Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Mr. Qui-Gon said not to leave the cockpit.”

The pilots gave each other looks of confused exasperation and then one of them--a man named Jinto with kind eyes, dark hair, and a broad, easy grin--shook his head at Anakin.

“Kid, the battle’s over. It’s safe to come out of there now.”

Anakin opened his mouth to argue when all of their comms went off, the sound echoing throughout the large room.

“If anyone is available, we need a medic down in the main reactor room. ”

And Anakin felt a thrill of fear , because that was Mr. Obi-Wan’s voice. If it was Mr. Obi-Wan asking for help, and not Mr. Qui-Gon, did that mean Mr. Qui-Gon was hurt ? Was he going to be okay? What would happen to Anakin if he wasn’t okay? Could they save him?

“What is the nature of the medical emergency? ” another voice responded.

“Master Jinn took a lightsaber blow to the stomach,” Mr. Obi-Wan said. He sounded like he’d been breathing heavily, but there was a sort of calm that Anakin latched on to. If Mr. Obi-Wan was calm, then it couldn’t be that bad, right? “ I’ve gotten him stabilized and into a healing trance, but I expect he’ll need surgery and bacta quickly if he is to improve .”

And Anakin wasn’t stupid, and he might be young, but he wasn’t so naive anymore, and he easily translated what that meant: if they wanted to keep Mr. Qui-Gon alive, they’d have to get to him fast.

Another realization hit him, then--Mr. Qui-Gon wasn’t able to give him instructions for now. Anakin looked up again at Jinto, who gave him a tight smile and held out a hand to help him out of the cockpit.

Once he was back on solid ground, one hand pressed against the top of R2’s dome, Anakin realized he was shaking, his legs not-quite-steady beneath him, the way he sometimes felt at the end of a pod race. His mom had always pursed her lips and muttered something about adrenaline highs when it happened, and then wrapped him up in a blanket and gave him a little bit of warm blue milk.

He missed her so much, but… if anything happened to Mr. Qui-Gon, he’d probably get sent back to her. That was something, at least, even if it meant he would go back to being a slave.

Anakin let Jinto and his wingman, Cyrus, lead him to the medical wing of the palace. They sat him down on one of the beds, R2 standing watch beside him, and Anakin let their conversation just float in the air around him, not really paying attention. He was thinking about Tatooine, and about Naboo, and Padme, and he wondered if he could ask Padme if he could stay here, with the rest of her pilots. He was really good at it! It wasn’t even all that different from racing pods, after all.

And maybe if they paid him for it, he could eventually buy his mom from Watto, and she could live on Naboo with them, and none of them would have to be slaves again. Maybe he could get good enough at being a pilot that he could take a fighter back to Tatooine and free the rest of the slaves, too, blasting the Hutts who sold all the slaves from the safety of the air. Nobody who went into the Hutts’ places ever came out unless they worked for them or they were coming out in chains, after all. It wasn’t like he could just walk in and attack them--

Pay attention.

Anakin’s spine straightened, and he blinked, refocusing on the moment. There, walking through the doorway, was Mr. Obi-Wan. Somehow, he looked… different. When Anakin had first seen him, Mr. Obi-Wan had looked… bright. Happy. He walked with his back straight and shoulders back all the time, and it seemed like he smiled a lot.

He wasn’t smiling now. Mr. Obi-Wan looked sad, worried, his shoulders hunched like he was carrying the weight of the galaxy, and there was blood on his clothes. Lots of blood.

Anakin leapt out of bed before Jinto or Cyrus could stop him, bolting for Mr. Obi-Wan. He needed to ask how Mr. Qui-Gon was, and he wanted to make sure Mr. Obi-Wan wasn’t hurt, and he--

As soon as Mr. Obi-Wan saw him coming, he surprised Anakin by kneeling down and holding out his arms. His mom used to do that, too--every night when he got home from Watto’s after her, after each pod race, after every time Watto got angry with him and talked about selling him.

Anakin didn’t hesitate, and crashed into Mr. Obi-Wan, clutching at the older boy’s clothes, heedless of the blood, feeling Mr. Obi-Wan’s arms wrap around him.

“Anakin,” he whispered, and his voice sounded choked, like he was going to cry, and Anakin pressed himself a little harder against Mr. Obi-Wan. “Oh, Ani.”

“Are you okay?” Anakin asked, his voice muffled from pressing his face into Mr. Obi-Wan’s shoulder.

“I’m alright. What about you?” Obi-Wan drew back slightly, though he placed one hand on each of Anakin’s shoulders. The way Mr. Obi-Wan looked at him, like he was really seeing him for the first time, something like grief tugging at his face, made Anakin frown.

“I’m good,” Anakin said. “I was shaking a lot, for a while, but I’m okay now.”

Mr. Obi-Wan smiled at him, but it seemed… sad. He reached up and smoothed Anakin’s hair with one gentle hand. “I heard you had quite the adventure.”

Anakin looked down at the floor, feeling his face heat. “Mr. Qui-Gon told me to stay in the cockpit!”

Mr. Obi-Wan laughed. “I know, Ani. I was there when he said it. I’m sure we’ll have to talk about it later, but all’s well that ends well.” Anakin looked up hopefully--he wasn’t mad?

As if he’d heard Anakin’s thought, Mr. Obi-Wan shook his head. “No, Ani. I’m not mad. It was a very brave thing you did, and I doubt today would have been quite the success that it was if you hadn’t been in that fighter.” Mr. Obi-Wan stood slowly, and then he grimaced. “Oh dear.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I’ve been spotted,” Mr. Obi-Wan mock whispered, gesturing to someone behind Anakin. He turned, and there was a medic, looking positively horrified at the sight of Mr. Obi-Wan. They approached with quick steps, and Obi-Wan bowed as the man got closer. “Healer, I must assure you--”

“I’ll be assured of your condition myself, after I look you over,” the man said flatly. He looked down at the blood smeared across the tan fabric, and he shook his head. “By the Goddess, you shouldn’t even be standing , losing that much blood--”

“It isn’t mine,” Mr. Obi-Wan interrupted him before frowning himself. “Well, most of it isn’t mine. The assassin is dead, and… Master Qui-Gon was injured. I performed first aid before he was moved to one of the rooms down the hall.”

The Healer nodded slowly. “Still, I’d feel much better if I could look you over.”

Mr. Obi-Wan locked eyes with the Healer, the two of them having a staring contest, and then Mr. Obi-Wan sighed, his shoulders slumping even further.

“Alright,” he acquiesced. He turned to Anakin. “It will be some time before we’re able to see Master Qui-Gon. Would you like to stay with me until then?” Anakin nodded eagerly, biting his lip and taking one of Mr. Obi-Wan’s hands. He seemed a lot… nicer, now. His instinct was proven correct when Mr. Obi-Wan gave him a gentle smile and squeezed his hand back, wrapping his larger one around Anakin’s tightly. “Come on, you can tell me all about blowing up the control ship while I’m being tortured.” He winked at Anakin, and the Healer scoffed at him.

Tentatively, Anakin let a little smile cross his face. Somehow, he thought everything might be okay.

The Healer took them back to another small room with only one bed, but there was a nice comfy chair that Anakin settled himself in. R2 had followed him yet again, and sat himself in one corner of the room, passively scanning the room. It made Anakin feel safe, and he beamed at the droid.

“Take those off,” the Healer ordered, waving a hand at Mr. Obi-Wan. “They’re a lost cause. I’ll find you something after we’re finished here.”

Mr. Obi-Wan chuckled even as he began to undress, starting with the belt around his waist. For the first time, Anakin noticed that there were two lightsabers and a bag hanging from it. One was his, and the other looked like it was Mr. Qui-Gon’s.

“You’d be surprised what the Temple cleaners can salvage,” he said mildly. The Healer just rolled his eyes and tossed a bag at him to put the tunics in. The Healer turned away, busying himself with putting on gloves and gathering bacta patches and bandages. Slowly, Mr. Obi-Wan stripped off the over-tunic, and then the under-tunic, and finally, the shirt that went beneath it all, and Anakin’s eyes went wide.

There, stretching from one side of Mr. Obi-Wan’s collar bone to the other, was an angry, bright white scar.

“Woah,” he breathed. “That’s so wizard!”

Mr. Obi-Wan blinked at him, frowning as if confused, and then Anakin pointed at the scar. Mr. Obi-Wan reached up slowly, feeling the edge of the scar, before quickly dropping his hand as if burned.

The Healer looked back, and then made a strangled noise. “What in the name of the Goddess--” He strode over in two large steps, reaching out to run a hand along the scar. Mr. Obi-Wan flinched. “Does it hurt?”

“No,” Mr. Obi-Wan said quickly, shaking his head. “It’s… an old injury.”

The Healer blinked at him. “I’ve never seen anything like it. What did that?”

“A lightsaber,” Mr. Obi-Wan said mildly.

“A lightsaber,” the man repeated, and then he shook his head, frowning. “It goes all the way around. What, was someone trying to cut your head off?”

“Well, yes,” Mr. Obi-Wan said, still just as calm an unflappable as ever. The Healer stared at him for a long moment and then threw his hands up, turning back to the table where the bacta patches, bandages, and a wet cloth were laid out.

“Fucking Jedi,” he muttered.

Mr. Obi-Wan rolled his eyes and looked at Anakin. “Don’t repeat that.” Anakin giggled and nodded. He didn’t tell Mr. Obi-Wan he’d heard a lot worse on Tatooine, both from Watto and the spacers that came around sometimes. “Now, I believe you have an adventure to tell me about?”

The Healer managed to find Mr. Obi-Wan new clothes, giving him simple tunics after Mr. Obi-Wan had looked quietly but desperately uncomfortable at the suggestion that the Queen’s entourage might have something for him. He left to give him privacy while Mr. Obi-Wan dressed, and returned a few minutes later, looking tired but pleased.

“I checked on Master Jinn for you,” the Healer said. “He’s still in surgery, but it’s going well. Another hour or two and they should be able to get him into a recovery room.”

Mr. Obi-Wan nodded slowly, looking relieved. “Thank you, Healer Baast.”

The man nodded, smiling at the two of them. “Captain Panaka has offered to escort you to the Queen, when you’re ready.”

Mr. Obi-Wan bowed again. “That would be best. Again, you have my thanks.”

The Healer grinned at him and shook his head. “It’s the least we can do, after everything you’ve done to help us. You’ll want to change the bandage on your arm every day for the next week, but the burn was superficial. It’ll heal up nicely with a bit of bacta. Now, off you go.”

As Mr. Obi-Wan led them out of the room to find Captain Panaka, Anakin again grabbed his hand, feeling a little warmer when Mr. Obi-Wan again just looped his own, much longer, fingers around Anakin’s hand.

“So Mr. Qui-Gon is gonna be okay?” Anakin asked, and Mr. Obi-Wan squeezed his hand again gently.

“We can’t be certain, Ani, but my feelings tell me he will be alright.”

Relief hit Anakin so strongly that his knees felt weak for a second, but he just nodded and allowed Mr. Obi-Wan to continue leading them.

Captain Panaka was even nicer to them than he had been before. As they walked, he laid out the full situation for them.

“The Gungan assault on the droid army was a success, with surprisingly few casualties,” Panaka told them. “We lost four pilots before the control ship went down--” He paused to give Anakin a slow grin, and Anakin flushed, grinning widely. “--and aside from Master Jinn, there were no major injuries within the palace. Overall, it was better than I could have hoped for. We owe you our thanks, Master Jedi, little Skywalker.”

“We come to serve, Captain,” Mr. Obi-Wan said, and Anakin recognized the way he’d said it, like it was a ritual of some sort. “I’m simply grateful that there were so few deaths among the fighters. The Force truly was with us. But tell me, do you know the condition of the population? I understand the conditions in the camps were… bleak.”

Captain Panaka sighed and nodded, turning yet another corner. Anakin was glad he was leading them--it would’ve been so easy to get lost. The palace was huge , bigger than any building Anakin had ever seen before, even Gardulla’s palace on Tatooine. It was pretty, too, with lots of shiny stone and paintings and statues. Every now and then, one of the statues was lying shattered on the floor, or a window was broken, with glass lying around, but the damage didn’t seem too bad. It made Anakin happy, knowing that Padme’s home would be cleaned up quickly.

“You’re right there,” Tyhpo confirmed, sighing. “Several of the camps were hit by sickness, and most of them had severe food shortages.”

Mr. Obi-Wan was nodding slowly. “Once I speak to the Queen, I’ll see what the Order can do on that front.”

Panaka smiled, looking surprised. “That would be much appreciated.”

He led them to a room with a large, carved wooden table. Most of the handmaidens were seated at the table, bent over various datapads, while Padme’s advisors surrounded her in a huddle. When she caught sight of them, she beamed brightly and excused herself, walking over to them.

“Your Highness,” Mr. Obi-Wan greeted, letting go of Anakin’s hand to bow. Anakin tried to copy the motion, although it was a bit clumsier than Mr. Obi-Wan’s.

“My friends,” Padme said gently. “Words can’t express how relieved I am to see you well, and the gratitude that I, and all of the Naboo, feel for you. You have done us a great service today.” She smiled a bit wider at Anakin. “And you as well, Anakin. I understand we have you to thank for the destruction of the control ship.”

“I, ah, I just did what I could to help,” Anakin said haltingly, feeling himself blushing. She laughed brightly.

“Well, I thank you for it,” Padme said. “You are both heroes to us.” She sobered somewhat, looking back to Mr. Obi-Wan. “I was sorry to hear that Master Jinn was injured. Reports from my medical staff are promising, however.”

Mr. Obi-Wan nodded, his smile tight and weary. “Yes, I do think he will recover.”

“And the assassin?"

“I believe he is now in the palace morgue, Your Highness,” Mr. Obi-Wan said. “But if I may make a request of you…?”

“Of course.”

“The Council will likely wish to see him for themselves, if you would be willing to release the body to the Order.”

“That can be arranged,” Padme agreed, nodding.

Mr. Obi-Wan nodded deeply in thanks. “I understand from Captain Panaka's summary that there are several major medical issues facing those freed from the camps.”

Padme sighed, her shoulders slumping, and she nodded. She looked tired. “Yes. The Federation treated them badly. Starvation and sickness were rampant in those camps.”

“I will need to report to the Council soon. When I do, I can make a request that some of the Order’s MediCorps are sent to Naboo to help,” Mr. Obi-Wan offered, and Padme blinked at him in surprise.

“Can that be done? I had thought such requests needed to be approved by the Senate.”

“Not at all,” Mr. Obi-Wan said simply. “Requests for aid are generally not made directly to the Order, but rather to the Senate, who then refer them to us, if they feel we can help. But a call for help directly to the Jedi will always be heard.”

Padme nodded, a relieved smile crossing her face. “I would be very grateful for any further help you are able to provide.”

“We come to serve,” Mr. Obi-Wan said again. He put a hand on Anakin’s shoulder. “Would Anakin be able to stay with your handmaidens while I make my report? I feel that it is to be a rather long one.”

“Of course,” Padme agreed. “We are nearly finished here for now. I’ll look after him.” She winked at Anakin, and he smiled helplessly at her, his ears turning red.

Anakin didn’t see Mr. Obi-Wan again for a few hours. Eventually, when Padme realized that he was growing antsy, she asked if he’d like to go back down to the hangar and get R2 cleaned up. He’d agreed enthusiastically, and it had made him feel warm and happy when the pilots and the mechanics alike all seemed pleased to see him and their Queen.

“You have all acted with great bravery today,” Padme said to the gaggle of Naboo who surrounded them as soon as they entered. “I cannot thank you enough for your actions in our defense. I know that many of your homes were affected by the invasion, so all of you will be welcome to stay here for as long as you need. Our people are being freed from the camps as we speak, and anyone who is unable to return home will be offered a place here. Once we have more information, I will send my handmaidens to you to help you find your families.”

“Thank you, Your Highness,” Jinto said. “And, ah, if I may… we were proud to serve you. Your own actions gave us the hope we all needed to make it through.”

Padme smiled gently, and Anakin got the sense that it was a near thing that she didn’t blush.

“We are all stronger together,” Padme said, and then she paused. “I can see that our ships need repair. How would you all feel about help from a new ally?”

Jinto laughed. “I can’t say we wouldn’t welcome the help, and I know the kid’s a good pilot. You’re telling me he’s a mechanic, too?” He smiled at Anakin, who nodded enthusiastically.

“I can fix anything! I even built my own podracer back home!”

Padme laughed softly. “You’re welcome to help, if they don’t mind,” she said. “But that is not quite what I meant. Boss Nass of the Gungan people has offered further assistance to us. They are quite adept when it comes to technology, and I believe they could be of great help. They are already setting to work salvaging what they can from the Federation’s equipment, and Boss Nass has indicated that he can spare a few Gungans to help with our repairs.”

The Naboo exchanged a few startled glances, and then Jinto nodded slowly. “I’ve never met a Gungan before, but I’d be glad for the help, Your Highness.”

She smiled. “It is yet another victory we earned today. The Federation meant to break us, and instead have united our planet as never before. I will speak to Boss Nass.” She turned to Anakin. “In the meantime, perhaps you could help look after the ships while I see to R2?”

Anakin nodded eagerly, and quickly found himself elbows-deep in wiring on one of the fighters. Jinto had quickly realized that he knew what he was doing, and Anakin only really needed help when he was trying to figure out what a label said, since he didn’t read Basic.

“You can’t read?” Jinto asked. There hadn’t been any judgement in his voice, simply confusion. Anakin shrugged.

“I can read! Just Huttese and Bocce, not Basic,” Anakin explained. “Basic isn’t really used a lot on Tatooine.”

“That’s where you’re from, then?” Jinto asked, handing him the hydrospanner he needed for the next part of disassembling the fried panel.

“Yeah, that’s where Mr. Qui-Gon found me,” Anakin said, and Jinto had prompted him for the full story.

The hours had passed quickly, and it was already starting to get dark when Mr. Obi-Wan found him in the hangar.

“Why am I not surprised?” he asked, and Anakin had quickly rolled out from underneath the fighter he’d been working on. Mr. Obi-Wan was looking at him with a strange sort of smile, kind of like the ones his mom used to give him--sort of sad, but also caring. “Has he been a help to you?”

Jinto laughed. “Very helpful, actually. Kid really knows his stuff.”

Mr. Obi-Wan nodded. “I’m glad to hear it. But now we need to go get you cleaned up, Anakin. It’s nearly time for dinner, and the Healers have told us we can see Master Qui-Gon after.”

Anakin whooped happily and clapped his grease-covered hands. “So he’s gonna be okay, right?”

“In time, yes,” Mr. Obi-Wan said, his relief clear. “He was badly injured, however. He won’t be able to wake up yet, when we see him. They’re keeping him asleep so he can rest and heal.”

“‘Kay,” Anakin said, accepting this easily. “As long as he’ll be alright eventually, I guess I can wait.”

Mr. Obi-Wan chuckled and shook his head. “Come along, then. We’ll see if we can’t get you back here tomorrow to keep helping.”

“Wizard,” Anakin breathed. He started to reach for Obi-Wan’s hand, thinking better of it at the last second, covered in grease and oil as he was. Mr. Obi-Wan surprised him by completing the gesture, holding his hand, seemingly unconcerned by the mess. Anakin beamed and twisted around to wave his other hand at Jinto. “Bye! I’ll see you later!”

“Goodnight, kiddo,” Jinto said. “Master Jedi.”

Dinner was nice and quiet after the excitement of the day, and Anakin finally felt how tired he actually was. He picked at the assortment of strange, almost too-sweet fruits, nuts, dried meats, and cheeses they’d been given, and kept glancing at Mr. Obi-Wan. He looked thoughtful, like he wanted to say something but wasn’t quite sure how to say it.

“How’d talking to the Council go?” Anakin prompted, and Mr. Obi-Wan sighed.

“It was very… long,” he said dully. “But productive.” Mr. Obi-Wan paused, then sighed. “I spoke to them about you. They were… alarmed by the danger you were in, but very pleased by the outcome. Anakin, there are… there is much more to being a Jedi than what Master Qui-Gon told you. There simply wasn’t time , before, but I’d like to explain a few things.”

“Okay.” Anakin frowned in confusion. The Council had already said that he wasn’t going to be trained, and he… well, he was disappointed, but he knew Mr. Qui-Gon would take care of him, one way or another. He’d promised . He didn’t know where that left him, but it didn’t sound like it would be with the Jedi. But it would be okay, even if he wasn’t a Jedi, because Master Qui-Gon had promised .

“My Master has a habit of… going against the rules he disagrees with,” Mr. Obi-Wan started, looking fondly exasperated. Anakin got the feeling it was something that happened a lot. “One of them is that no one is meant to simply join the Order and immediately become a Padawan. Before becoming a Padawan, children go into the Temple creche, to become Initiates. That is where they learn the basic skills and philosophies they will need to progress further in the Order.

“Due to your circumstances, your knowledge base is… unbalanced. You are incredibly advanced in certain areas, such as mechanics, and allowing the Force to guide you,” Mr. Obi-Wan explained. “But in other areas, you still need the instruction that the creche would provide. Basic meditation, shielding, galactic history and other classes--these are all things no one could expect you to know, of course, not having grown up in the Temple, and it is a large part of why the Council disagreed so vehemently with Master Qui-Gon taking you as a Padawan right away.”

“But also ‘cause of you,” Anakin said softly, and Mr. Obi-Wan sighed again.

“Technically, yes,” he answered. “The Council have been suggesting that Master Qui-Gon put me forward for my Trials for months , apparently. They already believed that I am ready to be a Knight, but they could not accept that Master Qui-Gon seemed to agree only when it became necessary so that he could take you on. Master Qui-Gon… did not give the best presentation of his plan.” Mr. Obi-Wan shook his head. “Ani, what I’m trying to tell you is that I spoke to the Council and got them to change their minds, on some things.”

Anakin’s eyes went wide and he dropped the piece of cheese he’d been holding. “You mean I’m gonna be a Jedi after all? Really?!”

“There is no guarantee, Ani,” Mr. Obi-Wan said gently. “But you have been accepted as an Initiate. Master Qui-Gon will not be allowed to take you as his Padawan until you are eleven, as is our custom for all Initiates. There is also no guarantee that Master Qui-Gon will be able to take you on, or that another Master would come forward to take you. But I have faith in you, and in the Force.”

“So what do I have to do?” Anakin asked, face scrunching up thoughtfully. “To make sure I’m chosen as a Padawan?”

“There isn’t anything you can do to make it happen,” Mr. Obi-Wan sighed. “You know, Master Qui-Gon almost didn’t choose me. I nearly aged out and got sent away before he claimed me at the last possible moment. There is nothing you can do besides giving your best effort, Ani.

“And it will not be the end, if you are not chosen,” he continued. “Do you remember me talking to the Queen about the MediCorps?”

“Yeah.”

“They are one branch of the Order. Knights and Masters are the most well-known Jedi, but there are other ways to serve the Order and the Force. The MediCorps is one of them--they are healers and doctors who research new medicines and provide aid to places like Naboo, or worlds that have been struck by pandemics. We also have the AgriCorps, where I was almost assigned. They grow plants, and research new ways to make food grow better. They supply a lot of planets in need with food, whether they are in need due to war, or a harsh climate. Then there is the EduCorps, who are knowledge keepers, researchers, and teachers.” Mr. Obi-Wan looked at him, his eyes gleaming, a small smile on his face. “But I think if you do not become a Padawan, you would go to the ExploraCorps, if you wish to stay within the Order. The ExploraCorps go to many different systems. They’re the ones who map new parts of space, catalog new planets, and explore old ruins.”

Anakin gaped at him. “So I’d get to be a pilot and and explorer? That sounds wizard!”

Mr. Obi-Wan smiled. “I thought you might like that,” he said.

“I think I’d be happy there,” Anakin said slowly, “but I still think I’m supposed to be a Jedi Knight.”

“We shall have to wait until the future gets here to see what it holds, little one,” Mr. Obi-Wan said fondly, and then he winked at Anakin. “But my feelings suggest you might be right.” Anakin beamed. “Again, the only thing you can do for now is learn, which will help you no matter what path you follow. If you would like, I can begin teaching you to meditate tomorrow, before you go to assist the mechanics.”

“You’d do that?” Anakin asked, suddenly shy. Mr. Obi-Wan smiled gently at him, but it had that sad quality to it again.

“Of course,” he said.

“I just… I didn’t think you liked me very much,” Anakin muttered, staring down at the piece of fruit he was playing with. Mr. Obi-Wan sighed

“Please look at me, Anakin,” he said gently, and Anakin looked up through his lashes at him, obeying on instinct. Mr. Obi-Wan reached out and put a hand on his arm. “I’m very sorry. I treated you unfairly, when we first met. I have… visions, given to me by the Force. It gives me a sense of the future. When I met you, I sensed something very Dark, and very dangerous. At first, I thought it was coming from you. But I believe now that it was the Sith.

“While I did kill the Sith who hurt Master Qui-Gon, there are always two of them, a Master and an apprentice. So we know that there is at least one Sith still out there. The danger still lurks, and the Darkness they create is growing. Your future is… no matter what path you take, I sense that your future is intertwined with them. That is why I sensed the Darkness around you, and your future. But either way, it was still unkind and wrong of me to allow it to color my impression of you. I’m very sorry, and I hope you’ll accept my apology.”

Anakin stared at him, and then blinked a few times. Nobody had ever really apologized to him like that, besides him mom a couple of times--before now, he’d just been a slave, not somebody people needed to worry about hurting or offending, and even if they did, they always apologized to Watto, and not to him.

“Uh, yeah. Okay. That… makes sense,” Anakin said, stumbling over his words. He nodded once, decisively. “I accept your apology. And, uh, thanks.”

Mr. Obi-Wan beamed at him and nodded. “We’d better finish eating so we can get to bed. We have a big day tomorrow.”

“I thought we were gonna go see Mr. Qui-Gon.”

“We are,” Mr. Obi-Wan answered. “I asked the Healers to set us up a couple of beds in his room. Even though Master Qui-Gon is asleep right now, he’ll still be able to feel us in the Force. Having familiar people close by helps with healing.”

“My mom always does that, when I’m sick,” Anakin said, smiling at the memories. “She’d let me sleep in her bed with her. It was nice.”

Mr. Obi-Wan smiled and ruffled his hair, ignoring Anakin’s surprised squawk. “That does sound lovely, Ani. Now, finish up, and we can go see him.”

When Anakin had first met Master Qui-Gon, he’d seemed larger than life. He was as tall and broad as a Wookie, Anakin thought, and he seemed so strong and so wise. It hadn’t ever even occurred to him that something might happen to Mr. Qui-Gon.

Now, seeing him laying there in a bed in the medical wing of the palace, he looked… He was so pale , and there were tubes sticking out of his arms. His Jedi tunics had been replaced by a light blue shirt, only his chest and shoulders visible above the blanket they’d pulled over him. He was so still , and he’d always been kind of still, but… before, he’d felt like a tree, swaying ever-so-slightly in the wind. Now he felt like a stone, unmoving, almost inert.

Mr. Obi-Wan was reading over the medical chart on the datapad beside the bed, and he gestured for Anakin to get into the bed on one side of Mr. Qui-Gon’s bed. Anakin shifted uncomfortably.

“Um, Mr. Obi-Wan, sir?”

Mr. Obi-Wan looked up, a strange expression on his face. “Please, call me Obi-Wan. Or Obi, if you prefer.”

“Oh, um, okay,” he said, frowning. Mr. Obi-Wan-- Obi --smiled at him gently and clicked off the datapad.

“He’s healing well. It’s still early, yet, but everything looks good so far. I know it’s… unsettling to see him this way, but he should recover,” Obi-Wan said gently. “Now, what was it you’d like to ask?”

“Can I… um, I mean, can you… can we share a bed?” Anakin asked, flushing, looking down at the tile floors. Obi-Wan hummed thoughtfully.

“That should be manageable,” he said lightly, and Anakin looked up hopefully. “Neither of us is quite as large as Master Qui-Gon, so there should be room for us both.” Anakin grinned at him and then clambered up onto the bed eagerly.

Obi-Wan took his time coming to bed, sitting down on the edge of Mr. Qui-Gon’s bed first, taking one of his hands and rubbing his thumb over the back of it. Feeling like he was seeing something private, Anakin closed his eyes. A few minutes later, he felt the bed dip as Obi-Wan settled down beside him, and then gently pulled him back so that Anakin’s back was nestled up against his side. Anakin hummed contentedly--Obi was warm , and everything had felt too cold since he’d left Tatooine.

“Rest now, Ani. Everything’s going to be alright.”

And Anakin knew better than to trust a promise like that. He might still be just a kid, but his mom hadn’t been able to protect him from everything , not with the lives they’d had. He knew that nobody could really promise that, they couldn’t know , but… for some reason, he believed Obi-Wan.

He fell asleep quickly, and for the first time since leaving Tatooine, Anakin didn’t dream about his mother.

“You want me to what?” Anakin scrunched his nose up at Obi-Wan, who merely smiled at him patiently.

“I’d like you to reach out and see if you can tell what I’m thinking about. Like a guessing game, but it won’t be a guess. The Force will guide you.”

“But I thought meditating was more like… sitting still and closing your eyes and thinking a lot?”

Obi-Wan laughed brightly. “It is, but I don’t think that’s a good place to start for you. Everyone learns differently, and you’ve never tried to meditate before. You haven’t even had any proper instruction on how to use the Force. What you’ve learned has come naturally, and it will be easiest to work with that. Now, I’ve noticed that you’re able to sense quite a bit about a person’s intentions through the Force. We’re going to use what you already know and simply expand on that. Once you’re able to feel what it’s like to reach out for the Force deliberately, instead of just running on instinct, then we can move toward more traditional meditation exercises.”

“Oh,” Anakin said, nodding slowly. “I guess that makes sense.”

“Good. Now, close your eyes, and see if you can reach me in the Force.”

Anakin closed his eyes, focusing first on the breathing exercise Obi-Wan had taught him, and then paid attention to the feeling that was always with him. Sometimes it was like… an itch at the back of his brain, or a tug in his gut. There were lots of people around, he could tell. They were in one of the gardens, and Anakin could even feel the plants around him. It was like they were singing .

There was a tug at the thought of plants, and Anakin focused all of his attention on it. An image formed in his mind: a tree so tall entire cities could fit inside of it, different wooden buildings built into the branches, rope ladders and stairs built onto it, curving up around the sides in a spiral. There were lots of lights, too, shimmering brightly, and he could feel so much life .

Anakin opened his eyes. “That’s a really big tree. Is that what you were thinking about?”

Obi-Wan opened his eyes, too, smiling widely. “I was.”

“I saw it! That was wizard. It was so big, bigger than anything I’ve ever seen before!” Anakin said, and Obi-Wan nodded.

“The tree I was thinking of is on Kashyyyk. The Wookie people build their homes up in the trees,” Obi-Wan explained, and Anakin’s eyes went wide.

“Can we do another one?”

“Of course. Close your eyes.”

They fell into an easy routine for the next few weeks. Obi-Wan would wake him up and they would eat breakfast, often with Padme and her handmaidens, and then Obi-Wan would teach him something new about the Force, or work with him on learning Basic (and their progress on that front went much faster when Obi-Wan started using ship manuals to teach Anakin, which seemed to amuse Obi-Wan for some reason). They’d eat a light lunch, and then Anakin would go to the hangar to help repair the ships while Obi-Wan went… wherever it was he went for those few hours. Obi-Wan would come to collect him for dinner, and then they would retire to Mr. Qui-Gon’s room to sleep near him.

After a little more than three weeks of learning (and there was so much to learn, Anakin felt like his head was spinning sometimes; after he’d gotten better about sensing people, Obi-Wan had taught him how to shield, and then moved on to showing Anakin how to sense more from other life around them), Obi-Wan broke their routine.

“Anakin, wake up.”

Anakin groaned and shifted, blinking his eyes open. Distantly, he noted that it was still dark in their room, no sunlight streaming in through the large windows. He sat up quickly.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, Ani,” Obi-Wan said, a gentle but excited grin on his face. “I only wanted to show you something, if you’re up to it.”

