Do or do not, there is no try.' You are doing, yes, but you are not succeeding. Sometimes Ilum gives gifts as a way to test us. I’ve seen you practice and spar with a single blade and your skills are formidable. But when you add in Jar'Kai, you are crippling yourself. Shall I speak with Master Berona on your behalf? Perhaps that second crystal should be stored away, against a future need."

Siri lifts her chin and bows deeply to the Battlemaster. "You have my permission to speak with Master Quillis about this. I need to be the best Jedi I can be, and I don’t believe it is possible while wielding two 'sabers."

Master Drallig nods. "Then I will. You are excused, Padawan Tachi. Padawan Kenobi and I have a lesson now."

"May I stay and watch, sir?"

"If my student is okay with your presence."

Obi-Wan nods and glances over at Bruck, who’s sitting there, his jaw practically on the mats.

"Then let’s get started."

By the time Master Drallig is finished with Obi-Wan, he’s as limp as an overcooked noodle, but that’s par for the course. And he has no complaints - he can feel his skills improving every day.

Siri and Bruck follow him out of the salle, and he can feel their awe. Siri mutters, "No wonder you are wiping the floor with me."

"Well, that’s why I said I had an advantage."

"And I appreciate that. I’ve wanted to put away the second 'saber for years, but Master Quillis won’t let me. She keeps insisting that Ilum gave me two crystals because I was meant to dual wield. I appreciate how you managed to convince the Battlemaster to see it another way."

"I don’t think I said anything of the sort - I just didn’t think it was fair of him to compare us." Obi-Wan is getting an eerie feeling about this.

"Well, I still think you managed to turn the tide and I owe you." Siri gives him a hug and regrets it. "Ugh, you are a sweaty mess."

"Yes, well - that’s what happens with a workout with Master Drallig. And some things happened this morning. He tells them about his Master getting recalled to a diplomatic crisis on Felucia but that he has been kept at the Temple. "I’s not experienced enough for field work yet. Once I saw my master off, I didn’t have time to go back to the suite to get a change of clothes - so I’m heading back there now. Would you believe I’m on Council Padawan duty until he gets back?" Obi-Wan makes a face.

Bruck offers his sympathy. "Oh, all the stars and little gods, you poor thing. But at least you’ll have Reva for company. She’s a decent sort, if a bit over-dramatic."

"Yes, I’ve noticed that, but she’s very kind, too."

They make plans to have mid-meal together tomorrow and part company. Obi-Wan makes his way to his apartment for a shower before heading back to the High Council chamber. He hopes, as the days go by, he’ll lose the anxiety he feels about the place, and it will become like the rest of the Temple, a part of his home.

But not today. As the turbo-lift rises, Obi-Wan has to strengthen his mental shields and remind himself of the year, the time, his age. That Anakin Skywalker is nearly a decade older than him and has left the Order with the blessings of his master and the Council to marry the Queen of Naboo. Sheev Palpatine is just the senator for the Chommell Sector and holds little real power. The Jedi are thriving. Yan Dooku is the Ambassador to the Court of the Mand’alor the Patient, and not a Sith apprentice.

And he, Obi-Wan Kenobi, is the Force’s Champion. Which is terrifying, but makes everything in this timeline make sense.

The Council doors are opened and Reva is sitting at her desk. She smiles when she sees him. "Oh good, you’ve arrived at the perfect time. They’ve just broken for mid-meal, have you eaten yet?"

"No - I just finished my 'saber lesson with Master Drallig and cleaned up, I didn’t want to keep you waiting."

"Perfect. I’ve got an hour - we can have food sent up and go over what a Council Padawan does, and what you’ll want to take on. How does that sound?"

"Perfect."

Reva hands him a datapad with a menu and Obi-Wan makes his selections, then Reva makes hers. "Food should be up in about fifteen or so. Why don’t you tell me your schedule so we can see how we fit together."

"The only class I have right now that’s fixed is training with Master Drallig - that’s two hours every morning, from nine to eleven, but a few days a week I get an early sparring practice in with Padawan Tachi. In the afternoons, I’m studying for my placement exams in the general course of study, but that’s work I can do in the evenings."

Reva nods. "All right. That’s not terrible. Council Padawans are expected to be on duty from eight in the morning until six at night, except for class time. I don’t have any classes until after mid-meal, and then I come back here at four. I usually spend a lot of time studying at this desk, when the Council is in private session. Council Padawans only get to monitor about a third of mission debriefings, sadly - even though we are sworn to absolute discretion."

"That’s understandable." When Obi-Wan had been a member of the High Council, there had been a war on, and to his own shame and regret, padawans over the age of fourteen had been drafted and sent to the front as battalion commanders. There had been no Council Padawans.

"So you’ll have plenty of time to study while watching the door, and just so you know, my Master is adamant that my own studies come first before Council duties. I expect that yours will too, especially since you’re playing catch-up on so many subjects."

"I just think they want to keep an eye on me, make sure I’m not running around like a badly programmed mouse droid."

Reva snorts. "Good one, Obi-Wan."

"That was my master’s comment. But it’s apt. I don’t have a class schedule yet, I don’t even have access to the Archives."

"What? How is that possible? You can read, right?"

"Of course I can - but I need the full tour first and Master Nu hasn’t had time to fit me in."

"Isn’t there are junior archivist who could do that?"

Obi-Wan shrugs. "I guess she wants to do it herself, and since I’m not in classes yet, it’s not urgent."

"Hmm, that doesn’t seem fair. Even the youngest Initiate has access."

"I know, and I’m - " Obi-Wan grimaces, "a little frustrated."

"Talk to one of the Council members. Master Windu maybe. He and Master Nu have worked on a bunch of projects lately."

Obi-Wan doesn’t remember Mace and Jocasta being particularly close, but then he hadn’t been privy to any High Councilors’ relationships in the years before the war. And he needs to remember that he had to live in this timeline.

"Thanks for the advice, I’ll do that."

Their mid-meal arrives soon after and they work out a reasonable schedule and division of responsibilities. It all seems well and good and Obi-Wan thinks he’ll enjoy the challenge, but he’d prefer to spend his afternoons with his master, that is for certain.

Just as they finish eating, the Councilors begin to return, and it’s Mace who approaches them first, asking how everything is going.

Before Obi-Wan can answer, Reva gives him the rundown, talking as fast as a senator running out her allotted time to speak.

"…And also, Obi-Wan hasn’t gotten any access to the Archives yet. It seems that Master Nu doesn’t have the time to give him a tour and she won’t give him access until he gets a tour and she won’t delegate to a junior archivist and that’s really not fair, Master Windu, is it? Maybe you can talk to Master Nu and get Obi-Wan some help?"

Obi-Wan can feel his face flush as bright red as his hair. "I wasn’t complaining, Master Windu. It just came up in conversation with Reva."

"No, Padawan, I am certain you weren’t complaining. I’ll reach out to Jocasta today and make sure she sets something up with you as soon as possible."

"Here’s the schedule we worked out, sir." Reva hands Mace a datapad. "Obi-Wan doesn’t have formal classes yet, except for two-hour daily sessions with Master Drallig first thing in the morning. His afternoons are free, so he’ll come in after mid-meal. Isn’t learning supposed to take precedence over Council duties?"

Mace’s eyes are sparkling with amusement. "Absolutely, Padawan Sevander. Let’s get this settled right now." He pulls out his comlink and walks a few steps away from the desk, but not so far that Obi-Wan can’t hear the conversation.

"Jocasta, how are you?"

"Busy." Her voice is terse.

"Too busy to give a new padawan a tour of the Archives so they can have access?"

"Actually, yes. Do you know how many holocrons opened on the Day of Miracles? Three hundred and twenty seven. Do you know how many of those holocrons are now talking to each other for the last three months? ALL OF THEM!"

Obi-Wan can’t help but wince at poor Master Nu’s shriek of utter frustration.

"This is not supposed to be possible, but I have the memories of a twenty-three thousand year old Jedi master chatting with the memories of an eleven thousand year old one, who is arguing with a third, equally old one. I have archivists sitting in the vaults transcribing these conversations around the clock. I barely have time to breathe. And why does a padawan need a tour of the Archives? Did they suffer a complete memory wipe at some point and forgot everything they learned as a Youngling and Initiate?"

Mace’s sigh is epic. "Actually yes. The padawan in question might be the Lost Youngling."

Obi-Wan hates that lie.

"Oh." Jocasta actually sounds cowed. "Oh. Please tell his master to bring him to the Archive whenever he is free, and to ask for me. I’ll make time for a tour."

"The padawan’s name is Obi-Wan Kenobi, and his master is Qui-Gon Jinn. Qui-Gon was sent out to handle a diplomatic crisis, but the Council believed it best to keep Obi-Wan here, and he’ll be doing Council Padawan work for the duration."

"Hmm. Interesting. Well, tell Padawan Kenobi to come down whenever he can find the time." Jocasta ends the call abruptly, probably to go back to her chattering holocrons.

Mace pockets his comlink. "You heard Master Nu?"

"Yes, sir."

"Go easy on her. She’s got a lot on her plate." At that, Mace goes into the Council chamber.

"I hope you aren’t upset that I said something to Master Windu," Reva starts to apologize.

"No. I might have taken a few days to get around to it. So I actually appreciate your direct approach."

"Good. Would you mind if I studied? I have an astrometrics exam tomorrow."

"Not at all, go right ahead." Obi-Wan is hoping he’ll remember enough of his previous life’s coursework in that subject - the heavy mathematics required for astrometrics had never been his strong suit. Without Garan and Reeft to tutor him, he’s going to be lost amongst the stars. Literally.

About an hour later, Reva excuses herself and heads to class, and Obi-Wan is on his own.

A knight and padawan pair arrive for a mission debriefing, and Obi-Wan is invited to remain. Reva had mentioned something about taking notes, but said that she could never keep up, so Master Yaddle excused her from that duty. Obi-Wan had always had a quick hand and manages to transcribe the team’s debriefing word for word. He figures it really isn’t necessary, since every Council session is recorded, but it can’t hurt. He also forwards the transcription to the knight and padawan for their own final mission report.

Obi-Wan is shut out of the next two debriefings, and so it goes until the end of the day.

He isn’t tired but he’s grateful that the day is done. But the day isn’t done. The little green troll approaches in his hover chair .

"Time you have for me, Padawan?"

"Of course, Grand Master." What else can he say?

"To my quarters with me will you walk?"

Obi-Wan nods and they get into the waiting turbo-lift. Yoda doesn’t seem inclined to talk on the entire journey through the Temple to his quarters. And while Master Yoda is always highly disciplined and well-shielded, today he seems exceedingly well-wrapped.

Master Yoda’s quarters are always his quarters, in any timeline. Spacious, somewhat damp, and Obi-Wan might say green-scented if he was charitable, but in truth, they are redolent of mold. But one’s home is one’s home.

"Tea you will take with me, padawan."

Obi-Wan isn’t sure if that is a request of a demand, so he nods.

"Sit, you will. Tea I will make. Then talk, we shall."

At least the tea is drinkable.

"Now, tell me you will, how you like being at the Temple. Everything hoped of, is it?"

Obi-Wan smiles and sighs happily. "Yes, Grand Master. It everything I dreamed of, and more, back when I was on Tatooine."

Yoda looks at him and frowns slightly. "But before Tatooine, of the Jedi did you dream?"

Obi-Wan freezes. In his effort not to lie, he’s said too much. "Nothing has changed. I still don’t remember anything of my childhood before waking up in the slavers’ ship, Master Yoda. If I dreamed of being a Jedi, I think it is something innate, something in my blood."

"Hee hee, perhaps. Your blood - mostly midi-chlorians it is. Know you, that midi-chlorians I dislike. Stupid science, reduces to numbers the individual’s connection with the Force. Known I have many Jedi, strong in the Force, with lower m-counts."

"The quantification of a Jedi’s connection to the Force seems … " Obi-Wan searches for the right word to use as a sixteen year old with little context, "weird. Is a Jedi with an m-count of ten-thousand inherently less valuable than one with an m-count of fifteen-thousand? Or one with twenty-thousand?"

Yoda chuckles again. "My m-count, over twenty-thousand. Until you, highest m-count on record. Proud of, not something I am. But fact it is. Answer your question, I shall. No - ordinarily, much difference there is not between one Jedi and another when training is finished. Training emphasizes the principles of what it means to be a Jedi, the history of the Galaxy and the Order. Not the mean use of power. Control more important than anything. Teaching you control your master has?"

"Yes, Master Yoda, he is. When he is here."

Yoda’s ears droop and he glares at him. In revenge for that not-so-subtle dig, the Grand Master demands proof of Obi-Wan's training. "Show me, please. The tea cup you will lift. Spill the contents you will not."

This is just the type of exercise he’d been practicing with Qui-Gon, and it had taken some effort to relearn the basics of control after four years in an inhibitor collar. But after three months, he can levitate most anything, including a tea cup filled with steaming hot tea.

Yoda nods in approval when Obi-Wan sets the cup down without spilling a drop.

"Impressive that is. Good teacher Qui-Gon is."

"Yes. He is part of your lineage."

"My grand-padawan he is. And you, my great-grandpadawan. Many have I had. All but a few into the Force have passed. Reconciled I had been to taking no more padawans until you I had met. Thought maybe you and I, a good fit would be. But Qui-Gon, he seduced you with promises of defying the Council, did he not?"

It’s hard not to grin at the little green troll when he’s making mischief. "Master Qui-Gon did mention something about following the Will of the Force when he told me about being a Jedi. It sounded quite … attractive to someone who had been a slave."

"Hmm. Understandable that is. And perhaps, it is for the best that Qui-Gon's padawan you are. Too old I am to be teaching you push-feather." Yoda hrumphs and pouts like a Youngling.

"I never meant any disrespect, Grand Master. But there are two truths to my decision to accept Master Jinn’s offer."

"Oh?" Yoda perks up.

"First, I feel a connection with him. It’s that Vision — what I Saw on Tatooine, saving his life. That’s the first time I actually felt the Force through that collar. And I understood what it meant to be something greater than a boy with no memory, no family, who’s just a slave on an Outer Rim planet. Meeting Master Qui-Gon that day gave me hope. I believe I am meant to be with him, at his side."

Yoda nods. "Good reason that is. Understandable. But the second reason, what is it?"

"You still intimidate me, Master Yoda. Remember what I told you that day in Watto’s shop, what you felt like to me?

Yoda stares at him, his great dark eyes fathomless and unreadable.

Obi-Wan repeats what he’d told him that day. "You still feel like an ocean of stars. The light of ages echoing through space and time, welcoming me home. And you have, Grand Master, you have brought me home and I owe you everything. But you terrify me, too."

A slow smile of delight appears on the little green troll’s face and those dark eyes warm up. "Long time it has been since I terrified anyone. Grateful I am, to know this."

"I think you make an effort to underplay your effect on the Temple, Master Yoda."

"Frighten more Younglings, I should?"

"Or maybe remind the knights and masters just how powerful you truly are."

"Much you have given me to think of, young Obi-Wan. Thank you, I do. Often, very, tea shall have, and conversation like this. Much you have to learn, much I have to teach. And much I have to learn, too. Now, go. It is time - late-meal you should have. Growing boy you are, more than tea you need."

Obi-Wan is both eager and reluctant to leave. He still has concerns, but perhaps they can be addressed tomorrow. "Thank you, Master Yoda. Should I bring something sweet to go with the tea the next time we meet?"

"Hmm, at the Temple only three months and my vices already you know. Good, good."

Qui-Gon really does hate these damn Aethersprites. There’s nothing much he can do in them but think. Meditate for hours on end as he travels through the lonely hyperspace lanes.

Anakin had loved them, but then his second padawan had loved all kinds of vehicles, no matter how humble. Qui-Gon used to say that the boy could fly a box of flimsiplast from Central Stores if he had the right tools and a hookup to a guidance system.

Feemor, on the other hand, was an average pilot. He had been average in a lot of areas - as a student, a duelist, a diplomat, no matter how hard he’d studied for practiced or worked at Qui-Gon’s side, Feemor had never stood out or excelled. And Qui-Gon had loved him, because he was his padawan. And because of his normalness, his perfect ordinariness. But Feemor didn’t want his Master’s regard. Feemor Gard, who had been just nine years younger than Qui-Gon when he’d been knighted, disappeared into the anonymity of the Temple guards within a week after his knighting, leaving a terse note and his braid behind.

For years, every time Qui-Gon would pass one of the helmeted Temple Sentinels, he’d try to see if that one was Feemor. But the guards are anonymous, and despite Qui-Gon’s long friendship with Cin Drallig, he’s never been able to get any information about his former padawan out of the man.

It doesn’t seem quite fair. One padawan "lost" to the Guardians. Another left the Order - yes, with all the fanfare his heroics deserves. But still a wounded soul deserving all the happiness the galaxy can give him.

And there’s Obi-Wan. Shining so bright in the Light it hurts to look at him sometimes. And such a mystery, too. How does a former slave, who had never picked up a lightsaber learn enough Soresu in two months to fight the Battlemaster not just to a stalemate, but to get two Marks of Combat on him? Or pick up enough advanced mathematics to pass a qualification test for applied statistics. Or the law and government courses? Obi-Wan’s explanation that he’d spent hours every night listening to Senate rebroadcasts from the Starlight Beacon makes sense, but still…

His padawan is fluent in Ryl. In Togruti. And Rhodian. And probably another three languages that Qui-Gon hasn’t yet discovered.

Obi-Wan is kind and unfailingly polite. He’s sweet, generous, and charming. He’s always concerned about Qui-Gon’s comfort, but he doesn’t hover.

Except for that one spectacular emotional breakdown, Qui-Gon would dare say that Obi-Wan is the Perfect Padawan.

And it would almost creep him out.

Except he knows how hard Obi-Wan is trying to be perfect. He can see the effort. Getting up at least an hour early to practice his meditations, staying up late to study. Never asking for anything. Qui-Gon wishes Obi-Wan would pitch a fit about something. The boy is sixteen, isn’t he supposed to be hormonal?

Quillis’ pretty padawan, Siri, is all but throwing herself at him. They are of an age, and Qui-Gon isn’t a prude - just as long as the parties are enthusiastically consenting.

The stars stream past and oh, by all the little gods, his butt is numb.

He checks the output from the astromech, and the Ringo Vinda space station is coming up within the next two hours, just in time for a refueling. He can last that long, but not much more than that. His bladder is about to explode.

A check of his chrono - still set to Coruscant time - tells him that it’s late evening, almost midnight and his padawan should be in the apartment. Force bless who even invented trans-space real-time communications. Qui-Gon punches in Obi-Wan’s comlink number, and his padawan answers on the first ring.

"Master!" Obi-Wan sounds so delighted to hear his voice.

"Hello there, how are you?"

Obi-Wan glows blue on the holo-emitter pad. "Well enough, it’s finally quiet here."

That doesn’t sound too good. "Finally quiet? Were there problems?"

"Well, your plants, sir. They raised quite the ruckus when you didn’t return this morning. The Lothal moon vine got all pissy and the Mantell verbenum instantly wilted. I had to sing to them. Six rounds of 'Who’s Afraid of a Drunken Jedi?' before they perked up."

Qui-Gon laughs so hard he nearly has an accident. "No, you didn’t."

"All right. I’m exaggerating a bit. Only three rounds, and one extra chorus."

"So you’re doing okay?"

"Like your plants, I miss you. The day was long, had my spar with Siri, my lesson with Master Drallig. Then met with Reva and set up a schedule for Council Padawan duties."

"And how did that go?"

Obi-Wan shrugs. "I can’t wait for you to get back, sir. But Master Windu did me a favor and spoke with Master Nu about Archive access."

"Good. I’ll have to thank Mace when I get back. What else?"

"Took tea with Master Yoda. Interesting, that was."

"Did he give you a hard time about … " Qui-Gon makes a face, "the padawan thing."

"He tried, but I explained things. Told him that he intimidated me. Which he does."

"Ha! You always seem to have the perfect answer to everything, padawan-mine. It’s a little scary."

"I can pretend to stumble about, if you prefer."

"No. I’ll just learn how to deal with it." Their signal begins to degrade. "Have a good night, Obi-Wan. Sleep well and I’ll call you tomorrow after I get to Felucia. May the Force be with you."

"Travel safely, my Master, and may the Force be with you too."

Obi-Wan is sick to his stomach as the reality of Qui-Gon going to Felucia sinks in. And it becomes impossible to forget his past life and everything he suffered on that hellscape. How many men did he lose on that planet? How many Jedi died for nothing, over and over again? He shudders at the memories.

The plants on the windowsill - the Force-sensitive ones - shiver and cry out, reminding Obi-Wan that he needs to get control of himself. Reminding him that this life is not that life.

He gets up and paces, and then grabs his cloak and his 'sabers. He can’t stay here right now. Not with Qui-Gon’s Force presence permeating every centimeter of the apartment. He needs to move, he needs space. He needs to be a sixteen year old padawan in the one-thousand-seventh year of the Republic, not a fifty-seven year old fugitive in the nineteenth year of the Empire.

Obi-Wan doesn’t know where he’s heading but he’s got to leave. The hallways are quiet, it’s nearly midnight and most of the Temple population is diurnal. But that doesn’t mean the Temple is shut down for the night. The training salles are always open, as is the Room of a Thousand Fountains.

Physical exhaustion sounds like a good idea, so the training salles are his destination.

What Obi-Wan hadn’t expected was how the Temple at night would trigger his terrible memories from the other timeline. He’s halfway to his destination and he’s staring at the base of the High Council tower, seeing the bodies of a dozen Temple Sentinels and Cin Drallig. He can’t move. He can’t think. So many dead. The terrible scent of scorched flesh and dead bodies is thick in his nose.

The turbo-lift pings and the door opens.

Without a though, his 'saber is in his hand, the brilliant violet blade illuminating …

Plo Koon.

"Padawan?"

Obi-Wan blinks and the nightmarish memories clear. He disengages his 'saber, clips it back on his belt, and steps back, awkward and not sure what to say.

"I - um - "

"You’re distressed, Padawan. What’s wrong."

He licks is lips. "I don’t know - I was going to head to the training salles to get some practice in, and I heard something, I thought I felt something dangerous. It was nothing, just my imagination. I’m sorry."

Plo turns and looks around. "I’m not sensing anything, but that doesn’t mean you’re wrong."

"No, I probably am." Obi-Wan uses the truth as a defense for his bizarre behavior. "I’m worried about my Master."

Plo laughs gently. "Oh, young one, Master Jinn is an experienced troublemaker, you have nothing to worry about. He’s been getting himself out of tight places since before you were born."

Obi-Wan knows too well how Qui-Gon gets into trouble, and gets out of it. "I understand that Master Qui-Gon is a skilled Jedi, but I keep thinking about the nature of luck. Good and bad."

"Hmmm. I should tell you that for a Jedi, there is no such thing as luck. There is only the Force." Master Plo is the soul of kindness.

"Exactly." And now Obi-Wan can feel Master Plo’s confusion. "It’s about my m-count, sir."

"Ah. Then perhaps we should take this conversation someplace more private." Plo gestures to the turbo-lift. "Let’s go back up to the Council chamber. No one is there right now."

Obi-Wan nods and he’s a little relieved to have someone to talk to. He’s also grateful that Plo turns on the antechamber’s lights, so they aren’t talking in the dark and the shadows.

"Now, Obi-Wan, tell me what you’re worried about."

"I’m guessing that Master Qui-Gon told you all about the Toydarian who owned me when I was on Tatooine. How he wouldn’t sell me because I was his 'lucky piece'."

"Yes, he did, when he first told the Council about you."

"I’ve been thinking a lot about that. About why that happened."

"And what conclusions did you come to?"

"That my extremely high amount of midi-chlorians somehow positively affected Watto’s life. He was a degenerate gambler, so he did well at the gambling tables and at the pod races, because that’s what mattered to him. The shop mattered to him, too, but only to the extent it funded his gambling. So the shop did well too. But when he wasn’t around me for a very long period of time, the benefits of my midi-chlorians withdrew, and he lost big and lost badly." Obi-Wan frowns. Now that he says the words aloud, they sound ridiculous. Anakin never spilled luck anywhere.

Master Plo nods. "You are correct."

"I am?"

"Your midi-chlorian count is ludicrously high - "

Obi-Wan has to laugh. "Isn’t it?"

"And with the collar, you had no way to shield or control your Force presence. You spilled Light - which became the Toydarian’s good fortune.”

"The collar - I hadn’t thought about that."

"Tell me, what exactly are you worried about?"

"You - the Council - sent my master into a potentially dangerous situation, and you’ve taken his lucky charm away. I’m worried that my absence from Master Qui-Gon’s side could have ill-effects for him. Like a bounce-back." Obi-Wan tries to sound like an adult, not a scared and petulant child. "Watto started calling me his lucky piece within a few weeks. And I’ve seen some things that indicate that I’m still throwing good fortune around like sand in a windstorm."

"Tell me."

Obi-Wan explains what had happened with Siri and Master Drallig. "She desperately wanted to stop learning Jar'Kai, but her master keeps pushing her, even though she’s been at it for five years. Finally, when we were sparring this morning, the Battlemaster was observing and he was very critical of Padawan Tachi’s lack of dedication to the form. But when she explained, Master Drallig just agreed, out of the blue, to talk to Master Berona about letting her padawan put down the second 'saber."

"And you think it was because you were there?"

"No, I think it was because Siri and I have been training together for a few weeks and she desperately doesn’t want to dual-wield."

"Interesting."

Obi-Wan doesn’t have the feeling that Plo is humoring him, but he’s not agreeing with him, either. "I don’t disagree about not being ready to go out on a mission, especially one that might be dangerous."

"For the record, Obi-Wan, while I voted to keep you Temple-bound, I did not agree that sending Qui-Gon out was a good idea. It smacked of punishment for your selection of him as your master."

Obi-Wan blinks. He hadn’t expected this level of frankness from a High Councilor.

"We have become too accustomed to responding to the whims of the Senate and ignoring the needs of our own. Also, Qui-Gon is a favorite of Finis Valorum. I will be very relieved when his term ends."

Obi-Wan thinks of who came after Valorum. Don’t be, please…

"So you understand my worries?"

"I do. I don’t know if I believe that Qui-Gon will suffer the same fate as the Toydarian. You were in his company for years, not just a few short months, before the his luck turned. And there were other things in play."

"Such as the Jedi on Tatooine who managed to induce Watto into a high stakes game at just the right moment?"

Obi-Wan can feel Plo’s shock.

"How did you know?"

"I could feel that Meekah - or whoever he is - is a Jedi. That collar only stopped me from using the Force, it didn’t stop me from feeling the Force presence on others. Meekah felt like Qui-Gon, who felt like Master Gallia, who felt like, well, everyone else here. But no one feels like Master Yoda."

Plo shakes his head. "You are a most remarkable young man. Please don’t speak about 'Meekah' to anyone else, not even your master. He is a Shadow - a kind of spy. And secrecy is important."

"I understand, sir."

"Are you feeling better, Obi-Wan?"

Obi-Wan examines his feelings. "Yes, I am. A bit. I’m still worried about my Master, though."

"Do you think you’ll be able to sleep?"

"I think I still want to do some katas, it’s not that late."

"Ah, the energy of youth. Would you mind if I joined you?"

"I would be honored, sir." The chance to spar against Plo would be a rare treat.

Chapter Text

Count them. Be present, for they
have already used up all the blood and there's still not enough,
as in a dangerous operation, when one
is exhausted and beaten like ten thousand. For who is
the judge, and what is the judgment,
unless it be in the full sense of the night
and in the full severity of mercy.

In the Full Severity of Mercy (fragment)
By Yehuda Amichai

Translated by Stephen Mitchell

Plo nods at Reva, sitting at the Council Padawan desk, she looks from her data pad and smiles.

"Good morning, Master Plo."

"And good morning to you, young one. Who’s inside?"

"Just my own master, the Grand Master, and Master Windu."

"Thank you." Plo goes into the Council chamber, shutting the door behind him. He’s still debating on what, if anything, to say about last night’s encounter with Obi-Wan. The conversation has been extraordinary enough, but what still perturbs Plo is his initial encounter with the young man. Being greeted by a padawan holding a lit 'saber is not something that should go unremarked.

Plo had sensed great turmoil emanating from Obi-Wan before the boy’s shields slammed down - and those shields had been like durasteel. As impenetrable as any High Councilor’s.

Mace greets him with a terse, "Good morning, Plo. You’re late."

"Late?"

"We had planned to meet early this morning to review what is supposed to be the final list of 'miracles'. Instead, you show up a half-hour late with a shatterpoint hanging around you."

"What? Me? A shatterpoint?"

"Happen last night, something did?" Yoda walks up to him and taps his legs with his gimmer stick. "Tell us, you must."

Plo hates feeling cornered, but when faced with the Master of the Order and the two oldest members of the High Council, what choice does he have? "I was working late last night and when I left the Council spire, I encountered our miraculous padawan standing in front of the turbo-lift. He seemed - " Plo choses to keep the bit about the lit 'saber to himself. "Disturbed. We came back up here and talked."

Mace’s frown would scare gundarks. "And what was Padawan Kenobi’s explanation for being out so late, and for lingering in front of the High Council tower turbo-lift?"

"He said he was unable to sleep and was heading towards the training salles, and that when he was passing by, he’d felt something dangerous. But then he’d brushed it off, explaining he was worried about his master."

"Hmm, attachment that is. Not good for young Kenobi." Yoda is being typically Yoda.

As loath as Plo is to contradict the Grand Master, he has to. "No, Grand Master. I don’t think Padawan Kenobi’s worries stem from burgeoning attachment. They are based on his own experiences regarding the spillage of his vast accretion of the Light side. We talked about the nature of luck and the positive effects his long-term presence wrought on the Toydarian who had owned him. And what happened when the Toydarian had been physically absent for a while and his luck had turned bad. Obi-Wan is concerned that Master Jinn might suffer a similar fate."

All three of his colleagues look stunned.

"Obi-Wan noted that the Toydarian’s luck at the gaming tables improved within weeks of his own arrival in his life. And you should know that Obi-Wan had recognized Quinlan Vos as a Jedi and figured out that the Jedi were was involved in getting him loose from the Toydarian. I told him not to discuss it with anyone. Also, Obi-Wan believes he’s still inadvertently helping people get what they want." Plo tells them about Obi-Wan’s fellow padawan, her issues with learning Jar'Kai, and Master Drallig’s offer to intercede with the padawan’s master.

Yaddle asks, "So, what you’re saying is Obi-Wan believes he’s bringing luck to everyone he meets?"

"The way he framed it, it’s not so much luck, as helping beings get what they want."

"And when he’s absent, those beings lose what they want?" Mace follows the logical conclusion.

"Or bad things happen to them."

"Let’s consider the miracles - a lot of them could be considered wish-fulfillment, but on a grand and overbearing scale." Yaddle chuckles. "Poor Lughashe. Five centuries she’s been alone and infertile, longing for just a single egg to continue her species. Now she’s lying on a clutch of eggs so vast we’re about to be overrun with Force-sensitive turtles."

"But what about the bells? And the sigils in the Temple walls? How is that wish-fulfillment?"

Yoda suggests, "Living being the Temple is, too. Imbued with the Force and the spirit of a thousand generations of Jedi. Perhaps wants and needs the Temple has."

Before the other three Councilors can dive deep into the theoretical, Plo wants to address the practical. "What about the reality of Obi-Wan’s concerns? That Qui-Gon could be in for a run of ill-fortune, luck, whatever you want to call it. We deliberately orchestrated events so the Toydarian would experience just that. To ignore the issue because the concerns were raised by an inexperienced padawan seems the height of foolishness. Or hypocrisy."

Mace stares at him, not frowning so much as considering. "When you walked in, I said you’d acquired a shatterpoint. This is it. It’s Qui-Gon Jinn. We need to recall him, now. Feel like going to Felucia in his place, Master Koon?"

Without waiting for his answer, Mace heads over to the Council room comlink and places the call. Qui-Gon answers after a few long moments.

"Masters, is everything okay? Is my padawan alright?". Qui-Gon looks exceedingly disheveled.

"Your padawan is fine, but how are you?"

"I’ve been better, actually."

Plo can feel Qui-Gon’s frustration from halfway across the galaxy.

Mace asks, "What’s wrong?"

"Damn pirates tried to pull my starfighter out of hyperspace. Had to engage with weaponry, took some hits and lost the damn hyperdrive and the astromech."

"Where are you now?"

"I was able to make it to Ringo Vinda a few hours ago, but I think the ship is only so much junk at this point. I’m trying to find passage to Felucia - but haven’t had much success. I was just thinking about calling the Council when I got your call. I know we’re Jedi and not supposed to believe in luck, but this is damn timely. And why are you calling?"

"We’re recalling you. You have a very … perspicacious padawan. We’ll explain when you get back. Be careful, keep your eyes open and please, for your sake and your padawan’s, don’t do anything foolish."

"Well, normally, I’d ignore that directive as a matter of pride, but if you’re saying that Obi-Wan’s involved, I’ll be as good as an Initiate waiting to get picked by a Master. May the Force be with you."

"And you, you damn Maverick." The holo-emitter winks out.

Plo stares at his colleagues and doesn’t say anything.

Yoda, though, has thoughts. "Tell Obi-Wan that his Master is returning, we should not. Not yet."

"Why?"

"Worry more, he may. Relax, let him."

Plo doesn’t agree. "Obi-Wan was up at the eleventh hour last night, worried about his master. After we talked, he was less troubled but still worried. I went with him to the training salles and we did katas and sparred for about two hours."

"Two hours, Plo? That explains why you were late. And very generous of you to give that much time to a rank beginner." Mace laughs gently.

"Obi-Wan isn’t a rank beginner. Not by half. Do you know that Cin Drallig is training him? He’s got him for two hours every morning? The Force seems to have taught him how to master Soresu - he held me to a draw with those damn purple 'sabers of his."

That gets the attention of the Master of the Order like nothing else. "Purple? His lightsabers are purple? He has two purple lightsabers?"

"Violet, the color is, I believe," Yoda cackles. "On Kashyyyk you were, when to Ilum I took Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon. "

"You just told me I lost the bet about the boy’s crystal color, you didn’t tell me he has two purple 'sabers!"

Plo is startled by Mace’s bizarre reaction.

"I need to see these 'violet' sabers." Mace checks his chrono. "What time did you say Obi-Wan has his sessions with Cin Drallig?"

"I didn’t - I just said he has lessons with him every morning. It could be now, for all I know."

"Hmm." Mace goes into the antechamber and asks Reva if she has Obi-Wan’s schedule. Of course she does. And Mace comes back with a disturbingly satisfied smile on his face. "I’m heading down there now."

"Mace - what are you going to say to the boy?" Yaddle is concerned, as is Plo.

"Nothing, I want to see those 'sabers. That’s it."

Yaddle shakes her head emphatically. "I’ve known you since you were an infant in the crèche, Mace Windu. And I know how you react when you feel threatened. Jedi you may be. Youngest member of the High Council and Master of the Order you may be, but you are not the creator of Vapaad for nothing. If you want to visit the salles and see the padawan and his purple sabers, you will not go alone."

Later, when he had time to think about the day, Obi-Wan will have to admit, moving through one of the most difficult katas in all of the lightsaber forms at one-quarter speed is a very good way to deal with his anxieties. By the time he’s done, his brain is too deep into the Force to think about any real-world problems.

Right now, he’s not conscious of anything except the 'sabers in his hands and how his body is moving through space and time. At full speed, The Song of the Diathim has twelve separate segments and the whole kata can take nearly twenty minutes to finish.

"Good work, padawan. You’re done."

Obi-Wan blinks and slowly returns to the material world. One that smells of sweat and processed air and a thousand years of Jedi working and training. It smells of Light and knowledge and compassion and Obi-Wan would bottle it if he could.

"You did well, but you wobbled twice on the seventh segment. Are you up to taking it again? This time at one-eighth speed."

"Of course, Master." Obi-Wan breathes and settles himself back in the Force. He mirrors Master Drallig in the complex movements, and he is finding that the two 'sabers are giving him balance. As exhausted as he is, he moves smoothly through the pattern, at the punishingly slow pace. In his first life, as an Initiate, he’d had a hard time understanding the necessity of these achingly slow movements, but now, he sees the purpose of doing katas in such a measured pace.

At a practical level, this kind of steady movement refines the skill and magnifies any bad habits that might get overlooked when moving at speed. Metaphysically, all lightsaber katas are supposed to enhance a Jedi’s connection to the Force. Moving at half and quarter-speed works like an accelerant. As the Jedi sinks deeper into their concentration, the Force propels them forward.

And today, the Force is guiding every part of Obi-Wan. The Song of the Diathim is an advanced Makashi kata, one he probably shouldn’t be learning for at least another half-dozen years, but Master Drallig had said he wanted to prove a point. What point that is, he wouldn’t say.

He has Obi-Wan run that segment three more times until he’s satisfied, and then offers an unexpected bit of praise. "I’m impressed at how far you’ve advanced in your progress with Jar'Kai, Padawan. Even in the past week, you’ve gained a fair bit of confidence."

Obi-Wan bows and is grateful he doesn’t topple over. His muscles are like jelly. "Thank you, sir."

But when Master Drallig’s gaze flicks upwards, Obi-Wan realizes that there must be observers in the gallery. He turns around to find too many members of the High Council there.

Whatever peace he’d found in today’s lesson with Master Drallig evaporates. He probes the four Councilors, and of course their shields are like durasteel blast doors.

The presence of one-third of the High Council cannot be good news. He reaches out for his Master, along their bond but finds nothing at first. The bond isn’t sundered - not like the last time - but he can’t get a sense of Qui-Gon on Felucia. It could just mean the bond is too new and the distance too great, or it could be something dire. He pushes out with all of his will and feels a ripple of something - his master is not well, and the Living Force that’s so thick on Felucia is nowhere to be found.

That is the reason for Yaddle and Yoda and Mace and Plo standing there, looking down at him.

Before Master Drallig can address them, Obi-Wan asks, "What has happened to my master?"

"Wrong with your master, nothing is." Yoda pronounces.

"No. I can feel it. Master Qui-Gon is distressed, and he is not on Felucia. Please don’t lie to me, I beg you." It’s a real struggle not to snap at the Councilors.

Plo asks, "Master Drallig, will you excuse us, please."

Oh kriff, he’d completely forgot about the Battlemaster and what he could have revealed to him. Thankfully, Master Drallig takes it in his stride. He squeezes Obi-Wan's shoulder and whispers, "Trust in the Force, and trust your Master. He’s called The Maverick for a reason."

Obi-Wan nods in thanks. The four masters make their way down to the salle floor. Yoda is frowning. So is Mace. He can’t get a visual read off Plo of course, but Yaddle looks like she wants to give him a biscuit and tell him a story after tucking him into bed.

Mace stares at him for a long moment, then says, "Please put down your 'sabers, Padawan."

He’d disengaged them when Master Drallig had called an end to the lesson, but he hadn’t returned them to his belt. Standing there with 'sabers in hand is bad form, and also dangerous. Especially when waiting for bad news.

Once his lightsabers are clipped to his belt, Obi-Wan falls into parade rest. He doesn’t care how it looks. This is how he copes.

"Please tell me what has happened to Master Jinn, esteemed Councilors." He keeps his gaze on a point somewhere over Mace’s left shoulder.

Oddly, it’s Plo who addresses him. "Relax, young one. Despite what you may sense, your master is fine. A little aggravated. Well, more than a little. I took the liberty of telling my fellow Councilors what you told me last night - your concerns about how the Force might react when your presence is withdrawn. Master Windu agreed that your - ah - disquiet - was valid."

Mace nods. "I comm’d Qui-Gon with the intention of recalling him back to the Temple. He told us that his ship was attacked by pirates, but he fought them off. He managed to get to Ringo Vinda and had been trying - and failing - to arrange transport to Felucia because the starfighter was too badly damaged to continue the journey . Master Koon will be heading out to Felucia in his place."

Obi-Wan releases the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. "Thank you, Master Windu, I appreciate your kindness in telling me this. And my eternal gratitude to you, Master Koon, for taking my concerns seriously." He bows deeply to the Councilors, but makes a point not to look at Yoda, the lying little troll.

And ruins the moment by ending up flat on his face.

"Ugh. I’m sorry - so sorry." The apologies stream out of him as Mace and Plo help him to a bench.

"Nothing to apologize for, young man. You had a long night - and from what we observed, Master Drallig had put you through a very strenuous lesson. You were doing a segment of The Song of the Diathim, if I’m not mistaken."

"The whole thing, at one-quarter speed. I wobbled a bit on the seventh segment, so Master Drallig had me redo it four times at one-eighth, to reinforce the correction to my balance."

He can feel Plo’s shock. "That is - " He shakes his head. "You need some rest, Padawan."

"I’ll be fine. I need just a shower. I’m meeting friends for mid-meal. Then I’m on duty for the Council for the rest of the day."

Master Windu offers, "You can take the afternoon off. Master Jinn should be back tomorrow or the next day, depending on the speed of his transport."

"No, no - I’ll do better if I’m busy, sir. I also need to see Master Nu in the Archives."

That earns him a hard look from all of the Councilors, and Master Windu just sighs and gives in, saying, "As you will, Padawan. We’ll see you later." As one, the four Councilors depart, leaving him alone with his worry about his master.

Mace is quite ashamed of himself.

Tearing out of the Council chamber to confront Qui-Gon’s padawan about his purple lightsabers. As Yaddle had rightfully pointed out, his behavior is not worthy of a Jedi, let along a High Councilor.

But as egregious as his behavior is, it pales in comparison to the old troll walking next to him. It’s just the two of them now, Plo has returned to his quarters to prepare for the journey to Felucia. Yaddle decided to head over to the creche instead of returning to the Council chamber.

"Thoughts you have?"

Mace has worked with Yoda for a long time, and knows how to deal with him in these situations. "I’m not sure I understand why you didn’t want to tell Obi-Wan about Qui-Gon getting attacked by pirates. Having his ship disabled."

The old troll sighs. "Not wise it is for the boy to know the strength of his power. Too much damage he can do."

"You think he’ll abuse it? That this will lead to is Falling?"

"Not deliberately, no. Too strong in the Light, Obi-Wan is. Abuse inadvertent, perhaps. Suffer they will, his companions. Already we see this trouble with my grand-padawan." Yoda’s ears droop. "Thoughts have you on how to prevent?"

"I wonder if it’s possible? We’d have to isolate him, remove him from the Temple, rotate him through remote facilities, never let him form friendships or relationships of any sort." The very idea makes Mace ill. The Jedi are a community, a family. What Yoda is suggesting is abhorrent.

"Hmm."

"Perhaps we need to research this. The wish-fulfillment side of Obi-Wan's interesting gift isn’t terrible if it’s not abused, although the flip side can be devastating for anyone he gets close to. But isolating Obi-Wan is wrong, too. Wrong and cruel. If anything could turn the boy to the Dark side, depriving him of the connections he would need as a Jedi."

Yoda is silent as the Council turbo-lift ascends. Just before the doors open, he thumps his stick on the floor and says, "Control."

"Grand Master?"

"Solution, there could be. Control, must be taught. Experiment, training, and control. I volunteer. Later will talk with you, must think on how this will be done." Yoda chuckles. "Up for the challenge am I. Much risk, much reward."