“‘M awake,” he insisted, nodding and holding back a yawn.

“Come on, then. Follow me.”

Obi-Wan took his hand and led him down the large, twisting hallways, and then opened a door to a covered balcony. Anakin’s eyes went wide.

There was so much water, and it was falling from the sky-- A bolt of light crossed the clouds--was that lightening ? A moment later, he jumped as a loud clap reached his ears, and then he laughed, his pulse quickening with giddy excitement. He darted forward to the edge of the balcony that was not covered and lifted his arms to the sky. Distantly, through the clouds and the chilly, pelting rain , he could see Naboo’s moon, and he thanked Ar-Amu, the All-Mother. He laughed brightly as the drops hit his face, made his hair stick to him, soaked through his clothes until he was shivering with cold, but still he did not lower his arms, and he made no move to get back into cover.

Anakin wasn’t sure how long he stood there, sometimes twirling about in the rain, jumping in the puddles forming on the balcony, turning his face up and closing his eyes and opening his mouth to catch as many drops as he could, just because he could. When the rain finally began to let up, fat, slow drops coming down instead of an endless curtain of water, Anakin turned back to Obi-Wan, who was watching him with that half-sad smile again.

“Let’s get you into some dry clothes, shall we?” Obi-Wan said, and Anakin nodded, splashing water from his hair.

He darted forward to take Obi-Wan’s hand again and squeezed it tightly. “Thank you, Obi.”

“You’re very welcome, dear one.”

When Anakin woke the second time, far later that morning, Obi-Wan seemed… worried.

“What’s wrong?” Anakin asked, pressing himself against Obi-Wan’s side. Immediately, Obi-Wan’s arm wrapped around his shoulders. It made Anakin feel… good, and safe, when Obi-Wan was close to him like this, and it seemed like Obi felt better, too.

“The Council and several politicians will be arriving from Coruscant today,” Obi-Wan explained. “I can only hope that they allow me to remain here on Naboo, with Master Qui-Gon, until he is recovered enough to go back to the Temple.”

“Can’t you just tell them that you need to stay with him?” Anakin asked, frowning. “It helps him, having us here--you said so yourself!”

“And I will say it to them, too,” Obi-Wan assured him, “but if I present my case, and the Council disagrees, and decides to send me elsewhere, then it is my duty as a Jedi to follow their wishes.” He glanced down at Anakin, an impish look on his face. “Or disobey, and accept the consequences. Master Qui-Gon often chose that route himself.”

Anakin giggled softly and pressed closer to Obi-Wan, his smile fading. “I’m not going to get to stay with you much longer. I can feel it. But I don’t want you to go away.”

“Ani…” Obi-Wan sighed and knelt down, putting a hand on each shoulder. “I know it hurts, having to leave people behind. But your path is yours alone, and very rarely will anyone be able to walk it with you all of the time. I know that I will leave Master Qui-Gon’s side soon. It is the way of things. I will miss him, but just because we are not together does not mean that we no longer care for each other. Like your mother--you didn’t wish to leave her, I know, but you both knew that it was necessary. That is what it means to be a Jedi. We do a great deal of good for a great many people, but everything has a trade-off. This is the price of the life I’ve chosen, the way of the Jedi, and if the Force means for me to walk apart from the people I care for, for a time, then I will not disobey it.” Obi-Wan’s lips twitched in a small smile, then, and he squeezed Anakin’s shoulders gently. “But you know what?”

“What?”

“I promise that I will always do my best to come back,” he said. “If I am able, I will come for you, Anakin.”

Without a second thought, Anakin darted forward to wrap his arms around Obi-Wan’s middle, Obi-Wan hugging him back tightly in return.

Several of the Jedi arrived first, the politicians from the Senate coming in a separate ship later on with even more Jedi with them for an escort. Obi-Wan had brought Anakin with him to meet them, and he stood quietly beside Obi-Wan with his hands clasped tightly in front of him. Padme’s handmaidens, along with her advisors, had formed a neat receiving line, Padme herself standing in front of them all.

The dark-skinned Jedi, the one who always looked like he was annoyed, walked out first. Anakin struggled to remember his name, and tried to reach out to Obi-Wan in the Force for help.

Master Windu, Obi-Wan supplied, and Anakin nodded, doing his best to commit it to memory. After him came the red-skinned Togruta woman-- Master Ti ? Anakin asked, and received an affectionate affirmative. The last was a man with dark hair just starting to turn white, and an already-white beard Anakin hadn’t seen before, and he felt Obi-Wan’s shields slam down around him, his entire body stiffening.

Who’s that?

Master Qui-Gon’s own former Master, Yan Dooku, Obi-Wan answered, but it came through like a whisper, his shields having only loosened just enough to let the thought through. Anakin wanted to ask what made Obi-Wan so uncomfortable, but he could tell it wasn’t the time.

“Master Jedi,” Padme said, nodding regally to them. They bowed in return. “I must thank you again for all that you have done to help my people. Without Master Jinn and Padawan Kenobi, and Initiate Skywalker, the battle would not have been a victory. And your MediCorps have helped us greatly.”

“We come to serve, Your Highness,” Master Ti answered, smiling softly. “I have, of course, read the reports Padawan Kenobi has sent, but perhaps you would not mind going over the details again?”

“My advisors and I would be happy to. Please, follow us; I will take you to meet Master Czkai, who has been coordinating the MediCorps’ efforts here on Naboo. We can speak on the way.”

“Thank you, Your Highness.” Master Ti sent Obi-Wan and Anakin a small smile and a nod before following the Queen and her entourage out of the hangar.

Master Windu and Master Dooku stepped toward them, and Obi-Wan bowed. Hastily, Anakin moved to copy him.

“Masters,” Obi-Wan greeted, his voice the same polite, inscrutable tone he’d first used when Anakin had met him instead of the warmth he’d grown used to.

“Padawan Kenobi, Initiate Skywalker,” Master Windu returned, looking at Anakin. He shifted slightly, clenching his hands together a bit harder.

“Um, hi,” Anakin said, remembering at the last second to add, “Masters.”

Master Windu’s lips twitched like he was fighting a smile. “Hello. Padawan Kenobi told the Council what you did during the Battle of Theed, young one.” He raised an eyebrow, and Anakin flushed, looking down at his boots.

“Um, I just… I mean, Master Qui-Gon told me to find a place to hide, and I ended up in the cockpit of a fighter, and then he told me to stay there, and he really, really meant it!” Anakin explained, still staring at the floor, squirming a little. He looked up at Master Windu, eyes wide. “And I did! I stayed in the cockpit, just like he said! And I don’t… I didn’t know that the autopilot was on, really I didn’t! And it was taking me toward the battle anyway , and I didn’t know how to stop it, ‘cause I don’t really read a lot of Basic yet. I didn’t mean to do it, it just… happened. And once I was up there, I knew I could help, and if I could help, then I should, ‘cause that’s what my mom always told me and that’s what Jedi do.”

“Breathe, Anakin,” Obi-Wan instructed him gently, a bit of his usual warmth slipping back into his voice, and Anakin blushed harder and looked back down at the floor.

Master Windu actually laughed. “I understand, Initiate. It’s alright. Once you’re further along in your meditation exercises, I’ll assign you a few meditations on the nature of ‘recklessness,’ but we aren’t going to censure you for it.”

“Oh,” Anakin said, looking up hopefully. “Um, thank you?”

“You’re welcome,” Master Windu replied, a half-smile on his face. “Now, is there someone who can watch over you for a little while? Master Dooku and I need to speak to Padawan Kenobi.”

Anakin nodded. “I can go help in the hangar--they’ll be happy to have me there so early! I know Jinto was having trouble with the starboard repulsors on Mari’s fighter, and I think I know how to fix it.”

“That’s a wonderful idea,” Obi-Wan answered. “R2?” The little droid who had yet to stop following them around chirped happily. “Could you please go with him?” The droid beeped an affirmative, and Anakin was quietly relieved that he wouldn’t have to ask for directions, and could just ask R2 to show him to the way. Obi-Wan winked at him, and Anakin grinned sheepishly.

“C’mon, R2!” He raced out of the hangar, R2 beeping profanities at him, telling him not to run in the palace. Anakin just laughed.

He didn’t see why Obi-Wan was so worried. Anakin just knew everything would be alright.

Anakin spent several hours in the hangar, happily chatting with the pilots and mechanics while they worked on the ships--the repairs had gone quickly once the Gungans had sent over a few of their own mechanics, helping them to repair and even improve the fighters, and Mari’s stubborn repulsors were one of the last fixes needed before the little royal fleet was up and flying again. It wasn’t far off from dinnertime when Master Windu entered the hangar. Anakin caught sight of him and stopped working.

“Uh, I think I have to go now,” he said.

“Go on, kiddo,” Jinto said. “We’ve almost got this done. Thanks for catching that bad wire.”

“You’re welcome. Bye, Jinto!”

He happily bounced over to Master Windu before stopping. This time, he even remembered to bow. Master Windu nodded back.

“Let’s take a walk.” He led Anakin out of the hangar and slowly through the hallways. They walked for a minute or two in silence before Master Windu spoke again. “Obi-Wan said he told you that we have accepted you as an Initiate.”

Anakin nodded. “Obi-Wan explained everything to me.”

“Oh? And what did he say?”

“Well, he told me what I’ll be doing as an Initiate. And he told me I can’t be a Padawan until I’m eleven, which is okay, because I need time to catch up,” Anakin said. “But he also told me that I might not be somebody’s Padawan, which is okay, too. I think I’d like the ExploraCorps--so many ships!” He paused for a second, frowning thoughtfully. “I mean, I think I’m supposed to be a Padawan, but Obi-Wan told me it doesn’t always happen. I think he just wanted to make sure I didn’t… get my heart set on something and when it might not happen. But it’s okay, really. I like mechanics, and I’d be good at exploring, if I don’t become a Padawan.”

“That’s good,” Master Windu said slowly, nodding. “It’s always wise to think about all of the paths before you, but not to dwell on them.”

“That’s what Obi-Wan said, too,” Anakin agreed. “That’s why we’ve been focusing on what I’m gonna do when I go back to the Temple, in my classes and stuff. All I can do is learn, right now, and that’ll help me no matter where I end up.”

“You really have been listening to Obi-Wan,” Master Windu huffed quietly, shaking his head. “But that’s good. Obi-Wan is wise beyond his years.”

“You’re Knighting him, aren’t you?” Anakin asked, and Master Windu stopped in the middle of the hallway to look at him, raising an eyebrow. “I just… he seems to think it’s coming. He hasn’t really said anything about it, but he seems to think he’s going to have to… go away, for a while. I think he was telling me so I have some warning when you start sending him on his own missions and stuff. You know, ‘cause it’s okay to miss someone and not want them to go, but you have to let them, if it’s what they need to do. Like how I left my mom on Tatooine.”

Master Windu blinked at him, and then he shook his head, a small smile on his face. “Obi-Wan’s been doing a good job with you,” he said finally. “That’s a very mature way to look at things, and a viewpoint that a lot of adults struggle with themselves.”

“I may not really believe it yet, but that’s okay too. I just have to be aware of it so I don’t let it distract me from what needs to happen, until I can really let it go,” Anakin answered. “But you didn’t answer my question, Master Windu, sir. Are you Knighting Obi-Wan?”

“Yes, Initiate. We are,” Master Windu confirmed before beginning to walk again. Anakin spared a thought for how grateful he was that he seemed to walk slow, making it easy for Anakin’s much smaller legs to keep up. “We wanted to perform the ceremony tonight, but Obi-Wan… declined.”

“‘Cause he’s waiting for Mr.-- Master Qui-Gon. He told me it’s a big deal for the Padawan and the Master,” Anakin supplied, and Master Windu nodded.

“Yes. Qui-Gon is a friend of mine, and Obi-Wan is… well, let’s just say I’m not about to fight him on the decision. It will be better for both of them if we wait,” Master Windu said, a hint of a wry smile on his face. “And with you going to the creche, there is no need to hurry up and get it over with. Speaking of which… I’d like to apologize, Initiate, on behalf of the Council. We frightened you, I know, and… words were said which should not have been spoken in your presence.”

“It’s okay,” Anakin said quickly. “Um, I mean, thank you for your apology, and I accept, but Obi-Wan already explained it to me.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. He didn’t really like me much when we first met, either. But that wasn’t anything I did. He just sees the future, and he saw a lot of Darkness around me, but that was probably because of the… bad people, the Sith?” Master Windu nodded slowly. “Anyway. He said my future is tied with theirs, which makes sense, ‘cause they use the Force, but they do it the wrong way and they hurt people, and Jedi have a duty to stand up to them and not let them do it. And I have a lot of the Force in me, and I’m training to be a Jedi, whether I end up in the Corps or as a Knight, so I’m going to have to see them in the future.”

Master Windu was silent for a long moment before he sighed. “Obi-Wan really did explain everything to you, didn’t he?”

Anakin nodded eagerly. “Uh-huh. He’s really good at it. He always knows what to say to make sure I get it.”

Another silence fell, then, and Anakin realized they’d been walking back to Master Qui-Gon’s room. When they entered, Obi-Wan was sitting in on the bed they’d been sleeping in, boots off and his legs crossed, looking over a datapad. Master Dooku was sitting in a chair on the other side of Qui-Gon’s bed, having pushed the third bed away, arms folded over his chest, eyes closed and head tilted back slightly.

“Did you get the repulsors fixed, Ani?” Obi-Wan asked without looking up from the datapad.

“Uh-huh! There was a bad wire in the port for the turbo,” Anakin answered. “But we decided to just rip it out and use one of the Gungan chips to upgrade the whole thing. It was wizard!”

“I’m glad,” Obi-Wan said, patting the bed. Anakin shucked off his boots and climbed up. Obi-Wan finally looked up, giving him a smile before turning to Master Windu.

“Master Koon, Master Piell, and Master Fisto will be here in two hours,” Master Windu said. “Thankfully, after dinner. None of us wanted to sit through a dinner with the politicians.”

“No,” Obi-Wan agreed, a small, twisted smile on his face. “Not at all.”

“Most of us will be leaving directly after the parade tomorrow,” Master Windu said. “Master Ti and Master Piell will remain to investigate the Sith and oversee the MediCorps operations here. I’ve spoken to the Healers, and Qui-Gon is stable enough for hyperspace. We’re bringing you three with us.”

Obi-Wan dipped his head. “Yes, Master. Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me just yet,” Master Windu said, looking somewhat exasperated and just the slightest bit annoyed. “The footage from the reactor room was leaked.”

“... what?” Obi-Wan asked, color draining from his face. “I… how many people have seen it?”

“The entire Temple, I expect,” Master Windu sighed, and Obi-Wan groaned, scrubbing one hand over his face.

“Fantastic.” He shook his head, dropping the hand, and stood up. “I need to go meditate. Or… do some katas. Something . I’ll see you all for dinner. Mind the Masters, Ani.”

“I will,” Anakin said, even as he blinked in confusion. Once Obi-Wan was out of the room, he turned to look at Master Windu, frowning. “What’s wrong?”

“Obi-Wan doesn’t much care for attention,” Master Windu said. “He’s surprisingly… shy. There were security cameras in the reactor room where the fight with the Sith took place, and he transmitted them to the Council. Some other Jedi got their hands on the video and passed it around. Now everyone knows he killed a Sith, and they’re going to be… well, Obi-Wan is going to receive a lot of attention when we return.”

“Oh,” Anakin said. He didn’t really understand that--when he’d heard everyone cheering for him, after he won the Boonta Eve race, it had felt amazing . It felt so good , having everyone else see that he was worth something , that he could actually do something. He couldn’t really imagine not liking that feeling. “That’s silly. He deserves to have everyone know what a good job he did.”

“That may be, but he doesn’t seem to agree,” Master Windu sighed, shaking his head. “I’m going to go speak to Master Ti and the Queen. The two of you will be alright?” Anakin nodded, and Master Dooku hummed wordlessly, though he’d opened his eyes and turned to look at Master Windu, who nodded once and turned to leave.

Then they were alone, and Master Dooku was staring intently at Anakin, and he squirmed.

“Um, hi.”

Master Dooku raised an eyebrow. “Greetings, Initiate.”

“So, um… you were Master Qui-Gon’s Master?” he asked, and Master Dooku nodded slowly. “That’s good. It’s nice, I mean, that you came to help when he isn’t doing so well. I mean, he’s doing really well, getting better and all, but he’s still really hurt. It’s… nice. That you’re here.” Master Dooku simply continued to stare at him, one eyebrow raised, blinking slowly, and Anakin blushed. “Master Qui-Gon’s happy, too, I think.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. When he’s alone, the Force feels kinda like… a really strong wind, the kind that comes right before a standstorm,” Anakin said, frowning thoughtfully, choosing his words with care, “but when people he cares about are around, it’s more like a nice breeze.”

“I see,” Master Dooku said, and then he chuckled dryly. “It is somewhat surprising that I am counted among them.”

“Why?”

“We do not get along very well,” Master Dooku said, and there was something sad in his voice, something like regret? “We have hardly spoken, the past… oh, eight years.”

“Why not?” Anakin asked. “I just… you care about him a lot. You came right to him when you heard he was hurt, didn’t you?” Master Dooku nodded once. “And he’s calmer with you here. So you must really care about each other, even if you fight sometimes. Like family. Even when my mom would scold me, I always know she loves me.”

Master Dooku’s lips twitched in a barely-there smile, and he shook his head. “Would that we all had your wisdom, young one.”

“Is that why Obi-Wan was kinda upset when he saw you? ‘Cause he knows you don’t get along with Master Qui-Gon?” Anakin asked, and Master Dooku’s eyes narrowed for the briefest moment before his expression went neutrally blank again.

“Perhaps,” Master Dooku said. “I had not had the pleasure of meeting my Grand-Padawan until today. Qui-Gon and I… stopped seeing one another before he claimed Obi-Wan as his Padawan.”

“Oh,” Anakin said. “No wonder he was nervous.”

“Indeed,” Master Dooku said blandly.

“But maybe the Force did this on purpose,” Anakin said thoughtfully. “That’s what Obi-Wan says, anyway, that everything is the will of the Force. So… I mean, it’s not good that Master Qui-Gon got hurt, and I’m sorry he’s not okay right now, but he will be, later. But he’s gonna need our help until he’s better, right?” Anakin shrugged. “Maybe that was meant to happen, so that you two would be back together again.”

“‘Whatever happens is the will of the Force,’” Master Dooku replied, and Anakin nodded.

“Yeah! That’s exactly how Obi-Wan says it.”

“It is a phrase I learned from my own Master, and passed down to Qui-Gon,” Master Dooku said. “It is gratifying to hear he has not abandoned all of my teachings.”

Anakin didn’t really know what he meant by that, but Master Dooku wasn’t sitting quite so stiffly anymore, and he counted the conversation as a success.

Anakin ate dinner with the four other Jedi in Master Qui-Gon’s room, conversation dominated by Master Ti and Master Windu, going over the plans for Naboo.

Now that the other Jedi were here, Obi-Wan seemed… relieved, but also tired. As soon as he was finished with his food, Anakin set the tray on the table in the corner and hurried back to the bed, snuggling into Obi-Wan’s side, subtly trying to suggest that they sleep. Obi-Wan lifted his arm to wrap it around Anakin, giving him a small smile, before turning back to the conversation at hand.

As soon as there was a lull, Obi-Wan asked, “Masters, when is the other ship due to arrive?”

“In… a little less than an hour,” Master Windu answered after checking the chrono.

“Um, Masters?” Anakin said, trying to force himself not to look down as he spoke. “I know that usually we’d all go meet them, like Obi-Wan and I came to meet you all, but we were up late last night--there was a storm, it was so wizard , I’d never seen anything like it! ...but, uh, anyway, I think we’re both really tired. Can we please be excused this time?”

Master Windu smiled, and Master Ti laughed, a strange, musical trill. Anakin blinked at the sound. He’d seen a Togruta before, in Mos Espa, but he’d never actually talked to one, let alone heard them laugh. It was… nice.

“Yes, you two may be excused,” Master Windu said, and Anakin got the feeling it was a near thing that he didn’t roll his eyes. “We’ll all be meeting with the Queen over breakfast tomorrow, to discuss the celebration.”

“Of course, Masters. Thank you,” Obi-Wan said, squeezing Anakin just a bit. Anakin beamed.

“Thank you, Masters!” he echoed.

“You’re quite welcome, little one,” Master Ti said, and she felt so warm , like Obi-Wan. Anakin smiled a bit more shyly at her, deciding that he thought he liked her. “Be sure to sleep tonight, and not stay up too late. We all have a busy day tomorrow.”

“Yes, Master Ti.”

She gave him a gentle smile, carefully not displaying her pointed teeth, and nodded as she and Master Windu left. Master Dooku reached down, beginning to pull off his boots and unfastening his cape, draping it carefully over the back of the chair as he rose and made his way to the third bed.

“Goodnight, Ani,” Obi-Wan murmured as they settled down. After a brief pause, he added, “Goodnight, Grand-Master.”

There was no reply, but Anakin felt the spike of pleasure from the man at hearing the title, and he smiled. Everything was definitely going to be alright. He just knew it. And Obi-Wan had said so, and Anakin was starting to think that Obi-Wan knew everything .

The Force sang of happiness and comfort, and Obi-Wan was so warm where Anakin was still just a bit too cold, not used to anything but the sweltering heat of two suns, and he sighed and burrowed his way a little deeper into the blankets, pressing more firmly against Obi-Wan, and fell into a deep, contented sleep.

Breakfast was busy the next morning. The large, airy room near the kitchen where the table had, in the days before, seemed hilariously too-large for those seated at it, but not with eight Jedi--including Anakin, and that still sent a little thrill down his spine--and Padme, and her handmaidens.

“The Chancellor and Senator couldn’t make it?” Obi-Wan asked Padme. She shook her head, giving him a small, sly smile.

“Chancellor Antilles and Senator Palpatine are dining with Sabe and my advisors this morning,” she said, and Obi-Wan blinked, and then laughed.

“Of course, young handmaiden,” he said, bowing his head, grinning wickedly. “Thank you for informing me of the Queen’s whereabouts, and that of your other esteemed guests.”

Padme and several of the other handmaidens giggled.

Anakin smiled, and then turned to the Master across from him. He looked… strange. Anakin had first seen him in the Council chamber, but the tentacle things on his head were still… interesting.

“Um, hi, Master,” Anakin said. “I don’t think we’ve actually met. Well, not really, but I did see you with the rest of the Council on Coruscant.”

The man smiled, broad and easy, and he dipped his head. “Kit Fisto, Initiate Skywalker. I’m pleased to meet you.”

“You too,” Anakin said, smiling back. Now that they weren’t all acting official and stiff, it seemed like all the Council Masters were… nicer. Well, except maybe Master Piell. He looked like his face got stuck frowning years ago. Obi-Wan elbowed his ribs.

“I heard that.”

“Sorry,” Anakin muttered before turning back to Master Fisto, who was now looking at them with benign amusement. “Are you from a water planet?”

“I am. My homeworld is Glee Anselm, an ocean planet.”

“Woah,” Anakin said, eyes going wide. “I thought Naboo has a lot of water, but your entire planet is ocean?”

Master Fisto grinned. “Yes, and I’m sure that’s a bit of a shock to you, considering you came from one of the driest planets there is.”

“I’ll say,” Anakin said, blinking, and then smiling at him. “What’s it like there?”

“Well, I imagine it’s much like the Gungan society here on Naboo. The cities are enclosed in domes, underneath the water…”

“Are you certain I can’t be permitted to remain here with Qui-Gon?” Obi-Wan asked, and even Anakin rolled his eyes.

“No, you cannot,” Master Windu sighed, clearly exasperated. “You know how these things go, Obi-Wan. Stand on a podium, look official, smile serenely, and then we can leave. It will be fine .”

“I know,” Obi-Wan sighed, tugging on his braid. “It’s simply that…” His eyes darted to Anakin, and then back to Mace.

“I understand,” Master Windu said, more gently than before. “But we have no choice. We’ll spend maybe… twenty minutes in their company, if that. It will be fine .”

“I know,” Obi-Wan repeated. He nodded once, straightening the formal tunics Master Windu had brought him. Anakin kind of liked them--they were practical, if he wasn’t wearing the cloak (and how the rest of the Jedi got anything done with those big sleeves always flapping around their hands, Anakin didn’t know) and softer than anything else he’d ever worn before. He wasn’t sure how he felt about the haircut they’d given him, though. He felt… weird with his hair so short.

“Let’s go, then,” Obi-Wan finally sighed, managing a smile for them. “Before I change my mind.”

As they left Master Qui-Gon’s room to meet all of the others, Anakin grabbed Obi-Wan’s hand and tugged on him a little to slow him down, just enough to let Master Windu get ahead a few steps.

“What’s wrong, Obi?”

“Nothing, Ani,” Obi-Wan said, and then he frowned. “Well, I hope it’s nothing. Just a… bad feeling.”

“About a person?” Obi-Wan hummed noncommittally. “Obi, remember how you thought I was Dark, too? It’s probably nothing.”

Obi-Wan paused, and then sighed. “That’s what I’m trying to convince myself of,” he agreed. “But even so, it is always a good policy to be on guard around politicians. And we’ll be surrounded by them today.”

“Can I do anything to make you feel better about it?” Anakin asked, and Obi-Wan stopped still and then looked down at him, giving him one of the happiest and saddest smiles Anakin had ever seen.

“That’s very thoughtful of you to ask, Ani,” he said softly, like he was choked up. “There is, actually, something you could do. Can you stick close to me or one of the Masters today?”

“Sure, that’s easy,” Anakin agreed, nodding.

“Thank you. That takes a weight off of my mind,” Obi-Wan said, his smile becoming just a bit less sad. “Well, let’s go. We mustn’t keep Her Highness waiting.”

The parade was absolutely beautiful. There were Gungans and Naboo everywhere , cheering happily, and the Gungans marching were playing something upbeat on their big war drums and playing horns. Flower petals were floating around everywhere he looked, thrown by smiling children, and streamers were being waved. Anakin couldn’t stop smiling, and he wasn’t sure if it was from the happiness feedback-loop he was getting from the Force, feeling everyone else so happy around him, or if he was just that happy .

All too soon, Padme handed the Globe of Peace to Boss Nass, and the parade was over. The large group on the platform began to break up, and Anakin immediately noticed when Obi-Wan tensed. He looked up at him, but Obi-Wan was staring at an older man coming towards them, wearing fancy clothes.

Politicians, Anakin thought to himself. He thought he recognized him, an older guy with hair that was nearly all-white and a smile that looked relieved and joyful, just like the rest of the Naboo.

“Ah, Padawan Kenobi and Initiate Skywalker,” the older man said. “It is such a pleasure to meet the two of you. I am Sheev Palpatine, the Senate representative for Naboo. I cannot tell you how grateful I am to the both of you for your heroic actions in defense of our people.”

“We come to serve,” Anakin blurted out before he could think about it. The hand Obi-Wan had on his shoulder tensed slightly, but not too tight. The Senator blinked at him and then laughed.

“Quite so, Initiate. Still, you have our deepest thanks.”

Obi-Wan bowed his head. “Initiate Skywalker is correct, Senator. We were glad to be of service.”

“Still, I saw the footage of the reactor room,” Senator Palpatine said, a frown forming on his face. “You placed yourself in grave danger to help us. Defeating such a man is no small feat.”

Obi-Wan’s smile was a bit toothier than Anakin usually saw from him, and he could tell Obi-Wan was still uncomfortable. Still, he kept his tone polite when he said, “It was my duty, Senator. I am a Jedi, and it is our obligation to stand against Darkness wherever it may present itself. I am only glad that the Force granted me the strength to end the fight he began.”

“And save your Master’s life, I hear,” Senator Palpatine said, sounding admiring. “You are very talented. I daresay not many Padawans would have been able to withstand what you went through. Forgive me if this is too forward a question, but why has the Council not seen fit to Knight you?”

“The offer was made,” Obi-Wan answered casually. “I deferred, for the moment. That honor shall go to my Master, when he is once again in good health.”

“How very kind of you,” Senator Palpatine said, smiling gently again. “I’m certain he will be most proud.” He turned to Anakin then, and Anakin tried not to squirm. “And you, young Skywalker. That was a very impressive feat of your own, with the droid control ship. I will be watching both of your careers with great interest.”

Anakin flushed. “Um, thank you, Senator.”

“You are too kind,” Obi-Wan added for him. “I’m afraid we must go now. We are preparing to return to Coruscant in a few hours.”

Senator Palpatine looked surprised. “Leaving? So soon?”

“Yes, I’m afraid so,” Obi-Wan sighed, making a convincing show of being genuinely sorry for it, even though Anakin knew how much Obi-Wan just wanted to go back to the Temple, despite the fact that everybody was going to be talking about him there. “Of course, Master Ti and Master Piell will remain here, to coordinate the rebuilding efforts and the MediCorps relief.”

“Of course,” repeated Senator Palpatine. “Well, I am grateful for the Order’s continued assistance, and for both of you.”

“May the Force be with us,” Obi-Wan said, bowing. Anakin bowed as well, a little smoother, now that he’d practiced so much.

“Yes, may it be.” Palpatine reached out and patted Obi-Wan’s shoulder. “May it be with us.”

They were stopped once again, inside the halls, this time by someone Anakin didn’t recognize. He was older than Master Qui-Gon, probably, but not as old as Senator Palpatine, his hair only just starting to go grey. His smile was easier than Palpatine’s, but no less happy.

“Chancellor Antilles,” Obi-Wan greeted him, and this time he and Anakin bowed in unison. Obi-Wan sent him a little flicker of amused pride, and Anakin smiled.

“Padawan Kenobi, it’s good to see you,” the Chancellor said. “Bail Organa speaks quite highly of you. He was quite worried, when we first heard the news that a Jedi had been injured. He was quite glad to hear that you are well, and that your Master will recover. He did ask me to pass on his regards.”

“Thank you, Chancellor,” Obi-Wan said, smiling more genuinely now than he had at Senator Palpatine. “That is quite kind of you to say.”

The Chancellor nodded, glancing down at Anakin. “And I suppose you are the young one who won the Boonta Eve race and destroyed the Federation control ship?”

“Ah, yes, sir.”

When Chancellor Antilles smiled at him, it was amused and thoughtful, not… not quite like Senator Palpatine’s. Anakin didn’t know what that meant, but Obi-Wan seemed more at ease around this man than he had Senator Palpatine, and he tentatively decided the Chancellor wasn’t so bad. He smiled back.

“That’s quite impressive. I’m glad you’ve found your place among the Jedi Order,” Chancellor Antilles said, and Anakin nodded.

“Thank you, sir.”

He nodded once and turned back to Obi-Wan. “I had come partly to hear the full account of events for myself, from Master Windu. Now I had realized that, naturally, certain details would be held back from the public. But I found some suspicions more disturbing than others.” The Chancellor shook his head and sighed. “I would only ask that you remember that Alderaan has long been a friend to the Order. I feel we may need such bonds in the coming years.”

Obi-Wan nodded slowly, his smile gaining a sad but hopeful quality. “Thank you, Chancellor Antilles. We will remember it.”

The Chancellor nodded and smiled at them both before taking his leave. Once he was out of hearing range, Anakin pulled at Obi-Wan’s hand.

“What did he mean? What details?”

“The Order hasn’t confirmed to the public whether it was truly a Sith involved here on Naboo or not,” Obi-Wan sighed.

“But you think it was.”

“I know that it was.”

“So why aren’t we telling people? Warning them?”

Obi-Wan paused, and then he sighed. “We’re playing a very long game, Anakin. The Sith have been hiding from us for a thousand years, completely undetected. Now that they have made a move, and potentially revealed themselves, the Council feels that it may be better to deny that it was truly a Sith Lord and excuse it away as an errant Darkside user. This may be enough to keep the Sith from realizing that we now know the truth, and may convince them to proceed with their plans, rather than go back into hiding.”

“Because if they hide, you don’t think you can catch them?”