Mace shakes his head and watches Yoda toddle off to his seat, thinking that the little green troll might be too cunning for his own good.

They have a full roster this morning and are already running late. At least it’s just relatively boring mission reports. He can think about the Obi-Wan problem - and the boy’s purple 'sabers - to keep himself from falling asleep.

Chapter Text

Then fog descended, all the winds were stilled,
a buoy danced and its slow ringing raised
memories of another life, effaced.
And then we knew: that we were in the world.

And the world sensed us there, with empathy;
God called to you and called to me again
with the same call, by this time almost banal

Sonnet from the Voyage (Fragment)
By Yehuda Amichai

Translated by Chana Bloch and Stephen Mitchell

“Hey there, Bruck, Obi-Wan - Sorry, but I would be able to make mid-meal with you two today - Master and I are heading out on an urgent mission to Eriadu. We’ll catch up when I’m back.”

Siri’s message is voice only, and she sounds breathless, like she’s on the run. Bruck’s quite familiar with Siri’s master, and it’s definitely possible that Siri is running behind her very tall and long-legged master as they are heading to the Temple docks.

Siri had sent the message to both him and to Obi-Wan, and he doesn’t see a reply from Obi-Wan. That doesn’t surprise Bruck, given the timestamp - it’s likely that Obi-Wan would have seen it yet, he’s still in his 'saber lesson with Master Drallig. Bruck shoots off a quick acknowledgment and doesn’t say anything to Obi-Wan about changing their plans for mid-meal.

He wants to think about that for a bit.

As he runs a bunch of tests on some standard blood images, he considers his options. Cancelling is not one of them. He really wants to get to know Obi-Wan a lot better. They might have gotten off on the wrong foot and his mission to Ryloth and the delayed apology could have sunk any chances he might have had with Obi-Wan, but the other padawan had been surprisingly gracious.

And exceedingly hot.

Now, Bruck knows his chances of getting anything on with Obi-Wan are slim. The guy just arrived at the Temple from years spend in unimaginable servitude, with most of his memories erased. Also, the guy has this aura of "touch me not" about him. Which makes him almost irresistible. And Bruck wouldn’t be the man he is (all right, the man he almost is) if he didn’t try.

And if Obi-Wan isn’t interested, well, Bruck could always use another friend, and he’s pretty certain that Obi-Wan wouldn’t mind having another friend, too. And who knows, down the line, friendship could turn to friendship-with-benefits.

It’s not like he’s looking to fall in love. He is a Jedi after all, and letting go is his speciality.

But first things first. Mid-meal.

The general commissary is a noisy place, not conducive to either conversation or seduction. But the Healer’s commissary is quiet and private, and Bruck’s Master, Xanatos, has often suggested that he invite his friends to eat here. The girls usually decline, since the Halls of Healing are on the opposite side of the Temple from the classrooms.

Obi-Wan doesn’t have classes. And he’s supposed to go on duty with the High Council after mid-meal. So the Healer’s Commissary would be perfect.

Bruck finishes up with the labs, sends out the data, and checks his chrono. It’s half-past the tenth hour and Obi-Wan should be done with his 'saber lesson.

"Master?"

"Hmm?" Xanatos looks up from the scans he’s reviewing.

"Would you mind if I invited a friend to take mid-meal in the Healers’ Commissary today?"

His master rolls his eyes. "Why should I mind, it’s not like I haven’t been encouraging you to do just that for years. Siri and Aayla and Bant are always welcome."

"Actually, it’s someone new." Bruck does his best to keep his tone diffident.

"New? The Fantastic Four has actually opened up their membership? Who is the lucky girl?"

"Not a girl, actually."

His master gasps and throws his hand against his forehead like some overwrought holo-drama star. "Another boy? How will you ever survive the competition? Or is this invitation a way to suss out the boy’s weaknesses, to make sure he’s not going to horn in on your territory?"

Bruck rolls his eyes. "You know all too well that there’s nothing like that between me and the girls."

"Oh, right. How could I forget, you prefer dick. So, you want a bit of peace and quiet for some romance? Do I need to give you a lecture about Jedi serenity and attachment?" Xanatos is grinning, knowing full well a lecture on attachment is the last thing Bruck needs.

He sighs, well past done with his master’s antics. "Go back to your scans, Master, and forget I said anything."

"Oh, no. It’s a master’s privilege to embarrass his padawan, especially in the throes of a new romance."

"It’s not a romance." At least not yet. "We’re just getting to know each other, alright?"

"Alright. Can I at least know your new friend’s name?"

Bruck is oddly reluctant to tell his master that, but he really has no choice. "Obi-Wan Kenobi."

Xanatos frowns. "That name is familiar - I’ve heard it recently. Why?"

"He’s the Lost Youngling. Or might be. The one that Master Yoda found on Tatooine and brought back a few days after the Day of Miracles."

His master is speechless for a moment. Then all he says is, "Oh." And then, "It’s a very kind thing you’re doing."

"Why do you say that?"

"Well, most padawans would be kind of creeped out by that poor kid’s story - stolen and mind wiped, lost for so many years, suffering who knows what. I’m proud of you, Bruck."

"I’m not befriending him as a charity case, Master. He’s nice and kind, and I like him." And he’s so pretty.

"Good. And I’m still proud of you."

"Thanks. And since you’re proud of me, can I use your office and comm Obi-Wan to tell him to meet me here for mid-meal? We were supposed to meet up with Siri at the general commissary but she and her master left the Temple this morning. The rest of the girls are out on missions, too."

Distracted by whatever he sees on the scan, Xanatos waves his hand in the direction of his office and Bruck bows in thanks before going in there, closing the door behind him.

Bruck is surprised that Qui-Gon Jinn’s apartment is listed near the top of his master’s saved contacts and he decides to try that first instead of comm’ing Obi-Wan directly. The unit rings three times before the emitter pads lights up with the familiar blue light of "call-connected".

And then Obi-Wan appears, dripping wet and wearing nothing more than a towel around his waist and water droplets clinging to pale skin and red-gold body hair.

"Oh, hello there, Bruck. Sorry about this - " Obi-Wan gestures to his gloriously gorgeous wet self. "I was just getting out of the shower when I heard the apartment’s comlink unit buzz. I thought it might be my Master. If you want to give me a few I can get dressed and call you back."

"Oh, no worries - you don’t have anything I haven’t seen before. And I’ll keep this short." So I can go to the fresher and regain my serenity with my good left hand…

"Oh, all right then. What’s up?"

"I’m guessing you didn’t listen to the message Siri left for both of us. She had to go off-planet on an emergency mission, so it’ll just the two of us for mid-meal, unless you want to cancel?" Obi-Wan isn’t sitting down and the holo-emitter is focusing on his treasure-trail. Breathe, Chun. Breathe.

Obi-Wan sighs audibly, but all Bruck can concentrate on are those rippling abdominals…

"Actually, would it be a terrible thing if we did reschedule? I really need to meet with Master Nu at the Archives, and if I can go this afternoon, instead of after my Council duties tonight, it would be better."

Ah, Sithspit… Bruck should have figured this was going to happen.

But then Obi-Wan throws him a lifeline. "Can we make for tomorrow or maybe have a late late-meal when I get off-duty with the High Council? Any time your schedule permits?"

"Of course! Not a problem, and we can dine in the Healer’s Commissary if you’d like. It’s much nicer than the general commissary. And before you ask, I have standing permission to invite my friends to dine there." Shut up, Bruck, you are babbling.

"I wasn’t going to ask, but good to know." Obi-Wan chuckles. "Why don’t I comm you as soon as I know I have at least an hour free for mid-meal or when we can arrange a late-meal. So we don’t have to rush?"

"That sounds perfect." Even if Obi-Wan has to cancel on him today, he’s got a promise for a mid-meal date later this week. Or better, late-meal, which is practically a date. Bruck is almost giddy. Or that could be all the blood leaving his brain for his dick.

"I’ve got to get dressed - I don’t think Master Nu will be happy if I show up sopping wet and wearing just a damp towel."

Bruck schools himself not to answer with a flippant and off-color response. "I’ll let you go then. And good luck at the Archives." His innate sense of compassion makes him ask, "Anything I can help with?"

"I don’t know. I’ve got too many placement exams to study for, and I’m getting a little overwhelmed. I some guidance and access to the Archives, but until I talk with Master Nu and get a proper tour, she’s not going to give me full access for some of the more esoteric stuff I want to test out of.  How are you on High Republic literature?"

Bruck grins.  "Second worst subject, after 'saber practice.  Just ahead of Old Republic poetry."

"Pity, I could have used the help. But anyway, I’ll comm you later today to reschedule."

Damn, he should have lied and said he loved High Republic lit. But maybe there’ll be other chances to assist Padawan Glorious. "Talk to you then, Obi-Wan."

As soon as the holo disconnects, Bruck walks as normally as possible to the 'fresher to take care of his not so little problem. He pockets a sachet of bacta on the way.

Obi-Wan feels only slightly bad for canceling on Bruck.  Even with their minimal interaction, he can read Bruck like he’s an electronic poster on the side of a Coruscant skyscraper - the kind that used to advertise "The Team" during the height of the Clone Wars.

He’d laugh if it wasn’t so strange that Bruck Chun, the bane of his original Youngling and Initiate years, is sexually attracted to him.

And there is no way that Obi-Wan could think of returning that interest.  He’s emotionally and metaphysically forty years older than Bruck, still tortured by a past life he can’t talk about, and traumatized by his years of slavery on Tatooine.  Which remind him , he really does need to find a mind-healer…

The problem is, how to let Bruck down without hurting his feelings or making himself seem like he’s more pathetic than he already is.

And truthfully, this version of Bruck Chun seems kind and smart and Obi-Wan wouldn’t mind being friends with him.  But not with any kind of physical side-benefits.  He doesn’t even know what his excessive midi-chlorian count will do to another being in that kind of situation, come to think of it.

Obi-Wan finishes dressing, taking special care with every fold of his tunic and tabard, the polish on his boots.  He re-braids the excessive length of his hair, checks the neatness of his padawan braid, clips on his sabers, picks up a datapad, and heads to one of his favorite places in the Temple.

The Archives.

As much as he’d loved traveling the galaxy with his Master, he’d always relished the brief times they touched back down here and he could spend time in the Archives, indulging in research - whether for the next mission, or for his own intellectual pursuits.

In this timeline, his Master has been more focused on getting him up to speed on 'saber technique and his basic academics - which don’t need Archive access - than fighting with Master Nu about an orientation tour of the Archives and access for his new padawan.

Obi-Wan had been disappointed, but he couldn’t come up with a reason for asking Qui-Gon to put pressure on Master Nu.  So perhaps the only good thing to come out of his Master’s ill-considered mission to Felucia is this introduction to the Archives.  He owes Reva something - and while Jedi don’t generally do thank you gifts, he would like to show his gratitude for her kindness.  Maybe he’ll ask Master Yaddle about something her Padawan might appreciate.

He passes through the doors of the Archives and almost sighs in pleasure at the hushed atmosphere.  Although flimsiplast doesn’t have an odor, and the Archive’s precious paper books are kept in temperature controlled storage, Obi-Wan had always imagined that the scent of the air in the Archives is the scent of knowledge itself.

"May I help you?"  There’s a young padawan at the front desk, a male Togruta.  He looks to be no more than fourteen, with barely maturing lekku and montrals, his facial markings stark against his skin.

"Yes, please."  Obi-Wan introduces himself.  "Master Nu advised me to come to the Archives to talk with her at my convenience.  It’s a follow-up from her conversation with Master Windu."

The padawan frowns.  "Master Nu is very busy, but if you’ll wait a moment, I’ll see if she’s free."

Obi-Wan turns his back on the desk, pretending to examine a bronzium statue of an unnamed Jedi sage, but he keeps an ear on the whispered conversation.

"Some padawan is here, asking to see Master Nu.  No, I didn’t get his name, but he mentioned something about Master Windu.  Otherwise I would have told him to go pound sand.  Who does he think he is?  Master Nu doesn’t have time to breathe, let alone talk to some random padawan.  Oh, all right, I’ll get his name."

Obi-Wan turns back to the desk, grabs a pen and a piece of flimsi and writes out his name.  "Here, in case you forget it.  Again."  He shouldn’t be so snarky, but there’s no reason for this boy’s rudeness either.  He smiles and returns to his contemplation of the statue.  The rest of the conversation goes as expected.

"Master Nu is busy, but she asked you to wait for her.  You can take a seat and she’ll be with you when she is free."

"Of course, and thank you for your professionalism and courtesy, Padawan.  I’m certain you do your master proud."  Obi-Wan can’t help but let a bit of the High General creep into his tone.

The padawan’s orange skin turns an unflattering grey.

This is why Obi-Wan brought the datapad with him, there’s nothing worse than sitting around with nothing to do.  He wasn’t lying to Bruck about the High Republic Lit course.  It’s still a requirement for all padawans, but he can test out of it.  He just has to refresh his memory on some of the most boring and earnest writing the Core has ever produced.

After three chapters of And the Stars Shall Guide Us, Obi-Wan is ready to go back to Tatooine.  This isn’t his first time reading Emer Condolfi’s so-called masterwork.  It’s not even his second.  It’s his third.  And it’s still banthashit.

At least the first time, he and Satine had amused themselves over Condolfi’s torrid prose - they had needed something to liven up the evenings during that long year on the run.  The second time, Obi-Wan had to help Anakin limp through the course. He’d been reduced to reading the book out loud, in exaggerated voices, while his padawan worked on upgrades to various Temple mouse droids.

Obi-Wan sighs at the memory.  As much as they had both hated the book, it had been kind of fun.  And Anakin ended up doing well in the class, the study sessions had been moments of rare charity between them in his difficult teen years.

But no matter how many fond memories he has of this so-called classic, Obi-Wan will never actually enjoy it.  But he plows on.  It’s a core requirement and if he can write a credible essay on the novel’s themes, he won’t have to sit through a whole semester of similarly turgid writing.

Finally, he hears a familiar set of footsteps and looks up.

Jocasta Nu is unchanged from Obi-Wan’s memory.

He gets to his feet and bows, perhaps the deepest obeisance he’s offered to anyone at the Temple.  "Master Nu.  Thank you for taking time out of your busy day to meet with me."

He feels a bit flensed by her examination, and he has the feeling she disapproves of his hair, but she doesn’t comment - her manners are too good for that.

But her tone is dry and cool when she says, "Follow me, Padawan Kenobi."

She gives him a whirlwind tour, not allowing him a moment to ask a single question.  Obi-Wan is grateful that the Archive is as unchanged as its master, although he’s frantically taking notes on the datapad - more to prove himself to Jocasta than any need to jog his memory.

They end up in a small office on the mezzanine level when Jocasta finishes showing him what she deems necessary for a padawan of his age and she makes quick work of entering his data into the Archive user base.

"My apologies for having to do this so quickly - "  Jocasta finally relents and smiles at him.  "It’s been an incredibly busy few months since the Day of Miracles.  Were you here when that happened?"

Obi-Wan lies like a rug, without shame. "I think I arrived a day or two afterwards, but it was all everyone had talked about for weeks.  I overheard part of your conversation with Master Windu yesterday - about the holocrons.  I do understand how busy you must be."

"Yes, well - we have the chance of a lifetime.  So many of those holocrons couldn’t be opened since the Calamity at Ossus, more than four thousand years ago.  The knowledge we’ve finally been granted access to - "  Jocasta shakes her head.  "It’s truly a miracle."  She sighs, perhaps thinking of all the work still to be done.  "Anyway, do you have questions?"

"I need to digest my notes, but I do have one question. What do I need to do if I would like to open a research project."

Jocasta looks intrigued.  "On what topic?"

Obi-Wan licks his lips.  "On slavery and the slave trade within the Republic."

Jocasta looks at him, puzzled and concerned.  "Padawan Kenobi, slavery is outlawed in the Republic.  It has been for a thousand years."

"And just because it’s outlawed, doesn’t mean it doesn’t happen.  When I was a slave on Tatooine - "  As Qui-Gon had promised, those words do get easier with repetition.  But Jocasta’s gasp is hard to take and it will be best if he ignores it.  "One of my fellow slaves had been a freeborn person, born to freeborn parents.  Raiders had taken her off of a Mid-Rim world and sold her and her mother to the Hutts.  The slaver ship I was on was filled with beings snatched from Republic worlds.  How does this happen when slavery is against the law?"

Jocasta leans forward, and Obi-Wan would swear her hands are trembling.  "I am sorry for everything you’ve gone through, and I would be proud to help you.  But you should know, what you are proposing is a very dangerous thing."

"Corruption like this that’s allowed to fester will rot the entire Republic, Master Nu.  What good are we if we close our eyes and do nothing just because it’s dangerous?"

Jocasta lays a hand over his.  "We would be useless cowards.  But take care, Padawan, you are going to stir up a herd of sleeping rancors and there won’t be any place to hide when they start rampaging."

"I understand."  Obi-Wan is going to need to keep this project a secret from his own master - the last thing he wants is Qui-Gon to get caught in the blow-back.

Jocasta turns to the practicalities.  "I’ll set up a private research room for you when you are ready to begin."

"That would be appreciated."  Once again, Obi-Wan is grateful that Jocasta Nu is still the same wise and compassionate Master he had known in his prior life.  Uncompromisingly honest, intellectually rigorous, and gifted with an infinite well of compassion.  He gets to his feet and bows.  "I will  let you get back to your chatty holocrons, Master Nu.  Thank you again for your time and generosity."

Obi-Wan wants to linger, but part of him is in complete emotional disarray. He strides out of the Archives, nodding absently at the Togruta padawan still on duty.

It’s not Jocasta’s reaction to his revelation about his servitude. No, it’s the damn research project itself. He’d been thinking about this as far back as Qui-Gon’s promise to free him and bring him to the Temple. It had been a vague idea at first, but then he’d built the transceiver and started listening to the Senate broadcasts.

The senator from Onderon, Mina Bondari, had given a speech about the trafficking of sentient citizens of the Republic outside on non-Republic worlds, how the corporate interests were profiting from the trade in Twi’leks, Togrutas, Pantorans, Humans - all stolen off their home worlds, or kidnapped in transit in Republic space, or in the hyperlanes. The senator was proposing a bill that would hold the corporations liable for profits made from illegal trade involving crimes against Republic citizens. She invoked anti-war profiteering legislation from the founding of the Republic. But she was shouted down, and the broadcast was cut off.

About two weeks after Mina Bondari’s aborted speech, Obi-Wan had tuned in to the Senate rebroadcasts to hear Chancellor Valorum hold a minute of silence in honor of the untimely death of the Senator from Onderon, killed in a tragic speeder accident right in front of the Senate building.

Ironically, in Obi-Wan’s original life, Mina had been a friend and mentor of Padmé Amidala, until she had joined in support of the Separatist cause. But then, during the first year of the Clone Wars, she had backed a peace initiative and started investigating the corporate interests in the Clone Wars. She’d been poisoned by Dooku’s agents, ending any serious peace talks.

The more he thinks about Mina Bondari’s fate, the more he thinks about what had happened to Shmi as a child, the more he remembers the kidnapped Twi’leks sold into slavery in Mos Espa.  This is how the Republic rots.  How complacency sets in.  Palpatine is too quiet, he’s made no other great speech, but he must be gathering power.  He is out there, and he is a threat to everything that Obi-Wan holds dear.

But the players are different this time, too much has changed. And he’s gagged by the Force itself. But he can still game the system, he can play dumb and let others fill in the blanks.

Back in the apartment, Obi-Wan tries to meditate, but for the first time since coming to the Temple, he can’t find any peace or even the semblance of equilibrium. He’s tired but sleep won’t fix that problem - what he feels is too familiar from his days of watching over a small homestead on the edge of the Jundland Wastes.

He’s worried about things he has no power to control.

Qui-Gon is out there, if not injured, then certainly unhappy and uncomfortable. And Obi-Wan can’t shake the feeling that at least some of the council members who came down from their lofty spire weren’t happy about telling him his master had gotten himself into trouble.

He tries to clear his mind again, reciting the mantra of the Jedi code, but it doesn’t provide any solace. Rather than stay on his knees and suffer - he’s done that enough in the last lifetime, Obi-Wan gets up and does something productive. He tends to Qui-Gon’s array of plants.

The Force-sensitive plants that had reacted to his loss of control late last night seem to have recovered, but Obi-Wan takes some time to sing to them, and they shiver in pleasure, turning towards his voice. The Lothal moon-vine releases a tendril that wraps around his finger, caressing him for a moment. The brief contact feels good, and he hums a few more bars of some song he barely remembers. The vine responds and sends out a few more tendrils before turning a shade of blue that reminds Obi-Wan of Qui-Gon’s eyes.

When he pulls his hand away, the vine rustles and turns itself towards the shadowed side of the room. The plant is prospering and the day - like nearly all days on Coruscant - is mostly sunny, so Obi-Wan gives it a little help, turning the pot out of the directly light. Which means he has to move three other plants.

In the process, he finds something unexpected. A book, one he’s never seen before - it’s not something that his Qui-Gon had in the original timeline. It’s covered in plant dirt and dust, and but when Obi-Wan picks it up, he’s surprised by the heft - which means it’s old. Flimsiplast is light, unlike natural paper. He takes it over to the dining table, brushes the dirt off and starts examining it. The book is something extraordinary, and should probably be in the Archives. The cover is made up of a series of wooden slates, and there the insignia of the Jedi order is carved into them. Except it’s not quite the insignia he knows. This Starbird has too many feathers on its wings, too many points on the star.

He traces the carving, and something resonates inside him. It’s like that moment when he’d entered the caverns at Ilum and the Force started whispering at him, telling him where to go.

"Should I open this?" How many times had he told Anakin not to touch the holocron? Perhaps he should take his own advice.

Obi-Wan puts the book down and walks away from the table. He stares at the book and feeling a little foolish he says to it, "I can’t do this here, not in the Temple. The entire Order is going to come banging down my door when they feel the disturbance in the Force."

The book doesn’t answer and no one comes knocking. Obi-Wan feels a little foolish. He rests his hand on the book again. The insignia grows hot under his hand and he snatches his fingers away. Of course, the Starbird is glowing - the same white-violet as his lightsabers.

As if the book is communicating with them, his 'saber crystals start humming and Obi-Wan sighs. "Really? Now you’re getting into the act?"

The Force-sensitive Mantell verbenum bursts into bloom, sending a wave of delicious scent through the room. The Lothal moon-vine responds with spectacular array of curly tendrils that would put Oppo Rancicis’ facial hair to shame.

Once, a long time ago, Master Qui-Gon had chided him for a moment of indecision in the face of an obvious course of action. "Padawan, you are over-thinking things. Commit and take responsibility for your actions."

He can hear the ghost of his old master admonishing him. Either put the book back where you found it or open it. The Force has made its wants known, in very obvious ways.

It’s up to him now.

Obi-Wan sits and pulls the book close, brushing off a stray bit of dirt, plucking up a bit of leaf matter stuck between the cover’s wooden slates. All delaying tactics.

He rests the book on its spine and closes his eyes, then lets it fall open, waiting for a great rush of the Force to sweep over him. But there’s nothing, not even a tingle. Cautiously, Obi-Wan opens one eye, and then the other, and looks at the pages in front of him.

What he finds is unreadable. He peers at the script on the page, and he doesn’t recognize it. It’s not printed from a machine, but handwritten, in a script that had no connection to Galactic Basic. He tries to remember if he’s ever seen anything like this before, and there’s something poking at his memory.

The Seeing Stone on Tython.

He must have been fourteen or so, a few months off of his probation after Melida/Daan, and Qui-Gon had wanted to do something to heal the hurt that had lingered between them after everything that had happened on Telos. He’d taken Obi-Wan to Tython, to show him one of the most ancient sites in the history of the Order - the Seeing Stone. Qui-Gon had meditated upon it and the Stone lit up, connecting with the Living Force. A ring of characters had illuminated the edge of the Stone - similar to, but not quite the same as what Obi-Wan now sees in the book.

With a careful finger, he traces the script, wishing he could understand what it means. The kyber in his 'sabers hum again and Obi-Wan sighs. He closes his eyes and tries to relax, letting the Force lead him to an answer.

There’s a glowing brightness behind his eyelids, like second sunset on Tatooine, just before full darkness. He doesn’t understand, but he feels that he should - there’s a missing piece, something that he’s just not seeing.

Then an almost-familiar voice whispers, "It is not yet time. Be patient, Champion. You will understand soon."

Of all things, Obi-Wan is reminded of the Saja’s cat, the creature he’d met on the outbound voyage from Tatooine. He can just about feel the cat’s furred paw on his throat, the heavy and comforting thrum of its purr.

"Wait, Champion. And remember this."

Obi-Wan looks at the page and commits the strange figures to memory before closing the book. He’s uncomfortable returning it to such a casual spot, where it could be so easily damaged, and looks around the room to find a safer place for it. There, behind a stack of familiar books - ones that Qui-Gon had rescued from a burn-bin in the original timeline but had never looked after putting them on the shelf.

"Purrfect, Champion."

Obi-Wan can’t help but chuckle at the really bad pun the Force - or the Force Cat - just made. It’s better than screaming.

Chapter Text

And when our bodies lie stretched out in sleep,
upon the walls, again, is sketched the last
appointment that our patient souls must keep.
Do you see them now? A narrow boat drifts past;

two figures stand inside it; others row.
And stars peer out, the stars of different lives;
are carried by the Nile of time, below.

And like two mummies, we have been wrapped tight
in love. And after centuries, dawn arrives;
a cheerful archaeologist—with the light.

We Loved Here - Stanza 6 (fragment)
By Yehuda Amichai

Translated by Chana Bloch and Stephen Mitchell

Well, at least the shuttle is going to the right hemisphere… Qui-Gon sighs and finally lets himself relax just a little bit after a very challenging three-day journey back to Coruscant from Ringo Vinda. What could go wrong, did go wrong, and he’s not even going to think about it now. Just concentrate on the positive. You’re on a shuttle about to land at the spaceport closest to the Temple. You’ll be home in less than an hour.

When the shuttle taking him from The Monument finally lands, Qui-Gon is the only being who gets out. He breathes a sigh of relief, but doesn’t linger and makes his way to the surface transit platform that will take him to the Temple, only to find it flashing "OUT OF ORDER".

Of course it would be.

So it’s just one foot in front of the other, and a hump across the Federal district to the Temple. He’s a Jedi, in the prime of his life. Just because his boots are broken, the soles of his feet and his heels are blistered, he’s lost his pack and his cloak and his comlink, and he doesn’t have a credit left to his name, he hasn’t eaten in three days and he feels like he’s been chewed up and spat out by a pair of mating gundarks doesn’t make a difference. He’s home. That’s all that matters.

Two hours later, he arrives at the Temple. But he has a problem. He doesn’t know if he can climb the steps. How kriffing ironic. He’s home, but he’s going to drop dead before he gets to enjoy his own bed. Standing at the base of the Grand Staircase, he feels himself swaying. Maybe he should just sit down for a bit.

"Master Jinn? Are you all right?"

Qui-Gon blinks and looks down at the voice - he thinks he recognizes it. The speaker is small, a Bothan knight - someone from Anakin’s cohort?

"I - uh. I don’t know, actually."

"Let me help you."

Since the Bothan barely comes up to his waist, Qui-Gon shakes his head. "Thank you, but I don’t think that will work. Maybe if I just sit down for a moment?"

"All right, and I’ll summon the Healers."

"No need for that, just need a few moments." The knight supports him until he actually gets to the staircase and eases him down. "Ahh, that feels good. Excuse me, I know you were friends with my second padawan, Anakin, but I don’t recall your name."

"Selcal Fenis, sir."

"Thank you greatly, Knight Fenis - you are a credit to the Order." Qui-Gon tips his face to the sky, enjoying the warmth of the sun after two days on a decrepit freighter with almost no environmental controls.

He wants to tell Knight Fenis not to bother with calling the Healers, but he just doesn’t have the energy, and then he’s bathed in the blessing of a familiar Force-presence.

"Master!" The shout is accompanied by the staccato rhythm of boots clattering down the stone steps. "You’re finally back!"

He holds out a hand to his padawan, and it’s really lovely how much better he feels the instant Obi-Wan grasps it. And that feeling increases when his padawan kneels at his feel. "Master? Tell me, what’s wrong?"

"Nothing, now that I’m home. Had a bit of difficulty. My boots broke." Qui-Gon tries to lift up a foot but his damn leg is just too heavy.

"Shh, just relax, Master. Knight Fenis is calling for the Healers. They’ll be here in a moment."

"Don’t need the Healers. Give me a few minutes and I’ll be fine." Something occurs to him. "How did you know I was back?"

Obi-Wan’s smile is just lovely. There’s no other word for it. "Our bond is getting stronger. I could feel your presence as soon as you arrived on Coruscant - but then it just built so slowly. I was worried about that."

"Had to walk from the spaceport. I lost my pack, lost my comlink, and my emergency stash of credits. Whatever could go wrong, did. The Force seemed to be upside-down on me this trip, if that’s possible."

Obi-Wan looks like so upset - like he’s about to cry. Qui-Gon doesn’t like that. "Don’t be sad, my dear boy. It’s not your fault." He pats his padawan’s hand when Obi-Wan looks like he’s going to argue. "Hush. You aren’t responsible for my screw-ups."

More boots clattering down the steps and the whooshing of a hover-bed interrupts Qui-Gon’s train of thought. Two Healers kneel down next to him and he loses that very pleasant connection to Obi-Wan.

"Ahh, Qui-Gon, can you tell me what’s wrong?" Someone’s cool fingers are on his wrist, pulling his hand out of Obi-Wan’s grip.

Qui-Gon blinks, and focuses on the face in front of him. He knows this Healer. "Oh, hi there, Xan. You didn’t have to come. I’m fine - just a little worn out."

"Hmm, your pulse is thready and your heart rate is elevated." Xan flashes a light in his eyes and hmms again.

"That’s annoying." He batts the light away.

"Stop behaving like a crecheling, Qui-Gon, and tell me what’s going on." Xan, thankfully, puts the flashlight away and starts feeling him up.

"Hey, stop that. Your hands are cold."

"Cold hands, warm heart. And you’re dehydrated." Xan turns to the other healer, "Bruck, help me get Master Jinn on the hover-bed."

"Can I help, too?" Obi-Wan asks. "I’m Master Jinn’s padawan."

"No, but thank you. Bruck and I know what we’re doing. You can do us a favor keep your master from fussing."

Qui-Gon rolls his eyes, not understanding what all the agitation is about. "I just need a few minutes rest, and I’ll be fine."

"Or you could go into cardiac arrest," Xan says in his sternest voice. "I’d rather that not happen."

The two healers use the Force to lift him up and put him on the hover-bed, and Qui-Gon has to admit to himself that it was a very nice not to have to get to his feet and then climb onto the floating bed. That’s always so awkward and embarrassing. And the bed is so nice and soft, unlike the rock hard bunk on The Monument. There’s a clean, sweet-smelling pillow and the bed isn’t moving too fast, and best of all, Obi-Wan is holding his hand.

His padawan’s touch is so very soothing…

Despite the urgings of the healers to return to his rooms, Obi-Wan doesn’t leave Qui-Gon’s side once they’ve stabilized his condition. Around sunset, when his master is fast asleep, Bruck is kind enough to bring him a meal tray. He whispers to Obi-Wan, "You’re really going to sit here all night?"

"Of course. Wouldn’t you if your master was injured?"

Bruck frowns as he thinks about the question. "I think Master Xan would expect me to go about my duties like a Jedi."

Obi-Wan feels stabbed. And Qui-Gon would say the same thing. "I have no duties at the moment - the Council released me for the day."

Bruck pats him on the shoulder, "I understand. And maybe if I was ever faced with the reality of an injured master, I would have a hard time leaving his bedside, too. But you need to take care of yourself - so eat, please."

"I will." Reluctantly, Obi-Wan lets go of Qui-Gon’s hand and turns his attention to the food Bruck brought him. "And thank you for looking after me."

"What are friends for?" Bruck gives him a quick smile and goes to check on the machines the Healers have Qui-Gon hooked up to. Obi-Wan picks at the clofa steak salad, a leafy concoction made with a meaty vegetable that, when properly seasoned and prepared, tastes like nerf steak. It’s good, but Obi-Wan isn’t particularly hungry. He never really is.

Bruck leaves without a word, which Obi-Wan finds a little odd. When Qui-Gon gets restless, he sets the tray aside and takes his master’s hand again. That seems to calm him. And it calms Obi-Wan, too. He doesn’t have to wonder what Master Yoda will have to say about that - "Attachment, this is. Dangerous. Learn you must about letting go."

Well, that had always been his problem. He never was very good about letting go.

A few minutes later, Bruck returns with his Master, and once again, Obi-Wan is mildly unnerved to see Xanatos du Crion in Healer blue, wearing a gentle and caring expression. He’ll get used to it - like getting used to a friendly and caring Bruck Chun.

"Padawan Kenobi, can I ask you to step out for a moment? I need to check something with Master Jinn."

As much as he wants to pepper Xanatos with questions, Obi-Wan remembers that he’s just a padawan and it really isn’t his place. Like a docile eopie, he goes out into the hallway and waits. Thank the Force, it isn’t long before Bruck and his master join him.

"Is everything all right."

Xanatos smiles, "All is well, Bruck noticed something and I wanted to confirm it. Master Jinn is healing and should sleep until morning. I’ll have an aide bring in a more comfortable chair for you and some blankets, so you can have a restful night’s sleep as well. And please, finish your late-meal - chasing after Qui-Gon Jinn is an energy-intensive task."

"Thank you, Healer du Crion." But Obi-Wan isn’t quite eased by Xanatos’ words. He doesn’t detect any malice - on the contrary, he feels a deep current of affection and concern from the Healer, much as he had felt when Mace had dropped by earlier. But there’s something weird going on, something that Xanatos isn’t telling him, and it feels like more than simple Healer-patient privacy.

But for now, Obi-Wan follows instructions, goes back into the room and does his best to finish the meal. By the time he’s eaten about seventy-five percent of what’s on the plate, an aide comes in with the promised sleeper chair and a pile of warmed blankets.

He spends the rest of the evening re-reading And the Stars Shall Guide Us and keeping an eye on his master, who barely stirs. Eventually, boredom with the book and a week of mostly sleepless nights spent worrying about his master finally catch up with Obi-Wan. He turns off his datapad, weaves his fingers through Qui-Gon’s, and falls into a deep, restful sleep.

The next time Qui-Gon opens his eyes, it’s to the rosy Coruscant dawn and the steady hum-beep-hum of medical equipment.

He’s a bit disoriented - the last thing he clearly remembers is greeting Obi-Wan on the Temple steps, telling his padawan that nothing that happened is his fault. After that … a vague memory of Healers, a hover-bed, and nothing else.

He tries to sit up but someone is holding his hand, and when Qui-Gon attempts to pull it free, the grip gets tighter.

And then, softly, "Master?"

"Obi-Wan?"

His padawan lets go and turns on the bedside lamp. "How are you feeling?"

"A lot better. I think I’ll live."

Obi-Wan doesn’t laugh at his joke. In fact, he says, "That’s not funny. You were dangerously dehydrated - what happened to you?"

Qui-Gon sighs. "I got food poisoning and upchucked everything I ate on Ringo Vinda. I’d spent every credit I had in my belt on the ticket home and had no money to buy food on the transport back to Coruscant." He frowns at the memory. "My pack and cloak were stolen when I was sicking out. The only reason I made it onto the transport was because I tucked the boarding slip into my belt pouch."

"I’m so sorry you had such a terrible time, Master." Obi-Wan looks devastated.

"My dear, it’s not your fault."

His padawan purses his lips, like he wants to disagree. Instead he reaches for the call button. "Let’s get a healer in here to see how you’re doing now."

Qui-Gon is about to pepper Obi-Wan with questions about his week as a Council Padawan when his old friend, Xanatos du Crion comes in, trailed by his own padawan.

"Xan - was I hallucinating, or was it you on the Temple steps yesterday, feeling me up?"

"Yes, my old friend, it was me - but trust me. My encroachments on your sweaty old body were strictly for medical purposes."

"I’d be offended by that if it wasn’t the truth." Qui-Gon reluctantly lets go of his padawan’s hand to find the controls for the bed and gets himself into a sitting position. "There, now I don’t have to look up your hairy nostrils into that empty cavern that might house a brain."

"I know a cantina on the four-hundred and twenty-third level that’s looking for a new comedy act, you might want to try out for it."

"Har har. What happened, they fire you?"

Xan just rolls his eyes. "Now, all joking aside, what in all the little gods happened to you?"

Qui-Gon tells him his tale of woe, starting with the pirate attack just minutes after disconnecting from his call with Obi-Wan, to losing his hyperdrive and astromech - "It was the craziest thing. I got free of those damn pirates but one of them lost a piece of their thruster housing and it sheared right into my ship’s hyperdrive ring. When that shattered, it took out the astromech. If I hadn’t already downloaded the coordinates for Ringo Vinda, I’d still be floating around like so much space junk."

Xan shakes his head, "I always said, even when you had the worst luck, you still managed to have the best luck, too."

Qui-Gon shakes a finger at his old friend. "Don’t you know, after all this time, there’s no such thing as luck, Healer du Crion? There’s only the Force."

"Now, tell me how you got a case of the Zeltros Phlegm?"

"That’s what I had? Thought it was food poisoning. I was on Ringo Vinda for about a day, took a while to find transport back to the Core. While I was waiting, I got a nerf-burger platter and about twenty minutes after I finished, I was puking it up."

"Nope, it was the Zeltros Phlegm. You could have died from that - your stomach lining might have disintegrated."

"But I didn’t die. And now I won’t - I’m immune for life."

"Yes, you are. Somehow, you’ve now survived one of the rarest communicable diseases in the galaxy. Thank the Force it burns out quickly and has a very brief contagion window. I’ve sent an alert to Ringo Vinda about it. We can finally synthesize a vaccine from your antibodies. Again - you are a lucky bastard."

"What else?"

"Your feet."

"What about my feet, other than that they are beautiful and a certain prince on a certain planet had once offered to pay the Order several million credits if I would serve as his - " Qui-Gon looks over at Obi-Wan and the young padawan shadowing Xan. "Ah, this is a tale best left for another time."

"You are incorrigible, Qui-Gon Jinn. And right now, your feet are not beautiful. They are a mess. Since you are allergic to most forms of bacta, they are going to have to heal naturally - and slowly. You will need to have to stay off them as much as possible for the next week, and no boots for the next two weeks. I’ll have Medical Stores come in and measure you for inflatable slippers."

"You’re kidding, right?"

"Nope, not at all. You have blisters on the soles of your feet - and in combination with the Zeltros Phlegm microbes that could still be circulating in your bloodstream, you could end up with a serious case of sepsis."

"And you are completely out of the bacta I can safely use?"

"Yes - I don’t know how that happened. We are supposed to have enough for a tank for you, but when we tested what had been marked as safe for your usage, the tests showed that you would have gone into anaphylactic shock." Xan frowns. "We put in a new order immediately, but it may take a few days to get here."

"I have a few boxes of bacta patches in my suite, I can use those, can’t I?"

"Let me test them first. If they came from the same batch as the bacta we had in storage, they might have gone bad."

"Healer du Crion?" Obi-Wan interrupts the conversation. "Is there a field-kit that can test if the bacta will be safe for my master to use? Eventually, we’ll be going out on missions and …"

Qui-Gon snorts, "And eventually, I’ll get banged up. The inevitable result of aggressive negotiations. Anakin and Feemor always carried a test kit, but I don’t know what happened to it - it’s probably in my pack. And that got stolen.

"Yes, and I’ll make sure you’re equipped with it. Force knows, this lunk-head will probably forget to carry it with him." Xanatos shakes his head and waggles a finger at him. "I’ve know you since we were both short, and I’ve never seen you get yourself into such a mess."

"The Force wills…" Qui-Gon retorts.

"Or there really is such a thing as bad luck." Xan goes over to the monitors and does the usual mysterious Healer humming routine. "I guess you’re hungry."

"Starving. I haven’t eaten in days - and before the very temporary possession of that nerf-burger, it was two days of ration bars. So, some of the very fine food from the Healer commissary would be appreciated. And a pot of tea, please."

Xan looks over at his padawan. "Bruck, why don’t you take your friend down to the commissary, get some first-meal in him and bring the same back for Master Jinn. I didn’t put in a meal order for him yet."

Xan’s padawan, a handsome boy about the same age as his own padawan, tugs Obi-Wan out of the chair and out of the room. Xan closes the door behind them and sits down in Obi-Wan’s abandoned seat. He leans forward, his expression far too serious.

"What’s wrong with me?"

"With you, nothing that some time on that horrid couch in your suite watching some cheesy holo-drama won’t cure."

"Then why the need for privacy?"

"I need to talk with you about your padawan."

"About Obi-Wan? What’s wrong? You can’t tell me he’s done something wrong - I won’t believe you." Qui-Gon pushes himself up and is about to get off the bed about maybe strangle his old friend.

"No, no - and calm down. Obi-Wan is a fine young man. He handled himself extremely well when you took ill, as well as any padawan brought up in the Temple."

"Then what’s the problem?" Qui-Gon is getting very close to losing his temper.

"Perhaps I phrased it wrong. I don’t want to talk about your padawan, but about his medical records. They are sealed. And why, when he came back to the Temple, he was assigned to Vokara Che as his attending Healer when she’s the head of Life Sciences? When I asked her, she cited Healer-Patient confidentiality, and she wouldn’t tell me anything about this highly unorthodox medical assignment."

Qui-Gon answers honestly, if not fully. "Grand Master Yoda made all the arrangements for Obi-Wan’s re-entry into the Temple. You will need to ask him that."

"The story circulating about Obi-Wan is that Master Yoda had a vision about the Lost Youngling and found the boy on Tatooine. And Obi-Wan himself told my padawan that he’d been a slave. Did Master Yoda buy him?" Xan sounds horrified.

"No. I don’t know how Obi-Wan was freed, but I do know that it was done in accordance with Jedi precepts."

"But why have him under the care of the head of Life Sciences?"

"I don’t know why, but I double-Dug dare you to go to the Grand Master and ask him." Qui-Gon grins.

"I do that and I’ll find myself on permanent reassignment to the Starlight Beacon, or worse. All your good work in keeping me in the Order will have been for nothing, old friend."

Qui-Gon can’t help but think of the old adage about telling lies. "Look, who knows how the Grand Master thinks and why he does what he does. Vokara is a Master Healer - she was in charge of this place before she moved over to Life Sciences, right?"

Xan draws just the conclusion that Qui-Gon had hoped he would. "Yes, that’s true. So maybe the little old troll is just comfortable with someone he’s familiar with."

"Probably."

Xan pouts.

"Careful, your face might freeze like that, and you’ll scare your patients. Except the Weequays, who’ll offer marriage."

"And like I said, there’s a cantina on the four-hundred and twenty-seventh level - "

"Before, you said it was on the four-hundred and twenty-third level."

Xan scrubs his face. "All right, I am so done with you, Qui-Gon Jinn. But I have one more interesting thing to mention."

"Oh?"

"You and your padawan might be forming a life-bond."