“No, Ani. I don’t think so. How else would they have been able to hide for one thousand years if they did not have somewhere they could go, something they could do, to remain hidden from us?” Obi-Wan sighed. “But it may not be that easy. The footage was leaked already of our fight, and it will not stay contained to the Order alone for long. We may be forced to admit that it was a Sith, and simply pray to the Force that it does not push them into hiding.”

“Oh,” Anakin said. “That’s… complicated.”

Obi-Wan laughed, a bit hoarse. “It is. But you needn’t concern yourself with all of that yet. Your only job right now is to continue focusing on learning.”

“Right,” Anakin sighed. “I’m not much help when I can’t even read Basic yet.”

“Oh, hush, Ani,” Obi-Wan sighed, ruffling his hair. “I’d say Jinto thought you were quite helpful. And all of the Naboo. One day, you’ll be in the thick of it right there beside me, and I’ll be glad to have you, whether it is as a Knight or a pilot.”

“Really?” Anakin asked, peering up at him hopefully. Obi-Wan smiled, only the barest hint of sadness marring the expression.

“Really,” he murmured. “Now, we’d better get going, if we’re going to have time to say goodbye to the Queen before we leave.”

Approaching the Jedi Temple wasn’t the same, the second time around. Before, Anakin had felt like he was just dreaming, like he would wake up and still be on Tatooine, still a slave, dreaming of becoming a Jedi and returning to free the rest of the Amavikka. Everything had had a sort of… faraway quality to it.

But this time, Anakin knew he was looking at his new home, and he drank it in with wide eyes, practically vibrating with excitement. It was only thanks to Obi-Wan’s staying hand on his shoulder that Anakin wasn’t up out of his seat, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

The moment the shuttle docked in the Temple landing bays, Anakin wanted to rush out and really start his new life, but he knew they had to get Master Qui-Gon out first. He waited beside Obi-Wan as Master Windu and Master Dooku moved Qui-Gon’s repulsorlift bed off of the ship, and then he immediately followed, Obi-Wan just behind him.

Anakin immediately stopped, watching as an unfamiliar Twi’lek Jedi bent over Master Qui-Gon, and another woman sprinted toward him and Obi-Wan. Anakin’s eyes were wide--he’d never seen anything like her before: pink skin, large eyes, no hair at all, and a larger head than humans had. If Anakin had to guess, he’d say she was from a water planet, like Master Fisto.

“Obi!” she cried as she got close to them, and then she was throwing herself at Obi-Wan, wrapping her arms around him. Anakin noticed that her fingers were webbed and patted himself on the back for his guess. “We were so worried about you!”

“I’m alright, Bant,” Obi-Wan murmured. “I promise.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” she said, releasing him and stepping back. “I’ve been assigned to look you over.” She turned to Anakin. “And I’m told a certain Initiate needs his intake check.” She bowed, smiling gently at him. “Padawan Bant Eerin.”

Anakin bowed back. “Um, I’m Initiate Anakin Skywalker.”

“It’s very good to meet you,” she said. “It will take Master Che a while to get master Qui-Gon settled and looked at. More than enough time, I’m sure, for the full panels she requested on the two of you.”

Anakin and Obi-Wan exchanged looks, and Anakin thought he was starting to understand why Obi-Wan had called the Healer’s care on Naboo “torture.”

“Now, who’d like to go first?”

Anakin looked frantically at Obi-Wan, who sighed.

“I suppose I’ll volunteer.”

“Wonderful. Anakin, why don’t you have a seat out here?” Padawan Bant gestured to one of the comfortable-looking chairs in the hallway, and Anakin tensed.

“It’s alright, Bant. He can come in--if you’d like, Ani?”

“Okay,” Anakin agreed easily, and Obi-Wan smiled gently at him. Bant nodded slowly and led them into the examination room.

It looked… calm, but cheerful. The walls were a bright shade of blue, and there were very pretty, shiny mosaic tiles on the floor in a sunburst pattern. A bed was in the center of the room, with cabinets on one wall and two chairs. Anakin hopped up into one of the chairs while Obi-Wan went to sit on the bed.

“None of that, Obi,” Bant said, shaking her head. “Tunics off.”

Obi-Wan sighed and stood again, removing the belt, obi, tabards, and tunics just as he had on Naboo, laying them down neatly on one side of the bed. Bant had turned around towards the cabinets to dig out a few instruments, and she made a strangled noise as she turned around.

“Obi-Wan, what happened ?” She walked over and peered intently at the scar wrapping around Obi-Wan’s body at his collarbone. Obi-Wan just sighed.

“It’s a long story, Bant,” he said. “But it’s an old wound. Nothing to be worried about.”

“I… that looks like a lightsaber burn scar,” she whispered.

“It is,” Obi-Wan said flatly, “but I’m not to talk about it.”

Bant looked up sharply, meeting his gaze, her large eyes narrowing. “Council’s orders?”

“Council’s orders,” Obi-Wan confirmed with a shrug. “But really, it’s fine. It doesn’t hurt, and my range of motion is unchanged.”

Bant nodded slowly. “I’ll accept that for now, but I’m sure Master Che will want an explanation. Not even the Council has the power to deny the Chief Healer that clearance, when she deems it necessary. And looking at that , I’d say it’s necessary.” She sighed. “Now, which arm got hit?” Obi-Wan held out his right arm for her to see, and she slowly took the bandage off, revealing a new scar, bright pink, just beginning to heal. “It’s healing well. At least they forced you to take good care of it.” She grabbed one of Obi-Wan’s hands and pricked his finger. “I’ll just run a full scan and then we’ll be done. See how painless this is when you actually tell us what’s wrong and give your injuries proper care?”

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes. “Of course, Healer Eerin.” Bant giggled and turned away, reaching for another instrument, running it up and down in front of Obi-Wan before nodding.

“You told the truth for once,” she said, a teasing lilt to her voice and a smile on her face. “You actually are fine. Well, besides being a bit too thin again. You know how Master Che gets when you don’t eat, Obi.”

Obi-Wan huffed and turned to Anakin, standing up and beginning to put his clothes back on. “It’s your turn now.”

“‘Kay,” Anakin said, feeling much better after seeing how easy it was for Obi-Wan.

“Same thing, squirt. Shirt off, please,” Bant ordered gently, and Anakin nodded, Obi-Wan helping him to remove the obi and tabards when he struggled a bit. He hopped up on the bed and swung his feet back and forth. “Now, were you hurt at all while you were off on your adventures?”

“I had a couple bruises, but nothing bad. They went away after a couple days on their own,” Anakin said, shrugging. Bant nodded, but her smile became a bit brittle then, and Anakin frowned.

“I understand that before you were brought to us, you were a slave,” she said, voice gentle, not judging. Anakin nodded. “Did you have an implant?”

“Yeah, but Obi-Wan made sure they took it out on Naboo,” Anakin said. Bant’s smile turned relieved, then, and she turned to nod at Obi-Wan.

“That’s very good,” she said. “Now, I’m just going to use this scanner on you, take a little blood sample, and then we’ll be all done, okay?”

“‘Kay.”

Anakin felt a little funny when she ran the scanner on him, like his bones were tingling, but it didn’t hurt. The single prick at his finger felt like just a pinch, and then it was over.

“Thank you, Anankin. You were very patient for me,” Bant said, smiling at him again. Anakin smiled back and nodded, moving to put his clothes back on. He was getting cold again. “You two can wait in here or in the hall if you like. I’m just going to run these samples, and then Master Qui-Gon should be settled, and I can take you to him.”

“We’ll wait in here, thank you,” Obi-Wan said immediately, and Bant gave him a knowing look.

“You can’t hide from everyone forever, Obi,” she sighed. “You’ll just have to face being the Temple’s new celebrity, at some point.”

Obi-Wan’s shoulders sagged. “I know. But I’d at least like to get one decent night of sleep in my own bed before I have to think about it.”

Bant nodded sympathetically and left the room. After a moment’s hesitation, Anakin pushed his way onto Obi-Wan’s lap. Obi-Wan huffed a laugh and wrapped his arms around Anakin, the two of them sitting there in companionable silence. Obi-Wan was as warm as always, and the chill left Anakin quickly.

Master Qui-Gon’s room was different from the room on Naboo. He was no longer hooked up to any machines, a scanner in the bed ensuring the Healers would be alerted of any changes in his condition, and the room itself was brighter, happier in the Force. The walls were green, and there were plants sitting in the windowsill. Anakin felt like Master Qui-Gon would appreciate them, when he woke up.

Once Obi-Wan and Anakin had made sure that Master Qui-Gon was all settled in, Obi-Wan offered to take Anakin down to the creche. The walk there felt like it took forever, and Obi-Wan sheepishly admitted that he was taking the long way, to try to avoid running into anyone. They were mostly successful, although the few other Jedi they did see did nothing more than stare at them as they walked by, even as Obi-Wan paused to bow to each of them before moving on. Anakin stuck close to his side, holding his hand tightly as Obi-Wan led him through the halls.

If he thought it was easy to get lost in the Queen’s palace on Naboo, he was really going to get lost in the Temple. If only he could’ve brought R2 with him…

“Well, Ani, are you ready?” Obi-Wan asked, standing before a set of large double doors. Anakin took a deep breath and nodded. Obi-Wan smiled and pushed one of the doors open.

Inside, it was pure chaos. The room was huge, and brightly colored in blues and greens with little yellow constellations painted on the walls, model ships flying around the ceiling, and the walls punctuated by other doors in neat rows. And everywhere , there were other children, laughing and playing and all talking at once.

And in the Force, it was… so loud. Anakin dropped Obi-Wan’s hand, covered his ears, and closed his eyes, even though he knew that wouldn’t really help, but the motion made him feel better. Obi-Wan squeezed his shoulder gently.

Shields, Ani, his mental voice came. Remember what I taught you.

Anakin took a shaky breath and tried to concentrate on the rolling golden yellow dunes of Tatooine, stretching out between his mind and all of the other Force sensitives around him. He could still see them, far off in the distance, but it was… muted. Bearable. He slowly put his hands down and opened his eyes. It didn’t seem like any of the children had noticed, but a Wookie , and actual, real life Wookie was coming towards them.

“Padawan Kenobi, how good to see you again!” she called. Obi-Wan caught sight of the toddler settled on her hip, playing with a block with brightly colored Aurebesh letters on it, and smiled.

“Hello, Master Tyyyvak,” Obi-Wan returned, bowing. She nodded, and then looked down at Anakin.

“And who is this, then?”

“Um, I’m Anakin Skywalker, Master.”

“Of course! You must be the new Initiate. Please come in, we’ll introduce you and get you all settled.” She unceremoniously handed the toddler off to Obi-Wan, who smiled down at the little Zabrak boy now blinking up at him shyly. “ Younglings! Younglings, attention please! ”

The response to her quiet, Shyriiwook roar was immediate: all activity simply stopped . The model ships stopped flying, falling to the carpeted floor with a quiet clatter--and Anakin realized distantly that it had been them doing that, not the ships flying on their own, they had been using the Force to control them, that was so wizard--and they turned as one to face the Master.

“Thank you, younglings. We have a new Initiate joining us today. Would you please all welcome Anakin Skywalker?”

As one, forty-odd sets of children bowed in perfect, slightly unsettling unison, and their voices rang out together, “We welcome you home, Anakin!”

That phrase brought an unexpected tug behind his eyes and Anakin quickly blinked the tears away, bowing back. He was glad, then, for the practice he’d had on Naboo, and the motion was far smoother than it had been before.

“Thank you,” he replied, not knowing what else to say. He could feel Obi-Wan gently pulsing calm-reassurance-comfort-happiness, and Anakin took a deep breath.

“Bear Clan, come here, please,” Master Tyyyvak said, and six children of various ages and species stepped forward. Ranging from toddlers to a couple of boys who looked a couple of years older than Anakin, they were all more or less near-human. “Anakin is going to be joining your Clan. Will you show him around and introduce him to the other Initiates?”

“Of course!” a girl with chin-length dark hair with a shock of white bangs and dots on her face said, smiling warmly at Anakin. “It’s felt too quiet without Farek. He got Chosen last week to be a Padawan! I’m happy for him, but it feels a little too empty without him in our dorm.”

“Dorm?” Anakin repeated, blinking at her. The girl nodded excitedly.

“Why don’t we all go show him where Bear Clan sleeps, and then we’ll introduce him to everybody?” a grey-skinned boy with dark hair and red eyes suggested. The other Initiates nodded, and several of the older ones took the hands of the few toddlers with them.

The girl stuck her hand out to Anakin. “I’m Sian Jeisel.”

“Nice to meet you,” Anakin said, smiling back. He took her hand, and she shook it briefly before shifting her grip to start tugging him along after the other Initiates. Anakin resisted for just long enough to look back at Obi-Wan, who was giving him a gentle, encouraging smile.

I’ll come fetch you tomorrow to visit Master Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan promised, and Anakin nodded and finally let Sian drag him down yet another hallway, toward his new life and a fresh start.

Chapter Text

Wakefulness was irritatingly difficult to grasp. Qui-Gon struggled against the thick-slow quality to his thoughts and his body, trying to beat back the kind of exhaustion that only came from injury and sedation. He felt nothing below his chest except for a prickling cold sensation, and he wondered idly if his lower half were even still attached. The thought did not alarm him in the slightest, and his lips twitched in a hazy smile. They must be giving him the really, really good drugs.

“--think he’s awake!” Qui-Gon heard. As though a switch had been flipped, sound returned to his world, and he heard murmuring, far-off voices, the scrape of something being moved against a hard floor, and overlaying it all, a too-familiar, rhythmic, infernal beeping.

“--off,” Qui-Gon rasped, and he suddenly became aware of how dry his mouth was.

“Here,” a familiar voice said, low and soft, and then something delightfully cool was being pressed against his lips. He parted them slightly--ice chips. He rumbled a contented noise and accepted several more.

“Turn… off ,” Qui-Gon said when he was surer of his voice and the cup of ice had disappeared.

“Turn what off?” another voice asked, a very small, young voice. Still familiar, but not quite enough to place through the haze.

“The monitor,” another familiar, deep voice said. So familiar, but distant, as though he hadn’t heard it for a very long time. The very sound of it somehow irritated and pleased Qui-Gon at the same time. “He has always detested them.”

The beeping stopped, and Qui-Gon hummed again in thanks. He felt large, long fingers, carding gently through his hair.

“Rest, Padawan,” the voice attached to that hand said, and finally, finally , Qui-Gon’s eyes flew open.

At first, he was greeted only by a bright, bright light, and then it swirled, turning from pure white to a mottled-swirling-indigo-dark grey-sharp-edged violet-hued red . Within the miasma, Qui-Gon recognized the familiar, nearly-unchanging form of Yan Dooku, staring down at him with all of his usual intensity and none of his usual derision, replaced only by grave concern.

“Pad’wan,” Qui-Gon slurred. “Obi--”

“Obi-Wan is well,” Yan assured him gently, and Qui-Gon felt-heard-saw a rush of green-blue-yellow whispering to him all will be well before it drifted by like water. “He is with Master Windu, now. We did not expect you to awaken so soon after we returned.”

Obi-Wan was fine. The news eased a hard knot of tension in Qui-Gon’s sternum that he hadn’t realized was there, and he let out a whoosh of breath that came out as a wheeze.

“Ani…?”

“I’m here, Master Qui-Gon, sir!” the young voice called, brilliantly peach-pink with joy. Qui-Gon’s lips twitched.

“Everyone is well, Padawan mine,” Yan said soothingly. “The Queen and the rest of the Naboo are well. The Gungans achieved their victory. You managed to live through an encounter with the Sith, and we are all back in the Temple. It was quite the success, overall.”

The words were full of silky purple pride and Qui-Gon could only blink in surprise, the distant pleasure that everyone was alright overtaken by his near-shock at such unbridled praise from Yan. His former Master merely gave him a small but indulgent smile and ran his hand again through Qui-Gon’s hair.

“You must rest, now,” Yan said. Qui-Gon had barely enough time to recognize the Force suggestion before he was carried off back to the black.

The next time Qui-Gon woke was easier. His eyes fluttered open to the peaceful dark cerulean-black-shimmering-silver-white of nighttime and was immediately aware of the familiar blue-green-silver presence nearby. He turned his head to look over at Obi-Wan. He was perched in a chair beside the bed, legs folded beneath him, frowning thoughtfully at a datapad. He looked well enough, if getting thin, and a bit pale. His hair had started to grow out of the Padawan cut, becoming a bit shaggy, but... 

“Still there,” Qui-Gon murmured, and Obi-Wan’s head jerked up. Immediately, a golden smile, joyful and broad, crossed his face, and he set the ‘pad down on the bedside table, reaching for Qui-Gon’s hand, holding it in both of his.

“Master,” he said, and Qui-Gon tried to smile back. He was happy, of course he was--he remembered what had happened Before, on Naboo, and to see Obi-Wan whole and here was more than enough to bring him joy. But with the drugs he was on, Qui-Gon wasn’t quite sure what his face was doing.

“Still there,” he repeated, and gently shook off Obi-Wan’s hands to reach out and touch the braid falling over his shoulder. “Would’ve thought…”

Obi-Wan laughed, a bright golden-and-pink pleased sound. “They offered,” Obi-Wan answered softly. “But I would not let them take that honor from you, Master mine. I have been content to wait.”

Obi-Wan’s image became blurry, and it took Qui-Gon a moment to realize that that was because his eyes had filled with tears. His heart thrummed with deep purple pride, the echo of his own Master’s, and he knew then that he was smiling.

“So proud of you, my Knight,” Qui-Gon muttered, his eyes already sliding shut again. Obi-Wan’s hands returned to his and squeezed gently. If Obi-Wan replied, Qui-Gon was asleep before he could hear it.

The third time Qui-Gon woke, it felt more natural. He could tell they had tapered down on the medication, and he was grateful for the clarity, if not the renewed ability to feel the dull, persistent red-and-brown like dried blood ache in his abdomen. He did not try to sit up, but he did open his eyes, feeling the soothing, vibrant green presence of Vokara Che. She smiled down at him warmly as he opened his eyes.

“Welcome back.”

“Vokara,” he rasped, and this time he knew he was able to smile the first time he tried. She was quick to give him more ice chips, and this time he was even able to use his hands to tip the cup of them into his mouth ever so slowly, though he noted they were shaking badly.

“You are a very stubborn man, Qui-Gon,” she said, brilliant shimmering lavender fond. “With a very stubborn Padawan.”

“He is,” Qui-Gon agreed, smile growing.

“It’s only thanks to his stubbornness that you survived that,” Vokara said flatly. “I swear, if I had seen that boy right after it happened, you both would have been in my Halls for weeks , if not months . The kind of advanced Force healing he did… well, ideally it shouldn’t be done without training, but I’m glad he did.” They both paused, thinking of how close Qui-Gon had come this time to becoming One with the Force, and then they both released the thought. “How do you feel?”

“Relatively well,” Qui-Gon answered honestly, “though I imagine it will be a while before I try to sit up on my own.”

Vokara laughed. “At last, I get the feeling that you’re going to agree to my restrictions. Now, you know the drill. Standard questions. Name?”

“Well, you’ve been calling me Qui-Gon,” he pointed out, and she rolled her eyes.

“A typical Jinn answer, at least,” she muttered. “Year?”

Qui-Gon frowned at her. “How long was I out?”

Vokara smirked. “Not that long. It was only four weeks.”

“968, then.”

“Very good. Current Chancellor?”

Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow at her. “Trick questions? Not playing fair, are you, Vokara?” She frowned back at him, and he sighed. “Last I recall, the Senate was about to hold an election.”

“Ah, yes,” she said. “I’ll give you that one, then. The current Chancellor is Bail Antilles of Alderaan.”

Qui-Gon was moderately pleased by the news. Finis Valorum had been a true friend to the Jedi, and his unfair and unjustified ousting rankled, a bit; but Alderaan was also historically supportive of the Order, and Obi-Wan had always spoken well of the man’s heir apparent, Bail Organa, which was promising. It was less awful news than it could have been, all told.

“Now, how bad would you say the pain is?” Vokara asked, and Qui-Gon frowned thoughtfully, closing his eyes to turn his focus inward. The red-and-brown ache was… not insignificant, but not sharp and needling, either.

“Tolerable,” Qui-Gon answered. “I suspect if I tried to move much, it would not be so. But for now, it is fine.”

Vokara nodded. “Well, you seem to be in as much of your right mind as you ever were,” she teased lightly, and Qui-Gon grinned at her. “Master Windu would like to see you as soon as you’re able. Tomorrow?”

Qui-Gon shook his head. “Now, if you don’t mind,” he said, and she began to frown, but he cut her off gently, “I have many questions, and I do not know that I will rest easy until I hear the answers.” She sighed but nodded grudgingly.

“I’ll send for him.”

The familiar swirling-purple-edged-edged-with-red feeling of Mace was a comfort to Qui-Gon, and the sheer bright green relief he radiated was touching. Qui-Gon smiled as he entered, waving a hand.

“Please don’t think me impolite if I do not sit up to greet you,” Qui-Gon said loftily, and Mace barked a laugh, shaking his head.

“Well, you’re still you ,” he said and sank down unceremoniously into the chair Obi-Wan had occupied earlier.

“The Council would like my report, I take it?” Qui-Gon asked, and Mace shrugged.

“Not yet,” he said. “We have plenty, for now, between Obi-Wan’s statement and the footage. But we aren’t supposed to speak of the battle, yet.”

“Oh?”

“Master Che’s orders,” Mace explained. “She warned me rather vehemently against upsetting you.”

Qui-Gon scowled. “I may be injured, but I am not a delicate flower.”

Mace snorted. “No, that you’re not. Nevertheless, I have no desire to be on the receiving end of her wrath,” he sighed. “That can wait. We may, however, speak about the aftermath of everything. I understand you have many questions.”

Qui-Gon nodded, as much as he could, lying down. “Obi-Wan told me that the Council wanted to Knight him.”

“Killing a Sith used to grant the rank of Master , during the old wars,” Mace said slowly. “Of course we’re going to Knight him. But he requested that we wait until you could be there, and the Council accepted his decision. Despite how often you manage to be a pain in the ass for all of us, we are rather fond of you.”

Qui-Gon smiled. He could feel the honesty of what his friend said, the shimmering purple affection they held for him. He may have disagreed with the Council--vehemently and often--but he had never doubted his place among his fellow Jedi.

“And Anakin?” Qui-Gon asked. “He was here, in the Temple.”

“He still is,” Mace said. “Obi-Wan has brought him every day to visit you. Anakin has joined the creche. We may have broken one rule, accepting him into the Order so late, but we will respect tradition where we can. He will be eligible to become a padawan in two years, like all of the other Initiates.”

Qui-Gon smiled softly. “Good.” Mace frowned at him, and Qui-Gon sighed. “It will be best for him to acclimate as all the other children do; and I do not necessarily think I should be the one to train the boy. When I made the offer--” Mace snorted at the polite phrasing; Qui-Gon continued as though he had not heard. “--it was because there seemed to be no one else willing to take up the task. You were insistent that he not be trained at all , and that would have been… disastrous.”

“I think that fact is the only thing that saved your relationship with Obi-Wan, quite frankly,” Mace said flatly. “You’re lucky he is so forgiving. That man adores you, Qui-Gon. You will have to be more careful with him in the future.”

Qui-Gon nodded slowly. He had not regretted his actions, that much was true, but he had regretted how he had presented his argument. He regretted that he had not told Obi-Wan before that day in the Council Chambers that the Council had been pushing for his Trials for months, and Qui-Gon agreed with them, despite how young Obi-Wan was. He had not wanted to let Obi-Wan go, his head and his heart thrumming a constant mantra of not yet-not yet-not yet , but to admit that would have smacked of attachment, and so he had said nothing at all.

Now, though, he wondered--had it truly been attachment that had compelled him to keep Obi-Wan at his side just a little longer? Or had it been the Force? Without Obi-Wan, the debacle on Naboo would have been… catastrophic. If he had been Knighted three months before then, when the Council had first suggested that Qui-Gon put him forward for the Trials...

Qui-Gon let the thoughts go, knowing that it was no use to dwell on what almost was. When Mace saw that he had returned his attention to the present moment, he continued. “Anakin is doing very well. The three of you were on Naboo for nearly a month while they waited for you to be well enough to be moved back here, to the Temple. Obi-Wan convinced us to take him as an Initiate, and took the boy under his wing. He’s come far, in the last few weeks, and the two of them have grown quite close.”

He was pleased to hear that, too. Obi-Wan was so full of Light , and so kind and gentle, but he also seemed to have some persistent insecurity that Qui-Gon had never been able to rid him of, and it made him… defensive, at times. Anakin was much the same--the experiences he’d had in his short life thus far had taught him that to appear weak was to be weak. But beneath their sometimes prickly exteriors, both were quite easy to care for, and he was gratified to hear that they had found that in each other.

“I am glad to hear it,” Qui-Gon finally said, and Mace smiled softly.

“It’s been good for both of them,” Mace sighed. “There is… another matter.”

“Oh?”

“We’ll have to wait for your official report to the Council, of course, but we’re going to be giving you a commendation for valor,” Mace told him, and Qui-Gon gaped. It would not be the first time he had been given a commendation for his actions in battle, but all such honors were public . “Our hand was forced. The footage I mentioned was leaked. The entire Temple and most of Coruscant have seen it, and it’s going viral on the ‘Net, now.”

“There goes any hope of discretion,” Qui-Gon sighed. He felt a headache coming on that had nothing at all to do with his weakened state. “And oh, my poor Padawan…”

Mace grinned a bit ruefully. “Yes. He’s already having to avoid questions and whispers, and there’s a definite hero-worship developing amongst the younger sets.”

“He’s going to hate all of this,” Qui-Gon groaned, and Mace barked a laugh.

“I said the same to him, ‘you must hate this,’” Mace said, looking purple-and-pink fond and amused. “He very primly reminded me that ‘Jedi do not hate; we only become severely annoyed.’”

Qui-Gon snorted, his own smile forming, and he shook his head. That sounded precisely like Obi-Wan.

There was a long pause, and Qui-Gon steeled himself. “I know what Vokara said, but please, Mace. I have one question that must be answered about that day.” Mace nodded slowly. “Something… happened. It felt like… a surge, in the Force, like a wave crashing down. It was centered on Obi-Wan.” He paused, thinking back to that day in the reactor room; contrary to Vokara’s belief that it may upset him, he felt nothing but calm curiosity as he thought back on it. He had long ago made peace with the fact that he would one day rejoin the Force--it would have been impossible to take on the sorts of missions he had if he had not made peace with that fact, after all.

Qui-Gon cleared his throat and continued, “From what I can recall, Obi-Wan was… different, after that. He began favoring Soresu, and his presence in the Force was… staggering. It felt like he had developed years of skill in a single moment. And our bond was… changed. As though it snapped and then formed again in an instant.”

Mace was stone faced, his shields pulled up high, frustratingly white blank in the Force. “Qui-Gon… because you are still technically Obi-Wan’s Master, I will give you the barest facts. But the matter is being held in the strictest confidence--not even the full Council knows all of the details yet.” Qui-Gon blinked in surprise, and Mace took a long moment before he continued. “A similar event happened simultaneously here on Coruscant, in the Temple. Several Jedi were affected--I can’t tell you who the others are, but because you are Obi-Wan’s Master and my friend, I can at least confirm that both of us shared the same… experience.”

“What was it?” Qui-Gon asked, frowning. The Force felt like it was holding its breath.

“It was like nothing we had ever experienced before. It was like nothing we could even find record of in the Archives,” Mace sighed. “The closest comparison would be to say that we had… visions. But they were startling in clarity, and left us all with skills and knowledge we did not have before the Seeing.”

“I see,” Qui-Gon murmured, and then he laughed. “For all my lectures on how Obi-Wan needed to pay more attention to the moment and the Living Force, it seems his connection to the Unifying Force is what won the day.”

Mace smiled, though it was wan, and his shields were still tight, revealing nothing. “I’m very glad you survived, Qui-Gon. The Order would be darker without you.” For the second time in the last twelve hours, Qui-Gon felt tears prick at his eyes, and blinked them away before they could fall. “You should rest. I hear Vokara is going to be starting on the regeneration tomorrow.”

Qui-Gon scowled. Regeneration machines that promoted healing by channeling the Force through kyber crystals were quite effective, but set him on edge. It felt as though his very bones were buzzing with the energy, making even his teeth hum .

“Cheer up, old man,” Mace teased. “She estimates only three months before you’re on light duty again, and perhaps eight months before you’re fully cleared.”

And that was good news, and Qui-Gon allowed that thought to buoy his spirits as he said his goodbyes to Mace and closed his eyes to drift off.

Qui-Gon knew that Vokara expected him to pitch a--very dignified, of course-- fit when she presented him with a mug of broth for his breakfast, but he simply took it with a small smile. She had raised the bed, allowing him to sit up without needing to put much pressure on the still-healing wound.

“What’s wrong with you?” she asked, staring at him, brow furrowed, swirling burnt orange suspicious.

Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow. “You are the Master Healer, Vokara. Do you not already know what is wrong with me?”

She scoffed and pursed her lips, shaking her head. “You haven’t fought me on anything . Not the medication doses and schedule, not your recovery timeline, not your physical therapy. It isn’t like you.”

He sighed and shook his head. Staring down into the mug, he murmured, “I was rather… aggressively introduced to my true limitations, Vokara. I am not the man I was before Naboo, and I will be grateful for your assistance until I can be again.”

Vokara paused, and then gave him a soft purple-green smile. “Of course, Qui-Gon. Now, drink. Once you’ve finished, I have a surprise for you.” At Qui-Gon’s sharp look , she added, “A pleasant one, I promise.”

Qui-Gon resisted the urge to drain the mug, knowing it would do him no favors. Vokara had told him the extent of the damage earlier that morning, and they had had to repair part of his stomach, replace one kidney, and his liver was still growing back. For now, his diet would consist of broth and the thick protein “smoothies” he was familiar with from past stays in the Halls, and for once, he could not bring himself to complain about it.

When he had finished, he set down the mug on the bedside table, and Vokara smiled approvingly and nodded to him before turning to leave. The moment the door opened, a little blur of tan and brown robes, shining yellow-and-orange vibrantly in the Force came flying towards him. Qui-Gon chuckled as Anakin hugged his legs, obviously trying to be mindful of the injury.

“Master Qui-Gon! I’m so happy you’re finally awake,” Anakin said, smiling brightly.

“Ani, what have I told you about running in the Temple?” Obi-Wan called as he entered the room. Anakin glanced back at him, sighing.

“It’s for emergencies only ,” he groaned, as though they’d been over this many times. “I know, I know. But Master Qui-Gon’s finally awake again--that is an emergency! I had to see him!”

Obi-Wan shook his head, a small smile on his face as he sank down into the chair he’d occupied previously. Anakin was quick to climb into his lap, and Qui-Gon blinked in surprise as Obi-Wan merely wrapped his arms around Anakin’s middle, pulling him back to his chest.

“I’m glad to see the two of you getting along so well,” Qui-Gon said slowly.

“Yeah, Obi’s really nice, once he stops brooding .” Qui-Gon snorted, and Obi-Wan frowned.

“I wish Sian hadn’t taught you that word,” he muttered, and Anakin giggled.

“But you do .”

“He is right, Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon said, raising an eyebrow. “You do have a tendency to brood .” Obi-Wan rolled his eyes, and Qui-Gon smiled. “I hear you’ve joined Bear Clan now, Ani. How are you liking the creche?”

“It’s so cool ,” Anakin said, sparkling with pink excitement. “Master Vlek-tu is teaching us more about the Force, and Sian taught me some of the games already! I’m really good at the guessing games, but not so good at flying the ships around with the Force. I crashed one into the wall.”

Qui-Gon smiled gently at him. “You’ll get there, Ani.”

“I know,” the boy answered, shrugging. “Obi already explained that I’m gonna be behind in some stuff and ahead in other stuff, just ‘cause I grew up learning different things. I just took my tests yesterday, and I’m gonna be in Advanced Mechanics! I’ll get to hang out with the pilots and the mechanics, and maybe they’ll let me help with the ships!”