Qui-Gon waited for his old friend to burst out laughing, but the laughter never comes. "You’re serious?"

"Yes."

"And how did you come to this conclusion?" Qui-Gon doesn’t believe this isn’t one of Xan’s more elaborate jokes.

But it isn’t. "Bruck noticed it last night. When he came in to check on Obi-Wan, who insisted on spending the night at your side, he noticed that when Obi-Wan had let go of your hand, your heart rate slightly increased. As soon as he took your hand again, it slowed down. He thought it was an interesting coincidence so he mentioned it to me. I did too, and came in, then sent Obi-Wan out of the room for a few minutes so see what would happen. Your vitals went a little wavy - nothing serious, but heart and pulse spiked, temp went up and down, respiratory rate increased. Blood oxygen dropped and picked up. When Obi-Wan returned, everything leveled out. Your antibody levels increased when he took your hand."

Qui-Gon still doesn’t believe it isn’t more than coincidence. "And how are my levels now?"

Xan checks his datapad. "Perfect."

"And Obi-Wan isn’t in the room."

"No, he’s not. But I’m tempted to stick monitors on both of you to check your readings over the next week."

"No, not happening. And whatever you think this is, it’s nothing more than coincidence. Life bond with my padawan of three months? Don’t be ridiculous."

"You’re probably right."

"You’ve been watching too many holo-dramas."

"Likely." Xan grimaces. “But still…”

"No buts. Say anything about this to anyone, I’ll sit on you and pull out your nose hairs. One by one."

For some reason, his master keeps him running back and forth between their suite and the Healer Wing. First, he had to go to pick up the box of bacta patches for testing - which proved to be unusable. Then it seemed that Master Qui-Gon was about to be released before mid-meal, so he needed a fresh set of clothes and a grooming kit. The Master Healer nixed that plan, then Qui-Gon looked at him like a tooka kitten caught in the rain and asked if he wouldn’t mind bringing him the datapad he keeps at his bedside.

Of course Obi-Wan had said he wouldn’t mind and he heads back to the suite for the third time that morning.

And by the time he’d gotten back to the Halls, half the High Council had been in the room, peppering Qui-Gon with questions about his traumatic journey. Then Xanatos returns to shoo everyone out, including Obi-Wan.

Bruck takes pity on him and drags him back to the Healer's Commissary and shoves more food at him. "You look like you’ve lost a lot of weight since your Master left for Felucia - I’m betting the day you ditched me for Master Nu, you didn’t have mid-meal. Or late-meal."

"I had a ration bar for late-meal. That’s a complete nutritional allowance for a meal." Obi-Wan has been living on nutrition bars for every meal, it’s easier than cooking for himself, and he’s used to it - it brings back not so fond memories of his wartime life.

Bruck disagrees with him. "If you were already at a healthy weight, which you’re not, nutrition bars are okay for one meal or for an emergency, not for all your meals, or for a single meal to last you a whole day." Bruck picks up his wrist and circles his fingers around it. "You’re probably five kilos under, maybe more. You are burning a lot of calories with your 'saber lessons and one damn ration bar a day isn’t enough to keep you going. You’re going to be looking after your master for at least a week, maybe more - and I’m going to be looking through your apartment to make sure you’re properly stocked with the proper nutrition ."

Obi-Wan sighs and resigns himself to Bruck caring about him. "I guess I’m still accustomed to scarcity."

"I guess it was pretty bad, where you were." Bruck’s voice is soft, like he’s afraid to ask - or worse, afraid of the answer.

"Our owner would give us each one wupiupi a week to spend on food and water. That’s about a two-thirds of a Republic credit. We managed and survived."

Bruck is appalled. "How?"

"We scraped our plates, we ate a lot of noodles, which were cheap. We sipped, not gulped. Nothing went to waste. And we had some friends who would help - as time passed, things became less dire. Our owner became a bit more generous with the dosh."

"You keep saying we - there was another slave with you?"

Obi-Wan doesn’t want to tell Bruck about Shmi Skywalker - Knight Skywalker’s birth mother. That’s too much coincidence to share with anyone. "Yes, an older woman, she had been freeborn in the Republic but kidnapped by raiders and sold into slavery to the Hutts, then traded to pay a gambling debt. She took care of me, saved my life. And then one day, her family found her and bought her freedom."

"And left you behind?"

"Not for lack of trying. My owner refused to sell me." Thankfully, Bruck doesn’t ask why.

"So, how did you get free?"

Obi-Wan shrugs. "I don’t really know. It just happened. One morning I was told I was free and to get on a transport bound for Coruscant, and there was a friend from Tatooine accompanying me on the trip."

Bruck gives him a stink-eye. "I think it was much more than that, but you’re not going to say. Or can’t say."

Obi-Wan picks at his meal.

"All right, I’ll let it go."

"Thanks. It’s a part of my life I’d just as soon forget."

After a few minutes, Bruck asks, "Have you ever thought about seeing a mind-healer?"

Obi-Wan chuckles, a bit sourly. "Actually, yes. It’s on my list of things to do. Any idea on how to sign up for an appointment?"

"That’s actually something I can help you with. Mind-healers and Spirit-healers are part of the Halls of Healing, but they have different protocols. Because most Jedi are resistant to seeing them, we’re trying to make it easier - less friction between patient and healer. Let the Jedi find a healer best suited to their needs - whether it’s a preference for species or experience or approach."

"This sounds like it’s something you’re working on, Bruck."

"It is - it’s going to be my senior project. I’ve been working with the Temple coders to develop a program that will help Jedi select a Mind- or Spirit-healer based on a set of self-selected parameters. It’s still in the testing phase. I’ve got about half of the Temple’s Mind-Healer’s on board and a quarter of the Spirit-healers. Mostly the younger ones."

"Could I try it out?"

Bruck smiles and it’s like first dawn over the Jundland Wastes. "Really, you’d want to?"

Obi-Wan explains, and he’s blunt. "Part of my reluctance has been about getting sent to someone who just can’t relate. I don’t think there’s a Mind-healer who has direct experience, and I keep thinking that I’ll be paired with someone who just keeps telling me to give my feelings to the Force, and that everything happens for a reason."

Which had been what the Mind-healer he’d seen after Qui-Gon’s death had kept telling him repeatedly throughout the six months of sessions he’d attended.

"No, that’s not right. Not for you, and that’s not for the Mind-healer to say. They are supposed to help you understand your problems, not give you simplistic rationalizations. And if you don’t like the Mind-healer you are sent to, if you don’t feel that you are getting the help you need, you should ask for a different one, one more suited to your issues. This is important." Bruck actually shakes a finger at him.

Obi-Wan wished he’d known that in his other life. He’d might have been the master his padawan needed and so many tragedies might have been averted.

"What are you thinking?"

"You don’t want to know." Obi-Wan pushes his food to one side. "Thank you, Bruck. You’re a good friend."

Bruck grins. "Happy to help."

Obi-Wan’s comlink beeps and he pulls it out. "Oh, wow. My master is actually looking for me. He’s lonely and would like some company. Or maybe he needs me to run back to our rooms for something else."

"Is everything all right?"

Obi-Wan is sorry he let the snark out. "Everything’s fine. I’m just over-tired, I think. Didn’t sleep well."

"You’ve had a rough few days. Master Jinn should be released within the next few hours, so everything should be returning to normal."

"I hope so." Obi-Wan doubts that. He wonders if the Council has briefed Qui-Gon on his unlucky padawan.

Apparently not. His master is all smiles when Obi-Wan walks into the room.

"How are you feeling, Master?"

"Back to normal. Xan did another round of tests and the Zeltros Phlegm has cleared from my bloodstream. My feet are beginning to heal, and I’ll be cleared to achieve escape velocity within the hour." Qui-Gon holds out his hand to him, and Obi-Wan doesn’t hesitate to take it. "I’m sorry for sending you running around this morning, that was unfair of me.

"It’s fine, Master. Isn’t that what padawans are for?"

"I don’t know about that. And I have to say, you don’t look particularly good, Padawan-mine. You look tired. I’d say spending the night clinging to my bedside isn’t particularly restful, but I think it’s more than that."

"My evenings while you were away had been - " Obi-Wan doesn’t want to distress his master, but he doesn’t want to lie either. "Restless. A few nights I went down to the salles and worked on some katas. I hoped the exercise would help me find some serenity."

Qui-Gon looks at him, worried and sad. "Did it?"

"Not really."

"Have you had a good night’s sleep since I left for Felucia?"

He wants to say 'Last night, here,' but that will freak his master out. And it’s not as if he really did sleep well, waking every time a healer came in to check on Qui-Gon. "Not really."

"Padawan - "

"There are reasons, Master. But can we wait until we’re back in our suite?" He hopes Mace and Master Yoda show up sometime this evening so he can finally explain everything. And deal with the fallout.

Whatever Qui-Gon is about to say gets cut off. Master Xan comes in, all smiles. Bruck is behind him, guiding a hover-chair. "I’m kicking you out, people who are really sick need this bed. You are to stay off your feet as much as possible - trips to the 'fresher and if you don’t want to stay in your bedroom, you can move to the couch in your living room. But you’ll stay there until you go to bed for the night. I’ll come by tomorrow to check on you and make sure you’re following orders."

Xan turns to Obi-Wan. "As for you, Padawan Kenobi. I’ve contacted Master Drallig and cancelled your morning 'saber lessons for the next week at a minimum, on the grounds that you need to care for your master, but in truth, you’re flirting with physical and emotional exhaustion. You need to eat and eat well. And you need to sleep. As much as I don’t like it, you are under the care of Vokara Che and she’ll be stopping by to check on you, listen to what she says. What are my instructions, Padawan?"

Obi-Wan smiles, he can’t help himself. "Eat, sleep, listen to what Vokara Che tells me, Healer du Crion."

Xan can’t seem to resist a comeback and says, "Unless of course, she tells you to dance naked on top of the Great Spire, and oh, for Force’s sake, call me Master Xan."

Qui-Gon rolls his eyes and mutters something about try-outs for an opening at a cantina on the four-hundred and twenty-third level.

Qui-Gon isn’t surprised that Xan ignores his snark, and just helps him into the hover-chair. "Have fun, old friend. Behave yourself and don’t wear out your padawan. He needs his rest, too.

Chapter Text

All the word games
lay scattered out of their boxes.
Boxes were left gaping
after the game.

Sawdust of questions,
shells of cracked parables,
woolly packing materials from
crates of facile riddles.

Heavy wrapping paper
of love and strategies.
Used solutions rustled
in the trash of thinking.

Long problems
were rolled up on spools,
miracles were locked in their cages.
Chess horses were led back to the stable.

The Visit of the Queen of Sheba — Stanza 8. The Empty Throne Room (fragment)
By Yehuda Amichai

Translated by Stephen Mitchell

Qui-Gon hates to admit it, but the trip from the Hall of Healing back to his suite exhausts him, for all that he didn’t take a single step. Their little procession had been stopped several times by friends and colleagues who had heard about his overly dramatic collapse on the Temple steps and wanted to wish him a speedy recovery. By the time they reach the apartment, all Qui-Gon wants is peace and quiet, except Xan’s padawan isn’t so quick to leave. He’s a nosy bugger, examining the conservator and kitchen stores, frowning and making notes on a datapad.

Bruck also gives Obi-Wan a speaking look before sweeping out of the suite with the hover-chair.

"What was that all about?"

"Making friends with a Healer seems to come with some downsides, like getting lectures about nutrition and taking care of one’s self."

Qui-Gon smiles. "You’ve made another friend. I’m very proud of you, Padawan-mine."

Obi-Wan gives him that shy smile. "Yes, it seems that way."

"And I do agree, having a Healer as a friend can be annoying at times." He can remember getting similar lectures from Xan.

"So Bruck will be setting up a completely new food delivery for us. He’s concerned." Obi-Wan paces around the living room, tucking the blankets around him, fluffing his pillows, fussing unnecessarily. "Can I get you anything?"

Qui-Gon looks at his padawan, noting how his cheeks seem to have hollowed out again, and thinks that Obi-Wan’s new friend’s concern isn’t misplaced. "Come, sit down, and relax. Talk to me." When Obi-Wan won’t meet his eyes, Qui-Gon suggests a topic. "Tell me about being a Council Padawan."

That is a good choice, since Obi-Wan visibly relaxes. "It was kind of fun. Reva is lovely. And the High Councilors were all very kind. I had tea with Master Yoda the first evening, I think I told you about that."

Qui-Gon nods.

"I don’t remember, did I tell you that Master Windu spoke with Master Nu?"

"Yes, and did you go to the Archives?"

Obi-Wan’s smile is almost beatific, and his sigh reminds Qui-Gon of his own master when given access to certain parts of the Archive, specifically dealing with the Mandalorian peoples and their conflicts with the Jedi. "What a wondrous place that is. I could live there, happily."

"So Master Nu was kind to you? She does have a reputation as being a bit prickly."

"She was very kind, even though she was busy. And I feel guilty about that."

"For Force’s sake, why?"

Obi-Wan grimaces. "The Day of Miracles — what happened when that damned collar came off. It seems that over three hundred of the Archive’s oldest holocrons opened — ones that had been closed for millennia — and their 'occupants' are now talking to each other. It’s a full-time job transcribing those conversations."

"That — " Qui-Gon shakes his head, "shouldn’t be possible. And it’s not your fault." He gives his padawan his sternest look. "You take too much upon yourself, Obi-Wan. Besides, this is a good thing, an unlooked for blessing. Just like you." He pats his padawan’s hand.

Obi-Wan ducks his head and blushes.

"So, what else happened while I was away?" Qui-Gon doesn’t want to press his padawan about the conversation that Obi-wan had begged to defer until they had returned to their quarters, but he’s feeling itchy, like the Force is poking at him.

"Your plants are thriving, especially the Force-sensitive ones."

"Well, you did tell me you sang to them so they’d perk up in my absence." Qui-Gon twists around to look at the plants along the windowsill and blinks. The Lothal moon-vine, usually the most finicky of plants, is about twice its size and covered in curly tendrils. The Mantell verbenum has blossomed and is about to tip out of its pot, it’s so ripe with flowers and seedpods.

"What in the Force did you sing to them — Chandrillian love songs?"

Obi-Wan shakes his head, just as bemused. "No, they just seemed to like me. I guess it’s all of my midi-chlorians."

"Hmm. Or maybe they just like you better than they like me."

"Again, the midi-chlorians, Master."

"Padawan, you are more than just your outrageous m-count. Hasn’t Master Yoda told you how much he despises the whole concept?"

"Yes, but you see — "

The doorbell rings and Qui-Gon is beginning to hate these untimely interruptions just when critical information is about to be revealed.

Obi-Wan sighs, rolls his eyes, and goes to answer it. Qui-Gon has a feeling his padawan already knows who’s on the other side of the door.

"Grand Master, Master Windu, welcome."

Qui-Gon groans and shift on the couch. "You’ll have to forgive me if I don’t get up. Healers’ orders."

"Understand, we do, Grand-padawan. Injured you were, unnecessary formalities are. But tea, appreciated will be."

Obi-Wan is the picture of perfect padawanly obedience, "Of course, Grand Master. Master Windu, will you prefer tea or caf?"

"Tea will be fine, young one."

Yoda and Mace make small talk while Obi-Wan tends to the tea, which doesn’t surprise Qui-Gon; they are waiting for his padawan to finish so they can either send him out of the apartment or to his room and talk to him in privacy.

Except that once Obi-Wan brings over the tea and a plate of biscuits, Mace asks his padawan to sit down.

Qui-Gon asks his old friend, "What’s going on?"

"Obi-Wan, do you want to explain?"

"It will mean telling Master Qui-Gon about Watto and Meekah and how the Order manipulated events so that it achieved my freedom without buying me."

Mace nods at Obi-wan to go ahead. "I think, given the circumstances, it is acceptable to read Master Jinn into those events. His discretion is exemplary."

And so Qui-Gon finally learns how the Jedi so cleverly managed to get Obi-Wan out of the clutches of a greedy Toydarian without violating Jedi law.

"I seem to remember Plo saying something about Obi-Wan’s wealth of midi-chlorians spilling a high concentration of the Light side. And that would bring good fortune — or events that would be seen as good fortune. I don’t understand why that’s an issue now."

Obi-Wan shakes his head, looking grim. "Don’t you see, Master? It’s not that I’ve brought you good luck, but that when the High Council sent you to Felucia, our separation brought you ill-fortune — just like Watto. Everything bad that happened to you is my fault."

Qui-Gon is quick to contradict his padawan. "First of all, Padawan, I’ve told you before, there is no such thing as luck, good or bad. It’s all the will of the Force."

Obi-Wan nods. "And I agree. I’ve come to see that Watto’s good fortune wasn’t actually good luck, but the manifestation of his wants and desires. Wish-fulfillment — the accretion of the Force manifested to give him what he wanted — winning bets."

Qui-Gon isn’t buying that. "What about Shmi Skywalker? What did she get?"

"That one is too easy, Master. Her hope was fulfilled — she learned that her child had grown and prospered and become a Jedi."

Qui-Gon's jaw drops. "I always thought the Force was kriffing with us when we landed on Tatooine. That we’d been sent to a shop that just happened to have the hyperdrive we needed."

"The odds of that were incalculably small." Obi-Wan folds in upon himself.

"The Force isn’t supposed to work like that." Qui-Gon shakes his head. "But it did. And regardless, I can’t believe that a separation of just a few days caused such a string of unfortunate events."

"Believe it, Qui-Gon. When I saw Plo the first morning after your departure, he’d acquired a shatterpoint," Mace finally joins the conversation.

"What does Plo have to do with any of this?" Qui-Gon is getting confused. And annoyed.

Obi-Wan explains. "I couldn’t sleep, Master. I kept thinking about what had happened with Watto — how he lost everything when the Jedi shadow managed to keep him from the shop for weeks on end. I was going to the salles to work on my katas — like a form of meditation — when I met up with Master Plo. He saw how distressed I was and let me talk about it. He was kind, but he didn’t dismiss my concerns."

Mace picks up the tale. "When Plo walked into the Council chamber the next morning, I got stabbed right between the eyes with a shatterpoint. Unlike you, old friend, Plo never gives me shatterpoints," Mace growls. "When he explained, I immediately knew it had to do with you. That’s when I comm’d you."

"I’d just gotten to Ringo Vinda — I was still trying to find transport on to Felucia."

"You see, Master? Everything bad that happened to you, it’s all my fault."

"No, absolutely not." Qui-Gon puts all the durasteel into his voice he can muster and stares at Mace and Yoda. "If anyone is to blame, it’s the High Council for sending me to Felucia without you. And without considering the ramifications. They have been, after all, aware of this issue." Qui-Gon glares at Yoda in particular, who has been oddly silent for the entire visit.

"You realize what this means." Mace leans forward, his tone quiet, his gaze intent.

Qui-Gon does. "That my career as a field Jedi is on hold for the foreseeable future. Several years, at least. Perhaps until my Padawan is knighted."

"Master, no!" Obi-Wan is frantically shaking his head. "That’s not an acceptable trade-off."

"What would you have me do? Give you back? Have you reassigned to another master?"

Now, of course the little green troll speaks up. "Happy I would be, to teach you, Obi-Wan, your master I would be. On your control work we will so these problems repeat they do not. Let my grand-padawan be the Maverick, roam the galaxy as he wants."

Qui-Gon isn’t having any of this and he snaps, "Grandmaster, stay out of this."

Yoda’s frown is terrifying. "Taught you better, my Padawan did, than to be so disrespectful."

"Talk about being disrespectful. You should know better than to poach my padawan."

"Poached him you did first." Yoda thumps his gimmer stick on the rug. "No problems have we would if steal him from me you did not."

"Grand Master, please. Master Jinn did not 'steal' me. I’ve told you, Master Qui-Gon asked me if I would be his padawan when we talked on Tatooine, two years before we met. I said yes, even though I didn’t believe I would ever be freed. It was a lovely dream, something to give me hope. And while I have the greatest respect for you, I want to be Master Qui-Gon’s student, but only if Master Qui-Gon does not see it as a sacrifice — "

"Never, Obi-Wan."

"Are you certain? You’ve told me how much you love being out there — the challenges of working amongst the people, solving problems — "

Qui-Gon cuts Obi-Wan off. "And that will be my challenge again someday. But having the privilege of teaching you? That’s a once-in-a-lifetime gift that I’m not giving up. I want to be your master, to see you to knighthood. Nothing is more important to me than that."

Mace cuts the argument short. "Good, I’m glad that’s settled." He looks at Yoda. "Told you it wasn’t going to work, you were only going to make him angry."

"Try, I had to." Yoda hops down from the chair and heads for the door.

"I thought there is no try," Mace says as they leave.

The door closes just as Qui-Gon sees Yoda hit Mace with his stick.

Obi-Wan is sitting very still, his face pale, his eyes wide.

"Padawan?"

"Are you really sure about this, Master? Do you really want to give up traveling the galaxy? Just to teach me?"

"You need to know, Obi-Wan, there is almost nothing I wouldn’t do for any of my padawans. And for you, I will happily ground myself here. I’m not making up convenient lies when I tell you that teaching you is a privilege. You are so bright and eager and hungry to learn. That night in Mos Espa — on your rooftop, when you begged me for a history lesson, I knew I wanted you as my padawan. I would move stars out of their orbits for you if I could. I’m giving up nothing and gaining everything."

Obi-Wan's face goes a little funny, like he’s not sure if he should be smiling or crying. "Would it be inappropriate to ask if this is a good time for some aggressive padawan soothing?"

Qui-Gon reaches out for his padawan. "It is the perfect moment, come here"

His padawan is a bit stiff, clearly unaccustomed to physical comfort as he tries to relax in Qui-Gon’s embrace.

"You are the most important person in the universe to me, Obi-Wan Kenobi. What I’m giving up is nothing to what I’m gaining."

Obi-Wan’s sigh sounds a bit damp, but he chuckles a little.

"What’s so funny?"

"Master Yoda. He’s a menace, isn’t he?"

"Didn’t take long for you to figure that out. But we all love him dearly."

"Yes. Yes, we do."

The rest of Obi-Wan’s day passes quietly, filled with small domestic chores and caring for his master. The food order that Bruck had put in is delivered, followed by the arrival of the replacement order for Qui-Gon’s lost travel kit from the Quartermaster.

"Well, you might as well take it apart and distribute everything through the suite and put the satchel in the back of my closet, I’m not going to need a travel pack any time soon," his Master says cheerfully. "Just think, no more too short bunks on dodgy freighters. No more bad food or stale ration bars. Actually, no more ration bars. No more weird phlegms and flus or any manner of illnesses that the Halls have no vaccines for. No more endless treaty negotiations. No more civil wars that I can do nothing about because the Senate is too interested in maintaining the status quo and not saving lives."

"You sound like you never want to leave the Temple, Master. Like you hated being a field Knight."

"No, I don’t hate it. I didn’t hate it, but the last few years have been difficult. The bad missions have been outweighing the good ones. And we seem to be doing the bidding of the Senate and the corporate interests instead of following the will of the Force." His master’s Force signature radiates disgust. "I should tell you about Melida/Daan one day, but I’m afraid it would change your mind about wanting to become a Jedi."

"Master?" An icy knot forms in the pit of his belly. Obi-Wan has plans to look up Melida/Daan when he finally has time to dig into the Archives. "Nothing will ever change my mind about becoming a Jedi."

"I’ll be honest, it wasn’t the Order’s finest hour, but what happened wasn’t the Order’s fault, either…" Qui-Gon sips his tea and stares out into nothingness.

"What happened?" Obi-Wan wonders if Anakin had joined up with the Young and temporarily left the Order.

"Can you imagine a planet where its own people have been waging a civil war for over three centuries? Ruthlessly destroying itself and its own children, and then refusing to let anyone help when a disaster threatened to destroy every living being?" Qui-Gon carefully puts his mug down and clasps his hands together.

"Master Tahl and I had been sent to Melida/Daan as an advance team to assess how to conduct a planet-wide evacuation. In their zeal to achieve a final victory, one of the factions had destabilized the planet’s core and it was going to go critical within a matter of months. We only heard about this because a group of children had seized control of a communications tower and reached out to the Senate, begging for help."

"When we arrived, neither the Melida or the Daan would hear of abandoning their home world, or allowing their children to be evacuated. And it turns out that the only reason why the Senate sent a Jedi team out was because the Techno-Union was 'curious' about a weapon that could destroy a planet’s core. They wanted us to retrieve the scientists who invented this marvel!" Qui-Gon’s disgust echoes in the Force. "When we reported back that the scientists had been killed in the initial chain reaction, the Senate lost interest and advised that there would be no funding for any evacuation."

Qui-Gon lets out a shuddering breath. "The Order agreed to send ships to evacuate the children, but we don’t maintain a fleet of large transports — the Order’s largest ships are the ones assigned to Medicorps relief missions, and they weren’t able to leave the planets they were already assigned to. The Order send everything they could, but it was just a fleet of small shuttles and personal transports, like Master Yoda’s Tython-One. All told, we only got two hundred children off that accursed planet before the core went critical. They were resettled on Alderaan — blessings on House Organa, but from what I’ve heard, few of them are doing well — despite everything that the Alderaanians are doing. Too traumatized by generations of war, by losing their home world."

Qui-Gon says bitterly, "We should have done more — we should have known what had been going on — a three-hundred year civil war that no one was paying attention to. A whole civilization that tore itself apart. For nothing."

Obi-Wan doesn’t say a word, he just hugs his master, who is so clearly in need of physical contact.

And Qui-Gon hugs him back. "Thank you, Padawan-mine."

Stunned by what his Master had revealed, Obi-Wan can only say, "I guess aggressive master soothing is a thing now, too."

"Master? I hope I’m not bothering you."

Xanatos looks up at his padawan standing in the doorway. Bruck is a good lad, smart and dedicated, but he has an annoying habit of worrying about interrupting him, and then actually interrupting him.

"What’s the matter?"

"Nothing’s wrong, but the bacta for Master Jinn has arrived."

"That’s not possible. Simon Isard, my contact at the Xucphra Corp said that the earliest we’d be able to get the shipment would be the next Centaxday. If it’s really here, it’s arrived five days ahead of schedule."

"I know. I’ve already tested the patches and they are compatible with Master Jinn’s DNA."

Xan is grateful for the early arrival, but the rush order makes him uneasy and he comms Isard, who is a little too cheerful.

"You got my package, Master Jedi!

"Yes I did — several days earlier than expected."

"Good! Always glad to assist the Jedi, so when I realized that it was the special order for your Jedi allergic to the strain of gen-modded alazhi, I had the tank and bandages rush-produced, especially since we had a standard order about to ship out to the Temple."

Isard natters on about the wonders of his product and the loveliness of Thyferra, the endless grain fields, and how he’d love to have Xan as his guest at the great bacta manufacturing facility in the capital. The man is a rather oily sort of corporate slime, not unlike the bacta he sells, but much less beneficial.

Before Xan end the call, he does have a question. "Is there anything I can do to prevent the tank from going bad?"

"It should never have gone bad. Nor should the patches. Did you dispose of the tank?"

"No — I was wondering if it was good to use on other patients — without Master Jinn’s allergies."

"Actually, we should reclaim it. Let’s make it an even swap, so we can run tests on it, find out why it spoiled. I’ll instruct the delivery team to pick up the tank the next time they drop a new order off and I’ll send a note to the billing department not to charge you for the new tank."

"That’s very generous, Simon."

"Don’t thank me, you’re a good customer."

Xan has to suffer through another ten minutes of Simon Isard sweet-talking him before he can end the call. He buries his face in his hands and groans.

"I’m sorry, Master." Bruck settles down next to him.

"Nothing to apologize for. Isard is just annoying and tedious. I’ve dealt with worse." He pushes away from his desk. "Come on, let’s go deliver some bacta patches to Qui-Gon. I’m sure he’ll be grateful to get them and be able to get off his ass. And I’m sure you’ll be happy to see your friend." Xan winks at his padawan.

Bruck makes a face.

"What’s the matter?"

"I think that’s all we’re destined to be. Obi-Wan has a lot on his plate and a lot of — stuff — to work through. I don’t think he wants or needs a fuck-buddy right now."

Xan shakes his head. "You sexual beings always confuse me. So much angst about getting to put your dick into someone’s bits. Life is a lot easier when you don’t worry about such things."

"And I don’t get you, Master. How could you not want to — ah — do it?"

"I just don’t. It’s the way I’m made. Nothing wrong with me, just as there’s nothing wrong with you. It’s just who we are — all part of the great diversity within the Galaxy. As Master Yoda would say, 'Within the Force, possible all things are.' "

"You’re right." Bruck grabs a box of bacta bandages and they head up to the Jinn-Kenobi suite. It’s early evening and the setting sun is illuminating the vast Temple atrium.

It’s Xan’s favorite time of day, as the business of the Order begins to wind down, as masters and padawans settle down for their evenings together — time in the Archives or at the commissaries, or in the Temple gardens. The frantic tempo of the day has slowed to a gentler pace.

"Should we have comm’d them first?"

"Why? Where would they be? Qui-Gon can’t walk and his padawan is very protective — I doubt the boy would leave the suite long enough to get a meal."

"He doesn’t have to — I put in daily food delivery for them."

"So there you have it. The Jinn-Kenobi pair will be at home, nothing to worry about."

And of course, he’s right. Xan barely lifts his finger off the doorbell before Obi-Wan pulls the door open, looking somewhat better than he had last time Xan had seen him, but still not the picture of health.

"Well, hello there. Were we expecting you, Master Xan? Bruck checked on Master Qui-Gon's feet this morning." He steps aside to let them in. Qui-Gon greets them with a happy smile.

"We come bearing gifts — Bruck, show them."

His padawan presents the box of bacta bandages with a flourish.

"Now, this doesn’t mean it’s back to boots and endless hours on your feet, my friend. You still need to stay off them as much as possible, but you can put away the inflatable slippers and graduate to loose socks and house slippers."

"You are no fun, Xanatos du Crion." Qui-Gon actually sticks his tongue out at him.

"No, I’m not. And that is so very mature." Without a by-your-leave, he clears away tea mugs and datapads and sits down on the low table in front of the couch. He pulls out a pair of disposable gloves from one of his many pockets, snaps them one and demands, "Your right foot, if you please?"

Qui-Gon complies. Xan does his examination and puts bacta patches on the healing sores.

"And your left foot."

He repeats the process and has to admit that the wounds are healing very well — much quicker than he had expected. "You almost don’t need the bacta at this point. Another day off your feet and you’ll be ready for socks and slippers." Xan turns to Qui-Gon’s padawan. "You’ve done a good job caring for your master, you’re to be commended."

The lad blushes almost as red as his hair.

"Which isn’t an easy task, given how much of a bantha’s ass your master can be."

"And you had to go and ruin it." Qui-Gon mutters, pretending to aggrieved.

Bruck giggles but Obi-Wan sighs. "That’s quite an act the two of you have."

Xan catches his old friend’s eye. "Yes, I guess it is. We’ve known each other for a long time."

Obi-Wan asks, "Were you crechemates?"

"Not quite — we were in the same clan, but Qui-Gon’s a few years older than I am." Xan smiles at his old friend. "I adored him when I was a tiny adorable Crechling and he was a Youngling, chasing him around, always demanding that he play with me. And when he became an Initiate, I looked up to him. And now he’s going to make a joke about it not being hard because he had an early growth spurt — "

"True — I was nearly as tall as the crechemaster by the time I was ten."

"Stop interrupting, you semi-bald Wookiee."

"I let you into my home and you insult me?"

As if on cue, both padawans burst out with laughter.

Xan sighs dramatically. "Anyway, I had always kind of worshipped Qui-Gon — much the way all the Younglings worship the older Initiates, particularly the smart and talented ones. And as I’m sure Padawan Kenobi knows by now, Qui-Gon Jinn is a particularly patient and kind being."

"Yes, Master Xan, that he is — kind and patient. I am a very fortunate student." Obi-Wan smiles at his master, and Xan is pleased to see that Qui-Gon ducks his head and blushes.

"And while I probably embarrassed him to no end with my juvenile hero-worship, Qui-Gon never embarrassed me or told me to get lost, even when I annoyed his friends with my persistence."

"It doesn’t cost more to be kind than to be cruel." Qui-Gon says with a small shrug.."

"No, it doesn’t — and that is a lesson I wish more Younglings would learn." Xan sighs, thinking of the cruelty and cliquishness he’s seen — even amongst the Jedi.

"Healer Xan, Bruck, would you like to stay for late-meal? I was just about to start preparing it — and there’s more than enough supplies in the conservator — thanks to Bruck." Obi-Wan smiles at his fellow padawan — friendly and open, nothing more.

Xan looks over at Qui-Gon, who nods in approval at his padawan’s spontaneous invitation. "Yes, that would be lovely, unless Bruck has other plans."

"No, I don’t. And I’ll be happy to help with the cooking, Obi-Wan, if you’d like."

"Sure."

The two padawans move into the kitchen area and fall into an intense discussion about the meal. Xan shifts over and sits next to Qui-Gon.

"Truth now, how are you really doing?" Xan keeps his voice low.

"Very good, actually."

He doesn’t just look at Qui-Gon, he reaches out in the Force to get a true sense of him. "Yes, you are. You actually feel more centered than you have in a while, maybe since before Anakin."

"What do you mean, before Anakin left the Order? Or before the — " Qui-Gon pauses and his Force signature ripples with pain and disgust, "assault?"

Xan isn’t surprised that his friend can barely speak about what had happened to his second padawan. "No, I mean before you took Anakin as your padawan. Feemor really did a number on you." Xan cups the back of Qui-Gon’s neck, squeezing gently.

"He had the right to go into the Temple Guards, and there’s no point in rehashing this. Let’s live in the moment, dearest, shall we?"

Xan nods. He wishes that Qui-Gon hadn’t bailed on the mind-healer after the third session, but the mind-healer assigned to his friend was old and stodgy and kept rambling about attachment.

"Obi-Wan makes you happy, doesn’t he?"

"Very. He is a very special young man. So very bright in the Force."

"I can see that." Xan still wonders about Qui-Gon's most unusual padawan and has his concerns about what had happened during Qui-Gon’s time in the Halls, but he’s not going to bring that up again. Qui-Gon’s happiness is more important than some odd medical readings.

"Your padawan seems quite special, too." Qui-Gon murmurs.

"Bruck is a good lad. Smart, dedicated, well-grounded in the Light. He’ll make a fine Healer." Xan grimaces a bit. "He’s Telosian, you know."

"No, I didn’t." Qui-Gon frowns. "Is that why you picked him?"

"Of course not. But his family had been hurt by my father — " Xan shakes his head, needing the drop the subject. "What’s the expression, 'Healer, heal thyself'?"

Qui-Gon drapes an arm around his shoulders, hugging him gently. "We’re quite a pair, aren’t we?"

They sit on the couch, content to watch their padawans laughing and joking as they prepare the meal. Xan had been worried about Bruck, and how the boy was going to deal with the romantic disappointment, but he seems to be doing fine.

"Healer Xan, how spicy do you like your food?"

Qui-Gon chuckles at the question. "You better be careful how you answer that. Obi-Wan and I enjoy 'blow the back of you head off' levels of spiciness.

"Oh, like extra-spicy at Dex’s?"

"Spicier than that. Remember that my master loves Mandalorian cuisine and my padawan has lived on Tatooine. He uses dubash powder like it’s table salt."

"Ah." Xan calls out to Obi-Wan. "Not quite 'blow the back of my head' off, but maybe a degree or two below, if that’s not a problem."

"Certainly not, Healer Xan." The boy comes over with a small dish and a pair of food-sticks. "Tell me if this is good."

Xan tries it, and while his eyes water and his mouth burns, the burn fades into a lovely numbing tingle. "That is delicious."

Obi-Wan nods. "Then dinner is ready."

The meal is delightful — the two padawans have outdone themselves. Xan knows that his Bruck has a bit of flair in the kitchen, but he’s definitely exceeded expectations. Perhaps he’s showing off for Obi-Wan, or he’s just found a good cooking partner. Or a good friend.

And it’s nice — as much as he likes the three girls Bruck’s been friends with since his creche days, they don’t socialize much anymore. Bant, Aayla, and Siri are on the field knight track, and except for the rare relief mission, Bruck is mostly Temple-bound. Xan knows he misses his friends and feels left behind, and eventually, he’ll feel the same when Qui-Gon and his padawan start roaming the galaxy. But for now…

"You look like you’re thinking deep thoughts, my friend." Qui-Gon tips the last of the wine into his glass.

"Just thinking about you and your padawan roaming the galaxy. Causing havoc and chaos wherever you go."

Obi-Wan chuckles. "You should tell Master Xan the news, Master."

"News?" Xan frowns. "Is there a problem?"

"No problem. The Council has determined that it will be best for Obi-Wan to have a stable environment here in the Temple for the next few years. And as I am his master, I will be staying by his side."

Xan is stunned. "You’re grounded?"

"No. I have a padawan who will benefit from a stable environment here at the Temple. And after thirty-five years of roaming the galaxy, I’m looking forward to a little stability, too."

It would be rude to call banthashit on his host, but when Xan reaches out in the Force, he feels nothing but happiness and contentment from Qui-Gon. Not a drop of resentment. "You’re serious. What will you do with yourself?"

"Teach. I had been teaching some basic classes before the Council yanked me off and sent me on that sleeveless errand to Felucia. I’m signed up for several more interesting classes for next semester — and now that I’m cleared to walk, I can get down to the Archives and start building a curriculum."

"What will you be teaching, Master Jinn?" Bruck asks.

"A history course of the political foundations of the modern Republic, negotiation theory and practical application — "

Xan can’t help but laugh. "Oh, Force bless us all. The Maverick teaching the next generation of Jedi consulars, the Order will never be the same."

"Oh, hush you."

Obi-Wan chimes in. "Master, you left off your favorite."

Xan chimes in, "Which is? Advanced 'saber techniques? Hand-to-hand combat?"

Qui-Gon picks up his wine glass and stares at Xan over the rim, a small smile on his lips. "Nope. Battle poetry of the Old Republic."

For the first time in nearly two weeks, Qui-Gon slides his feet into his boots, and damn, but it feels good. They aren’t new boots — but his second-best pair, the ones he saves for formal occasions. They are broken in just enough that they won’t damage the newly healed skin, but he’s got bacta patches on the delicate bits just in case.

He laces them boots up and bounces up and down, humming in satisfaction.

New cloak in hand, he leaves his bedroom and finds Obi-Wan waiting for him. His padawan looks him up and down and nods approvingly. "Looking good, Master."

"Thank you, and now I understand how you felt when you got your new boots."

Obi-Wan just smiles. "Shall we?"

"Yes!" Qui-Gon hasn’t left the apartment in two weeks. Although Xan had cleared him for socks and slippers a few days ago, his own ego wouldn’t let him show himself in anything less than full kit.

The walk to the Archives is slow, not because Qui-Gon needs to move at an invalid’s pace, but because his colleagues keep stopping to say hello and enquire about his health. Apparently, his dramatic collapse on the Grand Staircase has been the most excitement the Temple had experienced since the Day of Miracles.

But they finally reach the Archives and Qui-Gon finds himself a bit lost.

"Master?"

"I’m not sure where to begin?"

"Which course do you want to start on?"

"The poetry class. And don’t laugh at me, Padawan. We all have our esoteric interests. I know that I’ll probably have five or six padawans sign up for it, but — "

"But it’s something you love and you want to share it."

"Yes, I do. The other two classes — they already have well-prepared syllabi. I’ve started to review the standard coursework and will make amendments, but this class is going to be my own."

Obi-Wan's smile is endearing. "I didn’t know that you liked poetry."

"It’s something I picked up from my own Master — although he finds my preference for Old Republic battle epics a little uncivilized."

"That is surprising, given his affection for Mandalorian culture."

"I know. It’s odd, when it comes to poetry, he prefers the more graceful poetics of the High Republic. I think it has more to do with his preference in lightsaber forms, to be honest. He is considered the living master of Makashi."

An odd expression crosses Obi-Wan’s face when he says, "I guess that makes sense."

Before Qui-Gon can comment, Master Nu must have spotted them from her office on the mezzanine because she comes gliding down the stairs.

"Qui-Gon Jinn, it has been quite a while since you’ve graced the Archives with your presence."

He bows to Master Nu, who still has the power to intimidate him. "It is the good fortune for a peripatetic Jedi like myself that so much of the Archive’s information is now accessible on the Jedi’net. Thank you for your tireless work in bringing the important records of the galaxy and the history of the Order to all the knights who serve, wherever they may be." Qui-Gon bows again, as deep as he would to the High Council.

She cracks the tiniest smile. "How can I assist you, Master Jinn? Or is it your padawan who needs my help?"

"No, I’m the one in need of your assistance. I’ll be teaching this coming semester, and one of my classes — well, I’m building the curriculum from scratch. Old Republic battle epics."

"Poetry?" Master Nu raises a delicately arched brow. "That’s going to be a hard sell amongst the padawans these days."

"I know, but I have a plan, and a padawan with a good sense of rhythm."

Master Nu doesn’t need any explanation. She looks at Obi-Wan and that smile turns into a full-fledged grin. "Your master remembers a certain performance his master and I once gave, back when he was a Crecheling."

"Yes, the 'Battle of Deneba'. You read the words of Nomi Sunrider, Master Yan voiced Qel-Droma and played a small hand drum. It’s what inspired my love of the subject, and my love of history. I’ll always be in your debt for that gift, Master Nu."

She seems pleased by the compliment. "Hmm, so you are here to find poems to read? "

"Yes, but also the history behind them and hopefully to build a media presentation to go with each reading."

"That’s very ambitious. I can certainly help you, but I’ll caution you about falling into a gundark’s nest."

"Do you have any suggestions where to start?"

"How about I bring you over to the section on Old Republic literature, and let you start browsing, and I’ll give the subject some thought." Master Nu sets them up in a private research room and lets them know that they can keep whatever materials they need in there and leave anything they won’t use on the cart outside for reshelving. She shows them how to set the door code and tells them they can lock up when then leave for the evening. Qui-Gon is grateful for the courtesy.

Master Ne shakes her head. "You are a now a Teaching Master, this is not a courtesy, but a right."

Four hours later, it’s only the loud rumbling of his own stomach and his padawan’s chuckle that interrupts Qui-Gon’s research. "Maybe it’s time to take a break?"

"I think so, Master." Obi-Wan checks his chrono. "Hmm, I guess I’m cooking for us again tonight — we’ve missed last call at the commissary."

"Am I wrong, but I think you’re a bit tired of cooking?"

Obi-Wan shrugs. "I do what I have to."

"Then how about dinner at Dex’s? I think you’ve earned a treat."

Obi-Wan leans back in his chair, arms folded across his chest, one eyebrow raise. "That’s why you brought your cloak, Master. You didn’t exactly need it inside the Temple."

"Perhaps, or maybe I was worried I’d catch a chill. After all, this is my first time out of our suite in nearly two weeks, following a grave illness."

"Pull the other one." Obi-Wan isn’t buying it. But he gets up and offers Qui-Gon his cloak.

Qui-Gon takes his cloak and swirls it around his shoulders, sending piles of flimsi into the air. A quick gesture sends them back into their neat piles. "Don’t tell Master Yoda I did that, he’ll write me up for frivolous use of the Force."

Chapter Text

We won’t go on talking.
We won’t go on existing at all. Eternity is

a perfected form of mutual loneliness.

Praise of Summer (fragment)
by Yehuda Amachai

Translated by Robert Alter

One Year After Obi-Wan Has Entered The Temple

The hour bell rings and the entire class of padawans practically sighs with relief as Knight Krell abruptly ends another tedious lecture on Expansionist Era political minutia. Like every one else, Obi-Wan gathers up his datapads and hurries out of the classroom. He’s got about two hours before he has to report to the High Council for his afternoon stint minding the door and taking notes, and wants to spend it working on his special research project in the Archives.

"Hey, Obi-Wan, have a moment?" Bant comes running up to him, her Force-presence a deep song in Obi-Wan's heart. He still can’t quite believe that of all people in this strange rebirth, Bant is still a padawan, she’s the same age as him. They are loosely friends — she’s part of a group of padawans who have welcomed him into their small clique, but most of her time has been spent accompanying her master, Tahl, on far-flung missions. Since Obi-Wan is Temple-bound, they haven’t become close in this timeline. Her life and her occasional presence is a Force-blessed gift.

"Yes, of course. What’s up?"

She walks along side him and Obi-Wan shortens his strides so she doesn’t have to struggle to keep up. "I probably don’t need to ask, but have you finished the last set of essays that Knight Krell assigned about the Tionese War. I’m having some problems with the last question and I’m hoping that if you had some time, maybe you could help me figure it out?"

"Sure." At one point Obi-Wan would have found it funny that anyone would ask him for help, considering who he is. the so-called "Lost Youngling" who had been kidnapped from a field trip to the Senate building, mind wiped and sold into slavery to a junk dealer on Tatooine, a figure to be pitied, not admired. But his master, and Master Gallia, and Master Yoda have insisted that since he has tested out of the basic and then the standard curriculum, he should take as many advance classes as he could handle.

Master Qui-Gon has been very clear in his instructions, he should not hide his intellect. He should shine. But of course, never in an arrogant manner. Just don’t be self-effacing, don’t play dumb. Don’t shrink from arguing a point because you haven’t been raised in the Temple and if anyone gives you a hard time, tell them to take it up with your master, or with the High Council. Or both.

These orders may not be endearing him to some of the more hidebound instructors, but his friends? They love having a willing tutor just for the asking.

Bant pulls him into a small empty classroom and they go over her problem with Pong Krell’s tedious essay question.

Obi-Wan despises the Besalisk, and not for the crimes he’d committed in a war that Obi-Wan is going to prevent, but for his petty, small-minded approach to teaching. He’s an asshole who always has to be right, and enjoys belittling his students — especially the ones in his honors class — to the point that they are afraid to ask any questions.

He helps Bant work through the issue, and it doesn’t take long before she sees the trick that Krell had built into the question.

"Thanks, Obi. You’re the best. I can finish this now." Bant runs off before Obi-Wan has the chance to say "you’re welcome."

He smiles and watches as she disappears into the garden. It is still remarkable to him how different this timeline is. How much more stable. So many of the events that had been orchestrated to destabilize the Order, to damage the foundations of the Republic, haven’t happened — the Stark Hyperspace War, the Yinchorri Uprising, and even centuries earlier, the destruction of the Starlight Beacon.

Obi-Wan remembers the words of the Light Itself in the Caverns on Ilum and wonders if the Light has risked everything in this reset. He sighs and shakes his head — not willing, right now — to waste time figuring that out.

He needs to get to the Archives. In this life as before, it’s still one of his favorite places in the Temple.

The padawan at the reception desk tells him that "Mistress Jocasta" is waiting for him in her office and could he go see her right away.

"Excuse me?" Obi-Wan frowns at the padawan, a Human boy, about thirteen.

"Pardon? What’s wrong?"

"Are you the Chief Librarian’s padawan?" Obi-Wan already knows that answer.

"No, I am apprenticed to Knight Wintook, Padawan Kenobi. I’m just on Archive rotation for a week."

"You’ve been raised in the Temple and should know better than to show such disrespect. It’s 'Master Nu', not 'Mistress Jocasta'. Master Nu has raised four padawans to knighthood, sat on the Council of Reassignment, was also the Caretaker of the Council of First Knowledge, and sat on the High Council. I will also remind you that the Jedi Order does not use gendered titles, and calling a great Jedi by her first name is disrespectful to both the Jedi knight that Master Nu is, and to her vast accomplishments that you will likely need many lifetimes to match."

Obi-Wan never raises his voice above the low speaking tone required in the Archive, but when he finishes he feels like he’s just shouted across a battlefield.

The padawan doesn’t seem to be upset, though. To the boy’s credit, he just nods and apologizes. "I understand. Thank you for the correction, Padawan Kenobi."

"You’re welcome." Obi-Wan nods back and makes a quick exit from the scene, heading to Master Nu’s office. It’s on the second mezzanine overlooking the Great Gallery, and Obi-Wan takes the stairs two at a time.

To his surprise, Master Nu isn’t alone. Mace Windu is with her.

Obi-Wan sighs. Two months ago, Master Windu casually mentioned that Master Drallig has been saying that he’s training the best 'saber in the Order, bar none, and joking said his pride was slightly offended. It was bad enough that Obi-Wan carries two purple lightsabers. Not that he was putting Obi-Wan on the spot or anything.

Which is exactly what he’d done. And Obi-Wan fell for it, asking the Master of the Order if he’d care to spar with him. After hours, of course.

Mace had jumped at the chance, and the entire High Council, even the reclusive Master Sifo-Dyas, came to watch. Obi-Wan is sure that plenty of credits had changed hands.

It hadn’t been that uneven of a match, thank the Force. In a best of five bout, Master Windu had scored two Marks of Combat on him.

And to be fair, the Master of the Order had taken the defeat with good grace. He’d bowed to Obi-Wan and asked for a rematch one day soon, then clapped Master Qui-Gon on his shoulder and murmured something that Obi-Wan couldn’t hear, but his Master was all smiles.

The rest of the High Council still looks at him with a bit of awe.

And Obi-Wan, for his part, still has trouble not feeling a bit embarrassed around Master Windu outside of Council hours and tries to avoid him. That isn’t entirely possible, since Mace and Qui-Gon are good friends in this timeline, and they frequently enjoy evening bitch sessions in the Jinn-Kenobi quarters. Most of those nights, Obi-Wan excuses himself for a late research session in the Archives or time with one of his friends — usually Bruck, since the other three are on field knight tracks and aren’t in-Temple. But there had been times that Mace — Master Windu — had insisted that Obi-Wan join in the conversation. He’d wanted Obi-Wan's point of view, or Obi-Wan to challenge Qui-Gon on something. All of those times, Mace had left with a headache and Qui-Gon just seemed puzzled.

Now, of course, Obi-Wan can’t back out of Jocasta’s office. It’s likely that she’d seen him enter the Archives and has been waiting for him. And Mace — he’d probably felt Obi-Wan’s presence.

Obi-Wan retreats into formality and bows to the precise and correct depth, acknowledging the presence of the Master of the Order before falling into parade rest.

"Good afternoon, Master Windu, Master Nu."

Jocasta beams at him, and Mace graces him with a slightly twisted smile before saying, "That was quite the dressing down you gave that poor padawan. Not that it wasn’t deserved." Mace nods at Jocasta.

"My apologies if I overstepped myself, Master Windu."

"No, you didn’t, but — " Mace rubs his temples, an all too familiar gesture to Obi-Wan, who had seen it up close, as a fellow High Councilor. "You know what, I have no criticisms. I’m heartily sick of people calling our Head Librarian by an honorific that does not exist in the Order. Thank you, Padawan Kenobi for setting the record straight."

Jocasta laughs and shakes her head. "I really don’t think anything is going to change, but Obi-Wan is welcome to fight the good fight. And Mace, I must say, you look awful, do you need some headache pills?"

He waves her off. "No, I’ll be fine. Obi-Wan, take a seat, we’ve got much to discuss and I don’t have all day."

Obi-Wan sits across from Mace and Jocasta at a small reading table. Slightly unnerved, Obi-Wan takes refuge in the manners he’d cultivated during his years as a slave. "What can I do for you?"

Mace shakes his head. "It’s more, what I can do for you. Master Nu came to me with a copy of your research into effect the corporate representation in the Senate on sentient trafficking."

Before Obi-Wan can say anything, Jocasta apologizes. "I thought it wise to bring this to Master Windu’s attention. For several reasons."

Obi-Wan can see her line of thinking, can follow it all the way to its natural conclusion, but he wants her to explain. "Oh?"

"This can get you killed, dear boy. You go poking in the wrong places, you’re going to rile up more gundarks that you’ll be able to handle."

"I know that, ma’am. I plan on proceeding very carefully." Obi-Wan has no intention of dying again, at least not so soon.

Mace hmms thoughtfully. "Would you mind answering a few questions for me, padawan?"

"If I can, sir?" Obi-Wan wonders when it will stop feeling so damn weird to call Mace "sir".

"Why this topic? It is extremely esoteric — "

"Especially for someone who hasn’t had the benefit of a lifetime of education at the Temple?" Obi-Wan doesn’t pull his punches.

"To be blunt, Padawan Kenobi, yes. You are clearly formidably intelligent, disciplined, and dare I say, driven. I don’t know if this is a product of your experiences, or your essential nature. It’s clear to everyone who interacts with you that you are Force-blessed, but you don’t seem to realize that — it simply doesn’t matter to you. And that worries me."

"Do you think I’m corrupt, sir?"

"No, Obi-Wan." Mace smiles, and pats Obi-Wan’s hand. "You are so grounded in the Light it’s painful. But you are a mystery and Force knows, we all love — and hate — mysteries."

"I’m sorry." Obi-Wan hates being a mystery, too. But the Force has set the rules and he has promised to play by them.

"Nothing to apologize about. Just tell me how you settled on this subject, give me a little substance to cling to."

Easy enough…

"After I met Master Qui-Gon the first time, in Watto’s junk shop, when he needed the hyperdrive for Queen Amidala’s ship, and I had that vision of the darksider attacking the Naboo and Knight Skywalker, I wanted to know what happened to them. So I built a holonet transponder out of spare parts and started listening to news coming out of the Republic. I actually found the signal frequency for the Senate that broadcast all of the speeches and proceedings. I learned a lot."

Mace looks at him like he’s grown a second head.

Obi-Wan continues, telling Mace what he’d told Master Nu. "There was a speech — I think Senator Bonteri had given it. About the trafficking of sentient citizens of the Republic outside on non-Republic worlds, how the corporate "bodies" were profiting from the trade in Twi’leks, Ithorians, Pantorans, Humans stolen off their home worlds, or stolen in transit in Republic space, in the hyperlanes. The senator had proposed a bill that would hold the corporations liable for profits made from illegal trade involving crimes against Republic citizens. She invoked anti-war profiteering legislation from the founding of the Republic. But she was shouted down, and the broadcast was cut off."

"Senator Mina Bonteri, from Onderon." Mace sighs and shakes his head. "She had been killed in a speeder accident. Her son thinks it was no accident but a well-staged murder."

Obi-Wan feels a warning from the Force. He doesn’t ignore it. "I’ll be very careful."

Mace’s eyes are dark and hard to read as they bore into Obi-Wan. Finally, he holds out a hand to Jocasta. "Give me the authorization, but I have conditions."

"Sir?"

"Jocasta called me in because she wants you to have full access to all the data you’ll need. That requires Council-level approval. As Master of the Order, I can give you full and open access to everything in the Archives except what is restricted by the Council of First Knowledge. If you need that, we’ll talk. But I’m pulling conditions on this. You can’t talk about this project or share your findings with anyone but me, and I see your progress once a month."

"What about my master?"

"Hmm. I’ll talk to Qui-Gon. I may read him in, I may not."

"I don’t like keeping secrets from my master, sir."

"That is a good mindset, padawan. But you are embarking on a dangerous project and I don’t want anyone else caught in the blowback. If it becomes a problem, you talk with me first. I want your word on that."

Obi-Wan stares at Mace, who is pulling his Master of the Order shit on him and Obi-Wan is not falling for it. He thinks of all the times and ways he and Anakin could have stayed true to each other, how he could have kept Anakin in the Light if they’d just communicated. And the pain he and Qui-Gon had inflicted on each other in his final years as a padawan. "No."

"Padawan?" Mace’s stare would be intimidating to just about anyone else.

"I’m not lying to my master. Not even by omission. Please comm him and explain what’s going on, and then I’ll agree to your conditions."

Mace rolls his eyes, winces a bit, and pulls out his comlink. "Jinn, got a second?"

"What’s up?"

"Your padawan has an interesting — if somewhat politically incendiary — idea for a research project. I’m giving him the run of the Archives and I’d prefer that it’s my eyes only on his results, for now. Got an issue on that? Your padawan insisted that I tell you instead of keeping the whole thing a secret from you."

Qui-Gon’s chuckle is audible over the comlink. "Obi-Wan is a wise young man. There should be no secrets between master and padawan — at least of this nature. While I’m curious, I won’t ask him about it."

"Thanks, Windu out." He then gives Obi-Wan another ferocious stare. "When you’re finished with this and I’m satisfied that it’s not banthashit — and I’m pretty confident that nothing you write is banthashit — I’ll present it to the Senate. But your name will never appear anywhere on it. Can you live with that?"

"If it means something good comes out of this, of course."

Mace enters his code on the authorization and hands the datapad back to Jocasta. "Well, Padawan Kenobi, you have yourself a research project that you just might finish in time for your Knighting. Good luck with it." Mace gets to his feet.

Obi-Wan stands as well, and bows again. "Thank you, sir. I hope I will prove myself worthy of your trust and expectations."

"Kenobi, you are going to be a huge pain in my ass, aren’t you?"

"I — " Obi-Wan doesn’t want to answer that.

Mace cups his head, a deeply pained expression on his face. "Never mind. Jocasta, he’s your problem for now."

Meditation brings answers.

A year it has been since Obi-Wan has become a padawan. A year, and a bit, since Yoda had gone to see Master Che with that infernal m-count tester.

A year and a bit Yoda has been keeping a secret. When living a life that spans almost nine hundred years, not very long is a year and a bit.

But sour tasting is this secret. At least keeping it from someone who should know. So much easier this would be if Obi-Wan was his padawan. But stubborn Obi-Wan is, so is Qui-Gon, and accept that pairing Yoda must. So other routes he must take.

Knows this secret one other being does, and talk with her first he must. But reminded he is about the old saying, a secret is not a secret when three beings know, unless two of those beings are dead. Yoda makes a rude noise. Whoever first said that, a Jedi they were not.

Yoda finds Vokara Che just where she’s supposed to be, in the Life Sciences labs, supervising a few Jedi scientists. They all take note of his presence, but none of them even pause in their work to ask him why he’s here.

Of this, Yoda approves.

Patiently he waits until Master Che can attend to him. He wonders about the experiments they are running, at least until he sees Lughashe, with dozens of her babies perched on her back. Walking around the laboratory she is, and very slowly approach she does one of the Jedi, who reaches down and scratches under her chin. A wave of happy-content-blessings to you all spreads through the laboratory.

Smile and sigh, Yoda does. Lughashe turns her head in his direction and walks towards him, her gait slow and dignified, careful of her precious cargo.

Makes its way from her back down her head, one of the babies does, and Lughashe bows her head down so he, Yoda, can greet it.

Reaches out he does, with the Force and with one clawed finger, to touch carefully, and almost knocked off his feet he is by the brightness and joy of a life just beginning. Under that joy is a swell of gratitude and puzzled by this, Yoda is.

Lughashe does not often trouble with mind-speech, but when she does, slow and deliberate it is. "Blessings on the Force’s Champion please give, we thank you for bringing their gift to us. No longer lonesome we are."

With that, away Lughashe, with her babies, lumbers off, leaving Yoda in contentment washed.

Stands there he does, considering the great beast’s words — "the Force’s Champion" — and wonders, just how she knows this about Obi-Wan.

"Grand Master, thank you for your patience." Sneaked up on him, Vokara Che has. "Do we need to speak in private?"

Nods, Yoda does and follows her into the familiar confines of her office. She pulls out the small stool for him to rest his ancient hips on, then she sets a pot of tea to brew.

"It’s been a while since we’ve spoken, are there problems?"

"Hmm, perhaps."

"With Padawan Kenobi? I haven’t been called down to the Halls, and I haven’t talked to Obi-Wan since I had to attend on him after Qui-Gon had gotten himself into trouble on his trip to Felucia all those months ago. Poor Obi-Wan had wore himself to the bone tending to him. And you should know, I’m still butting heads with Master Healer du Crion. He is still, how shall I put it — agitated — that Obi-Wan’s care is managed by Life Sciences, not Healers."

"Go spit, tell him you did?"

Burst out laughing, Vokara does. "Not quite. Told him, again, to talk to you or to the High Council. This is not my decision. One day, Xan will grow a pair and formally challenge this, but until he does, nothing will happen and the information you have put under seal will remain that way."

"Good."

"So, Grand Master, what brings you here?"

"For nearly nine centuries of life, many secrets I have kept, and this one might be the most dangerous one of all. But we are keeping this secret from someone who should know the truth. Dangerous secret this is, even more dangerous ignorance is."

Sighs, Vokara does. "Thank you, Master Yoda, for recognizing this. I have always been concerned about keeping the truth from Obi-Wan."

"Tell him we should. But how?"

"Don’t worry, Grand Master, I know just how to do this."

Early the next morning, during their usual sparring session, Obi-Wan is battling Master Drallig and a dozen remotes on their highest settings. For the occasion, the Battlemaster has set the salle’s environmental controls to maximum distraction, the cacophony is just short of deafening and he’s sweating through his tunics. Obi-Wan has no idea how long they’ve been sparring, though. He simple doesn’t hear the noise or feel the heat.

Obi-Wan just sees the pattern of the 'sabers as they move and the spaces between them, the shots from the remotes are mere nuisances, distractions that he wants to deflect with the Force and his mind, but he condescends to use a 'saber instead. Finally, his opponent gives him an opening and Obi-Wan takes it, touching Master Drallig under his chin.

"Solah."

Obi-Wan steps back and powers down his 'sabers, and Master Drallig gives the command to end the battle simulation.

The remotes stop, the noise stops, and the fans begin to circulate cool air.

"Excellent work, Padawan."

Obi-Wan bows, idly noting the sweat pouring off of him. "Thank you, Battlemaster."

"Go get yourself cleaned up."

Gratefully, Obi-Wan exits and heads right to the showers.

Under the pouring water, Obi-Wan mentally goes through on the rest of the day’s schedule. Astrometrics class first, ugh. A code-slicing elective that is proving to be a bit more challenging than he’d expected. Mid-meal with Master Gallia, which is a very pleasurable challenge. They spend a lot of time talking about Outer Rim politics, particularly the Hutt sphere of influence and the spice trade, and what the Jedi can and can’t do about it. At least today is today is Benduday, so he doesn’t have Master Qui-Gon’s epic poetry class, which is packed to the rim this semester. He’s not a student — he’s the resident drummer.

Instead, it’s an hour with his mind-healer, Themoren.

After that, he’ll then wrap up his day with two hours as Council Padawan.

Temple-bound life isn’t bad at all. It’s just as busy, just as challenging as his padawan life the first time around, just with less chance of death or maiming.

He’s always keeping an eye on Palpatine. The senator for the Chommell Sector is very low key these days, making no more grand speeches, initiating no power moves after that single speech in the wake of the failed invasion of Naboo by the Trade Federation. He’s made plenty of financial investments, though, and become massively wealthy. Palpatine might just be the richest individual in the entire Senate. Is it possible that this is his play in this timeline? Money, not power?

Obi-Wan doesn’t think so. But he’s watching, always. He knows he can’t make a move against the senator without knowing who Palpatine’s own master is, and whether there are any other Sith waiting in the wings.

He turns the shower off and wrings out his braid. It’s long — almost too long. Even Master Drallig has pointed out that it’s becoming a liability. Maybe it’s time for a trim — a few centimeters, or figure out how to braid it so that it’s not so long. Something to think about.

Obi-Wan moves through a drying tube and then dresses. He checks his chrono and he’s timed things perfectly. He’d got an hour before the astrometrics class — time enough to get a quick first-meal at the commissary.

Except Vokara Che is waiting outside the locker room and he doesn’t think she’s hanging around just for the hell of it. It’s still hard to remember that she’s not a healer, but a scientist.

When she smiles at him, he knows just who she’s looking for.

"Ah, Obi-Wan. There you are."

"Master Che?"

"Do you know what today is?"

Bemused, he says, "Benduday?"

"It is, but what else?"

Obi-Wan shakes his head. "Not sure."

"It’s the first anniversary of the day you came to the Temple."

He steps back and bumps into the wall, a little stunned. "Really?"

She nods. "Yup."

"And you came looking just to tell me that?"

"Actually, I came looking to drag you up to my lab and give you a bit of a physical."

"Ah.  All right."  Obi-Wan hefts his bag, mentally kisses first-meal goodbye, and follows Healer — no, Master — Che through the Temple, nodding at fellow padawans as he passes them.

The Life Sciences Department is someplace new to him.  He’s not had any reason to visit in this timeline, and in his past life, it had been a small unit attached to the Halls of Healing.  This place is as least as big as the Halls, and looks to be as well funded.

He has to ask, "What do you do here?"

Master Che leads him into her private office. "Among other things, we study the Force itself and how it exists within all living matter."

Her words send a bit of a shiver down his spine.  "So I guess I’m a very interesting subject for you."

She smiles gently.  "You are a padawan of the Jedi Order, first and foremost."

Obi-Wan lets out the breath he didn’t know he was holding.  "Good to know."

She sits him down in a comfortable visitor’s chair, and takes the one across from him before starting the interrogation. "So, tell me, how are you feeling?"

"Physically?  Do you get copied on any of the reports from Master Drallig, because it would be redundant to say anything other than 'really very good'."

"I may have seen one or two, and I did take a peek at your sparring session with the Battlemaster until the noise and heat sent me fleeting from the salle.  You do seem to have recovered physically from your time on Tatooine, to put it mildly."

Obi-Wan looks at his feet and says dryly, "The boots have been a big help."

That startles a laugh out of Master Che.  "If you say so.  I would also say good meals, sleep, emotional security, and having close friends might have also contributed to your vastly improved health."

Obi-Wan has to agree, and he privately adds, living in a timeline filled with Light and Jedi and having the blessing of the Force to stop the Darkness have also been the best boost to his physical and well-being.

"How about I get some metrics?  Height, weight?  That sort of stuff."

Obi-Wan sighs, unlaces his boots, and hops onto the scale in the corner of the office.

"Oh, very good, you’ve grown twelve centimeters in a year, which is rather remarkable.  And your weight is now within a healthy range."

Those twelve centimeters brings him to the same height he’d been in the last timeline, which is nice. "I have a close friend, Bruck Chun, who’s apprenticed to Master Healer du Crion, and he’s always on me about proper caloric consumption.  I have a tendency to skip meals."

"Force bless Padawan Chun. And skipping meals is not good, please don’t do that."

"What’s next?"

"Standard blood imaging panels."

Obi-Wan holds out his wrist and Master Che presses the imager against his blood vessels.  "Well?"

"Oh, it’ll take a while for the reports I want to process."

The physical continues, his heart rate measured, parts of his torso poked and prodded.  And all the while, Obi-Wan has the feeling that Master Che is waiting for something.  Maybe for Obi-Wan to ask a question? Perhaps he should ask why he’s under the purview of Life Sciences and not the Halls of Healing. Or perhaps not — that seems like the wrong gundark’s nest to poke at.

He’s tucking in his tunic when, of all things, Master Yoda just barges into Vokara’s office, and that weird feeling just gets even worse. The little green troll doesn’t say anything, he just looks at the two of them, and waits for Vokara to pull out a Yoda-sized seat for him.

"Hmm, thank you." And Yoda gets right down to business.  "Much to discuss we have."

"We do?"  Obi-Wan wonders just what Yoda knows about him.  Maybe, by some miracle, everything? After all, Yoda frequently goes to Ilum and experiences visions in the caverns there.  This "Force’s Champion" business would be so much easier if he had Yoda’s help.  But that still doesn’t explain Vokara’s presence and why here and now, and not during their twice-weekly afternoon teas?

"Yes, yes.  Much business.  About your midi-chlorians, foolish things they are."

His heart sinks.  Oh well, so much for hope. "What about them?"

"About the discovery of the midi-chlorians, what know you?"

"Not much, Master Yoda."  That’s the absolute truth, in the timeline and his original life.  Midi-chlorians were simply a fact of life, of being a Jedi, and they were mostly shrouded in mystery.

"Youngling I was, barely able to speak, when Jedi scientists isolated midi-chlorians in living matter.  Destroyed the mystery and the beauty of our connection to the Force.  Quantified everything.  To a number, reduced it all.  A percentage."  Master Yoda thumps his stick on the floor, clearly annoyed.  "No good comes of this knowledge."

Obi-Wan sneaks a glance at Master Che, and she’s grimacing at the denigration of her work.

"But, useful it is.  And as it may be, progress we must.  Visions I had of you, before we met on Tatooine.  Of Light, and of Darkness too.  Of the great battle between.  Pivot point you may be, young Obi-Wan."

Obi-Wan nods.  This is good.  Yoda sees part of the picture.  Not everything, but a part of it.  Except that he’s seeing the wrong part, apparently.  A part that Obi-Wan isn’t the least bit prepared for.

"Your midi-chlorians.  Unique they are."

"Well, I do have an awful lot of them."

The little green troll chuckles.  "Brilliant understatement that is.  Would knight you for that, if I could."

"Well, I’m glad you can’t, because I’m not the least bit ready."

Yoda hops off his seat and toddles over to Obi-Wan, staring up at him, his dark eyes as fathomless as space.  "To me, you must listen.  Important what I have to tell you."

"I always listen to you, Grand Master."

"Yes, yes.  You do. Good padawan you are. Proud of you I am."  Yoda sighs, his ears drooping just a bit.  "The Force, a great gift it has given you.  Your midi-chlorians, immortal they are."

Obi-Wan stares at the little green troll, waiting for him to start chuckling. He looks at Master Che, and she isn’t smiling at all.

"I guess this isn’t a joke."

"No joke this is."

"I don’t understand." He appeals to Master Che — he needs her to explain, in plain, direct Basic. He doesn’t think he can deal with Master Yoda’s twisted syntax right now.

"About two years after Master Jinn had tested your blood on Tatooine, Master Yoda gave me the testing unit and asked me to run some checks on the stored sample."

Obi-Wan is confused. "How did you get the tester from my master?"

"Gave it to me he did, to read the results to the High Council. So phenomenal they were, afraid he wouldn’t be believed. Kept it I did."

"Ah." Obi-Wan can see that happening.

Master Che continues. "When I tried to run a standard DNA test on the stored sample, I discovered that the midi-chlorians in the samples were still active and alive. Which should not be possible."

"No?" Obi-Wan doesn’t know why this is a big deal.

Vokara, thankfully, explains. "Midi-chlorians pass into the Force within an hour, at most two hours, after they leave the host. Your midi-chlorians from the tests done on Tatooine three years ago, and from the test done when you arrived here are still alive and active. Would you like to see?"

Obi-Wan just nods.

Master Che unlocks a cabinet and pulls out a locked box. She offers it first to Master Yoda, who leans forward and looks into an optical scanner, then she does the same. She takes out a slide and puts it into a scope, and turns on a wall-mounted display. There’s a bit of fiddling and then Obi-Wan sees life, wriggling, teeming life. It reminds him of a stellar incubator at the heart of the Galaxy.

"Whoa. That’s one of my cells?"

"That’s inside one of your DNA strands. Those are your midi-chlorians that Master Jinn took from you three years ago. They should not be alive here and now."

Then Master Che removes the slide, puts it back in the box and takes a sample of her own blood, depositing it on a slide. She fiddles with the focus and while there are many similarities between what he’d seen before, there are a lot of differences, too. Her blood isn’t as densely populated with that star-like matter. "Watch, Obi-Wan. It will take a few minute before you see the changes."

He does and the three of them sit in silence as the minutes pass.

Then Obi-Wan exclaims, "I see it - things are disappearing."

"My midi-chlorians are returning to the Force. Within an hour, two at the most, all of them will be gone from the blood sample. But in your blood, they are all still alive in the here and now."

Shocked, Obi-Wan asks, "What does this mean?"

"We don’t know."

"You haven’t experimented on them?"

"No — it would be unethical, without your permission." Master Che sounds adamant on that.

Something clicks with Obi-Wan — all the puzzle pieces fall into place. "This is why you removed my collar, why I’m not under the care of the Halls of Healing, isn’t it? And it’s why you’ve been trying to steal me from Master Qui-Gon."

Yoda nods. "Too much chance for misuse, this is. When Master Gallia and I removed the bomb from your spine, touched your blood I did. Great renewal I felt, centuries younger — afraid I was that the ability to speak I lost. Eternal life the key is in your blood — your midi-chlorians may hold. Heal the most grievous of wounds, bring immortality, not our choice, to use what is yours and yours alone."

"Why tell me now?"

"Proven yourself you have. Trustworthy, discreet you are, have carried the burden of many secrets we’ve entrusted to you, mature you are, beyond your years."

At that bit, Obi-Wan almost bursts out laughing. He scrubs his face to hide his emotions. He’d like to remain hidden, truthfully.

"Tell no one you will, not even your master. Secret this must remain, from everyone but us."

"Does Master Windu know?"

Yoda shakes his head. "Master Che knows, I know, and now you know. No one else this knowledge have. Important to remain this way. Darkness listens, always."

Obi-Wan knows that, all too well. But he still has reservations. "I don’t like keeping secrets from my master. This is too big." Almost as big as the one he’s keeping from everyone.

"Important that not even your master know about this."

"Please, Master Yoda. I can’t keep a secret like this from him."

"But keep it you must. Already it is too dangerous that so many know. Would wipe this knowledge from our minds if I could."

"Master Yoda!" Vokara’s outrage rings in the Force.

Yoda pats Obi-Wan on his knee, ignoring Master Che. "But changes nothing, this information does. Padawan you still are. Much more you have yet to learn. About your day, about your life, go on you must. Changed, nothing has."

Obi-Wan deeply disagrees. Everything has changed.

And with that Yoda walks out, much as he’d entered, leaving Obi-Wan feeling like he’s been hit with an entire battalion’s worth of blaster fire. Like he’s fallen off a cliff and he’s drowning.

"Obi-Wan, it’s alright." Master Che squeezes his shoulder.

"Is it? What does this — " He points at the storage box, at the slide with Master Che’s rapidly disappearing midi-chlorians still on display, "actually mean for me as a living being? If my midi-chlorians are immortal, am I immortal, too?"

Master Che sighs. "I don’t know, Obi-Wan. I don’t know what it means. If you give me permission, I could experiment." For a scientist, she sounds reluctant at the prospect.

"You don’t want to, do you?"

"No — this kind of experimentation feels highly unethical. Like I am crossing a line. I’d be implanting your blood cells into short-lived test animals, to see what happens. We haven’t done that kind of testing here in at least five centuries. It’s smacks of eugenics."

"I agree. It’s disgusting."

She closes in the storage box with Obi-Wan’s blood samples. "I’d like to add your retinal print to the lock, so I always need two eyeballs to unlock. Mine and yours, or mine and Master Yoda’s."

"Good." Obi-Wan stares into the scanner when directed, and feels slightly less creeped out when the box goes back into storage. "I guess I’ll need to be really careful about not cutting myself."

"Yes, please. And if you do, if possible please bring your bandages to me — I’ll extract the blood. It would be unethical to just toss them."

"Will do." Then something occurs to him. "What about my hair? I haven’t cut it, ever. But I’ve been thinking about it, it’s getting awfully long. And I shave. I use a power-razor, so no cuts there, but if my hair has midi-chlorians in it?" He shudders at the thought of all the living Force symbiotes he has washed away.

"Relax, Obi-Wan. Hair and outer dermal skin do not contain midi-chlorians."

"Are you sure? I mean I’m so kriffing weird…"

"Do you want me to check?" Master Che asks with resigned patience.

"Please." He carefully breaks off a few strands of hair from the long braid and passes them to Master Che. She swaps out the slide with her blood sample and puts one strand under the lens of the microscope and dials down the focus.

"Human hair shafts contain mitochondrial DNA, which typically do not host midi-chlorians. And you can see, there are no midi-chlorians in your hair. If your hair is pulled out by the roots, the root bulb will have nuclear DNA, which do host midi-chlorians. So please, don’t pluck your beard or eyebrows and don’t get into any hair-pulling fights."

"Understood, Master Che. And thank you for humoring me. I’m just kind of freaked out by this."

"I can understand, Obi-Wan. You’re taking this very well. Just be careful, please."

"I will." Obi-Wan's chrono chimes, reminding him that he has to get to class.

"Would you like me to write you a note excusing you from your classes today? Give you a chance to wrap your head around this?"

"No, it’s all right. I’ve got to live my life like nothing’s changed, just not bleed over anyone." Obi-Wan shoots her a dark look. "Wisdom of Yoda, and all that jizz."

Obi-Wan goes through the day like he’s sleep-walking. He even reschedules his appointment with his mind-healer — everything feels too raw right now and talking with her could be dangerous. So he goes up to the High Council chamber and relieves Reva an hour early and just sits there, his mental shields at maximum.

He’s so deep in thought that he doesn’t notice his master standing in front of him until Qui-Gon clears his throat. Twice.

"Is everything okay, Padawan?"

He smiles up at his master, hiding all of the turmoil this morning’s news has brought him. "Yes, I’m fine. Just pondering a troublesome problem. But what brings you here, Master-mine?" Obi-Wan checks the datapad with the High Council’s schedule for the afternoon and sees there is actually a block of time set for a meeting with his master. "You have a meeting with the Council? This appointment wasn’t here when I took the desk."

"Yes, they asked me to come up about an hour ago. I have no idea why. Maybe they’re rescinding our travel ban?"

It hurts Obi-Wan's heart to hear how hopeful his master is. But given what he’d learned this morning, that seems more unlikely than ever. Master Yoda will certainly veto that emphatically. Obi-Wan figures that the furthest he’ll ever be allowed to travel will be Alderaan or someplace equally civilized.

All he can say is "Perhaps." And he’s saved from further discourse on the matter when Master Windu buzzes through on the desk comlink, asking if Master Jinn has arrived.

"Yes, sir."

"Then will both of you come in."

The hope radiating from his master, is a palpable thing. If they were in their quarters, the Force-sensitive plants would burst into bloom out of sheer delight.

Obi-Wan opens the doors and gestures for his master to precede him, then falls into step behind, as if they are about to give a mission report. He notices Master Windu’s surprise at this unexpected posture, but for the moment, Obi-Wan doesn’t care. He’s got other things on his mind.

Then the Master of the Order addresses them. "I supposed you are curious what we’ve summoned both of you here today."

Obi-Wan looks to his master, who is smiling and clearing anticipating good news. "Yes, and are you going to keep us in suspense much longer?"

"No, not really. Master Poof has tendered his resignation from the High Council and we are in unanimous agreement to offer you, Master Jinn, a seat on this Council."

If Obi-Wan didn’t love his master as much as he did, his disappointment would be rather comical. "What?" Qui-Gon turns around and looks at him, the betrayal evident on his face.

Obi-Wan holds up his hands, "I had no idea about this, Master."

"Why me?" Qui-Gon turns back to the assembled High Council.

"Why not you? You’ve been on the shortlist for a Council seat for almost a decade, Qui-Gon." Master Windu leans forward, an unholy grin on his face.

"Really? What about my padawan?"

"What about him? He’s already a Council Padawan — this just makes it double-official."

His master glares first at Yoda and then at Master Gallia, "Is this some sneaky trick to get your hands on Obi-Wan?"

"Rest assured, Qui-Gon, neither Master Yoda nor I have any designs on your padawan anymore. He wouldn’t stand for it."

Obi-Wan can’t restrain the snort of laughter. "Sorry, Master Gallia, but truer words you’ve never spoken."

Qui-Gon asks, "Master Poof, why are you stepping down?"

"Hmm, it’s time, young one. I’ve grown old and I’ve been on this Council too many centuries — it’s time for a fresh perspective. I plan to return to Quermia to live out my remaining years in contemplation and community with my fellow beings before passing into the Force. You would do my seat great honor."

When Qui-Gon looks at him again, Obi-Wan sees a bit of a different man. Someone who is shocked, but proud. He nods, ever so slightly. This will be a good thing for his master. A very good thing.

"I have a busy teaching schedule that I enjoy."

Master Windu nods. "Your duties here will accommodate your classes, always. We’d rather you teach epic poetry than sit here and listen to mission reports. Sith hells, there are many times I’d rather teach epic poetry than listen to mission reports." That gets a laugh from the entire room.

"Councilors, may I talk with my padawan before giving you an answer?"

Master Windu nods, but Obi-Wan catches a distinct twinkle in his eye.

They exit the Council chamber and Qui-Gon perches on Obi-Wan's desk. "Well, that was unexpected."

"I had no idea — it’s been closed doors all day, even since this morning, according to Reva."

"What say you, Padawan-mine? Do you think this is a good thing?"

"I think it’s a great honor, Master. As long as I’m going to stay as your padawan, I can’t think of any reason why you should turn this down."

"I was going to take you out to Dex’s tonight to celebrate our one-year anniversary as Master and Padawan. Did you know that it’s a year today that you arrived on Coruscant and came to the Temple?"

Obi-Wan smiles, a little sad to spoil the surprise. "Actually, I do."

"Really?" Obi-Wan explains about the annual physical. "Ah — and all is well?"

"I’m very healthy, thanks to you so very much."

Qui-Gon’s smile is a little too sweet for Obi-Wan’s peace of mind. "Alright. Let’s do this."

They go back into the Council chamber and Qui-Gon tells them his decision, and just like that, his master is now a member of the Jedi High Council. Yareal Poof gets up from his seat, intones the ritual blessing and everyone responds, "May the Force be with you, too. Always."

Qui-Gon asks, "Do I need to take an oath, or something?"

And Mace laughs, "Only not to be late to meetings where your presence is required."

His master snarks back, "Good, because I’ve promised to take my padawan out to dinner to celebrate."

Chapter Text

And the current events of body and of hell,
The reeds of the end, their spells of sway and sough.
The wind passed on its way through that locale
And a serious dog saw the humans laugh.

It’s Been a While Since They Asked (fragment)
By Yehuda Amichai
Translated by Chana Bloch and Chana Kronfeld

About Thirteen Years Ago

Komari Vosa, the permanent Jedi Liaison to the Galactic Senate, is permanently bored with her assignment. Most of her days are filled with running errands, filing reports, playing lapdog to the High Council’s demands. She pretends to be a good little Jedi, following orders on the pretense that one day the Council will see fit to repeal her sentence and let her back into the fold.

But in the Darkness of her heart, she knows that’s never going to happen, and truthfully she doesn’t want to return to the life of a Jedi.  She’s been slicing into the mind-healer’s reports, week after week for years now.  They think she’s healed of her deviance, but they don’t trust her.

And yet, Komari is fairly certain that the Council doesn’t know she’s playing them, that they believe her sick little recitations about all the things she lusts after are simply made-up fantasies that satisfy the needs of her poor damaged psyche.  But they are never going to let her back in.

After all, she’d spent six months locked up in a secure facility in the sub-levels of the Temple, bombarded with drugs and Force-assisted therapy to cure her of her deviance.  When they finally let her out of the cage, she smiled and promised never to do the bad things again, no matter how much she wanted to — she had control of herself now.  She had thanked the healers, the ones who pumped her full of drugs and the ones who ransacked her mind, and told them that she was now stronger for what she’d been through. Even if her victim hadn’t wanted to hear her apology, she is certainly sorry for what she had done and she would spend her life atoning for her crime against him.

He’d been a very young man. A boy, really, and she had been a grown woman who should have controlled her hungers, not indulged in them.

The boy’s master had called it rape, but the boy had gotten an erection, so how unwilling could he have been? So he said no, he didn’t want her touching him, but he’d been hard as a lightsaber when she mounted him. And he had been so close to spurting, she’d been seconds from her own orgasm. Then her kriffing padawan-brother had to interrupt them and rip her away from all that delicious pleasure, beating her with his great paws like some insane gundark.

The memory — her seduction of the boy and what happened after — still has the power to make her wet.

Once she had her freedom from the Jedi and their attempt to heal her, it hadn’t take her long to discover Truth.  Real truth — the pure perfection that is found only in the Dark side of the Force, and the shackles that the Jedi put on her fell off of her, as if they never were.  True freedom, the passion to take what she wanted, when she wanted, from whoever she wanted.  No one says no to Komari Vosa anymore, and the day will come, soon enough, when the whole Jedi Order will bow down to her and her Master.

And then they will all die.

Her master — her true master, not that decrepit old fool, Dooku — has taught her how to hide her real nature, how to fool the pathetic Jedi, how to cloak the Darkness that thrives within her. He counsels — and requires — patience, and so Komari still does the bidding of the Order.

She lets them believe she is still bound to the Light. After each therapy session, Komari and the assigned mind-healer (she can’t be bothered to remember their names, there have been so many of them) will recite the Jedi Code, enter into a joint meditation, and Komari lets the therapist poke around her psyche in a Sharing to make sure she hasn’t transgressed and done any bad things with other beings.

She has, many times. But she cloaks it well. And the mind-healers are weak fools, disgusted by her admitted desires, and fooled by her impenetrable shields.

Her master has given her so much, and she wants to show her loyalty and deliver to him the perfect gift. And maybe he will finally acknowledge her value to him and make her his apprentice, fully teach her the ways of the Sith.

Today might be that day.

The sound of excited little voices ring out through the marble clad halls of the Senate building. Twenty little Jedi Younglings are roaming around, gaping at the polished splendor and displays of power and prestige, so unlike the fusty decrepitude of the Temple.

The Crechemaster claps her hands and calls out, "All right, Cloud-Hawk Clan, count off for me."

The good little Jedi babies do as instructed and they chime out in order, one through twenty, voices cheeping like tiny, fragile birds.

"Very good, and now we are going to see a session of the Galactic Senate in progress, so everyone must be very, very quiet. Best behavior, Cloud-Hawk Clan. Please take your mission partner’s hand and follow me."

The little Jedi babies nod and they are paired up, the Crechemaster leading them, a Temple Guard in mask and armor at the mid-point, and one more Guard at the end.

The two Younglings who are bringing up the rear, a boy and a girl, don’t seem to like each other. The girl, a Sullustan, doesn’t want to hold hands with the boy she’s been paired with, and keeps pushing him away. Komari focuses on the girl, pushing past her weak shields, stirring the momentary dislike into hatred and anger. The Sullustan shoves the Human boy hard enough that he lands on his ass. His face turns as red as his hair. The little boy struggles not to burst into tears.

Komari bites her lip to stifle a giggle.

Another bit of Force manipulation and the girl forgets everything and skips away to catch up with the rest of her clan. The boy is too shocked to cry out, but he finally starts crying. It’s interesting that the Guard doesn’t seem to care that the little boy just sits there with tears streaming down his chubby cheeks. The Guard just keeps walking.