“That’s very exciting.”

“Yeah! And after they hear what I did on Naboo, maybe they’ll even let me fly one!” Qui-Gon’s brow furrowed.

Obi-Wan laughed. “You’ll have to pass the simulations first, Ani, just like everyone else.”

Anakin pouted. “I know . Master Tyyyvak told me that, but it’s just… do they make ships that have controls in Bocce? Or Huttese?”

“Not around here, I’m afraid,” Obi-Wan said. “We’re so deep in the core, it’s amazing if you see anything other than Basic.”

“What did you do on Naboo?” Qui-Gon asked, frowning. Both Obi-Wan and Anakin looked at him in surprise, and then Obi-Wan groaned.

“Oops,” Anakin said. “We’re not supposed to talk about Naboo, that’s what Master Che said!”

“Oh, give it up, Ani,” Obi-Wan said, sounding exasperated and tired. “Master Qui-Gon is incredibly stubborn. Master Che didn’t want us to talk about Naboo because it may ‘upset him,’ but I’m certain the question hanging over his head will upset him even more. Go on.”

“Okay,” Anakin said, and he squirmed a bit in Obi-Wan’s lap. “I, um… I didn’t mean to do it, honest! I stayed in the cockpit the whole time , too, just like you said!”

“You flew the ship,” Qui-Gon said flatly, and Anakin nodded.

“Uh-huh. The autopilot came on, and it was tied to the rest of the fighter group, but I didn’t know how to turn it off! R2 eventually figured it out, but by then we were already in the battle, and… well, I kinda sorta got hit and crashed through the rayshield into the hangar on the control ship. Then I blew it up from the inside!”

Qui-Gon blinked at him, and then at Obi-Wan, who shrugged, an amused little grin tugging at his lips.

“That is… very impressive, Anakin,” Qui-Gon said. The words felt trite, in the face of such exceptional power and what had to have been the guiding hand of the Force, but Anakin beamed.

“Thanks, Master Qui-Gon! Padme, I mean, Queen Amidala was really happy, and the pilots too! They were so happy they let me help repair the ships for the rest of the time we were on Naboo,” Anakin told him. “I made tons of new friends!”

“I’m very glad to hear it,” Qui-Gon said honestly. He’d worried, of course, that taking Anakin away from his mother may hurt the boy, but what choice had he had? He was quite relieved to hear that Anakin seemed to be thriving.

And with no little help from Obi-Wan, it seemed, which was another surprise in itself, given his earlier… reservations. Mace had told him that they had become close, but Qui-Gon had not quited expected… this.

A chirp came from the commlink on Anakin’s wrist, and he groaned. “Ugh, already? I’m sorry, Master Qui-Gon, but I have to go back to the creche.” Anakin’s nose scrunched up. “Master Tyyyvak said that if I wasn’t back in time for the next meditation class, she’d make me spend an hour with the babies. And they’re really loud .”

“We wouldn’t want that, now, would we?” Qui-Gon asked, trying to hide his amused smile. He was not quite sure he succeeded, if Obi-Wan’s smirk was anything to go by.

“Here, Ani,” Obi-Wan said, letting go of him. Anakin hopped down, and Obi-Wan handed him a piece of folded flimsi he pulled out of one of the pouches of his belt. Qui-Gon could see what looked like a diagram of the Temple on it with colored arrows pointing down the hallways leading back to the creche, and he smiled.

“Thanks, Obi!” Anakin turned to Qui-Gon and beamed. “It was really good to see you, Master Qui-Gon! I’ll come back later when I’m done with classes.”

“It was good to see you too, Ani,” Qui-Gon answered. The boy waved and then ran out of the room.

Obi-Wan watched him go, shaking his head, a rueful smile on his face. “Always on the move.”

“You two seem… close.”

Obi-Wan turned back to him and shrugged. “You were right, as always, my Master,” he said, a wicked, teasing gleam in his eyes at that. Qui-Gon barked a laugh, wincing slightly as it pulled at the wound. “He is a very sweet child, and very strong with the Force. For the Order to refuse to train him… we would be handing him over to the Sith on a silver platter, I believe.”

Qui-Gon nodded slowly. “I agree.”

“We spent quite a bit of time together, on Naboo,” Obi-Wan continued, answering the rest of Qui-Gon’s implied question. “He is quite… eager, if not exactly patient . But he is a fast learner, and a good student. He’s doing well.”

Qui-Gon smiled. “And what about you? How are you doing? Mace told me about the footage.”

Obi-Wan sighed, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose as if warding off a headache. “Master Drallig has asked me sixteen times since we’ve been back to assist him in demonstrations. Initiates won’t stop approaching me to ask if I’ll be Knighted soon and taking a Padawan. For their part, Padawans are apparently asking their Masters for additional lessons in Soresu and Ataru. Poor Master Trebor is completely overwhelmed with the amount of teaching requests he’s gotten since he’s been back in the Temple this week.” He dropped his hand and shook his head. “It’s… uncomfortable. Quite a mess , actually.”

Qui-Gon smiled. “Ah, celebrity. I know how you dislike the attention, Obi-Wan, but you do deserve it.”

“I don’t want it,” Obi-Wan said flatly, and there was a distant look in his eyes, as though he was remembering something from long ago, the Force swirling with some unidentifiable shimmering violet emotion that was almost nostalgic. “I’d much rather go back to just being Obi-Wan Kenobi, the average Padawan.”

“You have never been average, Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon said fondly, and Obi-Wan flushed and looked down at his hands, clasped in his lap. Qui-Gon smiled and shook his head. “You are more than ready to become a Knight. I am very grateful that you chose to wait for me.”

Obi-Wan looked up at him, that same, strange violet feeling tainting his smile, and those lovely blue-green-grey eyes had gone a bit stormy. “You made a promise to see me Knighted. I wasn’t about to become the reason your promise went unfulfilled, Master.”

Qui-Gon did not know what to say to that. Perhaps “I’m not sure what I ever did to deserve you,” or something equally maudlin, but he was spared having to form a reply by Vokara’s reappearance.

“Now that I have you both here,” Vokara said, “I have a bargain to make with you, Qui-Gon.”

“Oh?”

“Obey all of our instructions for the next tenday, including no sitting up on your own , and no strenuous Force-use, and we’ll let you go back to your quarters, after that. You will still have to report here each day for physical therapy, and I have ordered a mandatory evaluation with a Mind Healer, but if you attend all of your appointments as-scheduled, you may stay in your own rooms.”

“Thank you,” Qui-Gon said, blinking in surprise. “That is a kind gesture.”

“Familiar surroundings steeped in your Force signature will help your healing,” Vokara said, and then she smirked at him. “Making you a more compliant patient is a perk, I will admit.”

Qui-Gon snorted and shook his head. “Still, I appreciate the vote of confidence, allowing me to go back to my quarters alone.”

“Qui-Gon, the entire reason I’m allowing this is that you won’t be alone,” she said slowly.

“I’ve requested to remain in the same quarters, for now,” Obi-Wan explained. “If you don’t mind, that is.”

“I see,” Qui-Gon said dully, a little spark of something warm and pale lavender rising in his chest. Obi-Wan may be a Knight soon, but he would not be leaving. The pale lavender unidentifiable feeling was joined by a glittering green relief. “No, of course not.”

Obi-Wan smiled, the green chasing away the ice in his eyes at last, and Qui-Gon smiled back, that lavender warmth swelling in his chest.

“There is something I’d like to speak to you about,” Obi-Wan said, interrupting the comfortable silence and the light meditative trance Qui-Gon had allowed himself to slip into. The Force had been swirling around him since he woke up, surrounding him as it always did, but it had felt frustratingly out of reach, out of control. He knew, of course--both because Vokara had told him and from unfortunate experience--that it was due to the drugs he was still on, and that his control of the Force would return to normal soon enough. In the meantime, it seemed… easier, when Obi-Wan was near.

“Oh?”

“My Grand-Master has been refusing to visit, though we can all tell he would very much like to,” Obi-Wan sighed. Qui-Gon blinked in surprise. “He joined us on Naboo as soon as he heard, and he rarely left your side while you were… resting.”

Qui-Gon nodded slowly. “I thought I remembered him being here, when I first woke.”

“He was,” Obi-Wan confirmed, “but now that you’re more aware, he insisted that you wouldn’t want to see him.” Obi-Wan gave him a rueful smile. “Actually, I believe his exact words were, ‘What my Padawan needs now is rest, and I can assure you that I am the least restful presence in his life.’”

Qui-Gon laughed at Obi-Wan’s surprisingly passable imitation of Yan, and then he shook his head slowly. “We hadn’t spoken in eight years. That is… a difficult breach to mend.”

Obi-Wan arched an eyebrow at him. “Near-death experiences tend to go a long way, Master. He cares about you very much, although he may not show it often. It was… difficult for him, to hear what had happened.”

He nodded slowly, thinking over Obi-Wan’s words. “If he wishes to visit, I will not turn him away. And I will do my best not to start any arguments.”

Obi-Wan laughed brightly, vibrant green relieved. “I’ll tell him. Thank you.”

“Don’t expect a miracle, Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon sighed. “But I will make an effort with him.”

“That is all I can ask of you, Master.”

Qui-Gon quickly fell into a routine. Now that he was awake and well on his way to healing, Vokara had begun his physical therapy, spending the morning sitting him up and laying him back down, raising his legs and lowering them again. It was grueling , simply put. But it was also necessary, and Qui-Gon bore it with as much grace and good humor as he could while trying to ignore the burning ache in his stomach and the fact that he was still restricted to a depressingly bland diet of broth and thick supplement shakes.

In the afternoon, one of the Soul Healers, Master B’nari, a kind, gentle Mirialan, came to help him heal his connection to the Force. Their first meeting had set Qui-Gon at ease, which had been a surprise in itself, given his lifelong reluctance to speak to the Soul Healers. The man was understanding, and had seemed the most concerned about Qui-Gon’s new synesthesia.

“Does it happen all of the time? Seeing others’ emotions as colors in the Force,” he’d asked. Qui-Gon had frowned, mulling it over briefly.

“No, not all of the time. Particularly intense emotions tend to cause it, but it also seems linked to how close I am to others. It happens most with Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon explained. Master B’nari had nodded slowly.

“This may be a side effect of the medications you’re on. It will likely diminish as we wean you off of them.”

Qui-Gon had accepted that answer easily. Of all of the changes he had experienced, the synesthesia was far from the most bothersome.

In the evenings, Obi-Wan would come to eat dinner with him, sometimes accompanied by Anakin, and sometimes alone. More often than not, Obi-Wan looked just as tired as Qui-Gon felt. Dark circles were beginning to form under his eyes, and his normally vivid blue-green-silver presence had dimmed somewhat.

“Have you been sleeping?” Qui-Gon asked one night when Anakin was not with them. Obi-Wan sighed, shrugging. Qui-Gon knew already that he would not like his answer.

“I try, Master,” Obi-Wan answered softly. “I do not always succeed.”

“Do or do not,” Qui-Gon thought of saying out of long-remembered habit. Quoting his Grand-Master was a frequent occurrence between himself and Obi-Wan. But looking at the tension around Obi-Wan’s mouth, the tired slant of his eyes and their unusual dullness, the purpling bruises beneath each eye, the slight slump of Obi-Wan’s shoulders, Qui-Gon somehow thought that would not be the right thing to say.

“What keeps you awake?” he asked instead, and Obi-Wan tensed slightly.

“It’s only dreams,” Obi-Wan sighed. “Dreams pass in time, I know.”

“Visions?” Qui-Gon prompted, and Obi-Wan shook his head.

“No. Just… memories.”

Qui-Gon pursed his lips thoughtfully. Obi-Wan would not quite meet his eyes, staring out straight ahead into empty space as though seeing something only in his mind, likely replaying the memories that seemed to weigh him down. Qui-Gon reached out and placed a hand on Obi-Wan’s arm; Obi-Wan blinked and met his eyes, then, smiling slightly.

“I’ll be fine,” Obi-Wan assured him.

“I know you will,” Qui-Gon answered quietly, “but you do not have to bear them alone, you know. I would be happy to listen.”

Obi-Wan smiled, but there was a dark burgundy-and-blue sadness to it. “I would be happy to confide in you, if I could. But the Council has decided that certain events should be kept… quiet.”

Qui-Gon blinked, and then frowned. “I see. This is related to the Seeing, then?” Obi-Wan nodded slowly. Qui-Gon sighed. “I am sorry, Obi-Wan, that the Council has left you to deal with this by yourself.”

“Not completely alone, at least. There are a few others,” Obi-Wan sighed, and then he grimaced. “Although, on second thought, that might have been better. I wouldn’t wish this on anyone.”

Qui-Gon did not know what to say to that--he found it happening distressingly often now, when it came to Obi-Wan. He settled for moving his hand from Obi-Wan’s arm to hold his hand. Obi-Wan laced their fingers together, and Qui-Gon idly brushed his thumb in soothing, repetitive motions over the back of his hand. They stayed that way, in comfortable silence again, until Vokara finally came to primly order Obi-Wan back to his own quarters for the night. Qui-Gon watched him go, praying that sleep found him before he collapsed from exhaustion.

Finally, the torturous tenday was over, and Qui-Gon was being released back to his own quarters. He had tried to insist upon walking there, but conceded the point rather graciously when Vokara said she may as well keep him in the Halls if he was going to act that way.

He was presentable enough, Obi-Wan having been kind enough to comb his hair and plait it back for him, since raising his arms still pulled too uncomfortably at the still-healing wound, and he was relieved to be leaving the Halls, but he still scowled at the hoverchair.

“Get used to it,” Vokara said. “It’s going to be another month before I let you actually walk when you’re out of my sight.” Qui-Gon opened his mouth, and she raised an eyebrow at him. “Or you could just stay here, if you would like. It would be far more convenient--”

“I would not impose upon you any longer than strictly necessary,” Qui-Gon said quickly. He pretended not to see Obi-Wan raising his hand to his mouth to cover his amused smirk. “Though I thank you for your care, Vokara.”

She tipped her head back and laughed bright pink at him. “Well, at least you’ve gotten more polite. Go on, get out of here. I expect you back tomorrow morning after breakfast.”

“Of course,” Qui-Gon said, nodding eagerly. He would have agreed to far less simple terms, after all, if it meant getting out of the Halls.

Obi-Wan stood. “Ready?”

“Beyond ready.”

Obi-Wan’s smile was lavender-and-pink fond and amused, and he nodded. He walked beside the chair, radiating quiet green relief as Qui-Gon chose to take the long way around to their quarters, hoping to avoid as many of their fellow Jedi as possible. He knew that neither of them were quite up to dealing with the stares and questions yet.

“Are you hungry?” Obi-Wan asked mildly. A bit too mildly, and Qui-Gon glanced up at him, brow furrowed lightly in suspicion.

“Quite, unless you are offering more of Vokara’s broths or shakes.”

Obi-Wan laughed. “Not at all, Master. Master Che cleared you for a near-normal diet.”

Qui-Gon’s eyes narrowed. “‘Near-normal?’”

“Nothing too greasy, nothing too acidic, and definitely no alcohol yet,” Obi-Wan said with a shrug. Qui-Gon sighed and shook his head.

“No Dex’s then.”

“No, I’m afraid not,” Obi-Wan said. “But there should be some real food waiting for us, at least.”

Qui-Gon gave him a curious look laden with questions, but Obi-Wan simply smiled at him and said nothing further as they made their way to their quarters. The few other Jedi they passed stared at them, but thankfully did not try to stop them to speak.

When they reached their quarters, Qui-Gon could sense vaguely familiar presences within, although it was deadened by the standard shielding each apartment had. When the door opened, Qui-Gon felt a flutter of relief that it wasn’t a large party, but instead merely Anakin running toward him.

“Master Qui-Gon, you’re home!” Anakin cried. Qui-Gon didn’t even make it in the door before Anakin latched his arms around Qui-Gon’s neck, straining on the tips of his toes to reach around the hoverchair. Qui-Gon chuckled and wrapped one arm around the boy, patting his back.

“It is very good to be home,” Qui-Gon answered. “Despite Vokara’s hospitality, I still can’t claim to enjoy my time in the Halls.”

Anakin giggled and let go of him, allowing Qui-Gon to enter and Obi-Wan just after him. Qui-Gon watched with a gentle smile as Obi-Wan bent down to hug Anakin, who preened at the attention.

“Ani, why don’t we go set the table?” Obi-Wan suggested. Anakin nodded and eagerly tugged his hand, pulling him off toward the kitchen. A moment later, Qui-Gon realized why he’d offered the distraction as Yan stepped out of the kitchen, passing the pair on their way in.

“It’s good to see you,” Qui-Gon said slowly. He knew the way that Yan raised one eyebrow at him, giving him a look that so clearly said, “is it really?”

Instead, Yan simply hummed and then said, “You are looking far better.”

Qui-Gon managed a smile for him and nodded. “I am feeling far better than I was the last time you saw me. If I recall correctly, I was in a panic about Obi-Wan.” He paused, his smile growing a bit wider, a bit more genuine. “Thank you, for helping look after him on Naboo.”

Yan nodded stiffly. “I would accept your thanks, but you raised a rather… remarkable young Knight. He hardly needed any of our help.”

Qui-Gon snorted and shook his head. “Thank you for coming to Naboo for me , then.”

Yan paused and then his shoulders seemed to slump--not that it would look like much of a “slump” on anyone else, but Yan tended to be… tense. It was more a slight release of the rigidity in his shoulders, but to Qui-Gon, well. He knew what that gesture signalled.

“Of course,” Yan murmured. “You are my Padawan, after all.”

Qui-Gon laughed outright. “Not for decades , if memory serves.”

Yan’s eyebrow ticked up a bit higher. “You will always be my Padawan. Now come, it’s time you ate something other than the gruel the Halls serve.”

Qui-Gon barked another laugh, deciding not to call attention to the way Yan changed topics the moment conversation grew too close to declarations of feeling . He had promised Obi-Wan that he would try, and Yan himself did seem to be on his best behavior.

Dinner sent a wave of nostalgia flowing through Qui-Gon: steamed lemon rice, takee-oulee fish, and a bed of greens. It was a meal Yan had made them countless times during his apprenticeship, simple dishes from Serenno that he could make in his sleep. Though it was typical for the Padawan to cook for and serve the Master, they had quickly realized that Qui-Gon was not simply incapable in the kitchen, he was downright dangerous . After the first three times Qui-Gon had set fire to the cabinets in their kitchen, Yan had banned him from anything beyond brewing their tea.

“What is this?” Anakin asked, poking at his fish with his fork.

“ Takee-oulee ,” Qui-Gon said. “It’s a type of fish.”

Anakin’s eyes went wide. “Fish? Like from an ocean ?”

Obi-Wan smiled into his teacup, and even Yan’s lips twitched. “Yes, Ani. There are several large oceans on Serenno.”

“Woah,” Anakin said, and took a tentative bite. “Mm, tha’s good!”

“While I am glad you approve, Initiate, I would greatly appreciate it if you would refrain from speaking while your mouth is full,” Yan drawled, raising an eyebrow at Anakin. The boy flushed.

“S’rry, Math-ter,” he mumbled, mouth still full. Yan sighed, shaking his head, and began to eat himself with the same delicate motions Qui-Gon remembered so clearly.

Conversation around the table was a bit of a blur to Qui-Gon. For the rest of the meal, he found he could focus on nothing other than the way the Force was humming with silver-purple-green rightness and contentment. This was his family , and to have them all together again was truly a gift.

Qui-Gon liked this new routine far better. Each morning, Obi-Wan had breakfast ready and waiting for him, and then walked him down to the Halls for his appointments before disappearing to do… whatever it was he occupied his time with each day. (“Oh, I’ve finally given in to Master Drallig, and he has me helping with both Ataru and Soresu demonstrations. And Grand-Master has agreed to work with me on Makashi, so I’m spending a great deal of time in the salles,” Obi-Wan had said, though Qui-Gon had known from the way his eyes had gone icy grey, his smile not reaching his eyes, that he was holding something back. Still, he was all but a Knight, now, and Qui-Gon would give him his space. For now, anyway.)

Getting to eat normally again and return to his own quarters each night was doing wonders for his healing. Even Vokara reluctantly agreed that it had been a good idea to send him back to his own rooms, and Qui-Gon knew how she had been loathe to agree to it initially. (“That was all Obi-Wan’s doing,” Vokara had sighed with a rueful little grin. “He made a very compelling case for it, and promised to drag you back here himself if it didn’t work out. I think he knew all along that he wouldn’t have to fulfill that promise.”)

Some nights, Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan ate their evening meal alone, and it was almost like nothing had ever changed. Their camaraderie was as easy as ever, and Qui-Gon was pleased to be able to--truthfully--report each night that his healing was advancing ahead of schedule, which always inspired such a sparkling green and shimmering violet relief and affection in Obi-Wan. Other nights, Yan joined them, and sometimes Anakin did as well. Those were some of Qui-Gon’s favorite evenings, most of his unconventional little family gathered around. The Force itself seemed to sigh with green-silver contentment, those days.

It took only another month before Vokara cleared him to stop using the hoverchair--most of the time, anyway. (“Anything longer than 100 meters, and I want you in the chair, for now. But around your quarters or here in the Halls, it’ll be fine. Rest if you start to feel uncomfortable--we don’t want to push it and set you back. And if I catch you walking from your rooms to my Halls, I will drag you back here and you will go back to that bed so quickly your head will spin.”)

Qui-Gon was definitely riding a high, the satisfied warmth in his chest growing a bit stronger with each passing day, and Vokara had moved up his light duty fitness clearance to just another month out (“ if you continue to behave yourself”). There was a definite bounce in his step--significantly helped by the fact that he was walking , under his own power, which was still a novelty--and the very Force itself seemed to glow around him.

But the positive feedback loop he found himself in seemed to only make it that much harder when Qui-Gon finally realized that not all was well.

Qui-Gon woke with a sharp gasp , his chest heaving, a light sheen of sweat over his skin, chilling him. He shivered as he sat up, scrubbing a hand over his face.

He could have sworn he had heard screaming. But there was only the quiet hum of nighttime--the faintest buzz of the speeders passing the Temple outside, the near-silent thrum of the generators that ran the Temple. Everything was fine.

Slowly, Qui-Gon began to lay back down--and then he felt it. Black-red-orange-yellow terror and horror and pain overwhelmed him in a staggering wave , crashing down, and he couldn’t breathe , he couldn’t think , he couldn’t--

There was molten lava running in vast rivers around them, sweat drenching both of their robes, noxious fumes choking them, red ‘saber and blue ‘saber ignited, facing each other--

“Don’t try it!”

The next instant, Qui-Gon was back in his bed, trembling, gasping for breath. Where had that come from ? He had no talent for prescience, the Force at best speaking to him of the future in vague whispers, but never images , not like that --

The answer hit him like a thunderbolt, his spine straightening, and he flew out of bed as quickly as he could while still being mindful of the burning still red but no longer charred black ache in his stomach. Qui-Gon grabbed a tunic, shrugging into it but not bothering to pull it closed, as he walked quickly--as quickly as he dared push himself at this early stage--through the living room and down the hall toward Obi-Wan’s room.

The door was unlocked, as always, the door opening with a quiet swoosh . The miasma of that black-red-orange-yellow horror and Darkness still lingered, but was dissipating already. It was dark, the room lit only by the lights of the Coruscant skyline outside, shining in through the window. Qui-Gon frowned at the empty bed, the perfect sheets, and then he spotted Obi-Wan. He was sitting on the floor beside the bed, his blanket draped over his lap, leaning back against the wall, one hand covering his face. It was difficult to tell, in the dimness, but Qui-Gon thought he was shaking.

“Obi-Wan?” Qui-Gon said softly. Immediately, his hand dropped, and wide eyes turned on Qui-Gon. Even from there, even in the dark, Qui-Gon could see that they were wet with tears. “Are you alright?”

“Fine,” Obi-Wan croaked. He cleared his throat and shook his head, momentarily squeezing his eyes shut. “I’m fine.”

Slowly, Qui-Gon knelt down, one hand pressed to the still-healing wound. “A nightmare? Or a vision?”

“Both, and neither,” Obi-Wan answered slowly. He sighed and tilted his head back, resting it against the wall. “A nightmare of the same vision.”

“I’m sorry,” Qui-Gon said gently. He paused, his old maxims on his tongue but refusing to fall from his lips--“dreams pass, in time,” or “focus on the here and now.” It didn’t feel right. Slowly, haltingly, he offered, “If you wish to speak of it…?”

Obi-Wan blinked at him, and then his lips twisted into a rueful smile. He shook his head where it rested against the wall. “Thank you for the offer, but I can’t. These are the same damnable vision-dreams.” He met Qui-Gon’s eyes again, the icy grey beginning, finally, to thaw into the familiar blue-green-grey swirl. “Council’s orders.”

“Ah.” Qui-Gon sighed. “Did you fall out of bed?”

“No, I fell asleep here.”

That earned him a raised eyebrow. “On the floor?”

Obi-Wan’s cheeks heated, his blush visible even in the dim light, and he shrugged. “The bed was… too soft.”

“Too soft” was not a criticism that Qui-Gon had ever heard before about their standard-issue sleep couches. They were comfortable enough, and served their purpose in providing their occupants with a restful night of sleep, but little more than that. They were far from the decadent clouds he was sure the palace in Theed had offered Obi-Wan, certainly.

Qui-Gon let the thoughts go; they were not helpful to either of them in that moment. Instead, he stood slowly, feeling a flush of mingled green pleasure and pale orange chagrin as it was his knees that protested more at the movement than his still-healing abdomen. He held out a hand.

“Come on, Padawan.”

Obi-Wan obeyed, clasping his hand, though he did far more to lift himself than Qui-Gon did. He did not let go of Obi-Wan’s hand, tugging him gently from his dark room, through the common areas of their quarters, and back to Qui-Gon’s own room. “Lay down.”

Obi-Wan sighed, but did not argue, slipping beneath the covers on the clearly unused side of the double bed. Qui-Gon nodded in satisfaction and crossed to his preferred side, sliding in and scooting over until his hand brushed Obi-Wan’s under the sheets, both of them on their backs. Qui-Gon reached for the bond, the first time that he had done so since Naboo. I will guard your dreams tonight. Rest. Obi-Wan did not respond--not through the bond, at least, but Qui-Gon heard his small sigh, felt the release of simmering orange-yellow tension. Satisfied that Obi-Wan would find his own respite, Qui-Gon closed his eyes, a small smile on his face, and surrendered himself back to sleep.

Obi-Wan was already gone when he woke the next morning, but breakfast was laid out for him just as it always was, and a small flimsi paper Obi-Wan had folded into a tidy little bird sitting next to it. Qui-Gon smiled to himself, gently running one finger along the carefully formed wings. He made sure that the gift was put up on top of his dresser before he left for the day, where it would be kept safe, and for him alone to see.

“You are progressing quite well, Qui-Gon,” B’nari’s smile was soft, but genuine. “I believe we can lift the meditation restriction now, although I would urge you to take it slowly, particularly if you are still experiencing any synesthesia.”

“It still comes and goes,” Qui-Gon said, unconcerned. “It will either fade entirely, or it will not. So far, it has not been detrimental in any way. Simply… odd.”

B’nari nodded. “I’ve also spoken to Vokara, and we’ve agreed that my sessions with you will go down to once per week, with additional sessions as-needed.”

If he started to dream about Naboo again , Qui-Gon translated, and he nodded slowly in agreement. “And I must thank you for all of your help in this matter. But I do have a… request.”

“Oh?”

“Obi-Wan has had several… concerning incidents, since our return from Naboo,” Qui-Gon began slowly, and B’nari frowned, gesturing with his stylus for Qui-Gon to continue. “Last night was the final straw, I must say. I shared a portion of a dream he had been having. A nightmare. It was… the Darkest thing I have ever felt, and I am counting the Zabrak Sith we fought. When I went into his room to check on him, I found he had been sleeping on the floor, beside his bed, rather than in it. He said that it was ‘too soft.’” Qui-Gon sighed and shook his head, clasping his hands together. “I believe the changes in him to be directly related to the vision he and a number of others experienced. I do understand that the Council has declared that none of the information be shared, and that I was only told of the incident in deference to my position as Obi-Wan’s Master. But I believe he needs to talk about this. If it cannot be with me, I would like to know that the Council would at least deign to allow a Healer into their confidence.”

B’Nari’s eyebrows rose. “And you’d like me to speak to Obi-Wan?”

“Not yet,” Qui-Gon sighed. “While I could order him into sessions, as I am still his Master, doing so would be counterproductive. No, for now I would simply appreciate it if you asked the Council if they would allow you to evaluate those who were affected.”

B’Nari frowned at him, and then sighed, setting the stylus down to squeeze the bridge of his nose. “I should not tell you this.” He lowered his hand and gave Qui-Gon an intense look . “I am not authorized to speak of any of it, either.”

“Oh?” Qui-Gon leaned forward.

“I know you are capable of being discrete, but I must ask you to promise that this goes no further than this room. You may not tell anyone what you learn here.” Qui-Gon nodded grimly. “I did evaluate each Jedi affected by the visions. Well, nearly each Jedi. Master Sifo-Dyas… He always had such a strong predisposition towards visions. He became… overwhelmed. He committed suicide shortly after the visions. It prompted the evaluations.”

Qui-Gon blinked at him, and then sighed. “I’m terribly sorry to hear that. He was a dear friend of my master’s, and a staple in our quarters during my apprenticeship. He was a good man.”

B’Nari’s smile was sad, and he nodded slowly. “He was.” They sat in silence for a long moment, slowly-swirling dark maroon-purple grief and remembrance passing between them, into the Force, as they each remembered the Master. Finally, B’Nari sat back in his chair. “Obi-Wan is having a bit of a… difficult time. In his visions, he lived an entire alternate life , in the space of mere moments in this life. Adjusting is proving somewhat harder than we might have thought. But he is doing very well, considering the actual content of those visions. And no , Qui-Gon, I will not go so far as to tell you about that. But please, rest assured that I myself have already evaluated Obi-Wan, and he is doing as well as can be expected, considering the circumstances.”

Qui-Gon clenched his jaw. He let the yellow-orange frustration simmer for the briefest of moments before releasing it into the Force. B’Nari nodded in approval. Qui-Gon bowed his head. “Thank you for reassuring me. I know that you broke the Council’s command even telling me as much as you have, and I am grateful for it.”

B’Nari nodded, smiling at him. “For the record, I recommended that the Council tell you everything, in full detail. But they decided that the fewer who know, the better. But, Qui-Gon, believe me: while Obi-Wan is ready for his Knighthood, he still needs you. You are what’s best for him right now. All you have to do is to be there , precisely as you have the past seven years.”

Qui-Gon nodded slowly, brightening somewhat. “Again, my friend: thank you.”

B’Nari laughed brightly, the last of the cloying Dark emptying from the room. “I think that’s probably the first time you’ve ever called a Healer of any kind a friend in such plain terms, Qui-Gon. It is an honor, and one I am happy to return.”

“You want to what , now?”

Qui-Gon continued to smile politely up at the Besalisk Quartermaster, Ven Trekk, even as he crossed both sets of arms over his chest, peering down at Qui-Gon with a small frown.

“I would like to exchange the bed in my Padawan’s room.”

“For one of the--” He glanced down at the datapad showing Qui-Gon’s written request. “--standard-issue field cots?” Master Trekk shook his head. “Master Jinn, far be it from me to tell you how you should and should not punish your Padawan--”

“It is no punishment,” Qui-Gon was quick to correct him. “I discovered last night that he has been sleeping on the floor because his bed, and I quote, ‘was too soft.’”

The Besalisk blinked at him and then threw up his top set of hands into the air. “ Humans . Look, Master Jinn, I hear that all the time from older Masters and younger field Jedi alike, and it always comes down to the same issue. If he has back problems, that’s best taken up with the Healers--”

“He has spoken to the Healers, and both he and I are assured that there is no such problem,” Qui-Gon answered calmly. “In fact, I spoke to Healer B’Nari just this morning, and he agreed that all Obi-Wan needs is a chance to adjust, but there are too many adjustments to make at the moment. This, at least, will allow him to get a good night’s rest.”