Soon enough, the entire class of Younglings and their adults disappear down the corridor, leaving the little boy alone in his misery.

How delicious.

She glides down from her perch, her Force-presence schooled into Jedi compassion and solicitude, and she crouches down, eye-level before this delicious morsel of innocence. "Hello there, little one. Are you lost?"

The boy sniffs and wipes his eyes before nodding. "Borie dinna’ wan ta hold my han’. She got mean to me. Don’ know why. We were best friends."

"Would you like to come with me? My name is Komari."

The boy bites his lip, clearly wary of her. She stands up and pulls back her over-tunic. The child’s eyes go wide as he focuses on her lightsaber. "You a Jedi, too?"

"Yes I am. What is your name, little one?"

"Oban."

Komari holds out her hand. "You were with your clan on your Senate visit?"

The boy nods, "They left me behind. Don’ know where they went."

"I bet they went to see the Senate floor. We can’t go in now, but I have a friend, a Senator, who has a very nice office. And we can wait there until the session ends. Then we can rejoin your clan. How does that sound?"

Oban smiles, so sweet. "Than’ you, Knight K’mari." He gives her a little bow.

Hunger roils through her and it would be so easy to take Oban for herself, but while the Sith way teaches the benefits of greed and indulgence, Komari knows that the rewards of delayed gratification will be vast.

She wiggles her fingers and the little boy takes her hand.

Together they walk down the hallway towards Senator Palpatine’s office.

Sidious admires his master. On rare days, he might even admit to liking him, but admiration and affection won’t keep him from assassinating Darth Plagueis eventually. The time has to be right, though, when Plagueis has taught him everything he knows about immortality, when he’s given Sidious the keys to control the Intergalactic Banking Clan, when he’s named Sheev Palpatine the heir to his personal fortune and the head of Damask Holdings.

But none of those things have happened yet.  Sidious might have gleefully murdered his own family at Plagueis’ instructions, but Plagueis hasn’t lifted a finger to restore the Palpatine family fortune. The last — no, the only time — he’d asked about that — Plagueis had punished him with Force lightning for a week.

Sidious’ extremities still go numb at the most inconvenient times.

He’s learned to hold his tongue and to plan his moves much better. Plagueis might be wise, but he isn’t all-knowing. After all, if he was, he’d know that his own apprentice has started training an apprentice of his own — a Darthomiri Nightbrother, in addition to the bitch he’s subverted right under the noses of the sanctimonious Jedi High Council itself.

Plagueis knows and approves of Komari, not as an apprentice but as an acolyte, and has given him free rein on training her. And speaking of his acolyte, he can feel her approaching and she’s really rather satisfied with herself.  He’s curious and quite eager to hear about her latest perversion, but it will have to wait.  Plagueis doesn’t care much for the pleasures of the flesh, unfortunately — his greed is for money and knowledge and eternal life.  He lives a rather ascetic existence, for all his wealth and power.

But once Plagueis leaves, Sidious will let Komari entertain him with her tales of debauchery and destruction.

But Plagueis is not going anywhere. And he too has picked up on Komari’s approach. "Hmm, I think your new associate is about to pay a visit. The Jedi you’ve turned to the Dark side. I would be most interested observing your interactions."

Sidious nods. "Of course, my master. It would be an honor to bring Komari to your attention."

"No, I will just watch. She will not know I am here. The time is not ready for introductions."

Sidious nods, accepting the correction.

A few moments later, his secretary announces Komari’s arrival and when the young man lets her in, Sidious dismisses him. "You can go now, have a good rest of the day, Ethan."

"Thank you, Senator." Ethan closes the door behind him.

Of course, his secretary will remember nothing about Komari’s visit, or about her most intriguing companion.

As for Komari, as strong as the Dark pulses within her, it is not strong enough to penetrate the cloak that surrounds his master. Plagueis relaxes in his seat, wrapped in his shields, observing and weighing the value of Sidious’ acolyte. If she doesn’t measure up, she will die.

Sidious gets up and greets Komari with avuncular fondness. "How are you today, my dear?"

"I am well, my Master."

The little one gasps at the title at Sidious turns his full attention on the boy.

"What have we here."

"I’ve brought you a gift, my lord. A Jedi youngling. His name is Oban."

Sidious smiles. "And a most splendid offering this is, servant of mine."

Komari frowns, clearly unhappy with that lowly title, but then the child tries to run and Komari turns her attention to him. Her grip is relentless and the boy squirms against her hold. "Be still, brat."

"You are no Jedi! You — you — Sith!"

Sidious laughs and claps his hands. "Oh, how wise and observant you are, sweet little Oban. Have you heard tales of the Sith in the Creche? Do the masters tell you pathetic stories to keep you scared so you will stay in the Light? How foolish they are."

It is strange, but the boy’s eyes widen and his head tilts, like he’s listening to someone. He stills and stands straight, and his hands tucked into his sleeves, as if he’s a High Councilor and not a baby. He stares at Sidious, eyes calm and filled with dignity.

"You may go, Komari. I thank you for this most precious gift. "

"Master?" Disappointment sours her voice.

"Leave us. But do not worry, you will be rewarded most handsomely for your generosity."

Sidious senses the struggle in the woman, but ultimately, she complies. She lets go of the boy, bows and leaves.

Sidious murmurs to Oban, "You didn’t even try to run."

The boy doesn’t answer, he just stares at Sidious. From the far corner of the room, Plagueis drops his shields and joins him, looming over the child.

"A handsome gift, your servant might someday become a worthy apprentice. In time."

"Thank you. And please accept this gift, my master. Perhaps you might wish to use it to expand your knowledge of eternal life and midi-chlorians. " Sidious lets the idea hang.

"Hmmm, perhaps. There is something I have wondered about. Something that has not been possible to try — until now."

"Master?"

"Whether one can increase one’s m-count by directly consuming another’s midi-chlorians directly from a living host. This one has quite the bounty." Plagueis reaches out to stroke the boy’s head. At least the boy flinches away.

Sidious finds the idea … intriguing. To eat this little Jedi. "Really, what a wondrous idea. Shall we?"

Plagueis smiles. Sidious unlocks a cabinet and takes out a red and black casket. In that casket is an ancient Sith dagger that had once belonged to Darth Bane. His master had given it to him when he had slaughtered his family and sworn allegiance to the Sith Eternal. He offers the dagger back to Plagueis, but his master shakes his head. "No, you shall have the honor, my apprentice. Cut deep and clean."

Little Oban sees the dagger and starts muttering the ridiculous Jedi mantra,

There is no emotion, there is peace.
There is no ignorance, there is knowledge.
There is no passion, there is serenity.
There is no chaos, there is harmony.
There is no death, there is the Force.

When little Oban utters the last, foolish word, Sidious slices the boy’s head off, right into his master’s waiting, eager hands and watches in fascinated disgust as he cracks open the skull and eats the brain.

Chapter Text

Forgetting someone is like
Forgetting to put out the light in the back yard
And leaving it on all day;
But it's the light
That makes you remember.

To Forget Someone
By Yehuda Amichai

Translated by Glenda Abramson and Tudor Parfitt

Three Years After Obi-Wan Arrives At the Temple

Aayla drops her tray on the table, slides into the seat across from Obi-Wan and Siri and asks them, "How do you think you did?"

Siri sighs. "I think I passed, but only because this one here spent every night for the last three weeks tutoring me. How about you?"

"Same. Obi-Wan? What about you? I’m guessing that you aced it — you were the first one out of the classroom."

Obi-Wan shrugs, not wanting to flaunt his prowess. "I think I did all right."

When he’d started attending classes, he’d actually been kind of shocked at how easy he’d found astrometrics, which had been the bane of his existence the first time around.  Whether it’s a gift of the Force, or just memory, he’d sailed through the basic class, and let Qui-Gon convince him to sign up for the advanced course, even though he isn’t on the field knight track. He’d had no problem with the coursework and agreed to help his friends master one of the most difficult classes in the entire padawan curriculum.

"Just all right?" Bruck teases him. "Oh, come on, Obi-Wan. That’s like saying 'Coruscant has some buildings' or 'Mon Cala has a few ponds'. You are the master of understatement, my friend."

"Honestly, I’ll be happier if Siri and Aayla ace the exams." Obi-Wan says quietly.

Siri snorts, "Like Master, like Padawan. You’ve become a little old man, Obi-Wan."

"Hey, no need to insult my height."

"Well, compared to your master, you are little," Aayla teases.

"True enough." Obi-Wan changes the subject and asks his friends if they are entering the Senior Padawan 'saber tournament. Both Aayla and Siri are quick to say that they’ll be competing.

Bruck snorts. "Remember, I don’t know which is the business end of that thing, and please, Obi-Wan, don’t offer to tutor me. I’d need to go back to Initiate classes to even manage the basic Shii-Cho katas."

"I wouldn’t mind doing them with you, if you want. An hour or two during a morning is good moving meditation." Obi-Wan knows that Bruck still has a bit of a crush on him, but he can’t help himself and makes the offer. It’s in his nature — these are his friends and every moment with them is precious.

Bruck snorts out a tiny laugh. "You are dangerous to my sanity, Padawan Precious. But I’ll think on it."

Obi-Wan ignores the nickname and just nods. "Let me know and I’ll make room in my schedule for you."

Siri smirks at them, but before she can tease Bruck, Aayla asks him if he’s signed up for the tournament, too.

Obi-Wan lifts up his braid, which lacks the coveted gold bead. "Not a senior padawan, can’t enter the Senior Padawan tournament."

Aayla snorts. "And that’s a good thing for us, you’d clear the field if you could. If I drew you in a competition, I probably just drop my 'saber and say ‘Solah’."

"Oh, come on, Aayla, that’s not fair." Obi-Wan rolls his eyes. "You’re a fantastic fighter — both of you are."

"Yeah, but we’ve both sparred against you, Obi-Wan, and we know how good you are. You’re better than your master, you’re better than Master Drallig. Sith hells, I’ve heard that you’ve beaten Master Windu."

Obi-Wan glares at Aayla. "Where did you hear that?" .

"I just heard a rumor — so it’s true?"

"I don’t know who is spreading rumors about the Master of the Order, but that needs to stop." Obi-Wan isn’t happy that people know about this.

Siri shakes her head and says to everyone at their table, "Notice how Padawan Clever doesn’t exactly deny that the duel happened."

Bruck laughs, "If I beat Master Windu, I’d be telling everyone."

Obi-Wan just stares at his plate, his appetite gone.

Bruck picks up on Obi-Wan's mood, but doesn’t exactly apologize. "Except the odds of that happening are about the same as me getting it on with any of the cast of 'Krayt Dragons and Kings', so, what do I know?"

Obi-Wan is glad he doesn’t have any tea in his mouth, he might have choked to death. Bruck has been mooning over that particular holovid series for the last few months, and for his upcoming nineteenth birthday, Obi-Wan has splurged and arranged for a set tour and meet-and-greet — the vid does some production here on Coruscant.

Bruck’s comment breaks the tension and the girls spend the rest of their mid-meal break teasing Bruck about his boy-whore ways before parting ways. Siri and Aayla have classes for the rest of the day, Bruck heads back to the Halls of Healing, and Obi-Wan needs to head up to the apartment. He has a few hours before he’s on Council Padawan duty and he wants to spend the time in the salles, so he needs to pick up a change of clothes.

As Obi-Wan approaches the apartment, he picks up excitement and delight from his master, who shouldn’t even be in their suite this time of day. He reaches out, carefully shielded, and senses a surprisingly familiar presence.

Obi-Wan takes a deep breath and keys in his door code. Inside, he finds his master and his padawan-brother sharing a pot of tea.

"Obi-Wan, look who has come to visit!" His master is practically glowing with happiness.

"I can see." Obi-Wan smiles and offers a tiny bow, "Hello, Anakin. This is a wonderful surprise. Did we know you were coming to Coruscant? You didn’t mention when we talked last week." Either he or Qui-Gon talks with the Skywalker-Naberrie family at least twice a month, so much for letting non-Jedi family connections fade…

Qui-Gon just says, "I thought it would be a nice surprise, so I told him to keep it a secret."

And Anakin, his not-once-padawan, laughs delightedly. "Oh, Obi-Wan, you sound like you’ve spent far too much time as a Council Padawan, you poor thing." He unfolds himself from the kitchen chair and strides over to give Obi-Wan a hug. "You look amazing, brother-mine."

Obi-Wan can’t help but hug Anakin back, tightly.

"Ooof." When Anakin lets go, they stare at each other, like old friends reunited, although they’d only met once face-to-face. In this timeline. "And so do you."

There’s a gentle glow about Anakin’s face — not just the warmth of good health and living in a temperate climate, but that of living a peaceful, happy, and fulfilling life that can never be transmitted through a holo-projector. Obi-Wan looks into those bright blue eyes and nearly bursts into tears.

He gathers the threads of his emotional control and asks, "What brings you here?"

"To the Temple?"

"No, idiot, to Coruscant?"

Anakin looks over his shoulder at their Master and asks, "Does he talk to you like this?"

"Oh, certainly not, Obi-Wan is the most earnest and respectful padawan a Jedi master could want." Qui-Gon snickers. "Unlike some others in this room."

"Yourself included?"

"Hmm, I’m not answering that question. But next time you see your Great-grandmaster, you might ask him."

Anakin makes a face.

"Speaking of questions, you haven’t answered mine." Obi-Wan pokes at Anakin, stunning in his sky-blue trousers and over-tunic, such a novel look on him. "Not that it isn’t a delight to see you, but …"

"I’m here with Padmé, or rather, Queen Amidala. She is in her last six months of her term as Queen and she is here to give testimony against the Trade Federation. The trial begins in the Senate. Finally."

Obi-Wan frowns. "It’s only been, what, five years?"

"Four years, ten months, eighteen days on the official Naboo calendar, since the Trade Federation invaded."

"That’s very precise, Anakin," Qui-Gon says approvingly.

"Well, Padmé and I have been married four years, seven months and three days." Anakin looks at his chrono. "And nine hours."

"I guess you’re no longer in love, since you haven’t calculated the hours, minutes and seconds," Obi-Wan teases.

Anakin wads up his napkin and throws it at him.

"Children, please. If you’re going to fight, take it down to the salles." Qui-Gon gets up. "You’ll have to excuse me, I’ve got a Council meeting I can’t get out of."

Anakin shakes his head. "I can’t believe you let them give you a seat on the High Council, Master."

Qui-Gon laughs. "Someone has to keep them on their toes. Obi-Wan, would you rather mind the desk and take notes, or spend time with your brother?"

Obi-Wan’s gaze flicks over to Anakin, who nods eagerly. "Oh, if you think they can do without me for the day?"

"I think we’ll manage." Qui-Gon tugs his braid. "Enjoy yourselves and try not to get into too much trouble." Then his master shakes his head. "Yeah, as if that’s even possible. Obi-Wan, keep an eye on your brother, please. He’s not a knight anymore, who knows what mischief he’ll get up to."

Qui-Gon exits to the sound of ringing laughter.

Anakin leans back in his chair, arms folded across his chest, and Obi-Wan’s heart swells with joy. This is how it should always have been.

"So, I guess I don’t need to ask how you like being at the Temple. You just radiate happiness."

"Yes, well. Master Qui-Gon is — " Obi-Wan smiles, trying to come up with a superlative that doesn’t seem fatuous. But Anakin solves that problem for him.

"The best. Isn’t he?"

"To put it mildly." Obi-Wan gets up and stretches, joints popping. "Sorry — I had the final exam in advanced astrometrics this morning, and I’m still a bit stiff. I was going to go down to the salles and spend a few hours working the kinks out."

"Ugh, advanced astrometrics. I remember those days. My least favorite class. Any chance you’d be interested in a spar?"

Obi-Wan raises an eyebrow. "Against you in those fancy clothes?"

Anakin points to a bag by the door. "Master has been telling me just how good you are for the last year, that you can best him five out of six times, and you regularly beat Master Drallig. And he may have mentioned a spar with Master Windu. You had better believe I came prepared to take you down a notch."

Obi-Wan feels the old excitement rising in him. "No whining that you lost because you’re using a training 'saber, though."

"Oh, they let me keep mine — said it was out of respect for my great sacrifice." Anakin’s grin is pure, well, Anakin.

"Do you want to use Master Qui-Gon’s bedroom to change, or change in the lockers?"

"The lockers — it will be weird walking through the Temple dressed in tunics and leggings, you know?"

"I get that."

The two of them almost manage to make it to the training salles without attracting much attention, at least until they run into Master Drallig himself, who is about to go into a salle filled with senior padawans preparing for the annual tournament.

"Anakin Skywalker, I did not expect to see you at the Temple again — not that your presence is unwelcome."

Obi-Wan watches as Anakin bows and addresses the Battlemaster warmly. "My family has some business on Coruscant, and Master Qui-Gon invited me to spend some time here — to get to know my new lineage brother."

"Who is as much a prodigy with the 'saber as you were — maybe more so."

Obi-Wan winces at the compliment.

"So I’ve heard. My master has been singing his praises for the last year, and Obi-Wan has offered me a spar — a chance to prove himself to this old man."

Master Drallig chuckles and further embarrasses Obi-Wan. "I hope you’ve been keeping your skills sharp, Skywalker, because, young Kenobi here can just about wipe the floor with everyone in the Temple, myself included. The only duelist in the Temple I haven’t seen him go up against is Master Yoda. I expect that challenge will come soon."

Obi-Wan stares at the floor, all too cognizant of Anakin’s eyes on him.

"Well, I’ll let you two get going." Before Master Drallig heads into the big teaching salle, he turns back and asks, "Would either of you mind if I brought my class in to observe after we’re done? They should see what the two best 'sabers in their prime can do. That is, Skywalker, if you’re still standing when Obi-Wan gets done with you."

Obi-Wan is ready to bang his head against the wall, but Anakin is eager to let the senior padawans observe. "We should be just getting warmed up when you’re done with your class. Unless Obi-Wan has any issues, you’re more than welcome to observe. What say you, brother?"

Obi-Wan nods at Master Drallig and heads into the changing room.

Anakin follows him. "Did I make a mistake there?"

"No — no. It’s all right — I just get a little awkward with all the — ah — praise. Those senior padawans aren’t exactly my peers, and none of them are my friends." Other than the Fantastic Four and Reva, Obi-Wan hasn’t really expanded his social circle.

Anakin slaps his forehead. "Oh, Force. Sorry — should I go — " Anakin takes a step towards the door, to tell Master Drallig that it’s not okay for his senior padawan class to observe.

"No, no — it’s fine. And it’s not really a secret that I’m something of a 'saber prodigy. But I don’t like rubbing anyone’s nose in it." Obi-Wan quickly changes out of his daywear and into light tunics and leggings, but he keeps on his beloved boots, which are now perfectly broken in.

Obi-Wan smiles to himself when he sees that Anakin, underneath his fancy civilian clothing, is still wearing his well cared for Jedi-issued boots, polished, resoled and reheeled though.

When they enter the salle, Anakin closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. "Force, I’ve missed this smell. A thousand years of sweat and leather and kyber and competition. If the Jedi could bottle it, they’d never need to go to the Senate for funding. Every man in the Galaxy would want a flask of the stuff."

Obi-Wan blinks — what an odd sentiment. His Anakin had never expressed any interest in attracting masculine attention. Does he actually think women would like this odor? Aroma? Fragrance? Well, what does he know?

"Do you want to run through some open-handed katas first, to warm up?" Anakin asks?

"Of course. What’s your preference?"

Anakin looks startled. "That’s very kind of you, to let me pick."

"Well, you are my guest." And Obi-Wan can’t quite resist. "You’re also older, so I should defer to you and your aching bones."

"You really are quite a brat. And you know what?"

Obi-Wan frowns — he can’t imagine what Anakin can add to that. "No, what?"

"I adore you." Anakin gives him a melancholy smile. "I did what I had to do, and I don’t regret leaving the Order. I love Padmé with my heart and soul, but I will always miss having you as my padawan-brother, Obi-Wan Kenobi. We might have been something extraordinary."

The emotions well up and Obi-Wan just can’t bear it. He throws himself at Anakin. "You are and you will always be my brother, Anakin. No matter what." Getting a chance to say those words, here, in the sanctity and safety of the Temple, in a Galaxy at peace, means everything to Obi-Wan.

Anakin sniffs and rubs his face against Obi-Wan’s shoulder.

"Did you just wipe your snot on me?"

"Maybe?"

Obi-Wan pushes him away. "And you call me a brat? Come on, let’s get warmed up."

This Anakin might be a more centered and settled and sane being, but he is not completely different from Obi-Wan’s Anakin in the other timeline. He still prefers Djem-So, and they spend a good half-hour doing the basic open-handed katas of the form, first side-by-side, then in mirror.

By the time they’re done, Obi-Wan is loose-limbed and has worked up a nice sweat, and it’s clear that although Anakin hasn’t been a Jedi for over five years, he’s certainly not ignored his training. "I can see that you’re definitely going to give me a run for my money."

"Care to make a wager?"

"Hmm, how about dinner at Dex’s? Best of five, loser buys?"

"You’re on."

They go through the ritual of checking 'saber settings, and step back. Anakin asks, needlessly, "Ready?" when Obi-Wan falls into the opening Soresu stance.

He nods, though, and grins when Anakin flies at him with all of the power of a Jedi in his prime. But he isn’t the chaos-machine that his once-padawan had been, flinging himself at Obi-Wan’s defenses, trying to batter his way through them by sheer power and strength. This Anakin is more disciplined in his approach, still high energy and take-no-prisoners but there’s also a touch of Makashi there, too, in how he tries to get under Obi-Wan’s defense.

Anakin asks, about ten minutes in, "You don’t use any of Master’s aerials?"

"Against you?"

"What? Am I too tall? You can’t jump that high?"

Obi-Wan shouldn’t let himself be goaded, but he sees an opening, flings himself up and over Anakin, scores a touch across his back with his off-hand 'saber, landing cleanly on the other side of the salle.

Anakin twists around, patting at the burn on his tunic. "Stars, but that was a good hit."

They reset and go at each other again. Now that Anakin has the measure of him, his attacks are more sustained and unyielding — the playfulness that had characterized the first bout is absent. But Obi-Wan isn’t the master of Soresu for nothing and his defense is impenetrable. He can wait out Anakin until the heat death of the universe, or until Anakin gets frustrated and makes a mistake.

"Damn you, bratling, aren’t you ever going to make a move?"

"Why should I when I can just wear you out with defense?"

This time it’s Anakin who tries to get behind Obi-Wan’s defenses with an aerial maneuver, and it would have worked if Obi-Wan wasn’t wielding two 'sabers. He manages to hold off Anakin’s punishing attack on his off-side, pushing against his height and leverage until he can bring his primary lightsaber under Anakin’s defense and pull back.

The round keeps going, and in the background, Obi-Wan hears a light clatter as the senior padawans from Master Drallig’s class enter the upper gallery to watch.

Obi-Wan is filled with determination not to let Anakin, who might just be the strongest opponent he’s sparred again, get the upper hand. He sees that Anakin is focusing on his primary 'saber, and that’s going to be Anakin’s downfall. Master Drallig has spent a year refining Obi-Wan’s use of Soresu with two 'sabers. Not to treat them as Jar'Kai, one blade supporting the other, but to be able to use both lightsabers as primary weapons.

And he does just that, when Anakin goes to attack on his off-side, Obi-Wan simply shifts his stance, blocks Anakin like a ray-shield and takes the winning Mark of Combat on what is now his new off-side.

Anakin steps back and shakes his head. "Solah, brother."

From the gallery, the padawans cheer, and Master Drallig calls down, "Very well done, my students. I am proud of both of you."

While they’d agreed to the best of five matches, and that means that Obi-Wan still owes Anakin another three chances, the Battlemaster has no shame and asks them to demonstrate many of the more advanced and technical moves they’d used in the bout.

Anakin seems to relish the opportunity — clearly loving the chance to revisit his life as a Jedi without the concomitant responsibilities. And as for Obi-Wan, several of the senior padawans shyly approach him about a chance to work or with him — not to spar, but to run katas. Obi-Wan agrees, and they exchange comlink numbers. He’s fairly certain nothing will come of this — he’s always going to be Master Jinn’s 'oddball padawan' but that’s all right. He has his friends, and he has his master.

More importantly, he has a mission to complete, even if he doesn’t know the timeline.

Anakin insists on taking him to Dex’s for dinner. "Padmé has meetings until late this evening, going over strategy for her Senate speech and the trial. It’s been made clear that my presence won’t be an asset." Anakin grins, and reminds Obi-Wan just a bit of his padawan on the battlefield. "I’m going to show up at the actual trial, of course, but sitting in on the strategy sessions will not be beneficial for her."

Obi-Wan double-checks with Qui-Gon that he’s not needed to sit at the desk in the High Council antechamber, and Qui-Gon tells him to have a good time, and he would be grateful if they could bring him back a Special, extra-spicy of course, with a slab of snow-ball cake,

Anakin shakes his head as he hears Qui-Gon's request. "The old man hasn’t changed one bit, thank the Force. I think I’d expire on the spot if he wanted anything but the Special, extra-spicy."

Obi-Wan grabs a fist full of credits from the jar in the kitchen, but Anakin slaps the back of his hand. "What are you doing?"

"You might be paying for dinner, but I’ll still need to pay for the taxi and Master’s meal."

"I think I can manage to come up with the credits for that, Obi-Wan."

The tenderness in Anakin’s voice, the way he says his name, almost sets Obi-Wan to tears again. It’s really not fair…

But he remembers the Force’s caution, and puts the grief and resentment of the past away, renewing his vow to live in the moment, in this life, and drops the credits back in the jar. "All right, all right. Let’s go."

Unlike the trip down to the training salles, Anakin is stopped a dozen times by old friends and colleagues asking about his return to the Temple. Obi-Wan just stands aside and lets Anakin have his moments. When Master Olin greets this Anakin with a bright smile and a tight handclap, which Anakin converts to a hug, Obi-Wan has to bite his lip to stifle a gasp.

Ferus Olin had been the bane of his padawan’s existence, from the time Anakin had entered the Temple as Obi-Wan’s padawan until the war began. And even afterwards, Generals Olin and Skywalker had some famous clashes over battle strategy, once actually coming to blows. It had taken all of Obi-Wan’s famed skills as The Negotiator to convince the Council not to suspend Anakin, if just because that would mean they would need to suspend Ferus, too, since both Jedi had resorted to violence.

Seeing the two of them as friends — close friends — is incontrovertible proof that this is a different timeline, or perhaps a different universe.

When Ferus finally says "May the Force be with you, dear one," after exchanging comlink numbers, Anakin grabs Obi-Wan and quick-marches them through the Temple and down the Grand Staircase. "Sorry, but if we didn’t make a run for it, we might not have gotten free until dawn."

"No worries — it must be nice to see that you still have so many friends."

Anakin holds out a hand to wave down a taxi-speeder, and one pulls over right away, telling the driver that they want to go to CoCo Town.

Then he answer’s Obi-Wan's comment. "Yeah, it is. I really didn’t expect it. I left so abruptly — I never said goodbye to anyone."

"But aren’t the Jedi your family? They don’t stop being your family just because you found another family. After all, you still keep in close contact with Master Qui-Gon."

"That’s true. I guess I expected that everyone — my age-mates — would have their busy lives and would just forget about me."

"Did you forget about them?"

"No." Anakin shrugs and sighs. "So why should I expect them to forget about me. I’m just an idiot."

"Not an idiot, maybe just a little foolish?" Obi-Wan phrases it as a question so Anakin doesn’t get offended.

The conversation peters out and they sit in companionable silence, watching the Coruscant cityscape change from the grand structures of the Federal district to more industrial facilities that keep the great city-planet functioning.

Finally, Anakin says, "You’re going to make a fine diplomat, brother."

"Perhaps."

"Perhaps? Don’t you want to be a field knight? Helping resolve galactic conflicts?"

"I don’t know."

The taxi pulls up to the edge of CoCo Town and the driver asks if they want to get out here. "You should let me take you to where you’re goin’ — CoCo Town ain’t for the likes of fine fellas like you."

Anakin grins, but checks with Obi-Wan, who nods back. "I think we can manage, but thank you for your concern."

He flips the man a nice tip before they get out, ignoring the driver’s muttered "it’s your funeral".

Even though they both pull up their hoods, and Anakin doesn’t strut, Obi-Wan can feel eyes on them from the dark alleys and empty buildings. The back of his neck itches and it’s difficult not to keep his hand on his 'saber. To his surprise, a sector patrol car pulls up and two Judicial officers get out.

Obi-Wan throws back his hood, making sure that his braid catches the light. "Good evening, good sers, how can we assist?"

The older one, a grizzled Human, gives them a once over. "Assist? Why would we need assistance? And what the stars are baby Jedi doing in CoCo Town?"

Anakin, who has pushed back his own hood, asks, "Why is it Judicial’s business? And although my companion is still a padawan, he is far from a 'baby'."

The other officer, a Twi’lek with a single lekku and yellow eyes, who reminds Obi-Wan too much of Bib Fortuna, sneers, "Everything is Judicial’s business, and we don’t give a monkey-lizard’s ass that you’re Jedi, we can still take you into custody. Who knows, you might get lost in lock-up — we could just lose your booking slips."

Obi-Wan looks at Anakin, who rolls his eyes at the Judicials’ heavy-handed behavior.

Anakin shakes his head and asks them, his tone one of mock outrage, "Really, you escalate to threats at a simple question?"

Both officers reach for the weapons.

Kriff.

But Anakin doesn’t reach for his 'saber. He just waves his hand and murmurs, "You are going to stop being nerf-dicks, get back into your patrol car, and forget you ever saw us."

The older officer nods, and repeats, "We are going to stop being nerf-dicks, get back into our patrol car, and forget we ever saw you."

Unfortunately, the Twi’lek has a bit stronger will and takes a step forward, pulling his blaster out of its holster. Obi-Wan, who knows he probably should never use Suggestion on anyone, doesn’t bother with the hand gesture, and stares into the Twi’lek’s urine-yellow eyes. "You need to rethink your entire life-choice, how you treat civilians and your fellow sentients, and starting now, you will dedicate yourself to helping the un-homed and the indigent, and you will donate half of your disposable salary to the Coruscant Refugee Fund. You will never commit another act of violence against a non-violent civilian again."

The Twi’lek stops, re-holsters his blaster and repeats Obi-Wan's instructions. The pair of Judicials get back into their patrol car and drive off. From the shadows, there’s laughter and clapping — and Obi-Wan takes a bow.

Anakin looks at him like he’s grown a second head. "You’re nuts, you know that?"

"I do. Know that, that is."

They continue their walk towards Dex’s, and Anakin says, "Suggestion only works with simple commands, you know."

"I do, but I’ve had weird luck with some complex directions. I thought I’d give it a try on that bozo."

"Do I want to know how you know that?"

"No. And don’t ask Master Qui-Gon, because then it will mean we’ll have to 'fess up about this run-in with Judicial, and since you’re not a Jedi anymore, you’re not supposed to be using Suggestion."

Anakin barks out a sharp laugh. “True enough."

They turn the corner and the blinking neon sign for Dex’s Diner is ahead.

The Besalisk greets Anakin first, demanding all the good news for the past five years, then gives Obi-Wan an equally effusive greeting.  He tells them that the "special" booth is vacant, and FLO will be out with beverages in just a moment.

Obi-Wan shakes his head at Anakin’s questioning look and leads him all the way to the back of the diner, to a booth with high-backed seats.  They doff their cloaks and slide in, FLO follows with mugs of caff, a pitcher of blue milk, and a box of sweetener, and asks if they want some time to look at the menus.

They both order the Special, extra-spicy, and Obi-Wan remembers Qui-Gon’s request, telling FLO that they’ll pick it up on their way out.

"So, what’s so special about the 'special booth'?"

Obi-Wan taps a piece of the cracked table surface, and it slides away, revealing a control panel.  He presses a button.

"Jammer?"  Anakin asks with a grin.

"Yup.  Dex showed it to me last year.  I’m not sure if Master Qui-Gon knows about it."

"Probably does. Master has been coming here since he was a padawan, although it’s hard to imagine Grandmaster Yan taking him here.  Have you met the old stickler yet?"

"I haven’t had the pleasure."  At least not in this life, and in the last one, it definitely wasn’t a pleasure.

Anakin sighs.  "Master Yan isn’t the easiest person to get along with, he has — how shall I put it — standards.  High standards.  Lineage and reputation mean everything to him."

Something sour and painful darkens Anakin’s Force signature.  "He didn’t like you?  Why ever not?"

"Oh, he liked me just fine."  Anakin fusses with his caff, stirring it hard enough that it’s sloshing out of the cup.  He takes the spoon out and lifts the cup, holding it with both hands to hide the trembling.

"Anakin?"  Obi-Wan holds out his hand, palm upwards.

"I’m all right, I’m okay."  But Anakin puts the mug down with extra care and lays a hand over Obi-Wan’s.  "I’ll be fine.  The past can’t hurt me."

Obi-Wan sends out waves of serenity and comfort, and he feels Anakin relax.

"I don’t know what you just did, brother, but I just might take you back to Naboo with me."

Obi-Wan shrugs.  "I didn’t do anything."

Anakin gives him a skeptical look. "I suppose you have a million questions now about your crazy padawan-brother."

"No, not really.  And I don’t think you’re 'crazy'."

"No?"  Anakin blinks.  "Why not?"

"Anakin, look at who you’re talking to.  I spent four years as a slave, with a bomb in my spine and a Force-inhibitor collar around my neck. I had no memory of my parents or a childhood with them.  I’ve been seeing a mind-healer twice a week for the last twenty-eight months.  I’ll probably keep seeing her until I’m knighted, and that’s a long ways away."  He leans forward and looks into Anakin’s eyes, seeing a history of old pain there, but certainly no madness, no Darkness.  "I know what it is to hurt, to be hurt, and to have everything that was safe and secure ripped away from me.  I don’t need to know what happened to you, but I understand your pain."

Anakin bites his lip and nods, not saying anything.

FLO comes rolling up with their food, and the spicy steam hits their faces.  It makes their noses run and eyes water and does an excellent job of masking any tears that might fall for other reasons.

Eventually Obi-Wan takes a break from eating and wipes his face before turning his attention to the milkshake.  He leans back and watches Anakin, enjoying this moment.  Enjoying the sight of Anakin Skywalker in his late twenties, married to a woman he loves, happy and content, even if life hasn’t left him wholly unscarred.

Anakin stops eating when he notices Obi-Wan’s observation.  "What?"

"Just wondering about something."

"Oh?  Care to share?"

"Just wondering how you are still so good with a 'saber, after five years without a sparring partner."

Anakin has a quick and facile answer. "I train every day, didn’t I mention that?"

"There’s training solo and there’s sparring.  You don’t keep skills like yours without an opponent to fight against."  Obi-Wan picks up his food-sticks and attacks his noodles, keeping one eye on Anakin.

"I’ve programmed some very complex attack patterns into my remotes."

"Hmm."

Anakin tosses down his food-sticks.  "You don’t believe me, brother, do you?" There’s no anger in those words. Just mild humor, to be honest.

"I’m just imagining you’ve got a fleet of remotes coming at you like it’s the Last Battle of Ruusan, but the image isn’t gelling.  You are too damn good."  Obi-Wan slurps up the last noodle.

"What do you think I’ve got, a droid programmed in Djem-So?"

"Is that even possible?"

"No, not really."  Anakin sighs.  "I’ve tried."

"So, who is it?  Which one of Padmé’s handmaidens is Force-sensitive enough to be trained in 'saber work?"

Anakin scrubs his face.  "Not one of her handmaidens."

"Padmé Amidala herself?"

"Oh, no."

"Then who?"

"Who else could possibly be Force-sensitive?"

The answer hits Obi-Wan like a bolt of lightning.  "Shmi?"

Anakin nods and smiles shyly.  "She should have been a Jedi."

Obi-Wan remembers his first impression of Shmi Skywalker, the night that Watto had bought him from the slavers in Mos Espa, that the Force had clung to her like a green veil.  "Yes — I might have had an inhibitor collar on, but I could feel that she was Force-sensitive."

"A few weeks after you called and told her that you had been freed, she came and watched me train with the remotes.  She saw how frustrated I was.  It was the first time we really talked about what it meant to use the Force.  I started teaching her — little things, like push-feather, open handed Shii-Cho katas.  Meditation.   Mom took to it like she’d been raised in the Temple.  She’s rock-steady."

"How did you get her a 'saber?"

"Adegans from Mygeeto — not cheap, but not hard to buy, either.  And I can certainly teach Mom how to build a 'saber.  Nothing illegal about that — Jedi aren’t the only people who carry lightsabers."

"No, of course not, but you’re splitting hairs, brother."

"Maybe. Besides, her 'saber doesn’t have a full-powered crystal.  It is a training tool, only."

"And you don’t think Shmi can’t figure out how to enhance the emitter to give it full power?  Your mother is a Force-sensititve mechanical and engineering genius.  You might want to take a look at her 'saber when you get home."

"She promised me she wouldn’t tinker with it.  I trust her."

Obi-Wan nods. "I trust Shmi too, but I’d still verify that her 'saber isn’t a fully functioning weapon."

FLO comes by to pick up their empty plates and ask if they want dessert. "There’s fresh snowball cake, boys, if that strikes your fancy."

Anakin nods eagerly. "Two slices, please, and fresh cups of caff."

FLO returns quickly with the cake and caff, and reminds Obi-Wan that his take-out order will be waiting for him at the register.

Obi-Wan is struck by a troublesome memory, from Queen Amidala’s last/first trip to Coruscant. "Where are you staying?"

"At the Naboo Embassy."

Obi-Wan lets out a tiny sigh of relief. Last time —

"Old Skeevy Sheev wanted us to stay at his apartment. I put my foot down. No way we were spending any time in that creep’s home."

Obi-Wan spits out his caff, but thankfully, not over Anakin. "Skeevy Sheev?"

"Sorry about that. Sheev Palpatine, the senator for the Chommell Sector. He’s from Naboo, the last of some old Theed family. Gives me the creeps. That’s why I call him that."

Obi-Wan blinks, stunned. Is Palpatine sniffing around Anakin again? "How do you know the senator?

"He keeps coming back to Naboo, about twice a year, to offer his help to Padmé and Sio Bibble with the rebuilding efforts, but honestly, he’s about as useful as tits on a nerf-bull. Keeps asking me why I left the Jedi, did they mistreat me, I must be so angry, blah, blah, blah, blah. Last time we talked, I asked if he was recruiting for the Sith, the way he was going on about anger and death and greed, and how the Jedi make everyone conform to such horribly strict rules. I told him he had no clue what he was talking about and it would be best if he directed his attention to the rebuilding efforts and not bothering a former Jedi who has nothing but love and respect for the Order."

"And what was the Senator’s reaction?"

"He was polite but I could tell he was annoyed at me. Angry, even. He bowed and walked away. Mom had been trailing us, she’s really good at staying unnoticed. She said that he’s a sleemo, worse than a slaver, worse than the Hutts. That there’s something corrupt in him. I told her she’s right, he’s a politician. Mom didn’t laugh."

Obi-Wan files two pieces of information away. Shmi is more than mildly Force-sensitive, and secondly, Palpatine is trying to recruit and he’s not being very subtle. "Shmi is a wise woman. I do miss her."

"Maybe you can make it over to the Embassy one day," Anakin says between bites of cake and slurps of caff.

"Over to the Embassy? Wait — you mean that Shmi is here, on Coruscant?"

"Yeah — she insisted on coming. I told her it wasn’t going to be much fun, but she said she wasn’t going to be left behind."

Obi-Wan scrubs his face, feeling too much like his thirty-something year-old self, dealing with a clueless teenaged padawan. "Anakin, I think, maybe, she wanted to see me."

Anakin stares at him for a moment, then drops his fork. "Oh. Oh. Kriff. Of course she does." He shakes his head. "But why didn’t she just come out and say that?"

"Maybe she was worried that you’d be jealous?" Back on Tatooine, Shmi hadn’t wanted to leave Obi-Wan, it had taken a lot of convincing, a lot of half-truths and outright lies on Obi-Wan's part to get her to go with her son, and he’d always wondered just how well Anakin and Shmi had bonded.

Anakin nods slowly. "Things were a bit difficult in the early days. Mom wasn’t happy about leaving you behind, especially because it had been so hard to keep in contact with you. I’ll admit I was a little resentful at first. I tried hard not to show it, to be patient, but I’m sure she knew. I never looked for a mother, but when I’d freed Shmi, I’d hoped she’d be happy — she’d come to think of me as her family. I could always see that you had a big part of her heart."

"I’m surprised you’ve been so friendly to me."

"Why wouldn’t I be? Silly Jedi, that would be attachment." Anakin reaches out and tugs on Obi-Wan’s braid. "You’ve still got a lot to learn, young one."

Inside, the old Obi-Wan is howling in delighted laughter. But the young Obi-Wan just nods shyly and says, "I guess I do."

Chapter Text

Again and again, you take up your position at the imaginary
Starting line, like chess pieces for a new game,
You’re tired. You give yourself
As a secondhand gift, wrapped in pretty paper,
Accepted with no surprise, no cries of joy.

Akhziv (fragment)
By Yehuda Amichai

Translated by Benjamin and Barbara Harshav 

"Master?" Obi-Wan taps on Qui-Gon bedroom door.

"You can come in, Padawan. In fact, please do. I could use your assistance."

That doesn’t sound good. Obi-Wan opens the door and finds his master half-buried in his closet. "How can I help?"

"I can’t seem to find my good robes. I’m hoping they didn’t get lost."

"When was the last time you wore them?"

"I think for Anakin’s wedding, about five years ago. It was a much more raucous affair than I’d expected. Nabooian high culture tends to be conservative and somewhat staid, but there was a party at the Naberrie family’s lake house a few days after the big public ceremony, and that involved a lot more drinking and games than I expected. If I’d known, I wouldn’t have worn my dress robes."

Obi-Wan pulls Qui-Gon out of the closet and to his feet. "Let me look? You’re a bit too big to be digging through a tiny space."

"Bless you, Padawan."

It doesn’t take long for Obi-Wan to find the missing dress robes — they are wrapped up in brown paper and tied with twine, typical for the Temple cleaning services. "Here, but they’ll need a good shake. Especially if you haven’t worn them in nearly five years."

Qui-Gon unwraps them and does as Obi-Wan suggests, but the robes are almost terminally wrinkled. His master sighs, frowns and looks over at Obi-Wan. "Please don’t say anything to Master Yoda for what I’m about to do."

Obi-Wan bites the inside of his lip in an effort not to grin. "Of course not, my lips are sealed." He watches as his master uses the Force most improperly — to smooth out the wrinkles from the heavy linen-silk blended fabric.

"Now, what is it that you needed from me, Padawan-mine?"

"I was hoping you would redo my braid, it’s a little messy."

His master’s eyes light up. "I’d be happy to. Just let me put these on. " Qui-Gon sighs as he shrugs on the dress robes, which immediately develop a whole civilization of new wrinkles. "I’m useless in these things. My master was ever despairing of me — especially since he was the picture of sartorial elegance, regardless of the situation."