Master Trekk stared at him for a long moment, scratching his chin with one one hand, before he sighed. “You truly believe that?”

“I do.”

The Besalisk shook his head again. “Well, there is still the issue of having to replace it again so soon.”

Qui-Gon frowned. “What do you mean?”

“It’s a matter of time before he’s Knighted,” Master Trekk said bluntly, “and then we’ll have to switch it back again right after, for your new Padawan.”

“New Padawan?”

“Yes, that Skywalker boy.”

“Oh, no,” Qui-Gon laughed, shaking his head. “It will be at least another two years before Anakin is eligible, and I am not even guaranteed to be his Master.”

“Huh,” Master Trekk said, and Qui-Gon could have sworn he heard the man mutter “lost that bet, then.” Louder, he continued, “Still, that doesn’t change the fact that once he’s a Knight, he’ll have his own quarters and, one way or another, we’ll have to move them all around again.”

Qui-Gon sighed. “For Force’s sake , if it will help then I will promise to move it myself when the time comes for him to move. Does that satisfy you?”

Master Trekk raised both eyebrows, pointed looking down at Qui-Gon, seated in the hoverchair he was still required to use for longer journeys throughout the Temple, and Qui-Gon glared defiantly back. Finally, the Besalisk shook his head, turned to the datapad, and tapped at it quickly.

“Fine. The request is approved. Padawan Ca’taaca will bring it by in one hour.” He peered over the datapad at Qui-Gon, smirking at him. “But if we’re putting the old one back inside of a week, I reserve the right to say ‘I told you so.’”

Qui-Gon snorted. “That is acceptable. Thank you for your assistance, as always.”

Obi-Wan already had dinner ready by the time Qui-Gon returned to their quarters after his last errand of the day. It was just the two of them that night, as Qui-Gon had quietly worked behind the scenes to ensure they would be alone for this conversation.

“I hope I’ve not kept you waiting,” Qui-Gon said lightly, gratefully rising out of the chair the moment he was inside the door, stretching with the barest hint of a wince as he pulled at the newly-scarred tissue, raising his arms over his head. Obi-Wan looked up from where he’d been staring down at the table and shook his head, a small smile on his face.

“Not at all.”

Qui-Gon nodded and joined Obi-Wan at the table, sinking down slowly, carefully. He was pleasantly surprised when the wound did not so much as twinge this time. He truly was healing, and far more quickly than expected, too. Looking down at the bowl set at his place, he smiled. Obi-Wan’s stew had gone a long way to easing Qui-Gon’s utter disgust for the food, after having had Yoda’s “stew” so often during his own apprenticeship. The Grand-Master’s imitation included ingredients such as moss-water and Iridonian toad legs , and Qui-Gon had been so put off that he had been reluctant, at first, to try Obi-Wan’s version. But his turned out to be a heavenly, hearty mixture of tubers, cubed nerf meat, and normal vegetables, not a hint of moss in sight. They had both agreed never to let Yoda know that Obi-Wan had “improved” upon his recipe.

“You had my bed changed,” Obi-Wan said, his tone light, giving away nothing. Qui-Gon looked up, taking in the quiet blankness of Obi-Wan’s expression, and he shrugged.

“You found the other too soft,” he said simply. “I thought this would be more to your liking.”

Obi-Wan stared at him for a moment, and then he laughed, his eyes bright. “It is. Thank you, Master.”

Qui-Gon smiled back softly, basking in the quiet green-silver-lavender peace and pure happiness of the familiar moment. He took a deep breath, and let it go.

He would do what he must. He would give Obi-Wan the honor they had all been delaying.

“I was running late because I was speaking to the Council,” Qui-Gon said softly. “Now that I have fulfilled your conditions, and can stand on my own again, I thought it was high time to schedule your Ceremony.”

Obi-Wan blinked at him, and then he smiled, too, a bit dark purple sad, but dominated by shining emerald green and brilliant sky blue happiness. “When?”

“In three days,” Qui-Gon answered. “Reeft will not be able to make it back to Coruscant, but Garen Muln and Knight Vos will be back by then. And Bant is already here, of course.”

Obi-Wan’s smile grew. “Thank you, Master. That’s very kind of you.”

Qui-Gon nodded. “All Knighting Ceremonies should be immediately followed by a celebration wherein you drink entirely too much alcohol with your agemates and regret your life the next morning. It is a rite of passage.”

Obi-Wan snorted. “Did Grand-Master have anything to say about that ‘rite of passage?’”

Qui-Gon laughed. “He did, as a matter of fact. I believe his exact words were, ‘For Force’s sake, Qui-Gon, please do not end up on the news or before the Council for any of your actions tonight. Have a moderate amount of fun.’”

Obi-Wan burst into a fit of giggles, laughing so hard tears began to prick at his eyes. “That sounds exactly like him.”

“It does,” Qui-Gon agreed, and for the first time, consciously noted that the dark purple and grey cold that used to flood his belly at the thought of his Master had been replaced by a lighter purple and silver affection. “I am glad that you have gotten to know him. Perhaps it was a mistake to keep the two of you apart for so long.”

Obi-Wan shook his head slowly. “I doubt it. My Grand-Master has been changed by recent events. Between the loss of Master Sifo-Dyas, and your injury… I believe it caused him to examine more deeply the relationships he does have within the Order.”

“Then while I cannot say that I am pleased by recent events, I am glad that at least some good has come of them,” Qui-Gon murmured, and Obi-Wan nodded.

“That we can agree on.”

“Now, I’m certain you know what a Knight’s first year is like,” Qui-Gon said, and Obi-Wan nodded slowly. “You’ll be quite busy, going from one end of the galaxy to another. And I’m sure you’ll be in particularly high demand, given the reputation you’ve gained.”

His teasing was met with an eye roll, and Qui-Gon laughed. It was a gesture Obi-Wan never allowed himself when outside of very close company.

“Perhaps, Master,” Obi-Wan hummed.

“Given that you’ll be so busy,” Qui-Gon continued, the slightest bit of nerves beginning to swarm in his belly, “you are quite welcome to wait on requesting a new room assignment, if you would like.”

Obi-Wan blinked, and then a small smile crossed his face, accompanied by the faintest hint of a blush . “Thank you, Master. I have found that I have no desire to leave these rooms just yet.”

The knot of tension eased, and Qui-Gon smiled back. “Master Rancisis may say what he likes about ‘attachment,’ but I am glad to have you.”

Obi-Wan’s smile grew, and he shook his head. “Master Rancisis will continue his mutterings no matter what, I’m sure. But I will not be swayed. Not in this. I am just as pleased to have you, Master mine.”

That moment stretched out between them, lavender-gold-silver-green-blue peace and pride and pure joy echoing from both of them into the Force, and Qui-Gon committed it to memory, this one time when everything was simply perfect .

Obi-Wan, Qui-Gon knew, held a deep respect for their traditions. In the early days of their partnership, those rocky first few years, Qui-Gon had not understood it. He could still not quite say that he could lay claim to a full understanding of what it brought to Obi-Wan, reciting and practicing their rituals with particular reverence, but he had seen the kind of peace it brought, the sort of centering effect it had on him, and Qui-Gon had stopped protesting when Obi-Wan performed the tea ceremony at least once a day, when he murmured the symbolism of the tunics and tabards and obi to himself as he dressed each morning, as he recited the Crystal Code before ‘saber practice.

It was, therefore, a given that Obi-Wan would leave him the morning before his Knighting to ascend the Tranquility Spire for the traditional meditation.

“You’ll be alright tonight?” Obi-Wan asked, and Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow at him.

“I am perfectly capable of spending one night alone in my own rooms,” he said, purple edged with yellow fond exasperation evident in his tone. “After all, I can walk again.”

Obi-Wan smiled benignly at him and nodded. “Of course, Master.”

And that day had been easy enough. Everywhere he went, from the Halls of Healing for his morning physical therapy, to the refectory, Qui-Gon was distracted by the heartfelt congratulations of his fellow Jedi. It was a welcome distraction, as was Yan bringing Anakin for dinner, seeming to sense that he would need company that evening.

But that night, for all his promises that he would be fine, Qui-Gon was… restless. He was fine, he truly was--and happy , so deliriously, blissfully happy and so fiercely proud that he thought his heart might burst, it was so full. Even so, there was a nagging tug at the back of his mind, the feeling of things left unfinished, of words left unsaid.

It was very late--or very early, depending upon one’s perspective, when Qui-Gon finally gave up his attempts to sleep. Silently, he made his way through their quarters to Obi-Wan’s room, palming the door and simply staring into the darkness for a long moment. The room was steeped in the bright blue-green-silver familiar presence of his Padawan, all traces of the Darkness that plagued him gone, washed away by the Light he carried within him always.

With a sigh, Qui-Gon sank down to his knees and bowed his head, breathing deeply, closing his eyes. He wrapped the Force around him, colored by that comforting imprint, and surrendered himself to the currents.

Mace’s words came to him almost instantly: You will have to be more careful with him.

It was true. How many times had he been reckless, even careless , in his treatment of Obi-Wan?

It had begun on Bandomeer, when Obi-Wan had offered up his life in an attempt to save others, but it had not ended there. Qui-Gon had left him behind, a mere thirteen-year-old Padawan, abandoned in the middle of a warzone on Melida/Daan. He had accepted Obi-Wan’s lightsaber and implied that he was no longer a member of the Order. True, he had gone back for him, but the damage between them had been done. From that point on, Obi-Wan had hidden so much from Qui-Gon, from minor injuries he pretended not to have gotten and Qui-Gon pretended not to see to visions that Obi-Wan denied ever suffering and Qui-Gon did not know how to address.

He hadn’t trusted Qui-Gon, and the thought clenched around his heart like a particularly vicious reptile. Obi-Wan hadn’t trusted that Qui-Gon would keep him at his side if he proved to be anything less than the best, anything less than a perfect Jedi.

And he was the best, in so many ways--not that Obi-Wan’s completely non-existent ego would ever allow him to admit it. He may not have been a prodigy, not quite like Anakin, but his capacity to learn and his determination to do so allowed him to overcome any challenge he faced. For years, Obi-Wan had been the best duelist of his age group (although now, Qui-Gon had his suspicions that Obi-Wan could best even experienced Masters in the salles, judging by what he’d seen on Naboo), the most well-read, the most eloquent, the best mechanic, the most creative slicer.

But still, he had always seemed to push himself, to expect himself, to do more.

Qui-Gon realized, in that moment, that for all that he had taught his Padawan, he had failed to teach him his own self-worth. It occurred to him, for the first time, that Obi-Wan did not know what a treasure he was, what a beacon of Light, what a joy .

I will , he promised, to the Force alone. I will be more careful with him. If it is not too late, I will teach him this one final lesson.

Qui-Gon waited in the dim pre-dawn light in the circle of other Masters, all waiting for Obi-Wan in the Hall of Knighthood. They filtered in one by one, smiling at each other, and at Qui-Gon in particular, standing at ease in his position in the circle. Qui-Gon approved of the mix of Masters who had gathered, glad that they were comprised of those who meant something to Obi-Wan, and not only members of the High Council. Shaak Ti was there, and Plo Koon, and Mace, Depa, Adi, and, in fact, every Master Obi-Wan had met with during his probation, so long ago now, after Melida/Daan, was there. The vote of confidence and the inherent forgiveness was touching.

And then Yan arrived, and Qui-Gon smiled a bit brighter.

He allowed himself a moment to bask in the pure green and bright blue peace and joy of the moment before Obi-Wan arrived. The Masters ignited their ‘sabers in unison, a beautiful array of different colors.

As was traditional, Yoda spoke the moment Obi-Wan reached the center of the circle and knelt.

"We are all Jedi. The Force speaks through us. Through our actions, the Force proclaims itself and what is real. Today we are here to acknowledge what the Force has proclaimed." Yoda looked to Qui-Gon, then, and he nodded. “Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

When Yoda had approached Qui-Gon with the idea, he had at first been hesitant. Knowing how Obi-Wan appreciated tradition, he had been loathe to part from it--not for this. But Mace had agreed that it was a good idea, and they both insisted that Obi-Wan would appreciate it more than tradition, and Qui-Gon had agreed.

His heart was pounding in his chest as he stepped forward, Obi-Wan looking up at him with a gentle smile, his eyes wet, as Qui-Gon moved to rest his ‘saber first above the right shoulder, and then his left. Reaching out, he grasped Obi-Wan’s Padawan braid--so long, weighed down by beads and markers, the signs of all of his accomplishments and their time together--and severed it in one smooth motion. He let go, and Obi-Wan caught it easily, still staring up at him.

"By the right of the Council, by the will of the Force, I dub thee Jedi, Knight of the Order."

Obi-Wan, adhering to tradition, rose, and then bowed at the waist, saying nothing. The assembled Masters bowed back, Qui-Gon included. But Obi-Wan did not immediately turn to leave. Still, he remained silent, as was traditional, but he reached out to grab Qui-Gon’s left hand, and gently pressed the braid into it.

Qui-Gon felt his own eyes begin to water, his vision blurring, and he smiled as he clasped his hand around the braid and brought it to his lips, bowing again.

Obi-Wan left silently, and the ‘sabers were extinguished, leaving only the quiet breaths and soft steps of the Masters retreating after him.

Chapter Text

Jango Fett was not a stupid man. He had good instincts and a sharp memory--which, some days, was more of a curse than a blessing, when he found himself replaying over and over again the memories of one after another of his aliit falling around him, and he wished he didn’t remember that so well.

But he did remember Galidraan. Every last detail. He remembered the way the snow crunched underfoot, the way the chilly winds were somehow able to penetrate even the smallest gaps between the plates of his beskar’gam to cut through to the bone even through his thermoregulating bodysuit. Jango remembered the way that the white snow was turned black by stray blaster bolts and soaked red with blood. He remembered the smell of charred clothing and burning flesh as he and the other Haat Mando’ade had brought out their flamethrowers, once they realized the Jetiise would simply keep deflecting their blaster bolts right back at them.

And Jango remembered the Jetiise . He remembered the way they all stood tall and proud, as though their spines were made of durasteel rods, holding their Jetii’kad’e at the ready before they pounced . He remembered the way that they felt--like the eye of a storm, calm within, but merely waiting to unleash destruction. He remembered the looks in their eyes, how they had almost pitied Jango and his people even as they cut them down, one by one.

The Jetiise hadn’t hated the Haat Mando’ade , but they had slaughtered them anyway. Jango thought that made it worse, somehow, the fact that it seemed to have meant so little to them to kill his vod’e .

That day marked the first and only time that Jango had ever encountered a Jetii , but it had left a lasting impression. And it was likely due to Galidraan that he was able to clock the man at the bar as a Jetii when no one else did.

He was dressed appropriately, the usual beige robes they wore replaced by tight dark pants, tall boots, a green shirt, and a dark brown synthleather jacket to match the pants. His copper hair was kept short, but with a fringe falling just so across his forehead, and red stubble covered his cheeks. Between the man’s appearance, his casual slouch against the bar, and the way he kept one hand resting on the blaster at his hip as he waited for his drink, the other occupants had taken one look and dismissed him with only a few lingering stares, likely because he was an attractive man.

But Jango knew , somehow, deep in his bones, that he was a Jetii . Maybe it was that same sense, like this man was at the eye of a storm, great and terrible power just waiting to be set loose, but somehow, Jango knew .

What the man was doing on Socorro, of all the planets, was another question entirely. The little out of the way world was a haven for smugglers and other less-than-legal types, and it had been largely left alone by the Republic and the Jetiise . If there was an investigation going on…

But it mattered little to Jango. He was just here until he found his next job, not even doing anything illegal.

Well, not at the moment .

He clenched his jaw and wrapped his hand around his drink just a bit too firmly, wishing that he had worn his beskar’gam instead of the rough trader’s clothes he’d chosen to be more inconspicuous. Funnily enough, his clothing was nearly a match for the Jetii ’s. Jango took a deep breath in through his nose and turned his attention back to his drink, staring down into it. All he had to do was finish it, and then leave. He knew that the Jetiise and the Republic had eventually realized their mistake, and that they had made what amends they could to Mandalore. This Jetii wasn’t here to hunt him down.

At least, not for Galidraan. What he’d been doing lately , however...

Snorting softly to himself, Jango picked up his drink and downed the rest of it in one go. He made to stand when another was placed before him. He jerked his head up, eyes narrowing--

And there was the Jetii , looking at him intently, holding his own drink. A smile tugged at his lips, but did not quite reach his eyes. Jango scowled at him and folded his arms over his chest.

“Hello there,” the man said. He had a strange accent, especially for a Jetii . It was almost prim and proper Core, but rougher, like he’d spent a long time away. He gestured toward the seat he was standing beside. “May I?”

“Makes no difference to me,” Jango said. “I was just leaving.”

“I think you might want to hear what I have to tell you,” the man said, setting the drink down. Slowly, he crossed his right hand, formed into a fist, over his chest, and murmured, “ Mand’alor .”

Jango sucked in a breath, and then snarled at him. “Not anymore. Your people saw to that.”

The Jetii dropped his hand and shook his head, such sadness in his eyes that Jango was taken aback. The Jetiise on Galidraan had seemed… unfeeling, the only emotion they displayed having been that gut-wrenching pity as they mowed his people down.

“You will always carry that title,” he murmured. He sat down slowly, and Jango thought about getting up and walking out, but… if a Jetii had come to Socorro for him , he needed to know why. Scowling, he raised an eyebrow at him.

“What do you want from me?”

“Well, believe it or not, I didn’t actually come here for you ,” the man said, a half-smile crossing his face, some of the ice receding from his eyes, leaving them a lighter swirling blue-green-grey. “This is just a convenient stop-over for me. But when I realized you were here, I thought I might invite you along.”

Jango blinked at him. “You want to hire me.”

The man shrugged. “In the crudest terms, yes.”

“First of all, isn’t that against your Code? And second, it’s a moot point,” Jango spat. “I won’t work with a Jetii .”

The man raised an eyebrow. “The Code is… more flexible than some may realize,” he said. “Especially out this far from the Republic. And it would be to our mutual advantage, that I can promise.”

“I may be a bounty hunter now, but a bit of coin isn’t going to overcome my hatred for you,” Jango said flatly. The man shook his head.

“I’m not offering ‘a bit of coin,’” he said, and then tilted his head thoughtfully. “Well, I suppose I am , but I’m also offering far more than that.” He leaned forward, resting his left arm on the table, looking at Jango as though he were the only person in existence. “I’m sure you’ve heard that the Order is no longer on the best of terms with the Trade Federation. That means that we have a common enemy, now.”

Jango frowned at him. “What do you think I have against the Federation?”

The redhead blinked, and then sat back in his chair. He shook his head and reached for his drink, draining a generous portion before setting it down slowly. “You really don’t know?”

“Know what?” Jango growled.

“They’re funding Kyr’tsad . They have been since well before Galidraan.”

Jango’s heart skipped a beat. That… explained a lot. If it was true. Kyr’tsad had always seemed to have more resources than made sense, always somehow getting their hands on enough beskar or durasteel for their armor even when no one in Mandalorian space would sell it to them, always showing up with more and more ships despite how many raids the Haat Mando’ade had managed, either capturing them or blowing them up, always toting around the newest and most deadly blasters…

“Do you have proof?”

“Of course,” the man said softly. “Several years ago, I wondered why the Senate had failed to acknowledge Kyr’tsad as a terrorist organization. The basis of the argument was that Mandalore was not a part of the Republic, and so they had no business in the planet’s affairs. They conveniently ‘forgot’ that Kyr’tsad was not restricting itself to Mandalorian space, of course. And there had been other systems who were not part of the Republic where such acknowledgements were made. They seemed to forget that as well.

“When I looked into it, I found that the Trade Federation lobbied heavily against the motion. The connections grew more obvious, after that. The Trade Federation has invested heavily in MandalMotors over the last thirty years, and a quick and… discrete peek into their finances showed that MandalMotors has, in turn, been sending a not insignificant portion of their profits to House Vizla.” The man paused to take another drink, and then sat back in his chair, head tilted thoughtfully. “I did pass the information on to Duke Kryze. I had assumed you would have spoken to him.”

Jango said nothing to that. He couldn’t think of anything to say. This Jetii had just laid bare the entire mechanism by which Kyr’tsad operated, like it was nothing , like it should have been easy to figure out--

He realized, then, that it probably had been. Jango hadn’t bothered to look . He’d spent years as a slave , unwillingly drugged up to his neck in spice, and it had accomplished exactly what the Governor had wanted it to, what Kyr’tsad had wanted it to--Jango had broken. He’d given up .

“And what sort of plan do you have that you think I might want to help you with?”

The man’s lips twitched in a smile, but his eyes were flinty--not quite the same sad coldness, more like… the promise of danger. It sent a bit of a thrill down Jango’s spine, and his jaw clenched.

“ Kyr’tsad is not the Federation’s only unsavory ally,” he said. “After Socorro, I’m heading to Tatooine. The Hutts there do a bountiful trade with the Federation. The plan, in short, is to free their slaves, seize their spice and water, and drive them back to Nal Hutta. Or blast them into oblivion, should they decline to go.” The man shrugged as though it made little difference to him.

Jango stared at him, and then he snorted, shaking his head. “ Di’kutla Jetii ,” he said flatly. “That’s a terrible plan.”

The man laughed. “Well, there is more to it than that. But I won’t bore you with the details, not unless you’d like to help.” Jango frowned at him, and the man held up a hand, shaking his head. “Take your time. I’ll be here for a few days, waiting for a… friend of mine. Look into what I’ve told you before you make your decision. And…” He leaned forward. “I will make you this promise. Whether you help me or not, I will see Pre Vizla and the rest of Kyr’tsad … defeated. If you don’t get there first, of course.” The Jetii gave him a lopsided smile and then stood.

And there was something… personal in the declaration. For some reason, this Jetii hated Pre Vizla. So much so that Jango almost thought, for a moment, that this Jetii had almost promised to kill them.

“Who are you?” Jango asked. The man shrugged.

“Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

No-One, Child of Nothing , Jango translated easily. It was a common name, on Stewjon, given to children who were rejected by their aliit . The idea rankled: children were sacred, to the Mando’ade . They were to be cherished and protected--not thrown out, or cast aside.

And then it hit him--this was the Jetii from Naboo, the one who’d cut down a man who was rumored to be a Sith . Jango thought, fleetingly, of Kamino, and the shadowy figure who’d recruited him claiming to represent the Senate, and he wondered, for the first time, if that man had been a Sith Lord. He knew about the control chips and the orders that they contained, and he knew about Operation Knightfall--it had been the reason he’d agreed. The chance to pay the Jetiise back in kind, wiping them out as they had wiped out the Haat Mando’ade had been tempting, more than tempting, and the credits and promise of a legacy had done the rest of the convincing.

But if the Sith were working with the Federation, and the Federation was supporting Kyr’tsad … Hels, Jango’s own pay for the Kamino job was sent from Federation accounts.

For the first time, Jango wondered if he was angry with the right people.

“I’ll be back here in three days,” the Jetii --Kenobi--said. “If you decide you’d like to help, meet me here. If not, don’t fret. I won’t be chasing after you.”

With that, he was gone, leaving Jango with the untouched drink Kenobi had brought him and too many thoughts to make sense of.

It took Jango seven steps to go from one end of Slave I ’s cargo hold to the other. He had long ago lost track of time, and so he had no idea how long he had been pacing back and forth like a caged animal, his fists clenching and unclenching, his jaw sore from grinding his teeth.

His first reaction at what the Jetii had revealed had been disbelief, but that had been quickly discounted. It was too easily verifiable, and the man wouldn’t risk lying about something so easily debunked. No, Jango had quickly shed his doubt, although he would still do his due diligence and verify the information.

Jango’s second reaction had been anger. Fury, as a matter of fact. He was furious with the Federation, for so callously aiding those who had terrorized his people for so long. He was furious with MandalMotors for turning their back on what it meant to be Mando’ade. They had such a long history on Mandalore--over a thousand years, in fact--and for them to support Kyr’tsad spat in the face of everything they had worked for.

But more than that, Jango was furious with himself. He had given up , turned his back on Mandalore and his title. All that he had had left for so long had been his hatred of the Jetiise , but now… The realization that he had spent too long being angry at the wrong people was galling. It had been Kyr’tsad who had been the true puppet masters on Galidraan, after all, as much as that pained Jango to admit.

He could have gone back to Manda’yaim when he’d been freed. Jango could have gone to Concord Dawn, even. He could have rallied whatever might be left of those who were mandokarla , however few they might now be. By the ka’ra , he could have gone himself to fight Kyr’tsad . Even if it had been a suicide run, it would have been something .

Jango halted his steps with a small growl, shaking his head. He was going around in circles. Taking a deep breath, he pulled out his commlink before he could change his mind, keying in the old code and hoping it hadn’t changed.

It took over two minutes for the call to be answered, and Jango almost hung up. But soon enough, the image resolved, shimmering blue, and Jango stared at Duke Adonai Kryze. He looked older, lines carved by stress and worry showing on his face, and even over the monochrome image, Jango could see the sorrow in his eyes.

“ Jorad’alor ,” Jango greeted him gruffly, bowing his head for a moment.

“ Mand’alor ,” the Duke said finally. “I had hoped you were alive, after we heard your beskar’gam had disappeared. But we have heard nothing but rumors.”

Jango quirked an eyebrow, but did not respond to that. “I need to verify some information.”

“Alright,” Duke Kryze said slowly. “What can I do for you?”

“I need anything you have on the Trade Federation, MandalMotors, and House Vizla.”

“Ah,” Kryze hummed, a small smile crossing his face. “So you do intend to return to us?”

“A Jetii told me an interesting story,” Jango answered slowly. “For now, I’m only… following up.”

“I see,” Kryze said. “Obi-Wan Kenobi, I take it?” Jango nodded. “He is a good man. He and his Master spent a year here some time ago, protecting my younger daughter.” Kryze chuckled. “I believe Satine still carries quite a torch for him.”

And that, at least, explained why Kenobi seemed invested in Mandalore, why he would have looked into the matter of Kyr’tsad at all.

“It’s true, then?” Jango asked, and Kryze sighed.

“It is. Not that we can prove anything, or we would have acted long before now,” Kryze answered. “All we can prove is a financial tie between House Vizla and MandalMotors, and their connection to the Trade Federation. But we’ve never been able to find evidence tying House Vizla to Kyr’tsad strong enough to take to court.”

Jango raised an eyebrow. If he had evidence enough that House Vizla was allied with Kyr’tsad , he wouldn’t be taking them to court . He would settle it with his blaster, as a Mando .

Kryze continued, pretending as though he had not noticed Jango’s arch look, “But between the financial ties and other circumstantial evidence, I have little doubt that Pre Vizla is following in his father’s footsteps.”

Jango nodded slowly. “Can you send the intel to this commlink?”

“Of course,” Kryze agreed, and then he paused. “Do you intend to do something with it?”

Jango took a deep breath. “If Kyr’tsad truly does have the backing of the Federation, then there is a much larger game in play than it might seem,” he said carefully. He thought of the Kaminiise and the army they were creating, an army that would bear his face , and the Sith he was now beginning to suspect were behind it. A Sith had stood with the Trade Federation on Naboo, and the Trade Federation was funding Kyr’tsad , and…

Jango did not know on whose side that put him, on whose side he should be . And if he had allied himself, even unknowingly, with those who were allies with Kyr’tsad , then how could he ever reclaim the title of Mand’alor ?

“I understand,” Kryze said slowly. “But please know this: our people would welcome you back. We need our Mand’alor .”

Jango nodded, stone-faced. “We will speak again, Jorad’alor .”

It was as much as he was willing to commit to, and it made something unpleasant twist in his gut as he saw the way that even that meager promise was enough to make Kryze’s shoulders slump in relief.

“ Vor entye, ner Mand’alor .”

Three days passed quickly. Jango spent most of his time on Slave I , reading over the account logs Duke Kryze had sent over. When those had been exhausted, he had hesitated for only a moment before pulling up everything he could find on the ‘Net about Tatooine.

Jango waited until late afternoon on the third day to head to the bar. When he entered, he immediately spotted Kenobi, seated at the same table in the back corner, not far from the exit into the kitchen, his back to the wall. Kenobi looked up and smiled at him. Jango scowled back, but strode towards the table.

“I’m glad you came,” Kenobi said, and Jango blinked at the genuine, warm tone. Slowly, he lowered himself down into the chair across from him, angling it so that he could still see most of the bar. He set his buy’ce on the table--he’d come in full armor, since this was now officially a job, however strange it might be. “I take it you were able to verify what I told you?”

“Yes.” Kenobi nodded and turned to the bar, gesturing at the bartender for another drink.

“We can speak about that later,” Kenobi told him, turning back fully to Jango. “My friend should be here momentarily, and we’ll get started on the finer details of our assault plan for Tatooine.”

Jango nodded. Conversation paused as another figure approached their table, and Jango looked up--

“Hondo?” He frowned up at the Weequay. Hondo was dressed as flamboyantly as ever, with his long coat and goggles, an overly large blaster on his hip and his lizard-monkey pet perched on his shoulder.

“Eh?” The pirate looked from Jango to Kenobi, and then back again, and then he threw his head back and laughed. “Hello there! How good it is to see that my friends are also friends with each other.” Still smiling broadly, Hondo turned back to accept the full bottle of brandy and two empty glasses from the bartender before throwing himself down into the third chair at the table.

“I didn’t realize the two of you were acquainted,” Kenobi said, raising an eyebrow.

Hondo nodded eagerly, dramatically pulling the cork from the bottle and pouring generously for both himself and Jango before topping off Kenobi’s drink.

“We met, eh, two years ago?” Hondo began, looking to Jango for confirmation. He nodded stiffly. “Yes, it’s been a little while, my friend! We found ourselves raiding the same spice freighter. I wanted the spice, and Jango wanted to free their slaves.”

Something like recognition and understanding flickered in Kenobi’s eyes, and Jango stiffened. Kenobi turned to Jango with a small smirk.

“How very noble of you.”

Jango snorted, but did not refute that assertion. He wasn’t about to admit to Kenobi that he himself had been held as a slave on that spice freighter since Galidraan, and he had taken the opportunity of Hondo’s attack to free himself. And, truthfully, it had been one of his more… “noble” moments. He had gotten his collar off and reached the hold where the fighters were kept, and he could have jumped in and just left. Jango almost had left, in fact, until his guilt had gotten the better of him. He had spent a decade with the other slaves, and whatever remained of his moral code, his dedication to Mando values, wouldn’t allow him to turn his back on them.

When Hondo had realized what he was doing, the pirate had jauntily offered his help in killing the crew, for a small trade of the spice they were hauling. Then he had easily agreed to give the ship to the slaves to get them back to wherever they needed to go, and left them in relative peace. Overall, it had been… comforting, in a sense. Jango had lost so much faith in the galaxy, after Galidraan, after being left to be a slave for almost a decade--for the first interaction with anyone outside that slave ship to be to help them, to decry slavery…

Hondo might be annoying, at times, with his over-the-top flamboyance, but he was… good.

“And how does a pirate make friends with a Jetii ?” Jango asked, folding his arms over his chest. Hondo’s grin widened even further.

“Ah, yes, well… I found myself on Jedha at the same time Kenobi was there,” Hondo began. “I was hoping to, ah, liberate some of the crystals from their temple--”

“‘Liberate’ through theft, of course,” Kenobi added, and Hondo shrugged.

“It is the way of things, my friend. In any case, Kenobi caught me and my crew attempting to enter the temple, guessed our plans--”

Kenobi snorted, raising an eyebrow at him pointedly. “You were trying to break directly into the vault from the outside with a giant drill . You were hardly being subtle.”

“Yes, yes,” Hondo sighed, waving his hand. “He so kindly informed me that it would be wiser to turn our attentions to another quarry, and suggested a very profitable ship that would take far less effort to raid.”

“I warned him that the Guardians of the Whills will kill anyone who tries to steal a kyber crystal, and suggested he use his time on Jedha to raid a pleasure cruiser that had docked for a shore excursion to allow the passengers to see the temple,” Kenobi said dryly. Jango’s eyebrow ticked up, and Kenobi shrugged. “The pleasure cruiser employed slaves, and was owned by the Federation.”

“It was a most profitable and satisfying interaction--we freed the, ah, sentient cargo, and our boon was admirable,” Hondo said, nodding happily. “When my dear friend commed with another proposition, how could I have possibly declined?”

“I see,” Jango said, and then he turned back to Kenobi. “So what is the plan?”

“We’ll begin by disabling the chips in several of the slaves who hold key positions in the Hutts’ courts,” Kenobi began. “They have a remarkable amount of access within their strongholds. From there, we will have them disable the controls for the rest of the chips, which will gain us a great deal of willing and able fighters.” Jango nodded slowly. He knew, from experience, what a slave would do as soon as they were told they would no longer be blown up if they attacked their master. “At the same time, we will ask them to bring down the security shields around the Hutt strongholds, allowing us inside to… negotiate. Hondo’s forces can be split between providing air support and storming the gates. Ideally, we should go for a coordinated assault on all of the strongholds so there’s no time for any of them to become suspicious.”

Jango snorted, knowing exactly what he meant by that. “A neat little plan, but there is one problem.”

“Yes, I know,” Kenobi said, nodding. “Jabba is paranoid beyond the rest of them, the result of too much spice, I suspect. In any case, he does not allow his slaves near the more critical systems. I have a plan for that as well.” He paused, a little smirk blossoming on his face. “Did you know that there’s a bounty on me?”

“Ha!” Hondo cried cheerfully. “I am not surprised, my friend. You seem like the sort to get into… trouble.”

“Yes, well, as much as I… dislike the Federation, they seem to have taken it quite personally themselves,” Kenobi said breezily. “The conditions of the bounty stipulate that I must be returned alive, at least. They also say that I may be turned in to the nearest Federation official, or the nearest Hutt.”

“Oh,” Hondo said, eyes widening as realization dawned. “You would like to pretend to be captured? What an entertaining plan!”

“You’d trust us enough for that?” Jango asked, frowning, and Kenobi shrugged.

“I’m willing to take a leap of faith,” Kenobi answered. “Besides, if you did decide to turn in the bounty, rather than continuing with our plans, I’ve found myself in worse scrapes. I’ll be fine.” He gave them a smile that was far too innocent to be genuine, and Jango frowned. “And while most of the wealth we take from the Hutts will go towards the people of Tatooine, your shares will be far more than the 1.5 million credits the bounty is worth.”

“1.5 million ?” Jango repeated, blinking at him. “What in the Hels did you do ?”

Kenobi shrugged. “3 million, actually. I thought you two might split it, rather than making enemies of each other,” he said, tone still light. “As for what I did… well, my Master and I ended their occupation of Naboo, our companion destroyed one of their Luchrehulk class droid control ships, we got their entire franchise involved in an active Senate investigation, and I killed the Sith assassin they were working with.” 

“That is enough to piss someone off,” Hondo agreed, looking at him a bit more seriously than normal. “You are not concerned about this?”

“I can handle bounty hunters,” Kenobi said, giving Jango another smirk. “Especially since I doubt you’ll be trying to cash in.”

Jango just shook his head slowly. “You’re… insane,” he said slowly. “Completely insane.”

Kenobi laughed. “Well, you aren’t wrong about that. But what do you say? Any objections to the plan?”

Hondo and Jango looked at each other, Hondo raising an eyebrow and smiling widely, baring his teeth, and Jango shrugged.

“I reserve the right to bail if this gets too karked,” Jango said flatly, and Kenobi laughed brightly.

“No plan survives contact with the enemy,” he said, and Jango froze. That was his phrase, a mantra that he’d learned at Jaster’s side, and to hear it falling from the lips of a Jetii so easily was… jarring. He knew it wasn’t exclusive to them, of course, but… even so, something about the way that he said it was so karking familiar . It was… unsettling. “But even so, I’m hopeful about our chances.”

“Alright, my friend,” Hondo said. “For, say… twenty percent of the Hutts’ assets, my crew and I are in.” Kenobi nodded and turned to Jango, who grimaced and downed his drink in one go.

“Fine,” he said. “Five percent.”

Kenobi smiled at them all and gestured for Hondo to refill their glasses. He did so eagerly, and then Kenobi raised his.

“To new partnerships,” he said brightly, and with one side-eyed look at Jango, he added, “ K’oyacyi !”

Jango echoed the cheer and clinked his glass with the other three, even as he wondered what in the name of the ka’ra he was getting himself into.

They met again on Tatooine, the three of them taking their own ships. The landing coordinates that Kenobi had given him put them just outside of Mos Espa, one of the smaller port cities, hidden by a ridge of dunes. As he was instructed, Jango made his way out of Slave I and towards the smaller of the two ships. Hondo’s was familiar to him, but the mid-sized freighter, dotted with bits of radiation char here and there, and a couple of carbon scores, is not. As he got closer, he saw the name painted on it and couldn't keep his lips from quirking: Prudii . Looking closer, Jango wouldn’t be surprised if it had a cloaking device to match the name. For all that it looked like an unassuming freighter, he could see that there had been extensive modifications done.

He stopped and knocked on the side of the ship, the ramp extending only a moment later. Jango took the obvious invitation, stepping up into the ship and removing his buy’ce as the ramp slid back up and the door shut behind him. Kenobi was standing just a few feet away, tucking his Jetii’kad into a specially designed pocket in the sleeve of his synthleather jacket. He looked up and gave Jango an easy smile.

“Would you like to talk about Mandalore now, or go meet the lynchpin in our plans?” Kenobi asked evenly, and Jango frowned.

“Let’s go.”

He couldn’t talk about Mandalore, not yet. Not while he was on a job. Jango knew what they were in for, going up against the Hutts, and he couldn’t afford to have his focus divided. Kenobi nodded, the easy smile still on his face.

“You’ll want to put that back on,” Kenobi told him, gesturing to his bucket. Jango nodded and stuffed it back on his head, following Kenobi back out of the ship and into the sweltering heat. The twin suns were high overhead, and Jango was grateful for the thermal regulation of his bodysuit.

Beneath the cover of his buy’ce , Jango was able to watch Kenobi openly. He led them straight up the dunes, not struggling in the slightest with the sand, and into town. He wove through the back alleys between the low stucco buildings with the ease of someone who knew their terrain and knew it well, and the two of them emerged into an open market area in short order. Fabric sunshades rose above the stalls, the consistent hum that came from many people speaking at once rang through the square, and people of various degrees of wealth, from off-worlders wearing armor or leathers just like they were to obvious slaves, milled about.

Kenobi stepped up to a fruit vendor’s stall. The woman was old, her face lined and cracked by the sun, her hair having long ago turned white, and she sported a gap-toothed smile. But her eyes were kind. Kenobi said something too low for Jango to make out, and the woman touched her hand to her lips, and then to her heart.

Jango knew that motion. Not all slave cultures were identical, but there were certain universal gestures and stories. It was the sign of a name, recognized as Amavikka, and made by all of the Amavikka. This woman may not be a slave now , but she had been , at one point.

His thoughts were cut off as Kenobi accepted one of the fruits from her, and then pressed something small into her hand. The woman narrowed her eyes and tried to hand it back, but Kenobi only shook his head and gestured to Jango to continue following him.

They left the market behind, winding through another set of alleys--and Jango was grateful for the shade cast by the buildings on either side--until they came upon what were clearly living quarters. Slave ’s quarters, Jango thought, judging from the state of the slum. He followed Kenobi up the path to one particular dwelling, and he knocked and waited.

The door opened, just a crack, just enough for Jango to see a woman peering out. Her face was tanned from exposure to the brilliant suns, and she had lines on her face--both from smiling and from sadness, Jango thought. Her lips were pressed into a thin line, her eyes narrowed, carefully assessing them.

“Lady Skywalker,” Kenobi greeted her, nodding. Jango suspected he would have bowed, if he wasn’t trying not to look like a Jetii . “May we come in?”

“Who are you?” she asked, and Jango frowned. This woman was their contact, but had no idea who he was ? That was… not a promising start.

“Obi-Wan Kenobi.” Just as it had for Jango, his name sparked recognition, and she nodded, stepping back to open the door wider. Jango followed, stepping into the home. His buy’ce automatically adjusted to the dim light inside, and he glanced around. It was a small home: there was a kitchen with a battered wooden table and mismatched chairs, a sitting room of sorts that would hold maybe three or four people at a time with low, worn cushions scattered about the floor, and then a hallway, leading off towards what Jango assumed were the bedrooms and ‘fresher.

He turned back to the woman. She was clearly a slave, with her simple, undyed shift dress, belted around her waist. Her dark hair was twisted up, pinned back and out of the way. She stood tall and proud, her head held high, her shoulders back, and Jango was glad to see it. Too many slaves were beaten down, until they gave up.

Just like he did.

Jango scowled and forced the thought away. Not helpful, not right now. He couldn’t afford to be distracted.

“You are Master Qui-Gon’s apprentice?” the woman asked, and Obi-Wan nodded, smiling gently at her.

“I was,” he answered. “I’ve been Knighted.”

She smiled a bit nervously, a bit tightly. “My congratulations.” She shifted slightly, glancing to Jango. “And who is this?”

After a moment’s hesitation, he pulled off his buy’ce , tucking it under his left arm. “Jango Fett, ma’am.”

She nodded slowly. “I am Shmi Skywalker. I’m pleased to meet you both. Would you like some tea?”

“No, thank you,” Kenobi answered, and Jango shook his head minutely. Shmi relaxed somewhat; their water was precious, and though she was willing to share what little she had, she was relieved when they were polite enough to decline.

Shmi shifted slightly, nervous again, and looked at Kenobi with a hopeful expression. “Do you have any news about Anakin?”

Kenobi smiled broadly. “I do, as a matter of fact. He’s been accepted into the creche as an Initiate. He’s doing very well in his new clan, making friends his age and taking classes.” He chuckled. “I’m sure it won’t surprise you to hear that he’s in Advanced Mechanics.”

Shmi smiled too, a bit wistfully. “I’m glad. He’s alright?”

“He is,” Kenobi assured him. “As a matter of fact, I thought I might arrange for you to call him tonight.” Shmi’s eyes lit up, and she brought one shaking hand to her mouth.

“I… Truly? Can we?”

“Of course,” Kenobi assured her. “I had a friend in the Temple give him a commlink so that you may call whenever you like.” He drew another commlink out of his belt and held it out to her. After a moment’s hesitation, Shmi slowly reached out to take it, cradling it to her chest.

“Thank you,” she whispered, her eyes growing wet. “Thank you.”

Kenobi nodded slowly. “There is another reason we’ve come.”

“Oh?” Shmi asked, blinking away the tears before they could fall.

“I know Master Qui-Gon said that our mission was not to free slaves,” Kenobi said, still grinning widely. “But mine is, now.”

Shmi blinked at him, and then looked to Jango, and then back again. “I… truly?”

“We’re here to help you start a revolution,” Jango said, and Shmi looked at him, expression blank, for a long moment. Finally, she laughed brightly-- hopefully .

“Please, sit,” Shmi invited them, gesturing to the table, “and tell me how I can help.”

Jango waited until they went back to the Prudii to again remove his bucket and fix Kenobi with a questioning stare. The meeting with Shmi had gone well, and taken several hours as they hammered out the details and figured out which slaves would be best to approach.

“Who’s Anakin?” Jango asked, and that same broad grin reappeared on Kenobi’s face. Whoever the kid was, Kenobi liked him a lot.

“Shmi’s son,” Kenobi answered, and Jango raised an eyebrow. That much he’d figured out for himself, but it didn’t explain what had happened. “My Master and I were stranded here on Tatooine, during the Naboo mission. We were trying to take the Queen and her entourage back to Coruscant to make their plea to the Senate, but our hyperdrive was damaged. We landed here, and my Master found Anakin while trying to find the parts for the ship. Anakin is… exceptionally strong with the Force. If he’d been born in the Republic, he would have been with the Jedi nearly from birth.” Jango clenched his jaw, but nodded for Kenobi to keep going. “Anyway, after a very tense and convoluted round of betting from my Master, Anakin won the Boonta Eve, which secured the parts for our ship as well as his freedom.”

Jango blinked. “I thought I’d heard something about a kid winning a pod race.” His expression twisted. “And your Jetii Master bet all everything on the race?

“Yes, as a matter of fact, he did,” Kenobi sighed. “Master Qui-Gon is very… adept at following the Will of the Force alone. Even above logic , at times.” He shook his head ruefully, a small smile tugging at his lips.

A rhythmic beeping sounded then and Kenobi looked down at the blinking light on his commlink. “Speak of the devil.” He smiled and clicked the channel open. “Kenobi.”

“Obi-Wan!” a young, loud voice rang out. “Obi, I don’t know how you did it, but thank you .”

Obi-Wan laughed lightly. “You’re very welcome, Anakin. Did you speak to your mother already?”

“Uh-huh,” Anakin sniffed. “She said she’s proud of me and she loves me.”

“I’m glad, Ani,” Kenobi said softly. They passed a moment in soft silence, and Jango felt like he was intruding on something deeply personal. “Listen, I have to go, but keep the comm on you, alright? I’ll call you later.”

“‘Kay. Bye, Obi.”

He closed the connection and looked back up at Jango. His smile was soft, but his eyes looked like he was staring at something parsecs away. Jango knew that look--that was grief. Remembrance. The reaction didn’t really fit with what had just happened, and Jango frowned. As though sensing his confusion--could Jetii do that?--Kenobi shook himself out of it, his smile brightening again.

“Well, that was Anakin,” Kenobi said needlessly, and Jango snorted.

“So you took a child away from his mother to go back to your Temple,” Jango said flatly. Kenobi winced.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Kenobi said softly, “and how you must feel about the Order. I don’t blame you. What happened to you and the Haat Mando’ade was… horrible. The fact that the Order didn’t know that you were innocent excuses nothing . Since when are the Jedi simply a tool of the Senate? Since when do we become executioners on their orders alone ?” Kenobi stopped, shaking his head. His eyes shone. Jango realized that he was shaking. “ Ni ceta. ”

His head snapped up at the Mando’a, and Jango stared blankly at Kenobi for a long moment.

“I’m going back to my ship,” he said. His voice seemed to scrape its way out of his throat, the words raspy, and he slammed his bucket back down on his head before leaving so that Kenobi wouldn’t see the way his mouth tightened and his chin quivered ever-so-slightly.

When Jango returned to Kenobi’s ship the next morning, let in just as easily as he had been the day before, Kenobi was on another comm call. The holoimage of an older man was projected from a larger comm than the wrist-link Kenobi was wearing. He wore the typical tunics and robes of the Jetii , and Jango felt himself tense. He had long hair, the top half pulled back, a strong, crooked nose, and a neat beard.

“Who is this then?” the Jetii asked. Jango said nothing.

“Master Qui-Gon Jinn, meet Jango Fett,” Kenobi said, smiling slightly. The Master blinked at him, and then looked back to Kenobi.

“Obi-Wan, what is going on?” Jango smirked under his bucket at the man’s tone, like that of an exasperated father. “Are you on Mandalore again?”

“No,” Kenobi answered simply. “I told you, this is all very hush-hush. Council’s orders.”

Jinn pursed his lips and shook his head. “One of these days, Padawan mine, we will have words about that excuse.”

“When it ceases to be the truth, perhaps,” Kenobi returned breezily. “In any case, his arrival means it’s time for me to go, Master.”

The man softened. “May the Force be with you.”

Kenobi’s smile was fond. “And also with you.” He knelt down reached forward to flick the projector off, and Jango removed his helmet, staring intently at Kenobi.

“I don’t like the Jetii ,” Jango announced, and Kenobi blinked at him. Jango got the sense that Kenobi wouldn’t address what he’d said the night before, that he would have been willing to let it lie, at least for now, but… Jango had to say this. If they were going to be working together-- ka’ra help him--then they needed to… clear the air. “I spent a very long time hating all of you for Galidraan. But I know… I know that it was Kyr’tsad . And we… I fell into their trap just as much as you Jetii did.” Jango shifted slightly, clenching his jaw for a moment before continuing. “I may know all of that, but I’ve hated all of you for a very long time. I can’t change that in the space of a few days.”

Kenobi nodded slowly, his lips twitching in a barely-there smile. “I understand. Thank you.”

Jango nodded once to declare the subject finished. “What’s the plan for the day?”

“Well, Hondo’s jut left,” Kenobi said. “There is a conveniently close Federation ship that just so happens to be carrying weapons. He’s going to ‘liberate’ them for us.” Jango snorted, but nodded. Smart. This way they wouldn’t have to rely on the slaves stealing weapons from the Hutts when the time came. “And I thought that you and I would begin training as many as we can.” Again, Jango nodded. It was a good move. They could evaluate who would be the most useful and who would need protection. “They’ll come and go in shifts, and never very many at one time--large gatherings draw too much attention. Whoever is off shift will come find us, and then rotate out.”

“What’s your projection?” Jango asked, and Kenobi’s lips quirked as he easily translated: how shit were they going to be?

“Some of them will be fairly good,” Kenobi assured him. “Many of them, even. Quite a few of the slaves on Tatooine came from among the old Trading Clans, before the Federation took over and sold them to the Hutts in the first place.” Jango scowled at that; there was nothing those hu’tuun’e wouldn’t do to get ahead, was there? “Despite their enslavement, they’ve carried on what traditions they can, including self-defense, even though that is supposedly ‘forbidden.’” Jango nodded. “As for the others… they’ll have plenty of healers among them, at least.” Jango quirked an eyebrow, clearly hearing what wasn’t said: that the rest of them would be nigh useless in a fight. He nodded slowly.

“Fine,” he said. “When do we start?”

Kenobi smiled. “Now. Let’s get going.”

Kenobi led them to the house of the old woman whose fruit stand he’d stopped at the day before.

“Ma Jira,” the old woman introduced herself. “They’re down in the cellar.”

Kenobi smiled and squeezed her hand before leading Jango down the steps to the cellar. It was a large space, blessedly cooler than it was topside, and Jango wouldn’t be surprised if it was originally shared with the building nextdoor, although there were no other steps. A gaggle of five people--three human men and two human women--waited for them, speaking quietly. They all had the same tanned skin, dark hair, and weary faces, but they had a fire in their eyes as they looked at Jango that he liked.

“I’m Ben,” Kenobi introduced himself, and then he looked to Jango, silently asking if he wished to use a different name.

“Jango,” he supplied, not taking off his helmet.

“And how do we know we can trust you, and this isn’t some sort of test from our masters?” one of the girls asked, her fists clenched at her sides.

“Saiya--” another of the girls hissed. “ Ma Jira trusts them. You should, too.” The girl, Saiya, continued to stare at them, unmoving. Kenobi frowned.

“We are not Depur,” he said softly. “The chain has not yet been made that cannot be broken. We are here to help you break your chains, as mighty Leia did.”

The five of them stopped, staring at Kenobi. Jango stared too. Those stories were sacred . They were as sacred to Jango as the Resol’nare , as his beskar’gam , and all of the Amavikka knew that they were not told to outsiders .

“Did someone tell you a story?” Saiya asked, a heavy hint of suspicion in her voice still. Kenobi nodded. “And why did they tell you the story?”

“To save my life,” Kenobi answered, completing the ritual. Saiya nodded slowly.

“Alright. What would you ask of us?”

The five of them were far more cooperative, after that, and they quickly found that these five were all cousins from the Trading Clans. They had been born into slavery, but their parents taught them everything they could of their ways. Their hand-to-hand was passable, and they were used to working cooperatively, rather than brawling, which would help. Jango allowed them all to practice with his blasters, his pistol, and his vibroblade. They weren’t half bad shots, either. Jango’s odds on their survival went up a bit.

Kenobi spent the few hours they were with them practicing their hand-to-hand and helping Jango teach them how to aim more accurately, how to hold their stance, how to duck in and out of cover. Jango kept half an eye on Kenobi even as he watched their first five students. Kenobi was a patient teacher, firm but encouraging, and he was able to quickly coax good results out of them.

They had a short break, Saiya told them, before any others came. They wouldn’t want to make it too obvious, after all, five going out and another five going in. They left one by one, and then Jango was alone with Kenobi.

“That went well,” Kenobi said, sounding pleased, a hint of a smile on his face. Jango stared at him, and Kenobi tilted his head. “Whatever it is you’d like to ask, go ahead.”

Jango slowly pulled off his bucket, still staring at Kenobi. Finally, he murmured, “How long were you a slave?”

Kenobi’s smile disappeared, his eyes going stormy grey, and Jango almost regretted the question, but he felt as though he had to know the answer.

“Cumulatively, about… a year, I’d guess. Perhaps a little more,” Kenobi answered. Jango frowned.

“Cumulatively?”

“Yes,” Kenobi sighed. “I have been sold into slavery numerous times. Trained Force sensitives are worth quite a bit on the black market.”

Oh . Jango knew that Jetiise were just people , that they all started out as children, that they all came from somewhere , but… somehow, that blew a hole right through the image of the Jetiise as an unstoppable force, something godlike.

“How old were you?” Jango asked.

“The first time, you mean?” Kenobi clarified, and Jango nodded. “I was twelve. Almost thirteen.” He gave Jango a lopsided smile, then. “I was actually being held in an off-shore mine as a slave when Galidraan happened.”

And Jango… he still wasn’t over it , what the Jetii had done to his people, not even close , but he could now at least firmly say that Kenobi wasn’t to blame for it. He wasn’t part of it.

“What happened?” Jango asked, and Kenobi sighed.

“Ask me tonight,” he said. “We don’t have time for that right now. The next group will be here in a moment.”

Jango nodded slowly, and true to Kenobi’s prediction, the next two came down the stairs.

The next twelve hours passed quickly, going through the same routines over and over again. Kenobi and Jango put together a list of the most promising to work with the longest in the following days so that they could teach the others in turn, freeing up Kenobi and Jango for all of the other preparations they had to make. They would have to come back in the middle of the night, sneaking away from their quarters when they were least likely to be seen by their masters or guards.

As they left the cellar, Ma Jira pressed a fruit into Kenobi’s hand, refusing any payment for it, giving him that sweet, gap-toothed smile. Then, turning to Jango, she pressed one of the strange, bright red fruits into his hand as well. He nodded at her in thanks, and she patted his arm.

“There’s a storm coming,” Kenobi said suddenly. “We should hurry back. Thank you, Jira.”

Jango followed Kenobi back through Mos Espa to the ships, again following him onto the Prudii . Kenobi gestured for him to sit on a cushioned bench inset into the wall, pulling one of the cushions off and setting it on the floor, sitting cross-legged on top of it.

“This isn’t a pleasant story,” Kenobi warned him, and Jango raised an eyebrow. Any story about a child being sold into slavery couldn’t be pleasant. Kenobi rolled his eyes. “That isn’t what I mean. I fear that telling you will not improve your view upon the Order much.”

Jango frowned at him. “They didn’t sell you--”

“No, they would never do such a thing,” Kenobi cut him off quickly. He took a deep breath. “I’m not sure how much you know about the Order, but there are many traditions and rules that we follow. One of these is the maximum age for an Initiate to be taken as a Padawan. If no Master chooses an Initiate before their thirteenth birthday, for humans, or species equivalent, then they are sent away from the Temple, either to one of the Jedi Service Corps or back to their families.”

Jango blinked at him. “That’s ridiculous. As much as I--” For the first time, he hesitated over the word hate . “-- disapprove of the Order taking children, it’s the only home you ever know. And then they take you just to send you away?”

Kenobi frowned. “Perhaps we should back up a bit. There are many parents who are happy to give their children to the Order. People from planets like Alderaan and Chandrila, planets with a long and peaceful history with the Jedi. Many of them think it an honor for their children to go to the Order."

“But some don’t.”

“There are more than we like to draw attention to who are less than happy,” Kenobi murmured. He reached a hand up and ran it through his hair, mussing the auburn strands, making some stand up on end. “Sometimes, Force-sensitive children find themselves in… situations that the Order must remove them from, without the explicit consent of the parents.”

... oh . That was another point Jango had never had to consider. To any Mando worth the title, children were everything . It didn’t matter whether they were different , they were children . Although few Mandalorian ade went to the Order, if they showed Force sensitivity, they… figured it out. They found teachers within their own community to show them how to control their powers, but they didn’t… treat them as lesser for it.

“Some parents are overwhelmed by the powers their children display,” Kenobi continued quietly, staring at the floor. “And there are some entire cultures that believe Force-sensitivity is a curse.” He paused, taking another deep breath. “My mother tried to drown me in a river, when I began showing signs. There was a Jedi near, thankfully, and he felt it happen, through the Force. He saved me and brought me back to the Temple.” Kenobi paused a bit longer, then, his gaze far-away. “I was three. I still remember her. I feel… so terribly for her.” Jango frowned and blinked in confusion. “She didn’t want to do it. But it was… kinder. Her tribe’s tradition was to burn the child alive. She stole me away from them and brought me into the main port city where she thought she wouldn’t be discovered--and she wasn’t, at least not by them. She didn’t want to hurt me, but she didn’t think she had a choice.”

And that’s… one of the sadder things Jango has heard in his life. And kriffed up.

“We’ve gotten rather away from the point,” Kenobi sighed, raising his head, giving Jango a rather tight smile. “My apologies.” Jango waved a hand. “Anyhow. I was nearly thirteen, and several weeks before my birthday, I was sent to the AgriCorps. They sent me to Bandomeer. But there was a former Jedi there, Xanatos du Crion, who was essentially destroying the planet, stripping it for its resources…”

Jango listened attentively to the story, tuning out the wind and the sound of sand hitting the ship from the storm outside, and found himself disliking Jinn more and more throughout. He actually growled when Kenobi described how he, as a twelve-year-old child , had offered to blow himself up so that Jinn could go on to save others. Kenobi had paused, and then sighed and shook his head before continuing.

Though the story seemed to have a happy ending, with Jinn finally claiming the kid as his apprentice, Jango wondered what the kriff was wrong with the Jetii .

“How could they let a man like that be in charge of a child’s care?” Jango asked flatly when Kenobi had finished. The Jetii sighed again--he seemed to be doing a lot of that.

“My Master feels things very deeply. He was… broken, by what had happened with Xanatos,” Kenobi explained. “He did heal, in time, and became a wonderful Master. He is very dear to me.”

Jango nodded slowly, and a brief silence fell, the storm having petered out. “I’ll take tonight’s training. Same time tomorrow?” Kenobi nodded, and Jango stood to leave, taking one last look at the Jetii . He was nothing like what Jango would have expected.

He found it hard to sleep that night, his thoughts circling back to Kamino and Operation Knightfall, and he was glad that he’d offered to get up in the middle of the night anyway, for their training. In the meantime, he knew he should sleep, and he would be tired tomorrow, but…

Jango wondered how many Jetiise were like Kenobi. He wondered how many good ones there were, and how many would die because of what he’d done.

It was a thought he'd once enjoyed, but now he only felt… cold.

They spent their days in the same pattern for the next week. They would go to Ma Jira’s and train slaves in the cellar, accepting their offerings of food and water now that they were trusted. In the evenings, Jango would follow Kenobi back to the Prudii and ask whatever questions he’d thought of about the Jetii that day, or they would discuss the development of the slaves’ skills, or their strategies. At night, they took turns slipping back to the cellar, meeting with Saiya and the other promising fighters for extra training sessions.

After a week, Kenobi looked far more cheerful that morning as he greeted Jango, stepping down the platform of his ship with a distinct bounce in his step.

“Hondo commed this morning at a truly uncivilized hour,” Kenobi explained, but he was grinning despite his words. “They overtook the Federation freighter and they’re bringing it here. Unfortunately, they had to destroy the fighters guarding the freighter, but there will be plenty of munitions.”

“And the Federation won’t be sending anyone after it?” Jango asked doubtfully. Kenobi snorted.

“They can’t afford to,” he answered. “With the Senate investigation, the Federation was barred from producing or transporting any arms or munitions of any kind, including battledroids. An exception was made for fighters, of course, and other vehicles, given Corellia’s dependence on them for transportation of the fighter ships they build. But no, they cannot afford to make this a larger incident than it already is, lest they draw attention to the fact that they are acting in bad faith.”

Jango nodded slowly. “Good. That’s one hurdle down.”

“And it means we need to pick up the pace,” Kenobi said. “I’ll be disabling the chips today, starting with Saiya’s.”

Saiya, however, was far less sanguine about Kenobi’s plan than he was. “Why can’t you just remove it?” she asked, folding her arms over her chest. “If you even know where it is.”

“I’ll know where it is,” Kenobi assured her, “but we can’t risk removing it. They may notice that, if they have passive scanners installed as I suspect they might. But those only scan to see if the chip is still in place , not to see if it is operational.”

Saiya frowned at him, still not convinced. “And how are you going to disable it?”

Kenobi grinned at her. “Magic.”

She rolled her eyes and threw up her hands. “Fine. Karkin’ crazy bounty hunters .”

“Thank you. Sit down, please, and extend both legs.” Saiya did as she was told, and Kenobi hovered a hand over one leg, running his hand over it slowly. Saiya and Jango both watched him as he moved to the other leg, repeating the gesture, and then exchanged looks when he stopped at a particular spot high up on her right thigh. Jango shrugged.

“Yes, there it is,” Kenobi said. He gently pressed both hands to that one spot, closed his eyes, and tilted his head back. A moment later, Saiya jumped.

“That felt… strange,” she said slowly, rubbing at her thigh. “What did you do ?”

“I short-circuited the chip,” he answered. “If you try to overload them, it activates the chip. This way is far safer. It’s completely fried, now, just a small piece of metal.” He did not mention the explosives attached to it; he didn’t need to.

“You’re sure?” Saiya asked, frowning at him, brow furrowed. Kenobi nodded. “But how did you do that ?”

Kenobi hesitated for a moment before answering simply, “Through the Force, a great many things are possible.”

Saiya’s eyes went wide. “The Force? You’re a Jedi ?” Kenobi nodded.

“But no one can know that,” he said quickly. “The Order cannot appear to be connected to what happens here. If our involvement is discovered, it will spoil a much larger plan, do you understand?” Saiya nodded, still gaping at him. He smiled gently at her and patted her arm. “Good. Now, we’ll just get the others done and get back to training.”

Jango wondered what, exactly, the Force made possible. He wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to know.

Finally, Hondo returned, landing the Federation freighter farther out in the dunes to keep it hidden. He brought the first load of weapons on his own ship, setting it down beside theirs. As soon as the ramp lowered, Jango snorted at Hondo, leaning up against the metal wall of the ship, arms folded over his chest, his particularly smug-looking lizard-monkey on his shoulder cackling triumphantly.

“My friends! We had quite the success, as always,” Hondo told them. “Why don’t you come to see it all, eh?” Jango and Kenobi followed him up the ramp and into the cargo hold.

There were crates and racks of weapons everywhere . Blasters, pistols, vibroblades, bombs , EMPs--Jango almost wished that the Senate could see this. There would be no doubt, then, about the Federation’s intentions. But it would serve a better purpose in their hands.

“This is only the first load?” Jango asked, trying not to think about whether any of these weapons had been meant to go to Kyr’tsad . Hondo nodded, beaming at him.

“Oh yes, yes, there are perhaps two more loads of this size left on the ship,” Hondo told them gleefully. “Plenty of weapons to make an army--if you have managed to make us soldiers, yes?”

“We’re getting there,” Kenobi said lightly. “They’ll be ready.”

Hondo nodded and clapped him on the shoulder. “With the two of you preparing them, I have no doubts!”

“We’ll have to wait until nightfall to start distributing them,” Jango said.