"You look fine. I thought a Jedi isn’t supposed to be concerned about outward appearances? I seem to recall Master Yoda saying something about 'crude matter'." Obi-Wan doesn’t quite smirk.

Qui-Gon raises an eyebrow at that. "You’re right, and perhaps we should go see Queen Amidala in our most well-worn robes and unpolished boots. Pity that the High Council grounded us, otherwise we can dig out mud-caked cloaks and tunics from the laundry. Perhaps I should forego the re-braiding?"

"Master, you wound me!" Obi-Wan presses a palm to his chest. "I am not suggesting anything of the sort, just seeing to soothe your vanity."

"No, you’re being a brat. I have to wonder what happened to the awestruck young man who was worried about me telling a lie to the Quartermaster."

"He’s had the best master in the whole Temple, one who has taught him how good it is to break some rules."

Qui-Gon's smile is broad but his bright blue eyes are just a bit misty. "Ah, Padawan-mine, you know just what to say."

"I know how to tell the truth, my master. Now, my braid please, so we won’t be late."

After Qui-Gon redoes his padawan braid, they check each other over, Obi-Wan smooths out a fold in his master’s over-tunic and Qui-Gon adjusts the placement of Obi-Wan’s second 'saber and it’s finally time to head out.

No public speeder-taxi for them — they are on official Temple business, and can requisition one of the Temple vehicles. Well, actually, Qui-Gon is on official Temple business, Obi-Wan is just along for the ride. Sio Bibble and Queen Amidala think that Qui-Gon will make a persuasive and eloquent witness, describing the invasion by the Trade Federation droid army, the Queen’s escape, and the subsequent attack by the Zabrak assassin.

"Just a bit of caution, it’s in everyone’s best interest that the Zabrak isn’t called a Sith. That is Jedi business," Qui-Gon cautions on the ride over to the Embassy.

"That makes sense, Master. Has any progress been made in tracking down the Sith’s master?" This is the first time Obi-Wan has ever brought up the events on Tatooine in the three years since he came to the Temple.

Qui-Gon gives him a sharp look before turning his attention back to the traffic. "What do you know about the Sith, my padawan?"

"Just what my Vision told me, Master." Obi-Wan realizes that he’s just made a major misstep.

"That the Sith was the apprentice?"

"Yes, of course. Didn’t I say that?" Obi-Wan frowns and looks at his hands. "I was sure I did. I was wearing the collar and it was so hard to get the words out."

"Hmm. We’ll discuss this later, padawan."

"I didn’t mean to withhold information, Master — " Obi-Wan begins to panic. Up to now, his masquerade has been perfect. He’s relaxed too much, gotten sloppy. He needs to be more vigilant.

"It’s fine, Obi-Wan. You haven’t done anything wrong."

Obi-Wan isn’t so sure about that. He is about to start backpedaling, explaining and over-explaining.

But his Master cuts him off. "Don’t worry about it. We’ll talk about it later, okay? We’re almost at the Embassy." In fact, the traffic clears and they are at the Nabooian Embassy.

Obi-Wan nods. "I’m sorry about over-reacting, Master."

His master lets the conversation drop.

An Embassy guard greets them and directs them to a private parking facility a few blocks away. The walk back gives Obi-Wan a chance to clear his thoughts and regain his composure.

Security is naturally tight with the Queen and her retinue in residence, and there is a bit of an issue with their lightsabers. No one is allowed to go into the Queen’s presence armed.

Obi-Wan steps away and comms Anakin, explaining the problem. Anakin comms the guard, who won’t accept the word of the Prince Consort. Five minutes later, an older woman comes down, dressed in close-fitting leathers dyed in the colors of the Royal House of Naboo. Obi-Wan doesn’t recognize her until she’s about a meter away.

Shmi.

The guard snaps to attention so quickly, Obi-Wan thinks his spine might crack. "Madame Skywalker — "

"What is the problem, Jessup?"

"These gentlemen refuse to surrender their weapons."

"They are Jedi, and the older one saved Her Majesty’s life when the invaders came. Didn’t the Prince Consort tell you directly that they are permitted to carry their lightsabers?"

"Yes, but you told me no one was to be admitted into Her Majesty’s presence with weapons."

"And you are doing your job very well. I have come to tell you personally that Jedi Master Jinn and his padawan are trusted allies, and can carry their lightsabers in Her Majesty’s presence. No one else from the outside may do so without my express instructions, is that understood?"

"Yes, Madame Skywalker."

"Very good, Jessup."

Shmi nods sternly at the guard and gestures for them to follow her.

Obi-Wan is a little confused. Anakin had not mentioned anything about Shmi acting at security for the Queen and yet it seems that she is head of security. Something weird is going on.

Wordlessly, they trail Shmi up two flights, past two sets of guards who nod at them, and through a doorway that wouldn’t be out of place in the palace in Theed.

Once the door closes behind them, Shmi turns around and the hard-faced woman disappears.

"Oh, look at you, Obi-Wan. How you’ve grown, how big and strong you are." Her smile subtracts years from her face.

Obi-Wan can’t help himself and he holds out his arms. "I’ve missed you, my friend."

Shmi’s arms are strong as she hugs him, as tightly as Anakin had. No, tighter. And at last Obi-Wan can truly feel the wonder of her Force-presence as it glows with happiness.

"So, you’ve finally forgiven me for getting you off Tatooine?"

"You are still a wretched boy for what you did, but yes, I have." Shmi shakes her finger at him. "I have reconciled myself to a life of freedom, to a son and daughter who love me, to a world filled with green and growing things, and to a certain purpose. So yes, you are forgiven." She leans forward and kisses his forehead.

"A certain purpose — you have become part of the Queen’s security detail?" Obi-Wan holds Shmi at arm’s length, giving her martial attire the once over.

Her giggle, though, is at odds with her dress. "It’s all an act, really. This visit has some difficult political ramifications and when I insisted on coming along, Anakin and Padmé needed to come up with a position for me within their retinue. I’m far too old to be a handmaiden, and Queen Amidala doesn’t have hangers-on. Then Colonel Panaka suggested I act as his aide-de-camp and deputy head of security. I’ve been training with the guards and handmaidens. And I’m the Prince Consort’s scary mother, anyway. All bark, no bite, really."

Qui-Gon murmurs, "Somehow, Lady — excuse me, Madame Skywalker, I doubt that. I have the feeling you can bite deep enough to draw blood."

Shmi’s shoulders go back and her chin lifts. "Thank you, Master Jinn, for your kind words. And it is good to see you face to face again."

"Likewise."

"Mom? Is everything all right?" Anakin comes ambling down the hallway.

"Everything is fine, my dear. Just reacquainting myself with my favorite Jedi."

"And my favorite Jedi too." Anakin greets them with hugs. "Isn’t Mom amazing?"

"Not just amazing, but a little terrifying."

"That’s what I mean."

Shmi elbows her son gently, but there’s still a pleased flush that darkens her cheeks. "Come, let me take you to Her Majesty."

Obi-Wan falls into step behind Qui-Gon, as a padawan should, but not before catching Anakin’s eye. His brother winks at him, clearly remembering his own padawan days.

Queen Amidala is seated and awaiting their arrival. Anakin takes his place behind her to her right, Quarsh Panaka, now a Colonel, is to her left, and Shmi is melting into the background.

Qui-Gon bows and Obi-Wan follows suit, and to Obi-Wan’s surprise, Padmé gets up and greets Qui-Gon with extended hands. "Master Jedi, it is good to see you again."

"Your Majesty, welcome to Coruscant."

The Royal Presence isn’t much how Obi-Wan remembers it from the other timeline. For one thing, Padmé Amidala is not a child queen just coming into adulthood. She’s clearly of an age with Anakin, in her mid-twenties. And she’s foregone the elaborate costumes and makeup of the Queen of Naboo — at least for today. A few of her handmaidens still resemble her to a great extent, but they are all distinguishable from the Queen and each other upon second glance.

"Thank you for attending upon Us, and agreeing to speak on Naboo’s behalf before the Senate."

His master frowns slightly. "Your Majesty, may I offer a slight amendment to that statement?"

"Of course, Master Jedi."

"The Jedi are, in fact, a neutral body, and do not take sides in any conflict between members of the Republic. Our role is to mediate a resolution of that conflict and to prevent a loss of life on both sides, to ensure that the laws of the Republic have been observed, and to protect the innocent. My role in the upcoming trial will be to relay the facts as they occurred, without partisanship. Do you understand this difference?"

The queen nods sharply. "You will relay the events as they occurred."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"Without elaboration or emotion."

"That is correct."

"No wonder the Trade Federation has moved three times to block your testimony." The Queen smiles and the hair on the back of Obi-Wan's neck stands straight up. "Now, please make known to me your padawan. My consort has spoken most highly of him."

This is all pure Royal Theatre. Obi-Wan and Padmé have spoken on holocalls dozens of times, but there is a difference between the delightfully informal conversations with a relative stranger and the formal introduction to a ruling monarch. But Obi-Wan needs to make the right noises in this moment. He bows deeply. "It is an honor to be brought into your presence, Your Majesty, and to work with the Naboo in service of peace and their commitment to the guiding principles of the Republic."

He feels Qui-Gon’s approval through their bond, and it’s hard to miss Anakin’s smile. Queen Amidala nods regally, accepting his words. Then she smiles and the mask drops away. "All right, formalities over. How about lunch?" Her handmaidens scatter and Anakin steps forward and takes her hand, kissing her cheek.

"I am going to be very happy the day you retire, my love."

"The both of us." Padmé eyes shine as she looks at her husband.

In the other timeline, Obi-Wan never had the chance to truly observe Anakin and Padmé together, but he imagines that the emotions that has flowed between them then hadn’t been anywhere as rich or as deep as what he sees now. How could they have been? War and secrecy and lies and the Darkness that Sidious had smeared all over Anakin had to have taken a toll on both of them, even before their terrible ending.

Then Anakin catches his eye and must read something in his face. He doesn’t say anything, just raises an eyebrow.

Obi-Wan ducks his head, slightly embarrassed.

Shmi comes out of the shadows and tucks her arm in his. "Can we talk?"

"Of course." He lets her pull him into another room — it looks like a library.

She cups her hand around his cheeks. "Oh, my dear boy. You really look so wonderful. So happy."

"I am, Shmi. From the moment I walked into the Temple, I knew that it was the place I belonged."

Shmi laughs and shakes her head. "And to think, I had to fight and bargain with you to let Master Jinn test your blood. Actually, you didn’t even want to talk to him in the first place. I had to drag you into the shop so he could look at that awful collar."

"I’d had just had a very bad day, remember? I wanted to hide away and not talk to anyone." He hugs Shmi, kisses her forehead. "But I owe you everything — not just my life now, but everything you did for me from the very beginning. You have the compassion of a Jedi — has Anakin ever told you that?"

Shmi shrugs, clearly embarrassed. "He might have. It’s just as easy to be kind as it is to be cruel. And you were so determined to be strong, always stepping between me and Watto." She rests a hand against Obi-Wan’s cheek. "Kindness repays kindness."

"Especially when one is kind without expectation that such kindness will be returned."

"A truth that the Jedi teach?"

"Yes, very much. Has Anakin told you much about his life growing up as a Jedi?"

"Yes, he has. And it makes my heart happy, to know how he was loved and cared for. I never doubted my decision to give him away, but my mother’s heart would worry sometimes, if he was happy. And he’s told me that he knows the Jedi who found him, the one who I met on Nal Hutta. He says he is a Jedi known for his deep kindness, he’s called Master Koon. Have you met him?"

"Yes, many times. He’s a very wise and compassionate Jedi, he helped me once, when I first came to the Temple and was having a bit of a crisis. Master Jinn had been called away and I was feeling a bit lost. Master Koon helped me understand my feelings and work through my emotions." That late-night conversation with Plo Koon had changed everything, for the better.

Before Shmi could ask him anything else, there’s a knock on the door, and then Colonel Panaka opens it. "My apologies for interrupting, but we have another visitor."

"Oh?"

Panaka makes a face. "It’s the Senator. Neither Her Majesty nor His Grace are happy about the interruption."

"Shall I go down and tell the old creep his presence is unwelcome at this time?"

Obi-Wan's blood turns to ice at the thought of Shmi crossing Palpatine.

"Unfortunately, that would be politically unwise. Her Majesty still needs the old fart’s support on occasion, so would you be icy and polite and keep him waiting for an hour while the family and the Jedi finish lunch. I’m sorry you’ll have to miss it."

Against everything in him, all the years of pain and grief and loss, Obi-Wan offers to join her, "Shall I come down with you and make small talk with Anakin’s nemesis?"

"Oh, no. He’s a sleemo, but I can handle him for a bit. You should enjoy your meal with the family."

"Are you certain, Shmi?"

"I’ve handled worse — remember, I had seventeen years with Watto before you arrived."

Obi-Wan is sick to his stomach. No, my dear friend, you have never experienced anything worse that Darth Sidious.

There are moments that Anakin knows he’ll treasure for the rest of his life, and this is one of them. Getting ready to sit down to a meal with his wife and his master, with his mother and his padawan-brother just a few steps away. All the people in the Galaxy that he loves.

Padmé tucks her hand in his and leans against him. He can feel her happiness in the Force, like the pink clouds that decorate the sunset over the lakes at Varykino.

And Master Qui-Gon, his happiness is deep green, like the dense eternal forests on the forest moon of Endor in the Outer Rim.

He’s always had this weird quirk, assigning colors and places to strong emotions, particularly happiness. When he’d first told Master Qui-Gon about it, as a young Padawan, he’d been a little afraid that his Master would tell him to put that away, to grow up — that a Jedi knight needs to be more mature. But Master had just smiled slowly, and been charmed. Over the years, he’d coached Anakin in ways to hone this kind of perception — to correlate his perception of people and their emotions with colors and places. It had served them well over the course of his training, even in the bad times — after — after — and he blocks those thoughts, redirecting the pain and anger.

"Anakin?" Padmé, even though she is not the least bit Force-sensitive, is highly attuned to his moods. "Is everything all right?"

He brushes his lips against her forehead. "All’s well."

Yané sets out plates of fruit and cheese as an light appetizer and Sabé pours sparkling wine in everyone’s glass before asking, "Should I fetch Madame Skywalker and Padawan Kenobi?"

Before either he or Padmé can answer, Quarsh Panaka interrupts. "My apologies your Majesty, my prince, but it seems we have another visitor. Senator Palpatine has arrived at the Embassy and is requesting an audience."

Anakin rolls his eyes. "Really, now?"

Even Padmé is annoyed. "What does that old fool want?"

"Is there a problem?" Master Qui-Gon is, naturally, curious.

Anakin explains, "The senator for the Chommell sector is from an old Theed family, and he presumes too much."

"He’s trying to be helpful with the case against the Trade Federation," Padmé adds. "But he’s a bit of a bumbler."

"He’s a warty old frog, and that’s insulting frogs. More like an old Kowakian monkey-lizard, but without the charm. He’s a poisoned gray marsh that farts smelly gas and he gives me the icks."

Padmé sighs, echoing his rant, but in more tempered tones. "I know I should be polite and invite him to join us for lunch, but the thought of breaking bread with him makes my stomach heave. There is something so unpleasant about him. Like he’s secretly leering at me. Thinking dirty thoughts."

Anakin freezes. "You never told me that, love."

"It’s nothing to worry about. I’m never alone with him, and if he ever tried anything, I’d kill him, you know that. I’m always armed. And my guards and the Handmaidens would cut his head off."

"Well, I’ll be with you whenever you meet with him from now on. I don’t care how unhelpful I’ll be. I can just sit in the corner and be invisible."

"You can never be invisible, my love. You’ll just insert yourself and your ideas into the conversation. While they are good ideas, you know how the Trade Federation is going to react. You are still too much a take-charge Jedi knight."

Colonel Panaka clears his throat. "Your Majesty, I hate to interrupt, but what am I to do about Senator Palpatine?"

Padmé looks at him. Anakin frowns. He can’t go down, but he can send someone who can give that creep some pause. "Please ask Madame Skywalker if she will attend upon the Senator and tell him that Her Majesty will not be available for another hour, at least. He can choose to wait or call the Embassy and book an appointment in a few days." Anakin sighs. "And please apologize to my mother about this request."

Quarsh bows, "Yes, sir. As you command."

Sheev Palpatine paces around the lobby of the Nabooian Embassy in measured steps. It would not look good to display any irritation, although he’s been kept waiting for quite a while. The guards at the entry have remained at alert and have not said a word to him since he asked to speak with the Royal party.

The little bitch is keeping him waiting out of spite, that’s for sure. Her and her damned Jedi husband. As he circles the lobby, he entertains himself with all the ways he’s going to torture the pair of them. He’ll use Amidala to get that sanctimonious Skywalker to Fall, adding one more member of old Yoda’s lineage to his collection.

He enjoys the fantasy until the clatter of boots coming down the stairs signals that someone has come to fetch him. Sheev puts on his most benign smile, expecting to see one of the Queen’s little handmaidens, so easy to manipulate.

Except she’s sent down the old hag, Skywalker’s mother. And that bitch is as impossible to influence with the Force as Yoda. She’s got durasteel shields and a will of iron, worse than any Jedi. And it’s clear that Madame Skywalker detests him. Oh, she’s polite and she’s doing her job — whatever that might be — but she always looks at him like she’s just smelled something foul.

He needs to find a way to get rid of her.

"Senator Palpatine, what brings you to the Nabooian Embassy today."

Darth Sidious, who only flinches from his master’s disappointed gaze — and his Force lightning — finds himself taking a step back from the intensity of Madame Skywalker’s scrutiny.

"I had hoped to have an audience with her Majesty."

"About what?"

"That would be between myself and Queen Amidala." He attempts to stare down this woman. She doesn’t seem to realize the jeopardy she’s in.

"Are you not aware that it is customary to wait to be summoned into the presence of Royalty, Senator? One does not simply call upon a ruling monarch as if you are a droid salesman peddling upgrades to a household unit."

Sheev feels himself flushing in embarrassment, as a mere functionary has backed him into a corner. "Of course I am. But I am concerned for her Majesty’s comfort and security. The Nabooian Embassy is small, and not accustomed to hosting royalty. I would like to renew the offer of my apartment at 500 Republica as more — ah — salubrious and secure lodging for her Majesty and her entourage."

Madame Skywalker looks at him like he’s an insect to be squashed, steps away and speaks into a comlink, presumably relaying his offer.

Her face, impossibly, is grimmer, when she returns, and Sheev finds that heartening.

"I’ve been told that the Royal party will grant you an audience, however, they are not free at the moment. You will need to wait one hour, at the very least. Or, you can request an audience on another day, if waiting is an inconvenience."

Someday, very soon, all of these people will die very painfully…

"I will wait."

Qui-Gon is enjoying himself almost too much, with Anakin and Obi-Wan at the table.  His two bright stars.

Although, oddly, both of them seem a bit subdued.

Through his bond with his current padawan, he asks what’s wrong.

Just feel bad that Shmi has to babysit Skeevy Sheev.

It takes all of this years as a diplomat to keep from choking, and even still, Anakin notices.

"What’s wrong, Master?"

Obi-Wan, the brat, takes the blame.  "Master was trying to be subtle and asked me what was wrong, I might have used your nickname about the Senator."

Even Padmé snickers.  "Oh yes, Skeevy Sheev, we do call him that — but only in private.  Whatever are we going to do with him when he comes up?"

Qui-Gon understands the Queen’s distaste.  "Be coldly polite.  I guess he is useful?"

"Unfortunately, yes. Just the smallest bit.  I do wish he wasn’t, though.  It would be so much easier to just get rid of him — he’s old and terminally annoying.  He’s done little to help us in the case against the Trade Federation — just enough not to be a complete obstacle, but that’s it."

Obi-Wan has interesting expression on his face, half-frown, half-question.

This time, Qui-Gon doesn’t make the same mistake, and asks out loud, "What’s on your mind, Padawan."

"I seem to remember something about Senator Palpatine.  Your Majesty, may I be so rude and check my datapad at the dining table?"

Padmé nods, and Obi-Wan’s fingers fly over the screen.  "Ah, it’s as I thought.  Right after you and Anakin kicked the Trade Federation back to Cato Neimoidia and the Senate held hearings at the behest of Lott Dod, Sheev Palpatine gave a rather fiery speech urging the Senate to restrict the power of the corporate interests.  It sounded like he was prepared to make a motion revoking the Senate membership of the Trade Federation and their ilk, but then nothing happened.  It was a major power play that fizzled into nothing."

Qui-Gon looks at his padawan with both pride and puzzlement.  "How do you know this?"

"Remember, I used to listen to the Senate rebroadcasts from the Starlight Beacon — that speech might have been one of the very first that I was able to listen to after I got my antenna set up.  And I see here that Skeevy Sheev’s speech — say that ten time fast — made the Senate’s Notable Speeches of the Month.  Hmmm."

"What are you thinking, Padawan-Mine?"

"I’m not sure, my Master, but Senator Palpatine might be more than the bumbling fool he’s coming across as.  Perhaps someone needs to keep an eye on him?"

Qui-Gon nods.  He knows his padawan feels constrained by a life bound to the Temple.  Yes, Obi-Wan has his research projects and his classes, but that doesn’t make up for field missions.  Maybe this might?  "Are you volunteering?"

Obi-Wan looks just a little surprised.  "To insert myself into a Senator’s business?"

Padmé says, "Actually, I need someone to accompany me while I meet with him.  Anakin, as much as I love and respect him, can’t be trusted to sit quietly and fade into the background.  Even though Shmi attends all of my meetings in the Senate, she doesn’t have the right — "  Padmé shakes her head, " — cachet to given the old monkey-lizard pause."  She looks at Anakin. "No insult to your mother intended."

"None taken and having a Jedi in these meetings will certainly put a damper on whatever skeevy thoughts old Sheev might be thinking.  Especially a powerful young Jedi like my brother Obi-Wan, who carries two 'sabers."

Qui-Gon nods thoughtfully.  "And a padawan in the meetings isn’t making this an official Jedi matter."

"It’s an 'educational experience'," Obi-Wan add with a sly grin.  "I seem to have missed part of the conversation, though.  Your Majesty — you are having problems with the Senator?"

Anakin and Padmé fill Obi-Wan in on 'Skeevy Sheev’s" less-than-respectful behavior towards the Queen and Qui-Gon observes his padawan, as always, noting his maturity and careful questioning.  Obi-Wan talks with the Queen as if he’s a Master Jedi, not a padawan who had joined the Temple only three years ago.

And yet, not two hours ago, Obi-Wan had been flailing a bit when he had been questioned about his vision of the Sith.  Qui-Gon sighs.  He hadn’t been calling his padawan a liar, or accusing him of anything improper.  He’d just found it troubling that Obi-Wan believes that the Sith that he and Anakin had battled had been an apprentice, and not the master — and that important bit of information is coming to light now.

But this is not the time to worry about such things.  There is an annoying senator cooling his heels in the lobby and battle plans to formulate around the dining table.

"What do you want Obi-Wan to do in these meetings?"

Padmé looks at Obi-Wan, who is the picture of youthful innocence and mischief.  "I’d like him to intimidate the Senator, if possible.  But I’m not sure how."

Obi-Wan raises an eyebrow and his shoulders go back.  His ever-present smile doesn’t fade, but it morphs into something else, something just slightly dangerous.

Padmé sucks in her breath, Anakin gasps, and even Qui-Gon is stunned.  The expression on his padawan’s face reminds him of his own Master at the negotiation table, just before discussions turn aggressive.

Anakin claps his hands and says, "Oh, that is kriffing perfect, brother."

Padmé checks her chrono and gestures for Colonel Panaka.  "I think we’ve kept the Senator waiting long enough.  Please have Madame Skywalker escort him into Our Presence."

Qui-Gon is puzzled when his padawan’s shields, already formidable, go into overdrive.  If he didn’t see Obi-Wan sitting there, within arm’s reach of him, he wouldn’t know he was present in the room.  It’s as if Obi-Wan has shut off almost his entire Force-presence.  Before Qui-Gon can say anything, Anakin leans across the table to tap Obi-Wan’s hand.

"What in name of all the little gods are you doing?"

"I don’t know what you’re talking about."

"You just shut down — like you just disappeared from the Force. You’re not supposed to be able to do that. You’re only a padawan."

Obi-Wan turns to look at him.  "Master?  Did I just do that?"

"Yes, Padawan.  And please stop doing that."

Nothing changes and there’s no time for further lectures as Madame Skywalker introduces Senator Sheev Palpatine.

Everyone stays seated.

The Senator is thoroughly put out. Qui-Gon can sense his irritation in the Force, but he shows none of it on his face or in his words.

"Your Majesty.  Thank you for agreeing to see me, I am aware my unannounced visit is most unorthodox."

"Yes, Senator, it is."  Anakin answers, and his tone is unforgivingly flat.

Palpatine is immediately on his back foot. "I just want to make sure that the Royal Party is comfortable here in the Embassy — it is small and ill-equipped to host royalty.  I would like to renew my offer to host Her Majesty and her attendants at my apartment at 500 Republica.  It is at least twice the size of the accommodations here and would be far more suitable.  And certainly more secure."

Qui-Gon watches with fascination as the Queen pounces on the Senator, delicately eviscerating him.

"We have not been made aware that a senator’s salary usually affords such grand lodgings.  Our understanding is that the Palpatine family had fallen on hard times.  That you had taken to a political career after a long series of financial setbacks.  We believe you mentioned that fact several times when Governor Bibble asked if you would be contributing to the rebuilding efforts.  It is most interesting to learn that you have a large and expensive home in what is the most exclusive residence on Coruscant.  We gather your return to prosperity is a recent event, since the invasion?"

The Senator does a good job of maintaining his facade, but Qui-Gon can sense his agitation — he is seething. "It is, and of course I will be happy now to contribute to the rebuilding."

Padmé waves a hand, dismissing the offer.  "That will no longer be necessary.  Sufficient funds have been collected, and of course, the citizens of Naboo always pay their taxes, whether or not they reside on the planet."  Her smile is colder than winter on Hoth.  "As for your most generous offer to host — "

Qui-Gon clears his throat, feeling the need to poke the gundark nest with a stick, interrupting  the Queen.  "Your Majesty, if you need more space and security is a concern, allow me, as a member of the Jedi High Council, to offer you and your entourage lodging at the Temple.  Over the millennia, the Jedi have been honored to host many heads of state, and without political repercussion."

Padmé’s warm smile must be like a knife in the Senator’s gut.

"We thank you, Master Jinn, on behalf of the Order.  And Senator Palpatine, we thank you as well.  But the Embassy of Naboo is more than sufficient in both lodging and security, and I am declining both of your offers."

With that, Padmé holds out her hand to Anakin, and he takes it.  She gets up and exits the room, trailed by Colonel Panaka, Madame Skywalker and her handmaidens, leaving him and Obi-Wan to deal with the awkward Senator.

"I don’t believe we’ve been formally introduced.  I’m Qui-Gon Jinn, and this is my padawan, Obi-Wan Kenobi."

Senator Palpatine makes all the right noises about how honored he is to meet a member of the Jedi High Council, but his words stutter to a halt when he turns to Obi-Wan.

"I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch your name — Oban Kenobi?"

"No, Senator.  It’s Obi-Wan."  If his padawan’s smile before had been slightly dangerous, now it’s downright chilling.

Chapter Text

In the place where I never was
I never shall be.
The place where I was, as if
I never was there. Human beings wander away
Far from the place of their birth
And far from the words their own
Mouth uttered,
No more within the promises
That were promised.

The Place Where I Never Was (fragment)
By Yehuda Amichai

Translated by Benjamin and Barbara Harshav

I’ve survived your first encounter with the enemy.

That thought keeps resounding through Obi-Wan’s brain like the bells in the Great Spire as he and Qui-Gon walk back to their speeder, and through most of their return trip to the Temple.

"You’re awfully quiet, Padawan-mine."

"Apologies, my Master. Just caught up in thought."

"Would you mind lowering those damn shields while you’re at it? I can barely sense you in the Force — it’s like you have that kriffing collar on again. It’s very uncomfortable. To say the least."

"Oh, oh." Obi-Wan is careful as he lets the outermost layer of his shields down. "I didn’t mean to do that — something about the Senator set me off."

"Hmm. And yet the Senator isn’t Force-sensitive."

Obi-Wan wants to argue that Skeevy Sheev certainly felt Force-sensitive to him, but it feels like a bad opening maneuver. "Maybe it’s something I should discuss with Mind-Healer Themoren. Along with my panic reaction this morning."

"That sounds like an excellent idea, Padawan. When is your next appointment?"

"The day after tomorrow — I’ll have time to write up the incidents." Obi-Wan has come to appreciate the value of his time with Themoren, the mind-healer he’d eventually selected from the program that Bruck had developed. She had agreed to the boundaries he’d set, but in exchange, had given him work to do both before and after each session. Like writing up notes of incidents that trigger reactions — not just in preparation for his session with her, but to help him understand what happened. She’d also suggested that Obi-Wan let his master know about this — not that he should share the notes, but just that he should be taking them.

Qui-Gon is quiet for the remainder of the ride, leaving Obi-Wan to his thoughts, which keep taking quiet victory laps.

At least until his master says, "I’d like to go up to the Council chamber now. I think this is too important to let wait even for the morning."

"Of course, Master." Obi-Wan has no choice but to agree. He follows Qui-Gon like a little tooka kitten trailing after its mother, through the Temple to the High Council Spire. It’s still early enough that several Councilors will be in the Chamber.

In fact, Masters Windu, Koon, Mundi, Yaddle, and Gallia are present, taking a report from Qui-Gon’s own padawan-brother, Rael Averross, who is appearing via holo-projection.

Obi-Wan waits by the door and listens.

"Thank ya, Councilors, for yer faith in my judgment.  I — "  Knight Averross cuts himself off, leans forward and stares at Qui-Gon.  "Is tha great lunk who just sat down my padawan-brother?"

"Hello, Rael."

"What in all the Sithhells are ya doing here?"

"Didn’t you get the message?  I’m on the High Council now, have been for about two years or so."

Rael turns to Master Windu, or maybe Master Yoda — it’s hard to tell since their seats are adjacent.  "Whose bright idea was it to put the Maverick on the Council?  How do any of ya manage to get work done?"

Mace just scrubs his face, and Yoda glares at Rael.  "Respect, we will have.  An important member of this Council Master Qui-Gon is.  Apologize you will, Knight Averross!"

Before Rael can say anything, Qui-Gon lifts a hand.  "Peace, Master Yoda.  I am well accustomed to my brother’s teasing, and have taken no offense.  Knight Averross, may I ask what brings you before the Council today?"

"My padawan, Nim Pianna, is ready for her Trials.  We will be returning to Coruscant at the conclusion of our mission."

"Congratulations, my brother.  That is most welcome news."

"Thank ye, ye great hairless Wookiee.  And may the Force be with ye all, Councilors.  Averross out."

Mace mutters, "I used to think that you gave me the worst headaches, Jinn.  But I was wrong — it’s Averross."

Qui-Gon can’t help but chuckle. "My lineage brother does have a way about him."

"Yes he does." Mace then scrubs his forehead.  "All right, what happened at the Nabooian Embassy that you’re back here with your padawan, with huge shatterpoints hanging over both of you."

Qui-Gon gestures at him and Obi-Wan steps forward.  "Good evening, Councilors."  Obi-Wan summons his Jedi Master-self, the man with a decade and more of experience reporting to this body, and speaks with self-assurance.  "During the speeder ride to the Embassy, Master Jinn reminded me that if the subject came up, I was to refer to the Sith that had attacked former Knight Skywalker and Master Jinn simply as 'the Zabrak' and make no mention of the Sith.  I then asked if any progress had been made in locating the Sith apprentice’s Master."

Of course, the Council reacts to that statement and the room fills with concerned murmurs. Obi-Wan waits, hands in his sleeves, head bowed, until Mace takes control of the room.

"What do you mean, Padawan?"

"My memories of the Vision that I conveyed to Master Jinn are both scattered and specific.  I remember the urgency in telling him about the Zabrak, about his weapon, that he was a Darthomiri Zabrak, a Sith, and how to kill him.  But also, I knew that the Sith was an apprentice and I thought I told Master Jinn that, too.  But in the discussion this afternoon, Master Jinn says no, I didn't say anything about the Zabrak being just the Apprentice.  The problem was that inhibitor collar made it very difficult — nearly impossible -  for me to speak about the Vision and every word was a struggle.  It was only when I was pressing my forehead against Master Jinn’s and pulling the collar away from my skin was I able to make myself understood."

As one, all of the Councilors present turn to look at his master, as if to blame him for the lack of information.

Obi-Wan doesn’t see it that way.  "I am sorry, Councilors.  This is all my fault.  I should have asked about this when I first came to the Temple."

Yoda, though, disagrees.  "Fault, it is no one’s.   Outside, please wait.  Much to discuss we have, young padawan."

Obi-Wan catches his master’s eye, bows, and exits the Council chamber, shutting the door behind him.  He sits down at his desk and pulls out a datapad, having every intention of typing up notes for his next therapy session, but he’s distracted by the memory of his encounter with Sidious.  No, Palpatine.  He needs to remain vigilant.  The man might seem like a bit of a bumbling fool, but he’s not.  He’s as much of a venomous snake in this timeline as he’d been in the last.  The Force has warned him about the powers of the Dark being able to hear everything, and Obi-Wan doesn’t discount the possibility of even hearing his thoughts.

And yet, Palpatine had stumbled over his name.  He called him "Oban" and the horrified expression on his face.  Just for a micro-second, if Obi-Wan wasn’t a Jedi, he might have missed it.

The question is, who is Oban?

Rather than use the datapad, Obi-Wan takes out the small notebook he keeps in one of his belt pouches and makes a note.  He might be making a conscious effort to be the teenaged, padawan self most of the time, but he can’t quite stop being the paranoid fugitive, and his handwritten notes are in a code he and Quinlan Vos had developed during the first year of the Clone War.

By the time he’s finished with his notes, the door opens and his Master asks him to rejoin them. Master Qui-Gon retakes his seat, and Obi-Wan is left standing in the center of the Council chamber. He can get no reading from anyone, but that isn’t necessarily a bad thing.

Or a good thing, either. He tucks his hands into his sleeves and waits for judgment.

It’s Master Windu who addresses him. "There’s nothing to worry about, Padawan Kenobi. We asked you to step out because we needed to read in your master on some sensitive mission information regarding the Sith, information he would not have had privy to as the mission commenced before he joined the High Council. Normally, this is not information we would ever share with a padawan, but Master Jinn has made a very strong argument that you should have some high-level detail and Master Plo is also confident of your discretion. As am I."

Obi-Wan just nods.

"Shortly after Master Jinn returned from Tatooine with the Zabrak’s head and his broken light staff, three things happened. A team of Jedi Shadows was dispatched to track the Zabrak from his origin on Darthomir. A second Shadow team was sent to Naboo to examine the Zabrak’s ship. And thirdly, members of the High Council have been working on healing the kyber crystal in the light staff. All of these tasks have provided frustratingly small amounts of information, but taken together, they point to the inexorable conclusion that the Zabrak was the apprentice and not the master. We have been cautiously searching for the master."

Obi-Wan has to ask. "Do you have any leads?"

"No, but we are — " Master Windu scowls, "concerned. Gravely concerned. You are aware of the 'miracles' that happened when your collar was removed."

"Yes. The sigils in the walls, the holocrons opening, the healed patients, the bells in the Great Spire ringing."

"The bells. Most troubling they are." Yoda leans forward. "Stilled those bells my own master’s master did, on the Order’s submission to the Senate in the Ruusan Reformation, a thousand years ago. Call to arms those bells are, warning the Jedi and the Republic of mortal danger. Ring now they do, warning us all of the return of the Sith."

Obi-Wan aches to tells them everything, but he feels his jaw lock, his tongue tie, and even though there is no inhibitor collar around his neck, he might as well be choking on this Force itself.

It’s been a very long time since Obi-Wan has walked through the doors of the vast Galactic Senate Building, not that he’d been a frequent visitor during his first lifetime. Of course, he’d made the trip as a Youngling, paired with Garen as his "mission partner". And there had been several less-than-memorable visits as a young Padawan, trailing after his Master, who needed to meet with some official or another before or after a mission.

But then the War happened, and General Obi-Wan Kenobi became the face and the voice of the Grand Army of the Republic. On occasion, he’d been called to speak before the Senate, reporting on progress — or lack thereof — of the war effort.

It was all a lie, a terrible, deadly lie. And billions of people died because of it.

But he’s here again to prevent that, to stop the Darkness from gaining a foothold. He has the knowledge, and even if he can’t enlist his brethren in the fight just yet, he still has more power in his blood than the entire Order combined. More than that, he has the determination to keep everyone he loves alive and well and in the Light.

"Obi-Wan!"

He turns when he hears his name — it’s Shmi, striding through the throngs of beings in the lobby. She’s in her very imposing Madame Skywalker attire. He goes to meet her. "Well met, dear one."

"You are right on time. Padmé is in a conference room with the Senator from Alderaan, as well as that sleemo, Palpatine."

"Alderaan? Why?"

"I’m not sure, something about having a neutral senator present the case. I do like the man, though. He’s an older gentleman, very kind and very moral. Pity about his nephew, though. Seems to be a spice-head. Just got one look at him, could tell."

Obi-Wan has to think this is another instance of the timeline messing up ages. He knows that Bail had a few sisters, so that would explain the nephew, but Coruscant is not the place for an addict.

He follows Shmi through the warren of hallways, slight amazed that Shmi is able to find her way back without having to consult either a map or a tracker, but then, his friend is a truly amazing woman. He lets himself get swept along, anticipating the one-sided reunion with his old friend. Maybe he’ll befriend the nephew, do what he can to help him.

There are two guards in Nabooian uniform standing at attention outside the conference room door, and one nods at Madame Skywalker while the other opens the door. Obi-Wan takes in the seating arrangement — Queen Amidala is at the far end of the table, handmaidens on either side, Colonel Panaka behind her and Madame Skywalker slides in next to Colonel Panaka, a buffer between the Queen and Senator Palpatine, who is two seats to her left with an aide behind him. And seated on her right is not Bail Organa, but a man he recognizes from in the original timeline. Senator Antilles Prestor had been a friend of his old master, and more importantly, Bail Prestor Organa’s uncle. So that means, the young man clinging to the shadows, the spice-head that Shmi had told him about, might very well be his old and dear friend, Bail Prestor.

The two senators stand at his entrance, and Obi-Wan takes a moment to introduce himself. "The High Council thought it would be appropriate to have a representative from the Order here to observe the discussions between her Majesty and Senator Palpatine. We were not aware that a representative from Alderaan was to be in attendance as well." Obi-Wan nods his head respectfully at both Senators.

Senator Prestor introduces himself, and thankfully does not offer him his hand to shake. "This is a last minute intrusion on Her Majesty’s meeting with my colleague from the Chommell Sector. I found myself with a free hour and asked if I could spend it hearing the Nabooian story of the invasion and liberation, directly from Her Majesty. I will be the neutral party advocate for the Naboo in the Senate."

"Then please, let me fade into the background and allow you to continue." He bows to Queen Amidala, "My apologies for the interruption."

Padmé nods regally and gestures for Obi-Wan to take a seat between her and Senator Prestor, apparently deeming Shmi enough of a buffer between her and Palpatine.

He listens carefully to her retelling of the invasion of Naboo, from the initial demands by the Trade Federation envoy for the rights to the entire output of the Theed power generator, to the blockade and pre-dawn invasion by the illegal droid army, and the attempt by the Trade Federation Viceroy to arrest the entire Nabooian government to force its compliance.

"I firmly believe that had we remained on Naboo and acceded to the Trade Federation’s terms, Nute Gunray would have ordered our deaths within minutes. My planet would have been laid to waste by the Trade Federation’s greed."

Obi-Wan makes a point of glancing over at Palpatine. He is smiling at the Queen, but there is a definite bit of strain in his expression, and when he realizes he’s being observed, he looks directly at Obi-Wan. Again, he seems to be momentarily puzzled.

Obi-Wan nods at him, and when Senator Prestor starts asking Her Majesty questions about Tatooine, Obi-Wan pretends to turn his attention back to the conversation.

"There was a Zabrak, but not the kind I’d ever seen before. He — well, at least I think it was male, since it had horns — had red skin and black tattoos. Or maybe black skin and red tattoos. I wasn’t close enough to be sure. It — he attacked Knight Skywalker, with a red light staff. He clearly wasn’t a Jedi." Amidala’s contempt is apparent.

She continues, her story clearly focusing on her hero. "Knight Skywalker battled most valiantly, and then Master Jinn returned, and the two of them defeated the Zabrak. Knight Skywalker cut off the Zabrak’s arm and then Master Jinn killed it by cutting off its head."

Obi-Wan can feel Palpatine’s simmering rage, it’s living thing, vile and disgusting, too much like his memories of Vad-. No, he’s not letting his thoughts go down that path.

It’s when the Queen begins to describe how Anakin — Knight Skywalker — proposed taking the Zabrak’s ship and using it to break through the Trade Federation blockade — that Obi-Wan can see a problem with this line of questioning. Palpatine knows all of this, it came out in the initial Senate inquiry five years ago.

But Obi-Wan worries about Senator Prestor asking the Queen about the current status of that ship. The last thing he wants is for Palpatine to ask where the ship is, and maybe gain access to it.

The figure standing in the shadowed corner steps out into to the light, and it’s definitely his old and dear friend. And Shmi was right — Bail has all the hallmarks of a spice addict.

Bail hadn’t wanted to accompany his uncle today. Going into the Senate building, being in such close confines with so many beings is so kriffing painful. As if being on Coruscant isn’t killing him moment by moment, but the confines of the Senate are so much worse. There’s something in there, an evil — a darkness, that is driving him over the edge.

He even had plans for this afternoon, to visit to Botanical Gardens, which is one of the few places that could give him some peace. But he’d gotten an alert on his comlink that the Gardens had to restrict general admission today because of a visiting dignitary from some unspecified planet. Stupid security policy.

So much for the great democracy that is the Republic. Nothing like this would happen on Alderaan.

Uncle Antilles had offered him an alternative to the day working with him in the Senate. An hour with a mind-healer.

Bail would rather have his fingernails pulled out than spend a nanosecond with the brain-rapers, wanting to pick over his feelings. Listening to them condescend to him about his grief. He’d been through this when his mother died, and again weeks later, after his father passed away. He could feel the contempt those supposedly compassionate mind-healers had — they were bored and greedy and contemptuous, and when he’d tried to tell his uncle, he’d been shut down, told he was imagining things, or worse — making up stories to get out of therapy he didn’t want.

But he hadn’t been imaging things, he hadn’t made things up. He could hear those therapists’ feelings like they’d had been broadcast over the holonet.

So, without any other plans for the day, Uncle Antilles insisted that he go with him to the Senate and tag along in whatever meetings he had. He doesn’t have to say, I don’t want to send a security team down to the lower levers to dig you out of whatever spice den you’ve managed to find, but Bail hears the criticism loud and clear.

When the kriffing Sith Emperor — no, Senator Palpatine — enters the conference room, it takes every fragment of Bail’s already thin control not to grab the heavy marble sculpture on the sideboard and beat that genocidal maniac to death. He hides in the corner of the conference room, grateful that Uncle Antilles doesn’t introduce him beyond calling him an aide, which means neither the royal party or the "senator" will pay attention to him.