“We’ll use the catacombs,” Kenobi agreed, nodding as he reached up to stroke his beard. “The original tunnels were carved out by greater krayts, and taken over by humans during the last several centuries. They’re known only to the Amavikka, now, and will be safe enough for this. They also run between Mos Espa and Mos Eisley. We can make the run overnight, using a hoversled…”

“Good, good!” Hondo agreed. “The plan is going perfectly. How long before we are ready?”

Jango and Kenobi exchanged a look, and Kenobi nodded. “Five days, I should think,” Kenobi declared, echoing what he and Jango had discussed about their progress. Hondo grinned.

“That is perfect, simply perfect! That will give us plenty of time for drinking before the fighting,” Hondo declared. Jango rolled his eyes. Kenobi simply smiled.

“Of course, Hondo,” he agreed, sounding amused. “But please be sure to stay hydrated, won’t you?”

Hondo clucked his tongue. “Always the mother tooka, Kenobi! Yes, yes, we will be fine. Now go, we should all sleep now if we will be up all night.”

Kenobi nodded in apparent agreement, but stopped dead outside the ship, tilting his head thoughtfully before nodding to himself. He waved a hand at Jango. “You go on. I want to check on something.”

Jango raised an eyebrow, but shrugged and continued walking toward Slave I .

He settled himself down in the cockpit, looking over the desolate dunes spreading out before him. Absently, he began disassembling one of his pistols to clean it--and then movement in his peripheral vision caught his eye. He looked up and saw Kenobi, back to him, heading out farther into the dunes. Jango frowned, and after a moment’s hesitation, he left the ship and called out to him. Kenobi stopped, turning around, and waited for him to catch up.

“What are you doing?” Jango asked flatly. Kenobi smiled at him.

“There’s a… friend of mine,” he said, gesturing out into the sea of sand, “out there. I’m just going to see her.”

“Why don’t you take a speeder?” Jango asked slowly.

“They tend to startle her,” Kenobi answered simply, shrugging. Jango frowned at him.

“Do you have coordinates?”

“Oh, no. But I can sense her clearly.”

Jango blinked at him and folded his arms over his chest. “You want to wander out into the desert just before the heat of the day on nothing more than some Jetii hunch of yours?” Kenobi laughed and waved a hand.

“I know what I’m doing, though I thank you for your concern,” he said, tone warm. Jango shifted just the slightest bit, uncomfortable with the sentiment.

“You’re going to give yourself heat stroke.”

“I will not .”

“You aren’t even carrying any water,” Jango pointed out.

“There is scrag along the way, if I truly need it,” Kenobi argued, and Jango scowled at him.

“No,” he ground out. “And you don’t even have a blaster ?”

“I have my ‘saber,” Kenobi said with another shrug. “I will be fine , I assure you. I know my way around these deserts. Trust me.”

Jango hesitated, and then, before he had consciously decided to, he said, “I’m going with you.”

Kenobi blinked at him, and his expression was pure grief for a brief moment before he smiled, changing so quickly Jango almost thought he’d imagined the grief. “Alright, I suppose. It’s just this way.” With that, he turned and began walking again.

Jango trudged through the sand right next to him, allowing Kenobi to lead them in a straight line through the desert. They didn’t speak as they went, walking in companionable silence. The sand and the heat seemed to stretch on and on, interrupted thus far only by a herd of bantha that Kenobi paused to smile at for some unfathomable reason, his eyes far-off again.

He’d known Kenobi was crazy--he’d known that since the moment the man approached him and asked if he wanted to help overthrow the Hutts and free the slaves--but not… quite like this.

Jango didn’t quite know how long they had walked over the endless dunes, out toward a canyon rising in the distance, when Kenobi finally stopped--it was easy to lose track of time in the endless desert--but the suns were both high in the sky, and the heat was sweltering. Jango was once again eternally grateful for the bodysuit’s cooling properties.

“Yes, here, I think,” Kenobi declared, and settled himself down atop the dune, folding his legs and closing his eyes. Jango remained standing, staring at him.

“What are you doing?”

“Waiting for her to come to me,” Kenobi answered. “Although I probably should call her, first.”

Jango clenched his jaw and threw up his hands in exasperation. “She doesn’t even know you’re coming?”

“She will,” Kenobi answered. He cracked one eye open to peer at Jango. “Sit down, please. We don’t want to spook her.”

Jango stubbornly remained standing for a long moment even as Kenobi closed his eyes again, breathing deeply and rhythmically. He wondered if this was more weird Force osik before deciding that, kark it all, he’d come this far. Slowly, he sank down in the sand, leaving his feet out in front of him and resting his elbows on bent knees.

There was silence for a long moment, and then Kenobi opened his mouth and shrieked .

Thankfully, Jango’s buy’ce automatically filtered the volume so that it wasn’t deafening , but it was still jarring in the relative silence, and the instant Kenobi stopped, Jango demanded, “What was that ?”

“A krayt dragon call.”

Jango blinked. “A what --” He sputtered, eyes narrowing beneath his bucket. “Who is this friend , exactly?”

“Stay very still,” Kenobi warned him. “She’ll be here in a moment.”

True to his word, a moment later Jango saw a shadow pass over the suns, felt a gust of strong wind in the otherwise still air, sand kicked up all around them, and heard a low rumble --

And then a Krayt Dragon was standing in front of them, only a few scant meters away. The dragon was huge , probably longer than eighty meters, Jango would guess--he felt the blood drain from his face as he realized this wasn’t just a krayt dragon, this was a Greater Krayt Dragon .

“ This is your friend?” Jango hissed, and Kenobi nodded. Slowly, he rose to his knees, and then to his feet. The dragon huffed and blinked its large, yellow eyes, tilting its head slightly. Kenobi smiled and slowly walked toward her, lifting one hand.

The dragon remained still, and Kenobi came to a stop with his hand only a few centimeters away from her. Ever so slowly, the dragon pressed its head to Kenobi’s palm and closed its eyes. Kenobi chuckled and moved closer, slowly stroking the dragon’s snout. Jango blinked, and then blinked again.

He must be hallucinating. Maybe none of this even happened, and he was still on Kamino. Maybe he was just ill, and this was all a fever-dream. He certainly felt like he was burning up--maybe it wasn’t the twin suns.

“Her name is Nuhunarla,” Kenobi informed him. The name roughly meant Laughter , and he grunted at the unassuming name for a karking Krayt Dragon . “Nuhunarla, this is Jango Fett.”

The dragon--Nuhunarla, apparently--huffed and slowly stuck its long neck out farther, toward Jango. He stayed perfectly still, frozen in place, as she approached. Her face was only centimeters from his, and Jango willed himself to grab his blaster, but he couldn’t move , and--

Nuhunarla huffed again, seeming amused by him, and then gently butted her nose against his chest plate before returning to coil slightly around Kenobi, who leaned comfortably up against her, stroking slowly over her hide.

“I’m glad to see you again, my friend,” he murmured to the dragon, who had closed its eyes. She let out a low, long rumble, and Kenobi chuckled. “Yes, I know. I look rather different now.”

“Are you-- talking to it?” Jango asked dully. “You can understand what it’s saying?”

Kenobi blinked at him. “Yes, of course.”

Jango shook his head slowly. “Kriffing insane di’kut ,” he muttered. “Karking mad son of a--”

Kenobi only laughed. “Yes, I’ve been called that many times.” Nuhunarla snorted again in some sort of approximation of laughter, and then trilled long and low. Jango thought that perhaps the name was fitting after all. “Oh, don’t give me that, Nuhunarla. You’re just as bad as I am.” Nuhunarla growled and swished her tail, knocking Kenobi down where she coiled around him--Jango tensed until he realized that she was being protective of the Jetii .

Kenobi had somehow tamed a fucking Greater Kryat Dragon .

“We shouldn’t stay long, I’m afraid,” Kenobi sighed. Nuhunarla growled again. “I know, I know. I’ll come back to see you before I leave Tatooine, I promise. But we have much to attend to.” Nuhunarla trilled again. “Yes, we were the ones who brought machines of war to your home. I am sorry for that, but we do need them. We’re going to be freeing the Amavikka soon.”

Nuhunarla’s cry was a loud and long and high trill, almost joyful , and Jango blinked again. Could his life get any fucking stranger ?

Finally, the day came. Their key players--and many more besides, as many more as Kenobi felt he could trust to keep his identity as a Jetii a secret--had their chips disabled, everyone was armed, and it was time to act.

Shmi surprised them by gathering with several of the others in Ma Jira’s cellar, a blaster in one hand, and a vibroblade in the other.

“I will fight,” she declared, lifting her chin. “If I do not make the climb to freedom myself, I am not truly free.”

Kenobi smiled at her, tinged with that grief that Jango still did not understand the meaning behind, and nodded. “I understand.”

She paused. “What of the individual slave holders?” she asked quietly. “Like Watto?”

“Ah, but that is the beauty of the plan!” Hondo broke in, slinging an arm around Jango’s shoulders. He scowled beneath his buy’ce and shrugged it off. Hondo huffed but righted himself easily. “All of the chips are connected to the Hutts’ control systems. Mos Espa is controlled by Gardulla’s stronghold, and Mos Eisley is controlled by Jabba’s. Even if privately owned, all slaves are registered with the Hutts, and their strongholds have the final control over the chips.”

“I see,” Shmi said, her shoulders slumping a little in relief. “So his detonator will not work.”

“No, it won’t,” Kenobi assured her. He glanced at the chrono on his commlink and nodded. “It’s almost time. Come on, then.” Kenobi faced Jango and spread his arms out in invitation.

Part of Jango had enjoyed this bit of the plan, the part that was still furious at the Jetii , the part that almost still hated them. But another part, the part of him that would never-- could never--forget the story Kenobi had told him about a twelve-year-old boy, forced from his home, sold into slavery, and offering up his own life… he didn’t like it.

Forcing the anger to the fore, picturing white snow turned red with blood, Jango balled his gloved and armored hand into a fist and slammed it into Kenobi’s cheek.

Kenobi took a step back, his hand coming up to his cheek to feel the swelling that was no doubt already beginning, and the bruise that would blossom in only minutes. Kenobi nodded.

“Quite efficient, thank you,” he said dryly. Jango huffed.

“What…?” Shmi was frowning, looking between the two of them, narrowing her eyes at Jango.

“He’s pretending to have captured me, to turn me in for the bounty,” Kenobi reminded her. “It wouldn’t be very convincing if I showed up without a scratch now, would it?”

“Oh,” Shmi sighed. “Well, I suppose not.” She gave him a small smile, and Kenobi patted her arm.

“I’ll be fine,” he assured her before turning back to Jango. “Do you have Force-suppressing binders?”

Jango did. He had them on Slave I , just in case, because even though he had been cleared of the crimes he was accused of on Galidraan, he was still a dangerous bounty hunter, and a man who had, no matter his reasons, killed six Jetiise with his bare hands. Who knew when he might need them?

“No,” he lied smoothly. “But they won’t know the difference unless they examine them closely. Which we will not give them the opportunity to do.”

Kenobi sighed, as if he realized that Jango was simply refusing on principle. He met Jango’s eyes dead on, somehow knowing exactly where his gaze was through the helmet--kriffing Jetii and their Force powers. “I am trusting you with this.”

And then he held out his Jetii’kad . Slowly, Jango nodded and closed his hand over it. Kenobi let go somewhat reluctantly, nodding at him as Jango clipped it to his belt.

“Shmi, I would recommend joining Saiya’s group,” he said. “They’ll be part of the assault on Gardulla’s palace, and if you leave Gardulla’s territory before the chips are disabled…”

Shmi nodded grimly. “Yes. I know Saiya well.” After a moment’s hesitation, Shmi passed a hand over Obi-Wan’s brow. “Ar-Amu protect us all, and may Leia give us strength.”

Kenobi smiled at her, putting his fingers to his lips and then to his heart. Shmi nodded once, satisfied, and then turned to Jango. She stared at him for a long moment, and then she smiled, giving him a knowing sort of look that made him frown beneath his helmet.

“You are a good man, Jango Fett,” she declared. “I would like for us to meet again, so please do not get yourself killed.”

Jango barked a startled laugh and shrugged. “I haven’t so far.”

Shmi smiled at him and nodded before moving off into the crowd of other slaves to find Saiya. Kenobi looked to Jango and nodded. “Let’s go."

They took the tunnels to Mos Eisley in a speeder; at some points, the ancient underground burrow was barely wide enough for it, and it was slower going than it had been with the smaller sleds.

“What’s troubling you?” Kenobi asked suddenly, and Jango scowled. Yes, he decided, Jetii actually could sense what you were feeling, if not exactly what you were thinking.

“If Jetii involvement in all of this is supposed to be a secret, how are you going to explain it when we take down Jabba?”

Kenobi shrugged. “Well, it’s hardly my fault that I was captured by a bounty hunter to be turned over to a Hutt on precisely the same day a slave uprising took place,” he said far too innocently. “Naturally, in all of the chaos, I had to stop them from activating the detonators en masse. It is my duty as a Jedi to defend life, of course.” Kenobi paused, looking intently at him. “It protects your cover, too. This way, if you’d like, everyone but the Amavikka will believe that you truly did capture me. You can simply claim that you went against the Hutts once you realized that they were to be on the losing side.”

Jango hummed thoughtfully. It was a good enough plan. Simple, easy enough to see through, but it would only ever be suspicion . No one would truly be able to prove that Kenobi or Jango had helped the uprising beyond rumors. And it would be best for him not to be seen as involved. If the Kaminiise were allied with the Sith, and the Sith were allied with the Federation, whoever it had been who had recruited Jango would not be pleased by him plotting behind their back to eliminate one of their allies.

But on the other hand… If he claimed credit here, it might help him to reclaim his title. If the others who might be willing to call themselves Haat Mando’ade saw that he was fighting again, and for a cause , a noble one… Perhaps he could rally them. Perhaps he could rebuild what he’d lost so long ago.

Perhaps that was why he took this ridiculous job, to become a man worthy of being the Mand’alor again. Why else would he have agreed to such an insane plan, if not for the nobility of the cause?

“We’ll see,” Jango settled on saying, and Kenobi only shrugged easily.

“It makes little difference to me, so long as my involvement remains unofficial,” Kenobi answered. “If you like, we can change the script a bit, and say that Hondo captured me instead and you were never even here at all. But we can decide all of that later.”

Jango nodded and brought the speeder slowly up over the ramp that they’d dug into the sand, bringing them out atop the dunes. He peered up at the suns; it was about noon. They were right on time.

“Alright, Kenobi,” Jango said, “arms out.” Kenobi surprised him by turning around and holding his wrists still behind his back.

“It’s more believable this way,” he said, and Jango snorted. He was right, and so Jango clamped the cuffs around him.

“Ready?” Jango asked, and Kenobi turned back to give him a toothy grin, his eyes all wild fire despite the blue-green of them.

“ Ib'tuur jatne tuur ash'ad kyr'amur ,” he surprised Jango by saying. Jango barked a laugh and shook his head.

“ Oh great and most mighty Jabba, the bounty hunter Jango Fett has delivered the despicable Jedi scum ,” the protocol droid at he Hutt’s side said cheerfully in Huttese. Jango tightened his grip around Kenobi’s upper arm, shoving him roughly forward, making him stumble a bit. Jango stopped just before the decorative grates in the floor, heeding Kenobi’s warning. He had no desire to meet a rancor--that would be a complication they didn’t have time for.

“ This pleases me greatly! ” Jabba declared, laughing jauntily, his great, slimy belly heaving. Throughout the stone, dimly lit throne room, his court laughed, even the slaves he had attached to metal chains around him, although Jango could tell it was forced. Their eyes were too empty for true laughter, and his heart burned with his rage. “ Majordomo, get the man his payment. Fett, get the scum on his knees, as is his proper place. ”

The protocol droid began to translate, but Kenobi was already lowering himself down.

“ Of course I speak Huttese, oh great one ,” Kenobi said carefully, his tone even and polite. “ It is a truly wonderful and sophisticated language. ” Jango struggled not to laugh at the glaringly obvious sarcasm. Jabba, however, didn’t seem to pick up on it.

The Hutt laughed again. “ Oh, little Jedi. You think pretty words will stop me from taking you? They will not. It is not I who wants you. You will like them even less .”

The Sith, Jango thought, and he ground his teeth.

“ I would never seek to sway you, oh mighty Jabba. I know you are immune to the Jedi mind trick, and would never attempt it on you ,” Kenobi said, just as calm as ever. “ But please, if you would allow me to know: who will you give me to? ”

“ Are you worried for your fate, little one? ” Jabba said in a mockery of a soothing tone, and then he laughed again. “ Good. You should be. He will give you a fate worse than death, which is what you deserve .”

“ It wouldn’t happen to be Darth Sidious...? ” Kenobi asked, and Jabba went perfectly still before laughing again.

“ So you know him already! This is good. It means you know what will happen to you . They say the Jedi feel no fear. But you should, little Jedi. You should .”

Three beeps sounded in Jango’s ear, the signal that the operation in Mos Espa was starting. He squeezed Kenobi’s arm in silent warning, and the man bowed his head, acknowledging Jango. Jabba mistook this for fear, and threw his head back in laughter.

In an instant, Jango felt the weight of the Jetii’kad suddenly leave his hip, and he stepped back as the blue blade sprang forth. Kenobi held it upside down, tapping it against the shackles; under the intense heat, even so momentary, they instantly broke apart, leaving his hands free.

Jango turned and jumped into a roll, diving behind one of the offering tables covered in the tributes brought to Jabba. Above him, a few stray blaster bolts peppered the table, breaking expensive ornaments, sending shards of clay and metal down on Jango, bouncing harmlessly off of his beskar’gam . He drew both his blaster and his pistol and began to pick off Jabba’s guards as they fired on Kenobi, trying to make it look as convincing as possible that he was trying to shoot at the Jetii instead. He caught one guard in the knee, sending him down, and another in the neck, just where his armor didn’t cover. A third and fourth fell in quick succession as Jango caught them with neat shots between their shoulderblades.

He took a moment to press the comm button for his helmet, and he connected instantly with the others.

“--Saiya’s group is heading for the control room now. Shmi and the others are pressing in from the outside.”

“Good. Comm when the chips are deactivated and the shields are down. We will come to blow things up, yes? Haha, such fun! ” Jango snorted at Hondo’s obvious enthusiasm, keeping an eye on the Jetii as he continued picking off the guards in the confusion.

“Everything is going to plan in Jabba’s throne room,” Jango told them.

“Ah, excellent, my friend! My crew is ready to provide air support and the fighters are in position as soon as you give the word.”

Kenobi fought… Kenobi fought with all of the aggression of fire and all the grace of water. He moved so quickly Jango could barely follow his movements, his Jetii’kad a blur, an impenetrable wall of blue. He deflected their own blaster bolts back at them with astounding precision, catching the Majordomo in the throat, dropping him instantly, and several of the guards between the eyes. It was brutal, deadly, terrifying, and Jango had never seen anything quite like it. Kenobi looked like he was born to fight, like he was made to wield a Jetii’kad .

It was nothing like Galidraan, praise the ka’ra . There was no pity rolling off Kenobi in waves as it had those Jetii . Kenobi fought with passion, and determination. Like a force of nature.

Jango realized he’d been woolgathering when a trembling young Twi’lek woman threw herself down next to him, still wearing the chains around her neck and wrists, scantily clad, and Jango quickly pinned his gaze to her face.

“Jira sent word,” the girl called over the blaster shots, the hum of the saber, the roar of confused and pained cries echoing throughout the chamber. “I’m to show you to the controls while the Jedi keeps them busy.”

Jango nodded; this, too, had been part of the plan. He supposed it made the most sense; if there were any survivors, they would all claim that they saw Jango defend himself and then disappear as soon as he could, slipping away from the fighting when the risk outweighed the potential profit. Perfect for his reputation, even if the implication of cowardice rankled.

“Go,” Jango barked, and she nodded. The Twi’lek took a deep breath and darted out of cover, toward one of the archways off to the side. Jango followed, walking backwards and giving them cover fire while they ducked into the hallway. Standing just inside it, Jango looked over at Kenobi just as he performed an impressive flip over one of the guards, and then the guard toppled to the floor, his head separating from his body and rolling away. Jango chuckled.

As if sensing Jango’s gaze--he probably did, kriffing Jetii --Kenobi looked up and met his gaze for a brief instant before turning his attention back to the battle, bringing his Jetii’kad down in a swirling arc to remove the hands of one of the guards, going through his armor plating like it was nothing more than plastoid, and then swung up high to cleave head from the body of the still-standing guard beside the first one. He seemed to have a thing for beheadings.

“We’re heading for the control panel ,” Jango said into their private channel. “ ETA is five minutes, based on the plan.”

Kenobi did not respond other than to nod slightly, not even looking back at Jango. It was enough, and Jango knew that he’d heard it through the small earpiece--reception only--that he wore. They couldn’t risk a larger piece of equipment, not for their opening ruse to have worked as well as it did, though Jango would have preferred they keep in constant communication.

Jango turned on his heel and quickly followed the Twi’lek through the halls. It wasn’t hard to remain mostly unnoticed--there were people running every which way, most of them trying to get away from the violence, although a few ran towards the fighting. Those that looked like guards, Jango shot. Kenobi didn’t need more trouble than he would already be dealing with.

“It’s just inside that door,” the Twi’lek said, pointing to a large wooden door in one of the deeper parts of the stronghold. They were far from the entrances, Jango knew. “I can’t go with you. If I go through that door, my chip will…”

Jango nodded in understanding. For the first time, he allowed himself to truly assess the girl--and she was young . Young enough that Jango was sure he didn’t want to know exactly how young. Her skin looked like it should be a vibrant green, but had gone dusky with the lack of care; she was desperately thin; given her bloodshot eyes and sunken cheeks, Jango began to think that her trembling was less from fear and more from spice use.

“You’ve done enough,” he told her, keeping his voice low and gentle. “Get to safety.” She nodded eagerly and gave him a small, tremulous smile before scampering off.

Jango threw open the door, firing as soon as he saw movement in the room, dropping the two guards stationed in the hall. Another came from a door just inside the hallway, and Jango brought his elbow up to catch the man in the face, breaking his nose and sending him stumbling back. He finished the guard off with a shot to the head. Peering into the room the man had just come from, Jango quickly determined that it didn’t hold the control panels he was looking for. He continued down the hall, though he met no more resistance.

It felt… strange. It felt like a trap.

Blessedly, it wasn’t. Jango reached the end of the hall, stepping over the two guards’ bodies, and peered down at the control panels. Groaning, he activated his comm.

“We have a problem. The only control panels here are for the security systems. There are no detonator controls here.”

“Oh, no. That is terrible news, terrible . ” Hondo sighed as he responded. “ Where is the detonator control, do you know?”

“Probably with Jabba, knowing his paranoia. I’ll bring down the security and circle back to the throne room.”

Jango quickly killed the rayshields that protected Jabba’s palace from an airstrike. Their team had few qualms about blasting the surface levels--anything truly valuable was kept in the vaults deep underground, and they had warned all of the innocents--all of the slaves --to either get to the lower levels or get far away from the palace.

But if Jabba had the detonator, what would stop him from using it as soon as he realized that this wasn’t just Kenobi trying to fight his way out?

Cursing under his breath, Jango jogged back to the throne room, skidding to a halt just inside the hallway, looking into the open space.

Kenobi was on one knee, in the center of the grate that led to the sarlaac pit, breathing heavily. He still had his Jetii’kad lit in one hand, but it was pointed away from him and down towards the ground. His head was bowed, his eyes downcast. Bodies littered the floor, and Jango grimaced as he picked up the familiar, horrible scent of charred flesh that a Jetii’kad left behind and even his buy’ce couldn’t quite filter. Jabba was still on his podium, but he was holding something--Jango had no doubt that it was the detonator control.

He took a deep breath and started lining up his shot--if he could hit Jabba’s hand, make him drop it…

“ Did you think that I would not hear about my cousin Gardulla’s misfortune? Did you think that I would not realize your plans, little Jedi? You let yourself be captured, thinking you could defeat me, mighty Jabba, alone! It was a foolish mistake, one thousands will now die for .”

Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. Slow, calm, and steady. Jango put the barest amount of force on the trigger. Inhale, ex--

Kenobi tilted his head back and shrieked , the same sound he’d made in the desert, startling Jango. He let go of the trigger quickly, jumping back. He winced--even with the volume control on his buy’ce , the stone walls made the cry echo so loudly--

“What was that?” someone asked, having heard it over the open comm.

“Ben,” Jango answered tersely after making sure his external comm was muted. He retook his position, aiming again at the Hutt’s hand.

Jabba began to laugh, his jowls shaking, spit flying, his tail swishing back and forth.

“ You think that will frighten me? I am not afraid of-- ”

The ground began to shake, and Obi-Wan laughed.

“ You should be afraid .”

“ I am not afraid of you! ” Jabba spat. “ Stop this attack now, or I will kill them all! ”

“ It is not me doing this, ” Kenobi returned evenly, “ and it is not me you should fear, oh mighty Jabba .”

Kenobi leapt back just as the gate burst open, performing a backflip of truly impressive and unnecessary height and landing softly on both feet a safe distance away.

And then Nuhunarla came bursting forth from the pit, roaring far louder than Kenobi had, and Jabba dropped the detonator in his shock.

Inhale, exhale. On the exhale, Jango took his shot, hitting the detonator control straight on. Pieces went flying, and a warm flutter of satisfaction went through him.

“The detonator control is destroyed. Sector two is clear.”

“Um, was that other sound Ben too?” Jango thought that was Saiya, and he chuckled darkly.

“No, that was Nuhunarla. A… friend of his. We’re all clear here, I think. Other than Jabba’s forces in the city itself, we’re good to go. Hondo’s men: stand down. No need for air support.”

“We could use a few more here in Mos Espa ,” Saiya said, sounding winded. “ There’s a guard barracks that would make a great target.”

“What a wonderful idea! The rest of my men and I over Mos Espa are sadly occupied with Gardulla’s pilots,” Hondo agreed.

Jango tuned them out, watching as Nuhunarla circled the throne room, pausing to press her nose into Kenobi’s chest as she had done to Jango before.

And then she turned on Jabba. Slowly, she stalked forward, her massive tail flicking back and forth in agitation.

“ Stop, beast! I am Jabba, the mighty and great! A simple animal will not be the end of me. ”

Jango snorted, and Kenobi threw his head back and laughed.

“Oh, that was a mistake,” he said, and Nuhunarla growled low, the rumbling shaking the walls and kicking up the ever-present Tatooine dust, and she pounced .

Jango heard Jabba’s deep, strangled scream as she caught him in her massive teeth, shaking her head rapidly back and forth, his body a grotesque ragdoll, tail flopping out of her mouth in a way that would have been funny had it not been so brutal. Nuhunarla threw her head back, throwing him up into the air. She opened her jaws, and then held her mouth open. Jabba fell in, and her jaws snapped shut around him.

Slowly, Jango emerged from his cover as Nuhunarla calmed, coiling around herself and practically purring with satisfaction. There was blood around her mouth. Jango shivered.

Kenobi looked… relatively fine. The tunics he’d put on for this charade were singed in places, and Jango would have to make sure he was seen to by a medic, but he was standing on his own two feet. Sweating and breathing hard, still, but alright.

“That was surprisingly uneventful,” Jango said, deadpan. Nuhunarla huffed at him, and Jango snorted. “Alright, aside from you.” Nuhunarla seemed to forgive him and gently swatted him with her tail before using it to stroke down his back.

“Do they need our help in Mos Espa? Or in the city?” Kenobi asked once he’d regained control over his breathing.

Jango nodded slowly. “They could probably use our help back in Mos Eisley, rounding up the guards.”

Kenobi nodded and turned back to Nuhunarla, gently leaning forward to rest his forehead against hers. The dragon’s eyes slid shut and she snuffled gently. Kenobi smiled and reached up to pat the side of her face.

“Thank you, my friend,” he whispered. Kenobi stepped back, turning to Jango with a smile. “Ready?”

By the time the two suns began to rise the following morning, Tatooine was free .

Jabba’s palace was filled by now- former slaves, going inside willingly for the first time as they began sorting through the vaults to decide what to reclaim for their people as artefacts, what to sell, and what to make use of. Everything but the deep vaults in Gardulla’s stronghold had been reduced to smoldering rubble, and the same process was being repeated, the Amavikka sorting through the spoils.

At Kenobi’s insistence, anyone who wished to surrender had been allowed, and there were several dozen after word got around that Kenobi had a Greater Krayt at his beck and call. They were rounded up, bound and gagged, and put into the cargo hold of Hondo’s ship. He wouldn’t risk taking them back to Nal Hutta, not wanting to go near the planet, but he promised to drop them all off on Socorro. People like them would easily find work, and had few scruples about who they worked for . Kenobi had, at least, left them with one sharp warning: he didn’t care much about the spice, he understood that illegal drug trades were roughly twelve percent of the galactic economy (and he had thrown that statistic out so flatly that Jango had snorted in amusement), but if they ever found themselves in the employ of another slaver, he would not show them the same mercy twice.

It had been an effective threat. Jango had chuckled under his buy’ce as several of the hired hands pissed themselves. He didn’t envy whichever of Hondo’s men would be forced to clean that up.

Throughout the city streets, people were revelling. Even those who had not been slaves had suffered under the rule of the Hutts, and were glad to accept their new freedom with open arms. Hondo and his crew were having a wonderful time, drinking and singing in the streets, or under cloth sunshades during the heat of the day. It would be several days before they received their pay, and the pirates were certainly making the most of it.

Saiya had, thankfully, survived the assault on Gardulla’s palace, although she took a nasty blaster shot to her thigh that grazed her femur, but luckily had missed any major arteries, and would leave her bedridden for months. Shmi had also survived, escaping the fighting with only a cut on her cheek that would be deep enough to scar and mottled purple bruising to her side, speaking of a few cracked ribs, but nothing broken.

“We cannot begin to thank you enough,” Ma Jira said. She had been chosen as the defacto leader of the Amavikka, and the rest of the population of Tatooine seemed content to accept her in place of the Hutts. Naturally, Jango thought, since most of the slavers were dead, and the private slave owners were doing all that they could to suck up to the Amavikka now that they had weapons and the ability to fight without fear of being blown up from the inside--though many former slave owners were already making preparations to leave Tatooine altogether.

“Thank Ar-Amu, and the Force, for they were with us,” Kenobi said, smiling gently at the elder. “And while I require no thanks, I did promise the rest of our friends some compensation.”

“Of course,” Ma Jira said, nodding.

Jango hesitated for only a moment before he cleared his throat. “One million Cho-Mar.”

Kenobi looked at him, startled. That didn’t even come to a million Republic credits, let alone the three million he could have gotten for turning Kenobi in for real, nor was even remotely close to the five percent he had initially agreed to.

Ma Jira smiled gently, knowingly. Jango wondered if Kenobi had already discussed his payment with her. “We will see that you get it as soon as possible. You will have your payment, and our everlasting thanks.”

Jango shook his head. “Please keep the thanks.” He grimaced. “I don’t mean to be rude. But no one can know that either of us got involved in this. No one but the Amavikka.”

Ma Jira narrowed her eyes at him, but nodded slowly. “As you wish.” She reached out and patted his arm, smiling again. “Still, you will always be welcome here. We may be the only ones to remember, but we have long memories.”

As she walked away, Jango glanced at Kenobi, who was still staring at him, a smile forming on his face.

“That was a steep discount.”

Jango shrugged. “I might have killed Jabba for free, given the right circumstances. He was a hu’tuunla mir’sheb .”

Kenobi laughed brightly and shook his head, still beaming at Jango. “ Vor entye .” Jango shrugged, and Kenobi tilted his head to the side. Jango had learned not to like it when he did that. It meant he had an idea, or a dangerous thought. “You have specific reasons for wanting to stay out of this, don’t you?”

“I do.”

“Reasons you can’t tell me.”

“ Nayc . I can’t.”

“I understand,” Kenobi murmured. He gave Jango a lopsided smile. “Where will you go, after this? Back out into the galaxy? More bounties?”