Except there’s an older woman in the Queen’s retinue that gives him a long, hard look and she seems to see him for who he is — a Prestor and a spice addict, and his uncle’s shameful secret.

He wants to go home. Not to Cantham House, the home of the Senate delegation, but to the Alderaan itself. But he can’t — not until he gets his head on right. He’s supposed to marry Breha Organa, the heir to the throne, but she won’t marry a psychotic loser and introduce instability into her bloodline.

It’s all so kriffing — fucking — hard. Bail feels himself starting to fracture, pieces of himself falling apart, just as Alderaan had fallen apart. Everything failing…

Then a miracle happens.

Obi-Wan Kenobi walks into the room and all of the clamoring in his head stops. For a moment, he no longer hears the death screams of two billion innocents, he can’t feel the pain and grief of his daughter’s murder at the hands of the Empire, the desolation at the failure of the Rebellion. Everything, goes quiet as his heart nearly bursts in shock and joy. His dear friend is alive and well, and even if Obi-Wan doesn’t know who he is, it’s a balm against the pain his insanity brings.

Bail sinks deeper into the shadows, watching Obi-Wan move around the chamber, greeting his uncle, bowing to the Queen, nodding at the Emperor.

As the Queen narrates the tale of the invasion of Naboo by the Trade Federation, Bail watches Obi-Wan and tries to correlate this version with the man he’d known so well. The thin, bead-bedecked braid swinging over his ear means something and Bail strains to remember — it hurts, but not in the way that those other memories hurt. And it comes to him — this Obi-Wan is still a padawan, a student. He’s not yet a Jedi knight.

That doesn’t matter to him, he’s still Obi-Wan Kenobi and that means everything. But first, he has to get everyone out of here, he has to get the Emperor away from Obi-Wan before he can hurt him. The Emperor hates the Jedi and he’ll kill Obi-Wan as soon as he has the chance.

As much as it disgusts him, Bail looks at Palpatine, and it’s like looking into an overflowing sewer. He’s a filthy, greedy, covetous monster and it’s time everyone knew that. He can hear the man’s thoughts about Queen Amidala, what he wants to do to her, and Bail knows this is the moment — he has to expose Sheev Palpatine for the disgusting murderous pervert that he is.

He steps out of the shadows and the Queen stops speaking. Obi-Wan turns and stares at him, those all-too familiar eyes go wide. Obi-Wan’s facial expression doesn’t change, but Bail can feel Obi-Wan smile, he can feel his happiness, and the accusations he’s about to fling at Palpatine just dry up on his tongue.

Bail shakes his head and rushes from the room, unable to face his old friend in this condition.

As the door shuts behind him, Queen Amidala resumes her recitation.

Obi-Wan barely listens to the Queen’s words, his mind is consumed by what’s happened to Bail. In the old timeline, his friend had been the rock upon which everyone had been able to rely on — Padmé, the entire Loyalist committee in the War years, so many of the Jedi had looked to Bail Organa for support. And afterwards … Bail had supported the Rebellion, he’d been the founder of the Alliance to Restore the Republic. Bail had been someone Obi-Wan trusted without question.

In this life, where so many of his old enemies have become friends, and so many Jedi who had died in tragedies and conflicts even before the War are alive and well and thriving. And to his shame, until this moment, Obi-Wan hasn’t given Bail Organa a single thought.

But Bail is — so far — the one friend who has suffered.

Shmi had been right about the spice addition, but she hadn’t picked up something even more troubling. Bail is highly Force-sensitive. It’s screaming from him much the way it had from Anakin in the other timeline, and it wouldn’t surprise Obi-Wan if Bail’s m-count is nearly as high.

What in the name of all the stars is the Force doing?

His attention is drawn back to the here-and-now when everyone gets to their feet — Queen Amidala has risen. Senator Prestor says something about reconvening the day after tomorrow and Obi-Wan promises to attend that meeting as well.

He tracks Palpatine and his aide, who try to follow the Queen and her retinue out, but are easily blocked by Madame Skywalker. She stands in front of the doorway until the Naboo contingent must be down the hallway and into the turbo-lift. Only then does she let Palpatine out of the room. He sweeps out with barely contained anger.

"You better be careful, Shmi — you’ve made an enemy."

"I know. I have eyes on my back. That sleemo is just waiting for a chance to get rid of me." She nods and departs, leaving Obi-Wan with Senator Prestor and his aide. Obi-Wan searches his memory for the man’s name — he’s certain they’d met in the other timeline, but he can’t recall it at this moment.

Fortunately, Senator Prestor fills in the gap. "Padawan Kenobi, I don’t believe you were here when I introduced my aide, Agrippa Aldrete. I don’t think I could get anything done without him."

"A pleasure, Ser Aldrete."

Senator Prestor frowns and asks his aide, "Can you please track my nephew and make sure he’s not someplace he shouldn’t be."

"Certainly, Senator." Aldrete bustles out of the conference room.

"I suppose you’re curious about my nephew and his strange behavior today." Senator Prestor sags a bit.

"A little. He seemed a bit — agitated. Is there anything I can do to help?" Obi-Wan wonders if he’ll be rebuffed simply because he’s just a padawan. But the Senator seems to be at his wit’s end.

"I don’t know if anything is possible. I can’t figure what to do with Bail.  I’d promised my brother that I’d care for his son as if he was my own child, but the last few years have been nearly impossible.  Bail has gone from a quiet, capable and self-possessed young man to an unpredictable, trouble-making, troubled drug addict. I suspect he’s headed to a spice den in the lower levels for his next fix."

Obi-Wan wants to run out of the Senate building and try to find him, to enlist his Master, or maybe Anakin. But he knows he can’t — this damn trial is coming up in a matter of days. And there would be so many questions that he couldn’t answer.

Prestor’s comlink buzzes. "Damn, I have to go — I have another meeting. Thank you for listening to a worried old man."

Obi-Wan bows to the Senator and follows him out. He’s a little surprised to find Shmi waiting for him by the turbo-lift.

"Figured you’d need someone to guide you out of this hell-scape. And thought maybe you’d come back to the Embassy for mid-meal. Unless you have to get back to the Temple."

"Nope, I didn’t know how long the session was going to take, so I signed out for the whole day."

They’re both quiet until they manage to get out of the Senate building, into the relative fresh air of the Federal District plaza. There’s a speeder waiting for them with the Royal Naboo insignia

Shmi nods. "Good. Were you getting friendly with the Alderaanian?"

"Not really." Then Obi-Wan rethinks his words. "Well, maybe. I wanted to know about his nephew -"

"A sad case."

"You were absolutely right that he’s a spice addict."

Then Shmi surprises him. "He’s got magic too — or as Anakin tells me to call it, Force-sensitivity."

Obi-Wan nods. "I think it’s driving him mad. Sometimes, Force-sensitivity can make you hear or feel things. Other people’s thoughts and emotions. So he’s taking spice to dull those feelings."

"And you want to find him, and help him."

Obi-Wan looks down at his hands, feeling the hot heat of a blush on his cheeks. "You know me far too well, Madame Skywalker."

Grateful that the day is over, Antilles heads back to his office. He still has a few hours of work before he can head back to Cantham House for the night. Not that it’s going to be restful — he anticipates spending all of it pacing the floors, worrying about his nephew, who is probably in some lower-level spice den, out of his mind on drugs and booze.

Where did he go wrong? Should he have stepped in and taken over when his brother and sister-in-law, Gaius and Leonara, had that terrible accident? Made the hard decision for Gaius and not left that up to Bail, who had been just nineteen at the time? But his nephew had seemed so steady, so mature. He’d managed everything so properly in the years afterward. The breakdown, when it came, was a shock to everyone, him most of all.

Now he’s losing Bail, to drugs and drink and this terrible disease in his mind, and Bail refuses to let him help.

Agrippa greets him with a bumper of Corellian brandy and a grim frown. "I’m sorry, Senator, but Ser Bail has slipped the security detail and managed to disable the tracker."

"Thank you, old friend, for the unexpected news. Bail might be doing stupid things, but he isn’t a stupid man."

"I have the security detail combing through the five-hundred level — Ser Bail’s usual haunts. I’ll keep monitoring the situation."

Antilles wants to tell his aide that it’s time to pack it in and go home, but he knows Agrippa won’t. He thinks of Bail as family, and had grieved for Caius and Leonara as much as anyone. "Thank you. I’ve still got a few hours of work on the Mimbam relief proposal. We’ll ride home together."

"Thank you, senator."

Antilles sets aside his personal problems and focuses on his work for another two hours, sending off a copy of the draft proposal to the Relief Committee to review. When he gets to his feet, his whole body aches — too much time sitting. That’s definitely a problem. Maybe he’ll hit the gym at Cantham House tomorrow morning, get an hour’s worth of exercise in before coming back here for more sitting. More meetings. More endless hours on his ass.

He grabs his cloak and his satchel and goes to rescue Agrippa, who’s flipping through various monitor screens. "Any luck."

"Sorry, sir, but no. Nothing."

"Pack it in, old friend, time to go home. Your wife is waiting."

Cantham House, the private residence of the Alderaanian Senatorial delegation, is in the heart of the so-called "Garden District" of Coruscant, where the wealthy Core Worlds have their embassies, consulates, and senatorial residences. Between the grand residences perched atop the thousands of levels of darkness and debris that make up the underworld of Coruscant, the area is scattered with small gated parks, access restricted to the residents of the exclusive district and their invited guests.

For a while, Bail had taken solace in the small locked park adjacent to Cantham House, but that hadn’t lasted long. When Antilles had asked what the problem was, Bail just muttered something about the noise and the voices and all of the suffering from the world below was impossible to block out.

The speeder pulls into the residence’s underground garage and the driver hops out to open the door. Agrippa’s wife is waiting for him and Antilles bids them good evening before heading up to his private library and office on the third floor. Since Bail isn’t home, he’ll have a lonely late-meal at his desk while reviewing reports for tomorrow’s meetings.

He doesn’t even bother with the lights, just dropping his satchel on the desk and stretching in front of the floor to ceiling windows, feeling every one of his sixty three years.

"I’m sorry about my behavior this afternoon, Uncle." Bail’s soft voice nearly gives him a heart attack.

He spins around, ordering the lights on, counts backwards from ten, and then again to gain control of his temper. He takes a deep breath and really looks at Bail. And yes, his nephew is sitting on the sofa, looking tired and a little windblown, but surprising sober.

"Are you all right?"

Bail nods. Then shakes his head. "No, not really. But for the moment, I’m okay."

Antilles sits down next to his nephew. "What’s going on?"

"I need help, Uncle. I think you know that."

"I do, Bail. I love you and I want to help you every way I can." Antilles doesn’t say that he’s been trying to get his nephew help for three years now.

"I need to get off of the spice."

Antilles wants to cheer, but before he can say anything, Bail starts talking. "I can’t stay here, on Coruscant. It’s driving me insane. I need to go home, please. There are places in Aldera City where I can get the help I need. Where I can detox, see — " Bail purses his lips for a second, "mind-healers. Work through my issues. Get control of myself. I can’t do that here."

Listening to Bail speak, hearing the strength in his voice, Antilles hears the young man who had buried his mother and then his father in a matter of months, who had dealt with the family estate with a sure hand and unflinching maturity. "What about the Organas? What about Breha?"

"If she wishes to end the engagement, that is her right and choice. I may never be fit to be her husband. But I need to be gone from here, at least for now, Uncle. I am not well, and I am only bringing shame on you. I’m a distraction from your good work."

"Damn my work, nothing is more important to me than you. I’ll take you home and get you settled."

Bail opens his mouth, about to object.

"I am not abandoning you, Bail. I made a promise to your father and mother to watch over you, and even if I hadn’t, I would do whatever I had to do to see you get well. And no matter what you do, I will always love you. You are as dear to me as if you were my own child, and maybe more so. I am frightened for you and I want you to heal and be happy. Do you understand?"

His nephew’s smile is a rare and precious treat. "Thank you, Uncle. Thank you so much."

Four Hours Earlier

When he’d bolted out of the conference room, Bail had every intention of heading down to a spice den on the five-hundred level, but with every step he took, he kept seeing Obi-Wan's face, the young and the old. And more than that, it’s the feelings he’d picked up from Obi-Wan. Not the brief moment of shock, but the joy at seeing him. Recognizing him. Bail Prestor Organa, Senator for Alderaan, father of Leia. Friend.

So he didn’t go down to the lower levels. He didn’t find a seedy cantina to drink himself into oblivion or a whorehouse to get his dick wet, or a spice den to blow out his braincells. He’d walked and walked and walked. And tried not to remember all of the things that would bring him pain.

Hours later, he had found himself in the park in front of Cantham House. He should just go home, but he can’t. He wants to talk to Obi-Wan but how? His old friend isn’t a High General and Jedi Master. He’s just a padawan. But Obi-Wan is clearly someone whose opinion is valued if he’s sitting in on a meeting with the Queen of Naboo.

Everything is so confusing. The Queen is another old friend — Padmé Amidala Naberrie. And he thinks he’s heard that she’s married to Anakin Skywalker. That’s a name that makes him sick to his stomach…

But that’s also not his problem right now. He needs to talk to Obi-Wan. Who is a Jedi. Who lives at the Jedi Temple. He can comm the Temple, can’t he?

It takes a bit of effort, but he finally gets through to a general communications line and asks for Obi-Wan Kenobi. To his delight, his call is forwarded to Obi-Wan’s comlink, and in a moment of desperation-fueled inspiration, Bail starts the message using an old Clone Wars era battle code, something only his friend, the High General would remember. But then he spoils it by saying where he is — the park across from Cantham House. "I’ll wait as long as it takes, but I need to see, you. Help me, Obi-Wan, you’re my only hope."

Chapter Text

A man learns to talk in his childhood
So he can talk to himself
When he remains more and more alone,
Talking with others is an ephemeral stage.
Some things grow heavy
Some light, some are anchor and some are sails,
Only after time passes
Do you know which are which.

Akhziv, 2nd stanza (fragment)
Yehuda Amichai

Translated by Benjamin and Barbara Harshav

It was just supposed to be mid-meal, but they got to talking and mid-meal became late-meal, and any meal with the Naberrie-Skywalkers is a pure delight.

Obi-Wan being Obi-Wan feels just a little guilty for not contacting his Master and inviting him. Anakin, Force bless him, actually notices his discomfort and tells him, "I called Qui-Gon earlier this afternoon and asked if he would be free to join us. He sent his regrets, he had an urgent Council meeting this evening. Qui-Gon told me to tell you to enjoy yourself and not waste a moment thinking about him and his numb ass in his Council seat."

Padmé looks a little shocked, but Obi-Wan snickers. "That is Master Qui-Gon, word for word."

Padmé nods. "I guess you’re right. When we meet on Naboo, Master Qui-Gon was not the refined Jedi Master I’d expected. He wasn’t the least bit serene or otherworldly. More like take charge and kick-ass."

"Follow the Force and get the job done," Anakin adds. "That’s his mode of operation. Pity you’re Temple-bound, brother — you’ll never get to experience the special joy of jumping from one gundark’s nest into another."

"I’m getting a different sort of education, and honestly, I like staying put." Obi-Wan shrugs, knowing that Anakin will fill in the blanks from what Shmi’s told him about their life in Mos Espa.

The conversation shifts away from Obi-Wan, to the up-coming trial, and Padmé says, "I can’t wait until this is over. Not that I actually believe the Senate is going to hold the Trade Federation responsible for anything."

And Anakin replies, "But if you don’t make the attempt, it’s even worse. They’ll continue to act with impunity, taking advantage of smaller systems, without the resources or leadership to defend their rights."

"I know, love. That’s why I m doing this. I’m just tired of all of the banthashit."

Shmi speaks up, "I wonder if the Trade Federation was behind the collapse of the colony my parents had emigrated to. It seems like something they would do."

This is exactly the kind of data that Obi-Wan is trying to uncover in his research project. "You have no memory of the name of the colony, Shmi? Or your birth-world?"

She shakes her head. "I wish I did. I’d love to track down those sleemos and find out just who was paid off."

Anakin echoes that sentiment, and Obi-Wan says, "It might be possible. There was an emigration program about thirty years ago, sponsored by the Republic. I could try to get a look at the records — under the guise of a 'senior research project'." He doesn’t have to tell them he’s already working on it.

"Be careful, brother — you just might end up disturbing a whole bunch of Neimoidian grubs. They’ll eat you alive and leave nothing behind but your bones, if even that."

"Oh, thank you for that image!" Padmé smacks her husband’s arm.

"Sorry, my love." Anakin pats his wife’s hand, but cautions Obi-Wan again. "I’m serious. Those Trade Federation guys are dangerous. They keep the entire bounty-hunter industry in business."

"I’ll be very careful." He remembers Master Windu’s caution as well, and the murder of Mina Bonteri, the Senator from Onderon. He’ll need to keep an eye out for Qui-Gon, too — his testimony is definitely going to put a target on his master.

Just as servants come out with the dessert course, Obi-Wan’s comlink buzzes with an incoming message and he excuses himself. "My apologies, but I should take this."

Padmé waves him away. "Don’t worry about it."

Obi-Wan steps out of the dining room and checks the message. It’s from the Temple communications center, relaying an external caller. There’s no attached holo.

As he listens, his blood freezes. He recognizes the voice, it’s Bail. And Bail has prefaced the message with a Clone Wars battle code, Obi-Wan thinks it’s from the second ground engagement on Felucia. He pauses the message and tries to calm himself, but his thoughts are roaring. Bail is like him. Bail has been reborn, too.

Then he listens to the rest of it.

"I’m in the park across from Cantham House, I’ll wait as long as it takes, but I need to see you. Help me, Obi-Wan, you’re my only hope."

He doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry as he hears those fateful words. The father unintentionally echoing the daughter’s plea for help.

And like last time, there’s no way he can ignore it. Obi-Wan returns to the dining room to make his apologies.

Anakin must read something in his eyes. "You need to go?"

"A friend is in trouble, he needs my help." Obi-Wan tells the truth but keeps it simple.

Anakin asks, "Do you need assistance?"

"No, I’m not going into the Lower Levels, but thanks for the offer."

"Okay, just stay safe. Please?" Anakin gives him a surprisingly effective set of tooka-kitten eyes. They had never worked on him in the other timeline, but now…

Shmi walks Obi-Wan out. At the front door, she asks, "Are you sure you don’t want company, Obi?"

"I’m fine. There’s nothing dangerous going on. A friend needs a sympathetic ear, that’s all."

Shmi looks skeptical and from her left boot pulls out a small sheathed blade. "Here, take this. I know you’ve got your 'sabers, but sometimes you just might need something a little more prosaic to get your point across."

Obi-Wan unsheathes the knife, and the light glints on the wickedly sharp edge. "Thank you, my friend. This is a lovely and thoughtful gift." He tucks it in the top of his boot. "I hope I never need to use it."

"Same, but better be safe than sorry."

As the front door of the Nabooian Embassy shuts behind him and Obi-Wan steps down onto the street, he checks to see if anyone is watching before he starts to run. The Force lends him speed and he’s at the park that Bail had mentioned in a matter of moments.

There’s a three-meter high decorative metal fence that’s designed to keep the riff-raff out, and rather than call out for Bail to let him in, Obi-Wan just jumps over it.

The park isn’t big, but it’s filled with trees and shrubs and Obi-Wan doesn’t see Bail right away. He knows he’s here, thought. His old friend now has an astonishingly powerful Force presence. He starts walking towards the center of the park, towards the greatest concentration of that presence.

"Obi-Wan, is that you?" Bail’s voice whispers out of the darkness.

"Hello there, old friend."

"Oh, thank the stars, you came."

Bail is sitting on a duracrete bench, under some lovely night-blossoming tree. He looks tired and shaken, but sober.

"Of course I came. As soon as I got your message. I think that code was from the one of the Felucia assaults."

"Was it? It was the first one that came to mind — I wasn’t sure if you would remember that one." Bail blinks. "Wait — you know what it means. You know, you know. Oh, for all the little gods…" Bail buries his face in his hands and starts weeping.

"Shh, it’s all right." Obi-Wan sits down next to Bail, wraps an arm around him, and gathers him close. "I’ve got you." He lets Bail cry as long as he needs, stroking his back, much as Master Qui-Gon would in a round of aggressive padawan soothing.

Finally, Bail’s sobs quiet and his tears dry up. He eases himself out of Obi-Wan's hold and looks at him. "When did you remember everything?"

"What do you mean?"

"When did the switch flick on in your brain?"

Obi-Wan has an odd feeling about what has happened to his friend, but he’s not going to assume. "I never forgot. I died, some things happened, then I woke up as a twelve year old on a slaver’s ship." He gives Bail a very abbreviated retelling of his life on Tatooine and his liberation. "What about you? You didn’t always have the memories?"

"No, not at all. I was fine until about three years ago. I made it through my parents’ deaths, I managed their estate, I was looking forward to rescheduling my wedding."

"To Breha?"

Bail nods. "It’s not a love match this time around. She’s made it quite clear her interests are engaged elsewhere, but she will be faithful until our children are born."

"She’s able to carry children in this timeline — she didn’t have that climbing accident?"

Bail’s lips twist into a bitter smile. "Oh, she did have a climbing accident. Broke her arm and shoulder, both healed just fine. The next season, my parents went climbing there — a rockfall sent my mother and father off the cliff face. My mother died instantly. My father was pulled out, still alive. The healers couldn’t understand how he survived and even regained consciousness. No amount of bacta was going to fix what was broken. He begged me to take him off the machines."

"Did you?"

"I did. A month and a day after my mother’s funeral. And I was — okay. I was okay for almost another year. Then one day I woke up and I wasn’t okay. I could hear almost everyone’s thoughts, sense their emotions. It was like getting bombarded with the most foul shit." Bail laughs bitterly. "I had gone to see Breha and Queen Deonarah, and Breha kept wishing that they could use embryo implantation, she couldn’t stand the idea of having sex with me. Deonarah was sympathetic to her daughter’s complaints, but suggested going through with the marriage anyway. She had the feeling I’d be a most accommodating husband. What she didn’t tell her daughter was that she found me very attractive and she hoped that I would like older women."

"I’m sorry, old friend." Of all the married people he’d known in the old timeline, Bail and Breha had been the two whose love had been the most authentic.

"I might have been able to live with those voices. The spice quiets them. I could have just called off the wedding, said we wouldn’t have suited. But it’s the memories." Bail lets out a shuddering sigh. "How do you live with the memories, Obi-Wan?

"It’s been very difficult at times."

Bail gives him a dirty look. "Typical Kenobi understatement."

"You should have seen me when I came back to Coruscant. How I had to steel myself to walk into the Temple without screaming. Last time I’d been there, it was littered with the corpses of all the Jedi murdered by Darth Vader and the clones. And in the High Council Chamber — they’d sent the Younglings and Initiates up there to keep them safe — Vader had murdered all of them. Yoda and I found the bodies." Obi-Wan looks up at the sky and sighs.

There are no visible stars on Coruscant.

Bail doesn’t take any solace from Obi-Wan's words. How could he? "I keep seeing everything. The war, the end of the Republic. The end of the Jedi. The Rebellion. Leia. Oh, stars — she died. Obi-Wan. That bastard, Vader — he captured the Tantive and the Death Star plans and he killed her. There was a fake message that the ship was caught in an asteroid storm and there were no survivors, but I know that was a lie. Breha and I sat outside and grieved for our daughter and the Rebellion, then the sun went dark. And — and …" Bail gasps, the tears pouring down his face. "Vader and the Emperor blew up Alderaan in retribution. It was all for nothing. As Alderaan was dying, Breha told me that Leia got out, that she survived and I told her I agreed, but I didn’t. I didn’t believe our daughter lived." Bail breaks down again, sobbing bitterly.

Obi-Wan shudders as the Force echoes with Bail’s pain. He takes his friend’s hand and sends out waves of calm, just like he used to do with Anakin when he was a child. "Breha was right, Leia survived. And the Tantive IV wasn’t destroyed. That was a lie."

Bail looks at him in disbelief. "How do you know?"

"I know because I was there. There was a battle, yes — Vader caught up with the Tantive IV. Over Tatooine of all places. Leia put the plans in that damn R2 astromech that had been part of the story since the very beginning. That R2 unit and Anakin’s old protocol droid got off the ship in an escape pod and landed in the middle of the Dune Sea. Yes, Vader captured Leia but he didn’t kill her — he tried to torture the location of the Rebel base out of her. He and Tarkin blew Alderaan to force her to tell them where the Rebellion was based. Irony of ironies, the droids fell into the hands of the Lars’ — and Luke. To make a long story short, the R2 unit went looking for me, Luke chased after it, Imps found the Lars and killed them. I persuaded Luke to get the R2 unit to the Rebellion — to you — not yet knowing about the destruction of Alderaan. We were captured by the Death Star, Vader killed me, but not before I made sure Luke and Leia could escape. The Rebellion blew up the Death Star, continued the fight and ultimately was victorious. At the very end, Luke managed to convince his father to return to the Light. Vader killed the Emperor, and saved his son’s life. Your daughter helped rebuild the Republic." It isn’t the whole truth — but it’s enough.

"How could you know this? You said Vader killed you." Bail looks at him like he’s the crazy one.

"All things are possible in the Force." Obi-Wan smiles, but then gets serious. "This new life I’ve been given comes with a lot of gifts — many of which I can’t talk about. You are the only person I’ve been able to talk to about the other timeline — everyone else I’ve tried to tell my story to just hears gibberish. I can’t begin to tell you how happy this makes me. I had so desperately wished for a confidant."

"How did you keep from going insane?"

"I was in a Force-inhibitor collar for four years, and that was a particular kind of hell. I was also back on Tatooine." Obi-Wan laughs sourly. "For the longest time, I thought the Force was punishing me for my failures."

Bail shakes his head. "I’m surprised you didn’t try to kill yourself."

"I did try." Obi-Wan doesn’t sugar-coat it.

"You’re not joking, are you."

"No. But I do have an excuse. I was having a very bad day."

Bail mutters, "And I’ve had a lot of really bad days, Obi-Wan. I can’t stop seeing that death ray, feeling all of Alderaan die. Over and over again. And when that’s not happening, I’m inundated by all of the thoughts and feeling of everyone around me. This planet — how do you stand it?"

"I have an advantage over you, dear Bail. I am a trained Force-sensitive. I know how to block out the thoughts and feelings of other beings."

"I don’t follow."

"You hear other people’s thoughts. You feel other people’s emotions. When you were younger, did you ever see events before they happened? Had dreams that later came true?"

Bail grimaces. "Not really, but before the noise started, I could feel all the life around me. I mean the life of Alderaan — the nerfs in the meadow, the thranta in the clouds, the birds and the insects in the trees, and the dogs in village, and of course, all the people, but there was no overwhelming noise, just a gentle susurration of life. I must have been eight or nine, and we’d gone to the mountains — to one of my mother’s ancestral villages. I’d tried to tell my parents what I was feeling, how happy I was. My mother smiled at me, and even though she didn’t understand, I knew she loved me and was proud of my connection with the planet. But my father understood. I think he shared something like that. He picked me up and put me on his shoulders, and a cloud of lightning bugs flittered by. My father had laughed, and said, 'That’s the blessing of the Light and of Life, Bail. You will always have good fortune now.’

"I guess it sounds silly, but I used to think I knew every nerf and thranta, every snow owl and wolf-cat, that I could hear the tall grasses growing in my dreams and the songs of the high-plains herders in my blood. My father said this meant I was blessed to join in the governance of Alderaan. That’s why he arranged my marriage to Breha. He thought I’d make a good consort to the Queen."

Obi-Wan squeezes Bail’s hand. "I don’t know what it means in connection with Alderaanian custom and culture, but I know what it means to me. You’re a Force-sensitive — in this timeline. I could feel it when we were in the conference room this afternoon. It was like a smack in the face, truthfully."

"Force-sensitive? You mean, kind of like a Jedi?"

Obi-Wan pokes Bail in the middle of his forehead. "I mean exactly like a Jedi. Even without the standard blood test, I would say, very strongly so. In many beings, as they reach maturity, the natural gifts of Force-sensitivity fade if it’s left untrained. But in some, it becomes stronger, and can become very problematic. I am not sure why you were never tested as a child, you come from a culture that respects the Jedi."

"I don’t know, either. I don’t know why things just changed. Do you?"

Obi-Wan debates with himself about what to tell Bail and finds he can keep the truth from him, at least for now. Bail’s suffered too much, but the knowledge is a burden he shouldn’t have to carry. Maybe one day, when the Darkness is defeated, he’ll tell Bail everything. Bail will be the one person who can fully understand. "It doesn’t matter why things changed, old friend. They did and you have to accept it."

Bail sighs. "What am I going to do about it? I think I’m a little too old to become a Jedi."

"Yes, you are, but I can help you — right now — build some shields that will block out the worst of the 'noise'. But you really need get off Coruscant." Obi-Wan takes a breath and adds quietly. "And off the spice."

"I know, I know. I take it because it gives me some relief. Not much, but it dulls the noise. I don’t hear the voices and feelings and it helps me forget. But I hate what it does to me, too. Makes me lose control of myself."

"Maybe you shouldn’t forget?"

"What?"

"I don’t think you should forget what happened. Because you know that it’s going to happen again. Not the same way, but Palpatine is here, he’s manipulating events. Naboo didn’t go his way, so he’s going to be finding another way to build power. To eliminate the Jedi, to destroy the Republic. I wouldn’t be surprised if he makes an overture to you."

"Because he can feel my Force-sensitivity?"

"Yes — and your turmoil. That’s something he’d think he could capitalize on, use to turn you to the Dark Side."

"So, all the more reason to get off this hell planet. If he finds out about the other timeline…"

Obi-Wan nods. "Exactly. He could pick all the details out of your mind."

Bail shudders in horror. "He can never learn about that."

"No, absolutely not." Obi-Wan will execute the senator first, Darth Sidious’ own Sith master’s identity be damned.

"So, what do I need to do?"

Now is the test — Obi-Wan has never actually done this. He’d taught his padawan how to shield through meditation, but that was a process that took weeks, if not months. He needs to get Bail’s shields up in a matter of minutes. In the other timeline, during a foray into the Restricted section of the Archives, Obi-Wan had consulted with a two-thousand year old holocron in an attempt to help Quinlan rebuild his core shields into the Light after he’d Fallen. The ancient Jedi sage had suggested, of all things, connecting with the Force-sensitive via intimacy, starting with a kiss and progressing to coitus if necessary.

Obi-Wan hadn’t needed to utilize that advice. Quinlan had managed to rebuild his shields on his own just fine — but now, Obi-Wan thinks that a kiss might be just what Bail needs.

"I need you to relax, and to open your mind. To think of me."

"Obi-Wan?"

He sighs. This is a little embarrassing. "I need to help you build shields, and one of the ways to do that quickly is through an intimate connection. Through trust."

Bail laughs. "This is a public park — my home is right across the street. I don’t even have to sneak you in. Uncle Antilles isn’t home yet. I’ve got a nice soft bed, clean sheets… "

Obi-Wan can feel a hot flush starting at his navel and spreading quickly up and over his entire torso. "I just need to kiss you — if that works, we won’t have to do more than that."

"Pity." Bail’s smile — a surprise to Obi-Wan — is a bright slash in the darkness. "I do remember being quite attracted to you."

"Really? You were a married man, deeply in love with your wife!" Obi-Wan is appalled. And flattered.

"And I spent too many nights having holo-sex with my wife, sharing my fantasies about the hot warrior monk, High General Obi-Wan Kenobi. She had her own fantasies about you too."

Obi-Wan buries his face in his hands. "I don’t think I want to know."

"Do you bottom? She wanted to know if she could peg you. I, on the other hand, told her that I would love to get fucked by you. I bet your cock is huge. You still walk like a man with a huge cock. "

Obi-Wan looks at Bail through his hands. "You are terrible, Bail."

Bail turns serious. "Help me. Please. I want my life back. I want to help this timeline — as you say, Palpatine is moving pieces on the board. Everything is at risk."

Taking a deep breath, Obi-Wan focuses on Bail, on who he is within the Force. He’s a great, rushing river, filled with life. Obi-Wan understands that, he knows how to manage and control that. He cups a hand around Bail’s jaw, a thumb caresses his cheekbone. Bail leans into the touch.

Obi-Wan reaches out with mind-speech, "Hello there, my friend".

"Obi-Wan?" Bail’s reply is faint, but the connection is established, and Obi-Wan leans forward in the physical world, brushing their lips together. The contact is chaste, at first, but Bail opens up under Obi-Wan’s mouth, moaning just a little and Obi-Wan presses the connection. The tongues touch and their minds link, Obi-Wan takes the metaphor of a river and first shows Bail how to build a small natural dam, the kind a river-creature might, with sticks and mud.

"I understand." Bail’s kiss becomes aggressive, but Obi-Wan doesn’t let him take control. He pushes back, threading his fingers into Bail’s dark, silky hair, pulling hard. The river-creature’s dam becomes more elaborate, crafted by sentients, holding back seasonal floodwaters. First they are just piles of stone, the more elaborate rock filled embankments. Then large stonework reservoirs held in place by gravity And Obi-Wan’s kiss is not gentle anymore. He bites into Bail’s lips, eating Bail’s moans and whimpers. He’s rock hard and beneath him, he feels the heat of Bail’s cock burning against his thigh.

"Are you sure you don’t want to take this inside?"

It’s nearly impossible to push the desire aside and concentrate on what he needs to do. "Keep building."

The stonework dam is transformed into a massive duracrete structure, many hundreds of meters thick. It’s tamed the raging river of Bail’s Force-presence. "Do you understand this shield? What is on each side?"

"I do." Bail’s mind-speech is now bright and clear, as if he’s been communicating like this since childhood.

Obi-Wan nuzzles against Bail for a moment before ending the physical contact. "Are you all right?"

Bail sighs, his breath warm against his cheek. "Actually, yes. It’s quiet in my head. For the first time in a very long time. Thank you. I’d like to show you my gratitude."

"In your bed, with the nice, soft sheets?"

"Mmm, yes."

"What I would prefer is if you would get off the damn spice. When you are detoxed, we’ll talk about gratitude. You’ll also need a bit more training than what I’ve just done for you."

"Oh good. Maybe I can get special lessons from you?" Bail wraps his hand around Obi-Wan long, heavy braid. "Kiss me again, please? I’ve got a lot of hard work ahead of me and would like to have something to keep my spirits up."

Obi-Wan kisses Bail again, long and slow and lingering. He almost regrets not taking Bail up on his offer of soft, clean sheets. "Go home to Alderaan, my friend, and do what needs to be done."

The next day is a little strange. Obi-Wan has to go about his life like nothing has changed, but there’s a quiet song in his heart. Because everything has changed. Someone else knows what he’s been through. The morning after his meeting with Bail in the park, his solo meditation is that much more intense, Obi-Wan has to work twice as hard to strengthen his own shields. He feels like he’s about to erupt from the sheer joy of it.

Thank the Force that Master Qui-Gon hadn’t gotten back from his Council meeting until very late, and slept just that much later that he could legitimately skip their usual joint meditations.

"Are you well, Master?" Obi-Wan sets the water to boil for tea.

"Just a bit exhausted. There was a situation — "

"Which you can’t discuss."

"No, and I wish I could. I’d like your insight. But this one is restricted."

"Understood. What would you like for first-meal? Kasha, toast, or muja fruit pastries?"

"I think the pastries — and where did they come from?"

"Believe it or not, Bruck sent them up. He’s trying his hand at baking. Everyone needs a hobby." Obi-Wan slips one of the little pies into the warmer, packs the tea ball with Qui-Gon’s favorite blend of sapir, and sets out a place setting for his master. "I need to get going — I have a session with Master Drallig and a full schedule of classes today. And there’s another session with the Naboo tomorrow. Do you know when you’ll be called to testify?"

Master Qui-Gon shakes his head. "I was told not until next week. We’ll talk about that later. Have a good day, Padawan-mine. I’ll see you this afternoon."

Obi-Wan’s day is busy enough to keep him distracted from thoughts of Bail, for the most part, except when he takes mid-meal with Master Gallia. "You are distracted, padawan. That is rather unusual for you. Is everything well?"

"Actually, I have a question for you, Master." In the most general terms, Obi-Wan describes the encounter with Bail in the conference room at the Senate Building, and then the brief discussion with Senator Prestor. "I didn’t mention it to the Senator, but I am positive that his nephew is Force-sensitive. Is there anything we can do for him?"

"Of course. In any case like that, we’d send a Master out to provide training for the individual to manage their connection to the Force. It is a pity about young Prestor. I knew his parents and attended first his mother’s funeral and then his father’s. I had no idea that Bail had been experiencing an enhanced Force-sensitivity."

"From what Senator Prestor said, it didn’t start until well after his parents’ deaths. I can’t help but wonder if it’s somehow linked to what happened when my collar came off. The timing seems right."

Master Gallia sips her caff and considers the question. "It is possible. Everything is connected in the Force — the distance wouldn’t matter, not if it’s something the Force willed. But why? What is so special about this young man?"

"What is so special about me that the Force gave me all of these midi-chlorians?"

Master Gallia smiles at him. "That, young one, is a question for the ages."

Adi Gallia and Obi-Wan Kenobi aren’t the only ones considering the interesting nature of Bail Prestor. Darth Sidious is, as well.

He’d certainly noticed the intensity of the young man’s Force-sensitivity. And more than that, his deep emotional turmoil, his anger, and best of all, his hate. Oh, that hatred was so delicious. So useful. Young Prestor could very well become the perfect Sith. An aristocrat, a member of the Elder Houses, from the most respected of the Core Worlds. Trained properly, Bail Prestor could be — would be — the voice that would bring down the Republic for good.

The perfect puppet.

Sidious gets hard at the very thought of it. He rubs himself under his silk robes, enjoying the plans on training Prestor in the Way of the Sith, bringing pleasure through pain, breaking him down, shattering that aristocratic mien, and then rebuilding him into a greedy, hungry, selfish Sith — one who will serve his every command.

He’s just about to spill when the discordant sound of the comlink interrupts his pleasure. It’s his secretary — a new one who doesn’t yet know that he shouldn’t be interrupted when his door is closed. Sidious takes a deep breath and schools his emotions. "What is it, Mistrin?"

"Senate Liaison Vosa is here for your scheduled meeting, sir."

"Ah." In his pleasure at planning the future of his new apprentice, he’d forgotten that he’d summoned his Acolyte. "Send her in."

Mistrin shows Komari in, and once the door shuts behind them, the Acolyte drops to one knee. "What is thy bidding, my Master?"

Sidious studies the woman. She is still quite handsome, and her mouth is rather luscious. It’s been a while since he’s used the bitch sexually, but this is not the time for that. But he lets her linger on her knees, just for the pleasure of the image, and her obvious annoyance.

Finally, he tells her, "You may rise."

She gets to her feet and stands at parade rest. Sidious can sense his Acolyte’s own sexual arousal and he wonders just what she’s been doing and who she’s been doing it with — her deviance is well known to him. He also senses some interesting physical discomfort. He can’t let this go unexplored. "Come here."

His Acolyte approaches.

"Part your legs."

She obeys instantly. Sidious doesn’t immediately reach for her cunt, enjoying his own anticipation — and her fear, which arouses her — and him — even more. He finally puts a hand on her inner thigh, feeling the heat of badly bruised flesh. He squeezes, then slides his hand upward, and the wetness of his bitch’s desire is evident. "You seem to have a new hobby, Acolyte?"

"Merely experimentation, my Master."

"You should have told me this was something you enjoyed, I would have liked to watch. I am most disappointed." Sidious puts just the slightest emphasis on that last word. His Acolyte shivers. But her cunt gets hotter. "Next time you want to experiment like that, let me know. I’ll arrange something we’ll both enjoy."

He takes his hand away and the bitch almost moans. Good, she has enough discipline after so many years.

"Step away." She does and goes back to one knee, head down. "I have an assignment for you. The Senator from Alderaan’s nephew, Bail Prestor, intrigues me. I want you to find out everything you can about him. Leave no stone unturned, but be discreet. Good work will be rewarded."

She rises and departs, her sexual frustration a bitter perfume. Sidious figures the bitch will go find some young innocent on which to take out her disappointment. Pity he can’t watch.

Agrippa is almost ready to call it a night and head home. Not that he’s skivving off because the senator’s gone back to Alderaan with young Bail. No, not in the least. It’s nearly midnight now — there’s been too much to do with moving meetings that couldn’t be handled via holo-conference, on top of his normally massive workload. Alderaan is a Core World, it wields great influence in the Senate, and Antilles Prestor’s word can make or break the Republic.

He’s about to send a message to the driver at Cantham House to come fetch him when an alert starts flashing on one of his monitors. Agrippa frowns. The red and yellow flashing box is troubling, indicating a breach of the Prestor family personal security files. He’d set up these warnings years ago, and every once in a while some fool slicer tries to get into his systems.

The trace and trap Agrippa crafted runs automatically and he watches it in real time as it bounces off of dark’net sites throughout the Galaxy. He makes a bet with himself that it’s going to land in either the Trade Federation-controlled Purse Worlds or deep in Hutt Space or somewhere along the Slice, but he’s wrong on all accounts. The trace lands right back here, in the Senate, destroying the originating computer system once the trace is completed.

He checks the information dump from the trace, and is surprised at what he finds. Whoever was trying to slice hadn’t been trying to get into the Senator’s files, but into Bail’s. But it doesn’t matter who the target is, Agrippa immediately initiates a priority-one lockdown, sealing everything related to the family, here on Coruscant, on Alderaan, on every planet where the Prestors have investments or have travelled in the last fifty years.

Only then does he take a look at the identification data from the originating terminal. Huh, this can’t be right — the slicing attempt started at the Jedi Liaison’s Office.

It would be easy to take a walk over there and check it out, but Agrippa doesn’t go. There’s something about Komari Vosa that he just doesn’t like. And he’s not the only one. It was a long time ago — in fact, it was the day that Antilles had been sworn in as the Senator for Alderaan, fourteen years ago — the Senator’s family, including little Bail, had come to witness the event. Liaison Vosa had introduced herself, she’d just been assigned to the role. Bail, all of six, had been charming and well-behaved all day, up until the moment that Vosa had knelt down to say hello. He took one look at her and screamed bloody murder, and wouldn’t stop. The Jedi had seemed discomposed by Bail’s behavior and quickly left, and when Bail stopped crying and Antilles asked him what was the matter, all the boy could whisper was "she’s wrong, she’s wrong". Antilles’ brother, Caius hadn’t tried to dismiss his son’s reaction, he just nodded — as if he’d agreed.

Over the years, Agrippa’s had a few interactions with Liaison Vosa, and while there’s never been anything out of the ordinary about those encounters, he can never forget Bail and Caius’ reaction to the Jedi. And maybe that’s why the hair always stands up on the back of his neck every time they cross paths.

He’s never said anything to Antilles, but he’s also noticed that Antilles goes out of his way to avoid the Liaison. The Senator reaches out to his own contacts at the Temple when he needs to consult with a Jedi, and Agrippa finds it interesting that the Temple Jedi never tell him to reach out to Liaison Vosa, no matter how banal the request.

Agrippa slices into the Senate security logs, and finds exactly what he’d suspected. Komari Vosa had exited the Senate building several hours ago — there’s even video footage of her leaving through the front door in the company of Vice Chancellor Mas Amedda, a rather unimpeachable witness. Of course, that doesn’t mean Vosa hadn’t set her comp to run the slicing program after hours.

If he was an intrepid investigator, like the kind depicted in a holo-drama, Agrippa would try to reverse slice into Vosa’s comp and download proof of her wrongdoing. But he’s not intrepid, he’s pragmatic. He knows that if Vosa’s as wrong as little boy Bail had named her to be, and the destruct sequence in Agrippa’s trap and trace will let her know that her own attempts to break into the Prestor family security have been discovered. The question is, does she know now, or will she find out come morning?

He might be a dead man even now.

But he’s not going down without a fight, and not without Antilles knowing what’s going on. The Senator’s already on Alderaan, and it’s very early morning in Aldera City. Agrippa transmits the reports and places a holo-call, not worried that he might be waking Antilles up. This is too important.

"Agrippa? What’s the matter?" Antilles looks like he hasn’t gone to bed yet.

He gives a succinct sitrep. Even through the blue of the holo, he can see Antilles’ expression darken.
Agrippa asks, "What to you want me to do about this?"

"Nothing. If the Liaison is involved, it could be dangerous. I have contacts in the Order, but I don’t want to do this via holo. I’ll handle this when I get back. I want you to come to Alderaan. You and Stephana. Have her meet you at the Spaceport, I’ll send word for the Tantive II to be prepped for immediate departure. Don’t go home."

"Sir — there’s work to do. The Naboo trial against the Trade Federation starts next week."

"And I have plenty of personal security. You are an aide who can be easily taken out. Don’t disobey me, Agrippa, please."

He sighs. He can’t resist Antilles, ever. "How is Bail?"

"He’s holding up — much better than I expected. We’re leaving for the rehab center in about an hour. Now, you and Stephana get off of Coruscant. No arguments."

Komari glides into her office late the following morning, feeling quite pleased with herself.

The slicer she’d bought the program from had guaranteed that it was both untraceable and foolproof — there would be no way anyone, not even the best anti-slicers in Judicial could block this code. Now, Komari isn’t stupid, or gullible. She knows that slicers — like all criminals — are prone to bragging, but she’d used his services before, and the slicing had worked perfectly against some very high-ranking individuals.

She hadn’t expected to find her comp completely blown. She pulls the data unit and heads to the cantina on the two-hundred-seventy-ninth level, where the slicer has set up shop.

Lorgius, the name the slicer goes by, is an ancient Devaronian with an implant in one eye and a split horn. He doesn’t blink when Komari takes a seat across from him in his booth. To her annoyance, he keeps her waiting far too long, before acknowledging her presence.

"By your expression, it seems that the slice didn’t go as planned."

"It killed my comp."

"Hmm. That’s surprising." He holds out his hand and she drops the burned out data unit into it.

A few moments later, he has it connected to his own system, and lets out a thoughtful "Hmm". Then he disconnects the unit and hands it back to her. "Go home, little girl, and sleep with both eyes open."

"What do you mean by that? You are supposed to be the best. You made all kinds of promises."

"Well, there’s always a bigger fish, and you just got swallowed whole. Whoever was on the other end of your slice is the biggest, baddest fish I’ve ever encountered. I’ve heard rumors of anti-slicing like this and prayed I’d never come up against it."

"Can you tell me if the anti-slice traced back to the origination point?"

"Down to the registration name and number on the terminal. You’re kriffed, little girl."

"And so are you." From under the table, Komari fires a slug-thrower, capped with a muffler, right into the old thing’s belly. Lorgius blinks and falls face-first into his screens. She reaches over and plucks out his eye-implant, just in case in had been recording. And she takes his comp unit for good measure.

Her master will have no reason to know about her failure today. She’ll just have to find other ways to get the information he wants about Bail Prestor.

Chapter Text

Flowing waters always try to teach us something.
Back then we didn’t know what they were teaching, but we learned.
Near the water, wild birds in a bush.
Now they all have precise new names
but they go on flying and blossoming and being called
“pretty bird,” “sweet-smelling bush.” And decisions taken,
and those not taken, are flowing waters:
waters flowing from what has always been
to what will always be.

What Has Always Been Stanza 11

By Yehuda Amichai
Translated by Chana Bloch and Chana Kronfeld

A subtle vibration from his chrono reminds Qui-Gon that he has an appointment and he excuses himself from the current topic of discussion.

Mace, of course, has to get his two credits worth. "You know, Qui-Gon, when you were made a member of this Council, you signed on for all of the responsibilities — including the boring ones. Like budget reviews."

"And you have received my input on every department review you’ve assigned to me. Sitting here and discussing them while my ass gets numb and fat isn’t doing anyone any good. Besides, I have to go meet my Master, he is returning to the Temple for the first time in more than five years." He crosses the Starbird seal, reaches the Council room doors, turns and bows to the budget subcommittee — Mace, Ki-Adi-Mundi and Even Piell. "I bit you all a good afternoon. I’ll see you tomorrow."

Mace waves him off, as if Qui-Gon actually needs his permission. But Qui-Gon smiles to himself as he waits for the turbo-lift. It’s all theatrics — Mace needs to flex his Master of the Order muscles and Qui-Gon needs to play up his role as The Maverick.

If anyone had told him, three years ago, that he’d be happy to be Temple-bound and a member of the High Council, he’d have told them to go visit a mind-healer. But the truth is, he loves his life as it is now, as different as it might be from the life he’d lived for the previous thirty-five years.

He’d spent almost his entire padawanship on the go, happily trailing after his very dynamic master. Mission after mission. There were years when he hadn’t been at the Temple for more than two weeks at a time, at least until Healers and the educational administrators would put their collective and metaphorical feet down, insisting that Qui-Gon stay put long enough to catch up on his classes and examinations, even if it meant that Master Dooku had to either stay put or go out on his own.

Most times, his master had preferred to stay put rather than go on mission without him. He’d spend time doing research and confer with his colleagues and friends. Just long enough for this boots to become itchy. Usually a six-week semester’s worth of classes. Then they’d take off again and happily fling themselves into solving the Galaxy’s problems.

Qui-Gon kept to a similar pattern with his own padawans — at least the first two. His time as Feemor’s Master had been brief, and after the first year of their partnership, Feemor was a Senior Padawan and assigned to mostly to solo missions. With Anakin, Qui-Gon had taken him as a Learner early and the Council of Reassignment insisted that his new student get a strong educational experience before heading out into the Galaxy. That was a mistake Anakin had paid dearly for. If they’d been out of the Temple — then maybe certain events wouldn’t have transpired the way they did…

Qui-Gon shakes his head, dispelling the bad memories. He might not have foreseen what that deviant bitch was going to do to his padawan, but he’d done everything possible to help Anakin recover and become the best Jedi, the best man he could possibly be in the years since.

Maybe Obi-Wan is a gift for that dedication? Coming through all of the pain and hardship with Anakin, and then letting him go. But as soon as the idea takes form, Qui-Gon dismisses it. Obi-Wan might be a gift, but he’s not a reward.

As he gets out of the turbo-lift, Qui-Gon thinks, any life fully lived is naturally going to be full of changes. He’d spent a long time in the field — first as a padawan at Master Yan’s side, then on his own as a field knight, then training his padawans. Now, he gets to be a teacher and a High Councilor, with a very unique padawan learner, one who never fails to surprise and delight him.

He’s come to love spending his days in one place in the slower-paced, day-to-day life of an in-Temple master and padawan pairing. Even his work on the High Council is mostly enjoyable. Time has become syrupy, like thick, golden honey. And just as sweet, too. Obi-Wan is a joy to teach, a joy to train, to meditate with. The boy isn’t mindlessly compliant, Qui-Gon would go mad if he was. No, Obi-Wan is sharp and eager, and witty, and he doesn’t think twice about arguing a point if he believes he’s right.

It’s not arrogance, far from it. Qui-Gon has watched his padawan carefully, how he moves about the Temple and interacts with the beings in it. There’s a self-possession there, a bone-deep surety that he belongs here. Qui-Gon loves that confidence.

A while back, about a year after Obi-Wan had arrived at the Temple, his old friend Micah Giiett, had observed Obi-Wan talk with a group of knights and senior padawans, and snarked to Qui-Gon that Obi-Wan handles himself more like High Councilor than a Council Padawan, and that maybe Qui-Gon should tell him to tone it down. Qui-Gon had emphatically disagreed, he says it’s how Obi-Wan finds his own balance as a stranger in a strange land.

After Micah had spent some time with Obi-Wan, he became a fan, praising Obi-Wan to Qui-Gon like Qui-Gon has no clue how wonderful his own padawan is.

He can’t wait to discover what his own Master will think of Obi-Wan, which will be sooner than later, which sends knots through his stomach.
This is the first time Qui-Gon will be seeing his Master in person for the first time in more than five years. Master Yan had sent him a message two days ago that he will be returning to Coruscant to witness the knighting of his grandpadawan, Nim Pianna, who is currently undergoing her Trials. Rael — that beloved miscreant — had returned to the Temple two days ago with Nim, and she immediately started her Trials. Traditionally, Padawans undergoing their Trials remain secluded with their Masters, so Qui-Gon hasn’t had the chance to see his padawan-brother, and probably won’t for another week or so.

The thought of his Master, his padawan-brother, his own padawans — Obi-Wan and Anakin — all here on Coruscant at the same time make his so happy. The only thing that would make his happiness complete would be if Feemor showed up. But that’s an impossibility. His first padawan had gone into the Temple Guards and it’s as if that young man no longer exists. All Qui-Gon can do is type his name into Jedi’net and read his entry, see his face, and assure himself that he’s still alive.

Qui-Gon sighs and tells himself that’s enough, let it go. It’s been almost twenty years since Feemor had been knighted, then left his braid and a note telling him he was joining the Guards, and not to contact him ever again. Just a dozen words, that’s it. And Qui-Gon has always respected Feemor’s request, but he’s never stopped missing his first padawan.

Again, Qui-Gon releases the unhappiness into the Force and makes his way through the Temple, towards the Temple hangers. He checks the time on his chrono, and picks up the pace. Master Yan should be landing within the next ten minutes.

Qui-Gon loves his old master. Yan Dooku is an irascible high stickler, mostly wise and always fierce, so clearly a product of Yoda’s training, and yet as much an individual as any other knight of the Order. He can be witty and kind and cruel, all in the same breath, and if Qui-Gon arrives late, he’s never going to hear the end of it.

He arrives at the Temple docks just as Master Yan’s landing bay is posted, and he has to dodge maintenance droids, sprint over power cables, and avoid getting flattened by machine carts to get to landing pad Jenth-7 before his master’s Aethersprite touches down.

Yan Dooku might be a scion of one of the wealthiest families in the Galaxy, but he is a Jedi through and through. His Aethersprite is one of the oldest in the Temple’s fleet, and while it’s well-maintained, from the way the landing gear creaks and the engine sputters, Qui-Gon worries that it’s reaching the end of its useful life.

"I see you received my message, Padawan."

Qui-Gon gives his old master a bow. "It arrived timely. I have made arrangements for your stay."

"Thank you." A maintenance worker wheels a ladder into place and his master climbs down, sedate and yet, as nimble as ever. Qui-Gon can’t help but think of the last time he’d been down at these docks, meeting Anakin, who had eschewed the ladder and simply used the Force to soften his leap down from the cockpit.

"Your journey was peaceful? No issues once you left Mandalorian space?"

Master Yan gives him a thin smile, a very familiar expression. "There might have been trouble, but Mand’alor the Patient is fond enough of his Jedi Ambassador and lent me an escort as far as the Hydian Way."

"That was kind of him."

"Yes, it was. I will have to find a suitable gift to bring back to Mandalore to acknowledge that kindness. Please turn your thoughts to the matter."

"Of course, Master." Qui-Gon keeps his sigh to himself. Some things never change.

"Let me look at you, Padawan."

Qui-Gon stands there, enduring his Master’s thorough inspection and does not miss how his eyes linger on his scuffed boots.

But Master Yan doesn’t comment on them. "Hmm. So, my padawan is now a member of the Jedi High Council. You have done your lineage proud." Master Yan puts a hand on his shoulder. "I did not expect that of you. But you wear it well."

Qui-Gon nods his head, accepting the praise, and offering it back. "I am but a credit to your teachings, my master."

"And as all padawans should, you grow and shine brighter than your old master."

"Thank you, Master Yan. But you were a member of the High Council too, after you gave up taking padawans." Qui-Gon doesn’t mention the bitch by name.

"And speaking of padawans, where is your new one?" His master actually looks behind him, expecting to see Obi-Wan hovering there.

"At this time of day, Obi-Wan will be in class. You’ll meet him this evening."

"I am looking forward to it."

There’s a curious note in Master Yan’s voice, Qui-Gon thinks. It’s hard to tell in the chaos of the busy hanger facility. Master Yan sets up a quick pace back to the Temple proper, and for all that Qui-Gon is Master Jedi, has raised two padawans to knighthood and now sits on the Jedi High Council, he still feels very much like a padawan trailing after his Master.

Master Yan strides through the Temple, nodding to various Jedi, but not stopping to greet anyone or engage in conversation, and no one stops him. Yan Dooku, for all that he is a Consular Jedi with an impeccable reputation, is also one who is somewhat unapproachable to those who aren’t his close associates. He’ll be the first to tell you that he loathes small talk and the banality of polite chit-chat. And so, the journey through the Temple is conducted in silence.

At the turbo-lift bank for the North Quadrant, Qui-Gon presses the call button. "You’re in your usual rooms, by the way. Just down the hall from my suite."

The get off at the right floor and stop at a doorway and Master Yan puts in his code. The door opens and Qui-Gon taps the light switch. The main room is about three times the size of the one in his suite, with a large dining table, several seating areas and a well-stocked wet-bar — accommodations fitting for high-ranking guests.

Master Yan opens the curtains to let some daylight into the room. It’s a clear day in this hemisphere, not too much smog and the sunlight glints off of the Senate dome. "Ah, Coruscant, it hasn’t changed one bit. Still the same wretched hive of scum and villainy it’s always been."

"I thought that was Mos Eisley, on Tatooine, Master."

"Honestly, Padawan-mine, is there much of a difference?" Master Yan chuckles.

"I guess not." When the silence becomes awkward, Qui-Gon asks, "Shall I leave you to rest from your journey?"

His master just raises one of those very famous eyebrows at him. “Really, Qui-Gon, I am not in my decrepitude yet. No need for a nap just yet."

"Ah. Shall I get the brandy then?"

"That would be lovely. It’s after five somewhere on this wretched planet."

Qui-Gon explores the selections in the wet bar and finds a bottle of extra-old Corellian brandy tucked in the back of the cabinet, likely a bottle that his master put there on his last visit. He sets it down and hears his master’s hum of approval.

"Glasses, Padawan. The appropriate shape and make certain they are clean."

"Of course, Master." Qui-Gon finds a pair of cut crystal snifters, holds each one up to the light to check for dust and chipped rims. Housekeeping has done a good job. He sets them down next to the bottle and lets his master pour.

"Ahh, very proper of you, Padawan-mine."

"You taught me diplomacy, nurtured me through astrometrics, and most importantly, educated me on how and when to consume fine spirits."

Master Yan pours a generous measure into each glass and Qui-Gon takes his, offering a small toast. "To you, my Master. May the Force bless you in all your endeavors and may you only grow in wisdom and compassion."

"Thank you. And to you, Qui-Gon, May the Force be with you and give you guidance as you raise another padawan in wisdom and compassion."

They touch glasses and the fine crystal rings through the room like a bell sealing their blessings.

Master grabs the bottle and they move over to the pair of easy chairs. "Come now, tell me about my new grandpadawan." Master Yan looks at him over the rim of his glass, eyes piercing. Qui-Gon feels like he’s seventeen and just gotten caught sneaking back into their lodgings after a late night’s "reconnaissance" of the local wildlife.

But Qui-Gon isn’t seventeen anymore. He tosses the question back to his master. "What have you heard?"

"What makes you think I’ve heard anything, Padawan-mine?"

Qui-Gon can keep this up all afternoon, until that bottle of brandy is just a memory. "Because you talk with your master on a regular basis. Far more frequently than you speak with me. Not that I’m criticizing you, Master. Just pointing out that Grandmaster Yoda has had three years to tell you about the many perfections of his newest great-grandpadawan."

"Oh, very well. Master Yoda frequently sings the praises of your padawan." Master Yan takes a measured sip of his brandy and sighs. "Honestly, if I wasn’t a Jedi, I’d be jealous of that boy."

Qui-Gon grins. "Master Yoda is that bad?"

"Force, Qui-Gon. He doesn’t stop. Obi-Wan this, Obi-Wan that. By the Force, Soresu Obi-Wan was taught. Speaks eight languages Obi-Wan does. All honors classes does Obi-Wan take. And I’m to understand that this boy — this prodigy — is someone you found on Tatooine, of all places? In a junk shop?"

Qui-Gon bursts out laughing, he can’t help it. "You make it sound like Obi-Wan is a replacement part for broken hyperdrive generator."

Master Yan chuckles. "Yes, I suppose it does sound like that. But I can never get him to tell me exactly how Obi-Wan ended up as your padawan. Honestly, it’s a rather confusing story. Something about a mission to Naboo — the damn Trade Federation blockading the planet over some energy rights?"

Qui-Gon nods. "It’s a strange a complicated story, as things usually are with the Trade Federation. About twenty years ago, they had helped finance the construction of an energy plasma plant. Five years ago, they declared that they were entitled to the entirety of the output, even though the Naboo had repaid the loan with interest more than a decade ago. The Order was asked to negotiate between the Trade Federation and the Naboo. It all turned to shit and the Trade Federation illegally invaded. But that’s just background. What else do you know?"

"Master said that you and Anakin had escaped with the Naboo queen and had to land on Tatooine, of all places." Master Yan visibly shudders. "I have no fond memories of that planet."

"You’ve actually been there? You never told me about that mission." Like every padawan, Qui-Gon had loved listening to his master’s stories about his own missions.

"As a padawan. Master Yoda and I had been trying to negotiate with the Hutts, to get them to stop trafficking in Republic citizens. It was not one of our finer moments. Or rather, it was not one of my finer moments. Hutts are Force-resistant, and the one who’d proclaimed itself as ruler of that planet was an ancient, spice-addled monster. I was intemperate in my speech and the Hutt attacked, trying to bite. Master Yoda stepped between us and that creature tried to eat Master Yoda! Almost gave him spice-poisoning." Master Yan shudders and shakes his head at the memory. "My apologies for interrupting your story — you were saying?"

"Actually, Master, you were telling me what you know."

"Ah, right. Master Yoda said that you’d been forced to land on Tatooine, where you met your padawan. He was wearing a Force-inhibitor collar, but when you tried to examine it, the boy had a vision about a powerful darksider attacking the Queen’s ship. That’s where Master’s story goes off the rails."

Qui-Gon isn’t surprised that Master Yoda didn’t tell Master Yan that the darksider was a Sith. That has been keep a very close secret.

"Yes, Obi-Wan had a most extraordinary vision. At first, I couldn’t understand him — it was like he was speaking gibberish, but he pulled me close so our foreheads touched and only then did his words make sense. I rushed back to the ship and found Anakin already battling the darksider — a powerful Zabrak. It took both of us to put him down. I cut off the darksider’s head while Anakin cut off his arm."

"And the young man — Obi-Wan?"

"He is extraordinary." Qui-Gon knows he can’t give his Master the complete story, that is strictly need-to-know, and Master Yan does not need to know.

"I’d imagine. Master Yoda told me that Anakin left the Order after this mission, that he made a 'sacrifice most valiant' and will forever be honored for it, but he didn’t go into detail. What does that mean?"

Qui-Gon has been nursing quite a bit of hurt over this. For three years, his Master has never inquired why his grandpadawan left the Order. Of course, Master Yan probably would like to just forget that Anakin exists. Qui-Gon takes a breath and once again releases that hurt and anger into the Force. "We found the darksider’s ship, which was rather extraordinarily well equipped for battle, unlike the Naboo cruiser we had used in our escape. Instead of taking the Naboo Queen back here to Coruscant so she could humiliate herself in front of the Senate, which would do nothing but slap the Trade Federation on the wrist, Anakin resigned from the Order, used the darksider’s ship to break the Trade Federation’s blockade. He destroyed the droid controller platform and ended the invasion. It also helped that Anakin and Queen Amidala had formed a deep emotional connection. Queen Amidala offered Anakin a home on Naboo, and they got married the following year."

There’s a touch of hurt in his master’s eyes. He should have been invited to his grandpadawan’s wedding. "What about Obi-Wan? Where does he fit into all of this? Did you bring him back to Coruscant along with the darksider’s head?"

"Not quite. Obi-Wan was a slave."

Master Yan nods, understanding the problem. "Ah. And Jedi cannot buy slaves."

"No, we cannot."

"You should have comm’d me, Qui-Gon. I would have — "

"You would have what, Master? I’ve been a Jedi knight for a long time, as you’ve pointed out, I’ve raised two padawans to knighthood. I think it would be rather shameful to call upon my own master to run interference with the Council."

Master Yan frowns. "Pride is a fearsome thing, Padawan. And unbecoming of a Jedi, especially if it means leaving a Force-sensitive young man lingering in servitude. Even though I am a Jedi, I do have access to funds."

"I don’t think even your wealth would have helped."

"Oh, really? Obi-Wan’s owner was that attached to him?"

"Yes, exactly. I just realized that I didn’t tell you one of the more interesting bits of my trip to Tatooine. There was an older woman who worked with Obi-Wan in that junk shop, another slave. You might not believe me when I tell you that she was Anakin’s birth mother. Kind of defines the expression 'the Force works in mysterious ways', does it?"

Qui-Gon shouldn’t take so much pleasure in rendering Master Yan speechless.

"And when Anakin went to Tatooine to free his mother, the Council sent a knight with a considerable sum, plus the Naboo queen provided money as well. The Toydarian wouldn’t sell Obi-Wan for any price."

"And yet, he is here, as your padawan. Someone must have paid for him."

"No. No one purchased him, but it was a lengthy endeavor to free him. It took close to two years to pry him loose from his owner’s greedy hands. Master Yoda started having visions about Obi-Wan when he was on Ilum, and was so concerned, he went to Tatooine himself to meet him."

"Master said nothing about that to me."

Qui-Gon takes perverse pleasure in that, but all he says is, "From what I heard, the Council made him take a mission partner. He took Adi Gallia with him. They both met Obi-Wan and were so charmed by him that they each declared their intention to ask him to be their padawan learner. Just think, my master. If Obi-Wan had chosen differently, he could have been your padawan-brother instead of your grandpadawan."

Master Yan glares at him. "You are really quite evil, Qui-Gon. But how did the boy get off of Tatooine if no one purchased him?"

"That is a story I really can’t tell you."

"It was a Shadow operation, then?"

Qui-Gon nods. "All I can say is that at the time, I was on Malastare for another round of that damn energy treaty, the same endless and frustrating exercise as it was when I was your padawan. I received an urgent message from Mace, recalling me back to the Temple. He met me at the Temple station with the news that Obi-Wan had been freed and was due to arrive on Coruscant within the next few hours. But the bad news was that both Master Yoda and Adi were each planning to ask him to be their padawan. I needed to intercept Obi-Wan at the spaceport."

"Thank you for that."

"And the truth is, Obi-Wan wanted to be my padawan. He is a bit too much in awe of Master Yoda, I think, for them to get along."

"Thank the Force." His master finishes the contents of his glass in one swallow.

"You are really wedded to the idea of being Master Yoda’s last padawan."

Master Yan tips another few fingers of brandy into his glass. "In all honesty, yes. Not very Jedi of me, I know."

"We are mortal beings, Master. Flawed. You are entitled to your vanities."

This time, when Master Yan smiles it reaches his eyes. "Thank you, Qui-Gon. Your understanding is appreciated. Tell me, how did Master Yoda take Obi-Wan's decision?"

"He was a little put out, and had tried on several occasions to steal my padawan. But Obi-Wan has remained firmly committed to our pairing. He is as loyal as he is kind." Qui-Gon smiles into his snifter.

"Master Yoda has mentioned loyalty is one of the boy’s many virtues. But I have to wonder, how a does teenager raised outside of the Temple, and one who spent what — four years — as a slave, acclimate to life as a Jedi? Even the most compassionate of Jedi must find him a bit of an oddity?"

"Oddity?"

"I don’t mean to speak ill of him, or to be cruel — but it must have been difficult for the boy to enter the Temple as a teenager, completely unschooled in the culture and customs of the Jedi. How has he managed?"

Qui-Gon has expected this question. "There is something about Obi-Wan — you’ll see for yourself soon enough — that makes even the hardest case warm to him. He doesn’t try to make anyone like him. You’d think that would the path a former slave would take, cozening up to the favorites, making himself useful. He has a way of speaking that makes people listen. It’s astonishing, really. Even Micah Giiett is impressed."

His master nods, understanding the significance of Micah’s acceptance. "What about his age-mates? How does he deal with being the perpetual outsider. Clan is everything in Temple society."

"Obi-Wan has a small group of friends who have welcomed him — they know his background and it doesn’t matter to them. As for the rest of Obi-Wan’s peers, it helps that he’s brilliant, preternaturally talented with a 'saber, and too handsome for his own good."

His master remains unconvinced. "Hmm — sounds like that could be a recipe for disaster."

"If it was anyone else, probably. But Obi-Wan is so much in the Light, it sometimes hurts to meditate with him. It’s like staring into a star."

"I can’t wait to meet this model of padawan-ly perfection." Master Yan takes another sip of his brandy. "But tell me, how has the rest of the Temple reacted to having a sixteen year old former slave dropped on them as a padawan, as perfect as he might be?"

"Ah, yes. That’s an interesting tale."

"Padawan?"

Qui-Gon takes a deep breath and commits to the story, even though he doesn’t quite believe it. "Do you remember ever hearing anything about The Lost Youngling?"

His Master frowns. "I don’t think so. Did we actually lose a Youngling?"

Qui-Gon nods. "About fifteen years ago, a four year old boy went missing on a field trip to the Senate. He was never found."

"How absolutely terrible. And you believe that your padawan is this missing Youngling?"

"I don’t know — it’s possible he is. Although Obi-Wan is adamant that he is not. He insists, even though his mind was wiped, that he was not raised in the Temple. However, from the moment I met him, I swore I was talking with a Temple-trained child."

"Can’t the Healers do a DNA match?"

"That’s the thing. The Youngling’s records were sliced — everything about the boy was deleted from the Temple’s records. And from Judicial’s records. And from the Senate Investigation Branch. Whoever took the boy did a very thorough job of cracking into some well-shielded servers, erasing his existence, and then just they just got rid of him." Qui-Gon shakes his head, as frustrated as ever. "It doesn’t make sense, but it’s where the evidence points. And what a horrid tragedy that was."

"I can only imagine — to lose a Youngling. How horrible."

"No, actually, I don’t think you can imagine. When I got my Council seat and all of the clearances, I took a look at the official file. The Youngling had been paired up with a Sullustan girl, and she had only remembered quarreling with the boy, who had been her best friend. When she got back to the Temple, she couldn’t even remember his name without prompting, and then kept forgetting it. Like someone had used Suggestion on her, tampered with her memories. She couldn’t remember when she had gotten separated from the boy and the night after the child went missing, she began having horrific nightmares about monsters eating her friend. Eventually, the child begged to leave the Temple and go back to her family. Six other children in that clan had reported similar recurring nightmares on and off for the next three years, and all of those Younglings found life at the Temple intolerable, or used similar words according to the individual mind-healers assigned, and ended up returning to their families. Of the nineteen surviving Younglings from Cloud-Hawk clan, seven had been returned to their families before becoming Initiates due to residual emotional trauma, six of the remaining group entered the various Service Corps, and of the remaining six, three that had become padawans were lost in the line of duty and the other three have since left the Order. The child’s clan, Cloud-Hawk, was disbanded after the Crechemaster had an emotional breakdown and gave herself to the Force.

"What a sad and terribly unblessed group of young people that tragedy had visited. With the exception of your Obi-Wan, of course."

"Who was kidnapped, traumatized, had his mind wiped, sold to slavers, had a bomb implanted in his spine, and spent four years with a Force-inhibitor collar around his neck. It is a Force-blessed miracle he didn’t lose his mind."

Master Yan bows his head. "I’m sorry — that was a foolish thing to say.

"It’s alright, Master. He survived the horrors and has been returned to us and he thrives now. To answer your original question, he was a bit of sensation when he returned to the Temple, but if anyone mentions Obi-Wan now, it’s because of his prowess with a 'saber."

"Master Yoda mentioned something about a 'saber duel with Mace, and then started cackling. I was a little concerned when he fell off his cushion and the holo connection cut off. Try as I might, I have not been able to get him to finish the story. Perhaps you might?"

"There’s not a lot to tell. About a year ago, Mace challenged Obi-Wan to a spar. He lost."

"Oh, Padawan, there is plenty to tell. Like why would the Master of the Order challenge a padawan to a spar?"

"Because my padawan is that good and Mace is a little put out that he’s no longer the only Jedi with a purple 'saber."

Master Yan raises an eyebrow at that. "Now I’m looking forward to seeing just how good your padawan really is. But on the other hand, Vaapad is not the form of invincibility."

"Nor is Makashi."

Master Yan sniffs, clearly disagreeing with that statement.

"I believe Master Drallig taught Obi-Wan The Song of the Diathim within a few months after he began his lightsaber training."

"Look, Padawan, you don’t need to make things up to convince me that your Obi-Wan is special," Master Yan says testily.

"Look, Master, Obi-Wan has private lessons with the Battlemaster at seven, most mornings. If you want proof, set your chrono and go down to salle Esk-9 to watch them. I’m sure he’ll be happy to demonstrate."

"Fine. Now, can we change the subject?"

"Please."

The next hour or so, Master Yan regales him with tales from the Court of Jaster Mereel, Mand’alor the Patient, as they work their way to a pleasant mid-afternoon impairment when Qui-Gon’s comm buzzes. He fumbles getting it unhooked from his belt. "Oh look, it’s Rael." It buzzes again and Master Yan uses the Force to snatch it out of his hand.

"Good day, Padawan mine."

"Master?"

"That is my title, Rael."

"I called Qui-Gon. Is everything okay?"

"Your brother-padawan is a bit … polluted. Forty-something and he still can’t hold his liquor."

Qui-Gon tries to defend himself and snatches back his comm unit. "I can too hold my liquor fine. Just not before late-meal. How is it going?"

"Ya great big berk, ya should know better than to day drink with our Master. It’s going just wonderfully. Nim’s passed her Trial of Skill and her Trial of Courage. The next two days are rest days."

Qui-Gon flushes the intoxicant from his system, even though the use of the Force leaves him with a sharp headache. "That is wonderful to hear, and please give our best to your padawan." Master Yan echoes the sentiment.

"Will do, and thank ya both. I gotta go now. Will check in with ya when I can." Rael clicks off.

"I don’t know about you, but I think I need some tea." He gets up and goes to the small kitchenette, which has been fully stocked with everything Master Dooku could want in his brief stay. Including his favorite tea and sweeteners.

"I remember those days," Master Yan leans back in his chair, smiles and sighs fondly. "Three padawans, three sets of Trials, three knightings."

Three Qui-Gon freezes. He’d done such a good job forgetting…

His master is quick to pick up on the change in Qui-Gon’s mood. "You’re still holding a grudge, aren’t you."

"It’s not a grudge, Master. It’s justifiable outrage." Qui-Gon does his best not to lose his temper. He can’t even quantify what he feels, other than righteous anger. "She should have been expelled from the Order and turned over to the civilian authorities for what she did to Anakin." It really is a struggle to keep the resentment from boiling out. He recites the Code as a bulwark against the helpless bitterness he still feels, against the memory of his own padawan’s pain and humiliation, against his sister-padawan’s smirking triumph. "I don’t understand how you could defend her."

"I’m was not defending Komari, I was defending our lineage and the reputation of the Order."

"Anakin is part of your lineage, too. Or did you forget that? She came damn close to destroying him. He was fourteen years old — she should have been expelled and tried for rape."

Master Yan frowns. "I had to do what is best for the Order, Qui-Gon. Sometimes, we have to sacrifice for the greater good."

Qui-Gon counts backwards from twenty, and then from twenty again. "Sacrifice? You wanted me to sacrifice my padawan’s health and well-being for the sake of your lineage. And don’t say it’s my lineage too. Our padawans’ well-being is more important than anything. "

"Exactly — I wanted the best for Komari, too."

"She was a thirty year old woman who raped a fourteen year old boy. You can’t compare the two. What she did deserved expulsion and criminal charges. And if you insisted on protecting your lineage, why not protect Anakin?"

Yan doesn’t answer. He sits there, just frowning. Because he has no answer.

All of the anger that Qui-Gon has been giving to the Force for the last fourteen years comes boiling out. "My padawan, my Anakin, might not have been the most intellectually gifted, he might not have had a stunningly high midi-chlorian count. But he has a huge heart and an infinite well of compassion. He couldn’t understand why his Grandmaster couldn’t look at him anymore, wouldn’t remember him on Life Day anymore, and he thought it was because he was now unclean. Or because he was crazy. Because of his panic attacks. I had to tell Anakin that his Grandmaster was a bantha’s ass who cared about unimportant things."

Qui-Gon stops before he says something he’ll truly regret. The room is quiet, the only sound is the gentle susurration of the air recirculators.

Master Yan sighs and droops, sinking in on himself. "You and Rael, you have always been the best part of me. Strong, smart, intuitive, wise — you were both born to be Jedi. Komari — she had gifts, but — " Master Yan shakes his head, "she was not as strong. I am sorry — to you, to Anakin, to Rael. I was not the master that Komari needed."

"And we’ve all been paying the price for your vanity, my master. Do you know that Anakin actually told me he was shocked you had bothered to return to Coruscant for his knighting. That you even remembered his name."

"I suppose I deserve that. How can I make this right?"

"With me or with Anakin?"

"Both of you."

Qui-Gon sighs. "You don’t have to do anything for me. I will always love and respect you. But you need to make your amends to Anakin. He and Queen Amidala are on Coruscant for the trial against the Trade Federation. If I ask him to meet with you, would you seek his forgiveness, as one Jedi would to another?"

His master looks down at his hands for a long moment, and then back at him, his eyes dark and as fathomless as space. "That is the least I can do."

Chapter Text

Again our feelings, budding in our brains,
Will learn to walk beyond the fence to see:
The watershed divides the winter rains
In strict directions between sea and sea.

Here We Loved - Sonnet Cycle, (fragment)
By Yehuda Amichai

Translated by Barbara and Benjamin Harshav

Obi-Wan isn’t surprised that Bail is absent from the next meeting in the Senate building, but he’s taken aback that Senator Prestor is gone as well — as is the senator’s senior aide. A competent young Twi’lek arrives just as the Queen and her entourage have entered the conference room.

"Senator Prestor sends his most profound apologies for his absence, and that of his senior aide, Ser Algrete. Family obligations have recalled them to Alderaan, but Senator Prestor will be back in well in time for the trial."

Palpatine and his aide enter the conference room just as the Twi’lek finishes, and he repeats the message.

Palatine nods. "Hmm, well, we still have the trial strategy to discuss, Your Majesty." He dismisses the Twi’lek with a wave of his hand and takes a seat at the head of the table, intending to control the agenda.

"Senator Palpatine, the trial strategy has been set for months. Your role in this litigation is minimal." Queen Amidala says icily. She is having none of Palpatine’s posturing.

"Your Majesty?" Obi-Wan enjoys Palpatine’s shock at Queen Amidala’s forthright dismissal of his plans to take control of the meeting.

"Do I have to remind you, you are the senator for the entire Chommell Sector, which comprises thirty-six full-member Republic worlds, and over over forty-thousand settled planetary dependencies — of which Naboo is only one. Despite my requests over the last five years, you have done little to advance this case in the Senate. Now that the matter has finally risen to the top of the Senate’s agenda, you wish to take control and reap the kudos?" The Queen’s voice is colder than the ice fields of Hoth.

Palpatine sits there, his mouth agape.

The Queen and her contingent stare at him, waiting for a response. Obi-Wan thinks this might be a good time to play a card. "Your Majesty, perhaps the Senator has something to offer in the way of strategy against the Trade Federation?"

Queen Amidala nods regally, giving him permission to continue. They had discussed this as a potential feint against Palpatine if he became too encroaching.

And of course, Palpatine recovers his poise, looking smug and condescending at Obi-Wan’s words. "Of course I would be happy to offer my experience — "

Before he can start prosing on, Obi-Wan speaks, but he doesn’t talk directly to Palpatine. "After all, the Senator must have a unique perspective on curtailing the Trade Federation’s expansionist and illegal activities. After all, he gave that ground-breaking speech right after the invasion and Your Majesty’s historic destruction of the droid army and negotiation of unconditional surrender by the Trade Federation’s so-called 'Viceroy for Naboo', Nute Gunray."

Palpatine doesn’t quite squawk, but he definitely sounds like he’s on his back foot now. "You heard that speech?"

Now, Obi-Wan turns to him and smiles — that particularly sharp-edged one. "Oh, yes. And I studied it at length. Are you aware that it is considered one of the Senate's 'Notable Speeches of the Month', Senator? But quite surprisingly, you never followed up on it with any proposed actions, did you?"

Queen Amidala chimes in, "Yes, Senator. Why is that?"

Obi-Wan throws Palpatine a false lifeline when he doesn’t respond. "Perhaps the Senator has been working behind the scenes?"

As expected, Palpatine grabs it. "Yes, of course. Better to move quietly, in the shadows. The Trade Federation is powerful and has many allies. Keeping a low profile makes this type of work easier."

And Her Majesty tugs it away. "Of course. Please summarize your work against the Trade Federation and what legislation you have and will be proposing. It would be unfortunate if my testimony undermines your efforts."

Obi-Wan has to admit that Palpatine is smooth and smart — after all, he is the Sith Lord — or one of them. He’s not so different from the evil creature who destroyed the Republic, exterminated the Jedi, and ruled an Empire. This one weaves a very plausible tale of political machination against the great corporate entities, but always stopping short of taking actual, effective action.

The Queen is good, peppering Palpatine over the course of the allotted hour about his mendacity, digging into the subterfuge, but never outright calling him a liar. Then she dismisses him with a wave of her hand. "Thank you, we have no further need to take up your time, Senator. If we need to discuss anything else before the trial, one of our handmaidens will contact your office."

Palpatine nods, but before he can say anything, the royal party leaves the conference room, and like the last time, Madame Skywalker blocks the door, preventing the Senator from exiting until the Queen has reached the safety of the turbo-lifts, then she departs with a nod to Obi-Wan.

Palpatine and his aide are still in the room, clearly waiting for something, and Obi-Wan wonders what.

Palpatine smiles at him and Obi-Wan’s flesh crawls. "You are a most interesting fellow. Jedi Oban."

And there’s that name again. "It’s Obi-Wan, Senator. Obi-Wan Kenobi."

"Ah, right. And whether your name is Oban or Obi-Wan, you are still an interesting young man. I can’t think of anyone — even my colleagues — who would remember a speech I gave over five years ago."

Obi-Wan just nods politely — like the nineteen year-old padawan that he is. "Thank you, Senator. But it’s not extraordinary at all, merely something I studied as an exercise political power."

"I do have to admit that I’m not acquainted with that many Jedi. I’ve been introduced to the Master of the Order and the Grand Master at political functions. And I know the names of the members of the High Council. And of course, the Senate Liaison, Komari Vosa. I’ve cross paths with her quite often."

Now that is a name I hadn’t expected to hear in this lifetime or in this place. Since Palpatine is expecting a response, Obi-Wan just says, "Ah. I have not had the good fortune to meet the Liaison."

"She is quite competent, but then she is a Jedi. One would not expect otherwise." At that, Palpatine gets to his feet, and so does Obi-Wan. He bows slightly and once the creepy old Sith and his aide leave, the Force itself shudders.

Obi-Wan doesn’t ask his master about Komari Vosa. Something in the way the Force reacted tells him that might not be the best first move. Instead, he plans to use the access privileges that Master Windu had granted him for his research project to look at Komari’s profile.

As Obi-Wan has learned, he isn’t just accessing data normally restricted to High Councilors, he’s doing it anonymously. When he logs in with the credentials Master Windu provided, there is no trace of who is requesting the information, something Obi-Wan finds a little troublesome sometimes. But he understands the rationale — he’s digging into things that powerful people — and the big corporations — want left undisturbed. If his name, or the name of a High Councilor is attached to a data call, that could paint a target on the requestor’s back.

Using this login to request information on Komari Vosa, though, might technically be a misuse of his privileges. But the way the Force reacted — it had been more than just pain at the presence of the Sith. It felt like a warning about Komari, too.

As soon as he returns to the Temple, Obi-Wan heads to the Archives. He has no classes today and plans to spend it working on his research project. And checking up on Komari Vosa. But before Obi-Wan dives deep, he goes to one of the open terminals in the Archive, the type that don’t require a user login. He opens the link for the Jedi’net database, the general listing of all Jedi, past and present, with basic biographies, lineage, and highlighted assignments and looks up Komari Vosa. She is still Yan Dooku’s third apprentice, she has no padawans, past or present, no significant missions, and for the last fifteen years, has been the permanent Senate Liaison. A brief entry and an undistinguished career. Obi-Wan wonders just who she pissed off to earn such a tedious and punishing assignment.

He rethinks his plan to dig into Komari’s life. Instead, he’s going to try and cross paths with her next time he’s in the Senate building. He’ll strike up a conversation with her and see what she’s like. Obi-Wan is almost certain she’s Fallen, or she’s on her way, given how Sidio- Palpatine had spoken about her.

Obi-Wan clears the entry in the terminal and is about to head up to his private research room when he sees a familiar — but unexpected — Jedi coming out of Master Nu’s office. Knight Arsu H’syan. She sees him, pauses, frowns at first, and then smiles broadly before walking quickly down the stairs.

"Obi-Wan Kenobi, is that really you?"

He bows to her as deep as if he would greet a High Councilor. "Yes it is, Knight H’syan. It is most good to see you."

"And it is good to see you, here in the Temple. With a padawan braid."

"And a padawan’s boots, too." Honestly, Obi-Wan still can’t help himself. He loves his boots.

Knight H’syan nods. "I can imagine, after Tatooine, those would be quite a pleasure. I can see, from your braid, that you’ve been a padawan for a while."

"It’s been three years."

"I guess it took a little time for the Council’s real rescue operation to work."

"Yes, there were a lot of moving pieces. I don’t even really know exactly what happened." That is the truth, from a certain point of view.

"Hmm, probably a hush-hush, Shadow thing. Best not to ask."

Obi-Wan nods.

"We should have tea, Padawan Kenobi. I would like to hear about how you find life at the Temple."

"I’d like that too, Knight H’syan. I should be free next week — exams will be over and the next semester won’t start for a bit. So it’s just my research projects, 'saber training, and Council Padawan duties." He doesn’t say anything about the upcoming Naboo trial.