Jango thought of Kamino. He would honestly rather not set foot there again, not until he had the lay of the land. Now that his eyes had been opened to the connections between them all, Jango did not know who to trust , and there were eyes and ears everywhere on Kamino. The Kaminiise were observant.

And then he thought of the son he’d been promised. He was due to come out of the tank in two months, and Jango would be damned if he would leave him there. He was Mando’ade . Ade were the most important thing.

Technically , all of the clones could be seen to be his children. He knew what their end was meant to be--they would be turned into little more than droids made flesh.

They were his ade , too. He would not turn his back on them. For their sake, he would do what he could for them.

“Oh, I might lay low for a while,” Jango said noncommittally. “I’ll have no need to work for a bit, after all. One million Cho-Mar is still a pretty penny.”

Kenobi smiled, but his eyes were that stormy grey again. He nodded slowly. “Perhaps we’ll meet again.”

It was an innocuous enough statement, but Jango felt a chill run down his spine. The way Kenobi said it had been… resigned. What did he know ? Had Jango let something slip? Had he--

He took a breath, mindful of the fact that the Jetii was able to sense his emotions. Instead, Jango shrugged.

“It’s a small galaxy, when it comes down to it,” he said. After a momentary pause, he added, “I’d prefer to be on the same side, when we do.”

Kenobi blinked at him in surprise, and then his smile widened, the ice receding to reveal the swirling blue-green again. “I’d like that too. K’oyacyi , Jango.”

“ K’oyacyi . Ret'urcye mhi. ”

Kenobi left before Jango, but Jango was paid before Hondo and his crew, his sum smaller and more quickly pulled together. Ma Jira had pressed the credit chip into his hand with a small white flower, and Jango had decided not to think about what it said about him that he went back into Slave I to find two pieces of flimsi and a heavy weight he could use to press it.

He was readying his ship for his final departure when he sensed someone just outside. Keeping his right hand over his pistol, Jango opened the door and peered down the ramp. He frowned. “Shmi?”

“Sir Fett,” she said, smiling at him. “I know you have already done much for us, but I have one last request, if you would hear it.”

Jango nodded slowly, gesturing for her to come up the ramp. He waited until she was inside to shut the doors against the oppressive heat, and then he waved a hand at one of the chairs, but Shmi did not sit, merely lifting her chin slightly.

He thought he knew that look, and he didn’t much care for it. Jango ticked an eyebrow up at her, waiting for her request.

“I have never fought before, not like that,” she said. “And I have never felt more… like myself than I did that day. Ekkreth’s fire has always burned in me, Leia has always given me strength, but the uprising awakened more fire in me in than I ever knew was there.” Shmi paused, frowning, as though searching for the right words. “My people are free, on this world. But there are many other worlds where the Amavikka still wear Depur’s chains. I would not have it so.

“I cannot do what you do, but I think that I could learn. And I would like to, if you would teach me.”

Jango blinked at her, frowning slightly. “So you want me to come back and teach you how to fight?”

Shmi smiled. “No, Sir Fett. My people are called Skywalker for a reason. We were traders, with a fleet of many ships. I have always known that my place was out among the stars, though I had nothing but a dream of ever reaching them.” She shook her head. “There are many of us who wish to leave this place, to leave our pasts behind now that we have the freedom to do it. And I would follow you, if you would allow me to.”

Jango opened his mouth to respond, but Shmi gently put a hand on his armored forearm, silencing him. She looked at him with such knowing eyes, with such compassion, that Jango felt a lump form in his throat before he even knew what she would say.

“I have heard your story,” she said softly. “You are a king, lost and exiled from his kingdom. But you once ruled over many, and all of them chose to follow you. If you would allow me, I would follow you.”

And Jango’s mind sputtered to a halt for a moment. She couldn’t mean…

“You wish to follow the Way?” Jango asked. “To follow the Resol’nare ?"

“I believe I do,” Shmi said. “It feels… right. It feels like the person I am discovering myself to be.”

Jango studied her for a long moment. On the surface, Shmi looked impassive, quietly waiting for his answer. But below that, Jango saw a fire in her. The same fire he’d seen when he’d first met her, the spark that kept her unbowing despite her long years as a slave, had burst into a bonfire. Yes, she was right, Jango decided. She had a warrior’s spirit, and the heart for it, if her strength to give up her child for the promise of a better life and her willingness to fight for her own freedom were any indications.

Slowly, Jango nodded. “I will teach you. We will see, in time, if you will truly wish to swear to the Resol’nare . But for now, I will take you with me. How long do you need before we leave?”

Shmi smiled at him, wider than he’d seen from her before, and toothier. The expression knocked years off of Jango’s estimate of her age, and he wondered idly how old she truly was.

“Give me perhaps half an hour to say my goodbyes,” she said. “There is nothing left here for me but the people I must leave behind.”

Jango nodded and moved to the cockpit, sinking down into the pilot’s chair with a huff. What the kriff had he gotten himself into now?

Chapter Text

It was not that Ky Narec had given up on the Order coming for him--he still took the time to record mission log updates weekly, after all. It was his duty to do so, of course, hoping that one day, even if he was not found, his records could be. Though he was separated from the Order, he was still a Jedi, a Watchman.

But he was realistic. It had been over a decade since he had last had contact with the Council, and since he had not had Rattatak programmed into his charts when he’d been shot down and crash landed on the planet, it was easy enough to realize that the Order most likely did not even know of the planet. It was known in smuggler's and slaver’s circles, of course, but not to the Republic, and it had no habitable neighbors close by.

And after a decade, Ky was certain they would have stopped searching for him.

Ky still had hope, of course--he dreamed of seeing the Temple again, of feeling the warmth of thousands upon thousands of his brothers and sisters in the Force around him, of getting to see his Padawan training in the salles with others her age instead of learning on the field of battle. He hoped that the Force would bring one of his fellows to them, and bring them home. But he also trusted the Force, and had learned from hard experience how to limit his expectations and live in the moment, and in this moment, he was on Rattatak, in the small ramshackle hut he shared with Asajj Ventress, his Padawan Learner, and she was just outside the door, attempting to meditate in the open air.

And it was on days like this that his realism caught up with him. He had yet to rise from bed, the persistent burning ache in his lower spine and right hip reminding Ky that he was getting old . It had been a decade already, and there was likely no one looking for them, and… the chance that he would ever get to see the Temple again was growing slim.

“Master?”

Ky opened his eyes at Asajj’s soft call, smiling up at the girl. She was growing so quickly, now--Ky thought she might even be taller than he was, when she was finished. At fourteen, she towered over most others her age. She smiled back, her dark lips parting as she grinned at him.

“Yes, little one?” Not so little, not anymore, but he was loathe to give up the endearment. Asajj scowled, but he could feel her spike of pleasure through their bond at the nickname.

“Are you alright?” she asked. He sighed and nodded.

“It’s only my back again,” he told her, and her scowl deepened. He’d been struck by a blaster bolt in one of their mad dashes away from the warlords, and while he’d healed, some days it gave him more trouble than others. Days like today.

“Can I help?” she asked hopefully, and Ky nodded slowly.

“Perhaps you’d like to meditate together?” he suggested, and she nodded eagerly. Ky smiled; Asajj loved everything about her training. She loved meditation in general, feeling the Force around her and within her, and meditating with Ky in particular, strengthening their training bond, she loved hearing his stories about the Temple and his own time as a Padawan, but most of all, Asajj loved ‘saber practice.

Asajj settled herself carefully on the other end of his bed, little more than a mattress of soft leaves and woven reeds, folding her long legs beneath her and laying one hand on his right leg, closing her eyes.

Ky allowed his own eyes to slip shut again, sighing and reaching for their bond first. Asajj was so bright , a swirling, warm wind, and she gleefully reached back, brushing against him. Ky smiled, and tugged a bit, guiding her deeper into the Force with him. He could feel the mountains stretching around them, the plants that clung stubbornly to life in the arid climate--gnarled, wind-swept trees, growing sideways and up out of the sides of the mountains, the spiky grass that dotted the land, the stones so large and immovable that they had had time to become steeped presences in the Force despite the lack of life. Asajj’s presence seemed to sigh in satisfaction; she loved this view of Rattatak. It made the planet seem… Lighter than the realities they dealt with each day.

Ky eased them even deeper, going slowly so as not to overwhelm his Padawan. He allowed himself to drift on the currents of the Force that surrounded and bound everything and everyone on the planet. Distantly, he could feel all of the warm little flickers of life in the city they weren’t far from; he could feel the animals in the canyon just over the mountain from their little hut; and he could feel--

The Master frowned, reaching out to the presence he spotted. It wasn’t far off from them, and it was so bright, and so warm.

The presence brushed back against him, the equivalent of an outstretched hand, and Ky felt something like hope beginning to bubble in his chest. Cautiously, ever so gently, he brushed back.

Hello there , he heard a whisper.

Is that another Jedi, Master? Asajj asked. Ky did not answer; he didn’t know, yet. But oh, he hoped .

Yes, Padawan, the whisper came again. I’m not far. Can you tell me where you are?

Even as Ky wanted to project the image of their little hut, and the path over the mountainside to it, every instinct he had honed over the last decade warned him not to. Instead, he sent an image of a plateau not far from them. If this stranger wasn’t a Jedi, merely a rogue Force-user--which was not unheard of, not out here so far from the Republic--then he couldn’t risk their home being compromised.

I will meet you there. It’s time to come home.

Ky’s eyes snapped open, and he found Asajj staring at him, wide-eyed.

“We’re going to the Temple?” she whispered, and Ky smiled at her.

“I hope so,” he said. Slowly, he pushed himself up; the burning, gnawing pain in his back persisted, but he had reason enough to push through it, now. “Come, little one. Let’s go greet our guest, and determine if they are who we think they may be.”

It was slow going, climbing the steep path to the plateau. Ky knew that Asajj could have been there in a fraction of the time, had she run ahead; but Asajj merely walked beside him, not voicing so much as a single complaint at his slow, plodding pace. They did not speak as they walked, both too preoccupied with other thoughts. From Asajj, he could clearly feel her excitement, but also her suspicion and fear; he wanted to soothe her, to say something to dispel that fear, but…

Ky himself was afraid.

Possibilities ran through his mind, and he found quickly that he had no contingencies for them. If the warlords had found and hired a Force-sensitive assassin, if one had found them of their own accord, then… If this was a trap, Ky knew that he was in no shape to fight. He glanced to his Padawan; Asajj was still quite young, but she was also very capable. If something happened to him, she would be alright.

But the fact remained that Ky knew he had little time left. Whether it was the over-taxation of his body by age and sickness that felled him, or battle, he knew that he would not last long out here without aid. If there was even a chance that a Jedi had found them, he had to take it. He owed it to Asajj to try.

Finally, they crested the last bit of the steep path that led to the plateau, and climbed up onto the edge. Ky stopped, eyeing the man he saw sitting cross-legged in the center, only a few meters away. He looked young, with short auburn hair that fell down into his eyes, a beard, and clothes that looked nothing like the Jedi tunics: tight pants, a dark shirt, and a synthleather jacket. Ky frowned. The stranger opened his eyes slowly, peering up at them as a small smile blossomed on his face.

“Hello there,” he greeted them, the same salutation he’d given through the Force. Slowly, the man rose to his feet and bowed. “Master Narec and Padawan Ventress, I presume?”

“Yes,” Ky confirmed slowly, still frowning, still with his hands hovering at his hips, just over his ‘sabers. Asajj stood with her feet apart for balance, knees bent slightly, her hand already clasped around the ‘saber at her hip, ready to fight at a moment’s notice.

“Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jedi Knight,” the man introduced himself. “I’m here to bring you both back to Coruscant.”

Is there some way to know he’s telling the truth? Asajj asked over their bond, her lips thinning out in a firm line as she surveyed the stranger. Ky asked himself the same question, but could not settle on a suitable test.

“How do we know you are who you claim to be?” Ky asked slowly, and the stranger’s smile grew gentler.

“You know Master Windu, I’m sure?” he asked, and Ky nodded slowly. Of course, when he’d last had contact with the Temple, Mace Windu had been Knight Windu. Although he had had a Padawan, then, a Chalactan girl; he supposed that would have been enough time for her to have been Knighted, earning him the rank of Master.

“He is the Master of the Order, now,” Kenobi explained. “Let me comm him; he will be glad to hear that you’ve been found, and it will allow you to verify my identity.”

Asajj snorted. “Good luck getting that to work here.”

Kenobi merely smiled wanly at them. “It will. I’ve modified it extensively; the connection is routed through my ship.”

Slowly, Ky nodded, and Kenobi pulled his left sleeve up to reveal a wrist-link, entering the code quickly. The three of them stood in tense silence--well, Ky and Asajj were tense, though Kenobi seemed completely at ease--as they waited for the call to be answered.

“Windu,” the man’s voice finally came, and Ky remembered it . That was him, it was truly him.

“Master Windu,” Kenobi greeted him, “I’ve found our wayward Master, and his Padawan, Asajj Ventress.”

“Thank the Force for that,” Windu sighed, and it warmed something in Ky to hear the genuine relief in his voice. “Is he there with you?”

“Yes, Master Windu,” Ky called out, emphasizing the title. “And my congratulations on your Padawan’s promotion, however overdue they may turn out to be.”

Windu chuckled. “Thank you, Master Narec. I’m glad Knight Kenobi was able to find you. And your Padawan, I hear?”

Ky looked to Asajj, giving her an encouraging smile. The girl blinked, scowling as she often did when she was nervous and trying to hide it. “Asajj Ventress,” she said, tacking on after a moment, “Master.”

“Well met,” Windu said gently. “Though I hope we’ll be able to meet in person, soon. Knight Kenobi, will you be able to leave the planet shortly?”

“Not today, but perhaps tomorrow,” Kenobi answered easily. “Chatter says there’s going to be a raid tonight, and with that many ships in the air, it isn’t worth the risk, even with the cloak.”

Ah, that explained how he had gotten down to the surface without alerting the warlords or the freedom fighters. Ky knew he would have heard about it before the strange greeting through the Force, if they had known a ship had landed.

“I sense we will need you here in the Temple,” Windu answered. “Master Narec has been away for too long, and Padawan Ventress needs an introduction. As soon as possible, if you would.”

“Of course, Master,” Kenobi answered. He looked to Ky, who smiled at him, the hope beginning to turn into relief .

“We’ll be ready to leave by tomorrow,” Ky assured them.

“Good,” Windu said. “We’ll be glad to have you back, Master Narec.”

Asajj understood why Master Narec was so happy--truly, she did . The Temple was his home, and after so long, she had gotten a bit… cynical, beginning to wonder if anyone was even looking for him, thinking that maybe they had just abandoned her Master. But they had finally come, ready to take Master Ky home , and Asajj…

She’d always loved hearing his stories about the Temple, about the Order. She’d felt his lingering emotional memories whenever he’d talked about the Temple-- safety , warmth , and Light . Asajj had nothing to compare it to, not really. Of course she felt safe with Master Ky, but never entirely. She knew that he was protecting her, but given the life she’d lived, how her first master (but a very different kind of master ) had died right before her eyes, she’d always known , even when she was young, that Master Ky was only mortal. As amazing as he was, as well as he could fight, she knew that he was vulnerable, and so she’d always been on alert, even when alone with him. Not because of him, but to… protect him. To watch his back in return.

They were a team , and even though Asajj desperately wanted to be just as happy as he was about going to the Temple, she was… scared. And she felt guilty .

Rattatak was the only home she’d ever really known. She’d always known she hadn’t been born there, just another slave imported from some other world, but Rattak was all she’d ever known . It was the only home she’d ever had, even such as it was.

And she had made a promise . Asajj had promised the people of Rattatak that they would be free , that they would one day no longer have to live jumping at shadows, in constant fear, at the “mercy,” if it could be called that, of the warlords who ruled over the lands and the skies.

It didn’t feel right to leave when Rattatak was not free, when Asajj’s promise hadn’t yet been fulfilled.

Master Ky was listening attentively to Knight Kenobi as he worked through their meager belongings; spare parts and their few appliances were sorted through to determine what should be scrapped and what should be given to their friends in the city, the logs he had obsessively kept--at first on datapads, and then hand-written on flimsi when he had run out of space on the ‘pads and found it too expensive to procure any new ones, especially since they would not even have ‘Net access, as that was restricted by the warlords as well--gathered and stacked neatly. Knight Kenobi was sitting on Master Ky’s bed, helping him to dismantle and strip various pieces of equipment for useful parts as he talked about the changes in the Order. He’d been over who was on the High Council--Asajj remembered that they were the ruling body of the Order, from Master Ky’s descriptions--and answered questions about the Knights, Masters, and Padawans Master Ky asked after, people he’d known before he’d lost contact with the Order.

“And what of Master Yan Dooku? Is he well?” Master Ky asked.

“Oh, he’s quite well,” Knight Kenobi said. “I see him often, actually. He’s my Grand-Master.”

Master Ky paused, blinking at Knight Kenobi. “I see. Which of his apprentices was your Master?”

Kenobi grinned widely. “Master Jinn.”

“Oh my,” Master Ky said, chuckling. “I remember him. I was a newer Knight, when he was first apprenticed. I swear Yan complained more during that apprenticeship than I’d ever heard from him before. Though he was very fond of him.”

“Their relationship hasn’t changed much,” Kenobi said dryly, though he was still smiling. “They spent about eight years avoiding each other, but they’ve reconciled now, thankfully. They’re simply both a bit… stubborn.”

Master Ky laughed, shaking his head. “That’s an apt descriptor, I would agree.” He grimaced suddenly, his hand going to his lower back before he smoothed the expression. Asajj frowned.

“Padawan,” Kenobi said suddenly, addressing Asajj, “would you walk with me?”

Asajj’s frown turned to a scowl, and she looked to Master Ky, who gave her a gentle, reassuring smile.

We can trust him , he assured her through their bond. For good measure, he sent a pulse of affection, and Asajj lifted her chin.

“Fine.”

She rose, waiting for Kenobi, and then followed him from the hut. He began walking back up the path toward the plateau, and Asajj kept her silence, waiting for him to speak first, waiting for him to tell her what he wanted from her.

“You have reservations about leaving this place,” Kenobi finally said. Asajj’s eyes narrowed. His tone hadn’t been… judgmental, or even curious . He was just… stating a fact.

“I made a vow,” Asajj told him. “I promised the people of Rattatak that they would one day be free. To leave before I’ve finished is…”

Kenobi nodded slowly. “I understand.” Asajj scowled. How could he possibly understand? As if sensing her thoughts, he continued, “When I was younger than you are now, my Master and I were sent to a world called Melida/Daan. They had been at war for generations. The children of the planet banded together, trying to end the fighting. We were sent to negotiate peace, but… my Master felt that objective could not be achieved. I disagreed.” He ran a hand through  his hair, pushing his bangs back, staring straight ahead at the path without really seeing it, his eyes far away as he remembered that time. “I identified with the Young. I chose to remain behind, when my Master left, to fight with them. I did not want to leave before peace had been achieved and everyone was free to simply live . The story has a happy ending, with the Young securing peace, and my Master returning for me. But I understand , Asajj. I do.”

To go against his Master… Asajj stopped walking, Kenobi stopping himself and turning to her. She folded her arms over her chest, glaring at him. “Master Ky would stay, if I told him I wouldn’t go. He wouldn’t leave me.”

Kenobi’s smile was sad. “You’re right, of course. Your Master is quite devoted to you,” he agreed. “But, young one, you must see it. He is wounded. He is not the man he once was. To stay here would kill him, and sooner rather than later, I think.”

“Then I will remain behind, and you force him to go,” Asajj said, her eyes filling with tears. The decision tore at her heart, and she didn’t know how she would do it, without him, but she made a promise .

Kenobi shook his head slowly. “Sometimes, you must concede the battle to win the war,” he said softly, a sort of hardened, old grief etched onto his face that Asajj knew she didn’t have the experience to understand. “From what I can sense of you, you are becoming a remarkable Jedi, strong in the Force. But you are not ready to take this on, not alone. I know that you know that.” Asajj scowled at him, trying to fight back the tears of frustration that threatened to fall. “This does not have to be the end. It can be a… strategic retreat. Go to the Temple. Give your Master time to heal, give your skills time to improve. The Temple provides opportunities to learn things you cannot otherwise. Take the opportunity, Padawan. Be with your own kind. Become the Jedi Knight who will one day return to Rattatak to secure their freedom, not the Padawan who would break her Master’s heart by remaining behind only to be killed, or worse. Live to fight another day.”

Asajj shook, her fists clenching at her sides, the tears finally beginning to fall. “It’s not fair .”

Kenobi’s expression softened, and he shook his head. “No, it isn’t. But one day, you will be able to make it right.” He paused, studying her, and Asajj scowled up at him, reaching up to scrub away the tears. “Keep that fighting spirit, Asajj. Injustices should never become easy to bear. Promises should never be easy to break. But this one will not be broken: you can return one day. You can come back, stronger, more knowledgeable, more experienced, to help the people of Rattatak. But right now, you are a Padawan Learner, and your place is with your Master. Your place is with our Order.” Slowly, Kenobi reached out and squeezed one of her shoulders gently. “Will you come home with us?”

Asajj hated it, but… Kenobi was right. She wasn’t strong enough to free Rattatak, not by herself, and… she’d seen it. She’d seen the way that Master Ky sometimes woke early, as he always did, but didn’t get out of bed, probably because it hurt too much to sit up--just like he had that morning. She’d seen the way that he shied away from the flips he’d used to show her in their ‘saber training. She’d seen the way he had become a bit slower to block, his energy drained faster and faster lately. Her Master was injured, and he was getting older, and she knew he was vulnerable, and even together, they hadn’t been able to secure Rattatak’s freedom. He was only going to get worse if he stayed, and Asajj…

If the only person Asajj could save was Master Ky, and if she could only do it by leaving, then that was what she had to do.

She nodded. “Fine. But I will come back.”

Kenobi smiled at her. “I’m certain you will. Come on, then. Let’s get you back to your Master.”

Asajj strapped herself into the little freighter--small enough for the cloaking device to work well, but not too small; Kenobi, at least, had separate sleeping quarters from the berth she would share with her Master on their trip to Coruscant. She folded her hands together, clasping them tightly in her lap.

She’d never flown before--well, not that she remembered , though she knew she must have been flown to Rattatak from whatever planet the slavers had taken her from. There had never been an opportunity, not on Rattatak. The warlords shot down any ship that approached, and no one friendly to the resistance or the Jedi had ever been able to land before now. Master Ky turned around in the copilot’s chair, giving her gentle, reassuring smile before turning back to the controls.

“Engines have idled long enough,” Kenobi declared cheerfully, “time for the cloak.” The mere sound of his voice brought a scowl to Asajj’s face. She didn’t know why, not really, only that his nearly-incessant cheerfulness grated at her. It was almost as if… as if hearing about a small portion of what he’d been through, and seeing that grief that he carried with him, made her feel like she was… lesser. She’d been through some difficult times, yes, but not… not as many as Kenobi, she thought. But that he was still cheerful and she couldn’t manage it made her… frustrated.

Master Ky had told her not to worry, only to release the emotions into the Force as soon as she was done feeling them. He’d said that she was “of that age,” and teenagers were more volatile through no fault of their own, but due to the hormones in their body betraying their control.

Asajj didn’t like that explanation. Asajj didn’t like it when anything fell outside of her control. Her laced fingers tightened together, knuckles paling under the tension, as she heard the thrusters start. She closed her eyes and desperately reached for the Force. A sort of distant calm fell over her as they rose from between the rocky outcrops and over the first mountain. She saw the planet as she did when she and Master Ky were meditating, a sea of interwoven Dark and Light.

In the Force, laid out before her, was an endless field of black, dotted by shining stars, burning far brighter than any of the lights on Rattatak.

“Kark,” she heard Kenobi mutter. “There are quite a few ships out and about today. They haven’t spotted us, thankfully, but I’ll have to perform some… interesting maneuvres. Check your straps.”

Asajj pulled at the harness without opening her eyes, still clinging to the Force, trying to allow it to swallow her fear. It didn’t quite work, and only a moment later, the ship was tilting sharply--

Her eyes flew open at the sensation, and she watched through the pane of transparisteel as Kenobi twirled them between two of the warlord’s patrol ships, killing the engines for the briefest of moments as they passed between them so that they wouldn’t pick up their ion trail, the only trace not smothered by the cloak, at least not at such a close range. For a terrifying instant, the ship was falling --

She realized she was holding her breath as Kenobi cut the engines back on, and she gasped desperately as they whirred back to life.

It will be alright, Padawan , Master Ky said, and Asajj clung to his presence in her mind, that thread of steady reassurance he always provided.

“Hold on,” Kenobi said, “I’m about to do something… reckless.”

“What--” Master Ky was interrupted by a loud hum , and the sky in front of the ship streaked , and then--

Asajj gasped. She had never seen so much water in her life . Where were they? The planet below them looked so blue , and there were patches of green forest and jungle wherever the land rose from the water, and--

The image blurred and streaked again, and then all she saw was the black of space, white lights in straight lines going past. Were those stars ?

“Are we in hyperspace?” Asajj asked dully. Was that really all it took to leave the planet they'd been stuck on for so long?

“Yes,” Kenobi sighed, slumping a bit. He tapped a few buttons on the dash and spun around, unclipping his harness as he went. “That wasn’t so bad. And at least with the lightspeed-skip they won’t be able to follow us, even if they did catch our signature.”

“You’re quite an adept pilot,” Master Ky said slowly. Kenobi grimaced.

“I hate flying,” he said flatly. “I aim to do it as effectively as possible so I may do it for as brief a time as possible.” Kenobi shook his head. “I have the autopilot engaged, and we shouldn’t need to do more than check the course for the next three days, until we reach Coruscant.” He shifted, suddenly uncomfortable. “There is… I brought you both a few things. To prepare, before we reach the Temple.”

“Oh?” Master Ky asked, unclipping his own harness. Asajj made no move to undo hers, not yet. She was still shaking far too badly, and she didn’t want them to see the way her fingers trembled.

“For you, Master Ky,” he said, reaching into the pocket behind the pilot’s chair and withdrawing two datapads, “Temple reports. There have been several major events in Republic space, since you’ve been away. Both the summaries and full reports are all on here.” He handed one to Master Ky, and then he turned to Asajj. “This is for you. It’s a list of Temple courses you could choose to study. I imagine that the Council will wish to keep you on Coruscant for a time, and you’ll have plenty of classes to occupy you. If you aren’t sure what the course is, simply selecting it will give you a summary of the course material. Some of the placement tests are on the ‘pad as well, to give you an idea of what you are stronger in, and which classes you might consider to broaden your knowledge base.”

That was a kind way of saying that it would be an easy and less embarrassing method for Asajj to figure out where she was behind , and she scowled at him, but took the ‘pad.

“Thank you, Knight Kenobi,” he said, nodding to him. Master Ky looked to Asajj, raising an eyebrow. Her scowl grew more pronounced, but she bowed her head to hide it.

“Thank you, Knight Kenobi,” she repeated.

“You’re both quite welcome,” he said. “Well, we’re all free to move about the ship now, and I am desperate for tea. Shall I make enough for three?”

“Yes, thank you,” Master Ky answered for them both. Kenobi nodded, smiling at them, and left the cockpit. Master Ky knelt down in front of Asajj, and she frowned as he winced at the motion, feeling guilty for not having just gotten up. “Are you alright, little one?”

“Yes,” Asajj said quickly, “I’m fine.” Master Ky continued to simply stare at her expectantly, patiently, his large brown eyes soft, and Asajj scowled. “I’m fine , Master. This is all just… new. Different.”

Slowly, he nodded, a sheepish expression coming over him. “In that case, would you mind helping your old Master up?”

Asajj rolled her eyes, but it gave her the motivation she needed to finally unclip the harness and stand up, taking her Master’s hands and gently pulling him back to his feet. He grimaced again at the movement and took one hand away from hers to rub at his back, the other hand squeezing hers gently.

“Knight Kenobi informed me that the Temple healers might be able to do something about this back of mine,” he said, grinning at her. “Wouldn’t that be something?”

Asajj smiled back, but it faltered quickly. She turned her gaze down to the metal plating on the floor, biting the inside of her cheek before asking, “Master, what will happen when we get to the Temple?”

Master Ky sighed and shifted them to put an arm around her shoulders, guiding them both out of the cockpit towards their room. Asajj was grateful for the privacy, disliking it when anyone but Master Ky saw her… vulnerable. Sometimes even when Master Ky saw her this way.

As soon as he had settled them both side by side on one of the well-padded bunks, his arm still around her shoulders, he answered, “First, I imagine we will report to the Council. Master Windu knows now that I’ve taken you as my Padawan, but the Council still confirms all partnerships as soon as they are able,” he told her. “Then we will be given quarters to live in, and new clothes, I expect. Especially since your hems are getting a bit short again.” He leaned back slightly to eye Asajj, and she rolled her eyes. His teasing about how fast she grew was getting old . He simply smiled at her. “Then, I will go to the Halls of Healing, to see what can be done to get me back in fighting shape, and you will begin taking classes with other Padawans.”

“But… I’ll be so different,” she said softly. “They’ve all grown up in the Temple, like you did, and I didn’t.”

“That makes you no less a Jedi, Asajj,” Master Ky said firmly. “Your peers may be… intimidated by you, at first. Your entire apprenticeship has been in the field, after all, and most of them will have little experience outside of the Temple, in comparison. But I have every confidence in you. You are strong in the Force, and I have raised you as a Jedi.” His smile turned fond, then. “And you are becoming an excellent Jedi, Asajj.”

She ducked her head to hide her blush, impulsively burrowing her face into her Master’s shoulder.

“Thank you, Master,” she said, muffled into his rough tunics. “I’m glad you’re getting to see the Temple again.”

“And I am glad you will get to see it with me,” he murmured, resting his cheek on the top of her head.

The next two days were… frustrating and uncomfortable for Asajj. She could feel her Master’s shock and pain as he read through whatever Kenobi had put on that datapad. Many times, it was flares of old grief--he could feel it when some Jedi died, he’d explained to her long ago, even if they were systems away, if they had a strong enough bond. But there were other deaths that came as a surprise to him--while Asajj didn’t ask, and Master Ky never volunteered the information, but the kind of grief she felt from him only had one explanation.

Her own ‘pad was just as frustrating to her. She had scored astronomically high on mechanical aptitude, tactics, and negotiation, but dismally low on everything else. But really, why were poetry and Pre-Reformation History required courses?

And then, toward the end of the second day, Asajj was lying down in the bunk, trying not to think about what would happen when they got to the Temple, trying not to think about anything , but not ready to meditate yet, when she felt it.

Shock-horror-awe- fear echoed through the ship, and it was especially potent in the bond she shared with Master Ky. Asajj sat straight up--that had to be coming from him.

Rising, she made her way to the little galley, where her Master had decided to continue his reading for the morning. He was sitting perfectly still, one hand over his mouth, his eyes wide, staring down at the datapad lying on the table in front of him. Asajj felt a bolt of alarm as she realized he was shaking .

“Master?” she said. It came out as a whisper. Master Ky’s head snapped up, and he stared at her.

“Padawan,” he rasped, and his eyes were wet with tears, she realized. He lowered his hand from his mouth and opened his arms. Unquestioningly, Asajj threw herself into him, wrapping her arms around his middle as his surrounded her, rubbing her back.

“What’s wrong, Master?”

“Asajj…” Master Ky’s voice shook, and he took a deep breath. “Do you remember our lessons on the Dark Side of the Force? What I taught you about how to recognize its call and avoid it?” She nodded against his shoulder. “Do you remember what I taught you of the Sith?”

Asajj frowned, thinking. “Yes,” she said slowly. “They were the enemies of the Jedi a long time ago. There were massive galactic wars because of them. They were the closest thing to pure evil to exist in the galaxy. But the Jedi destroyed them at the end of the last war.” Master Ky stiffened, and Asajj drew back enough to look at him. “Didn’t they?”

“The Sith have returned,” he murmured. “That’s… the report I was reading.”

“The Sith haven’t returned .” Master Ky looked past Asajj to the doorway, and Asajj twisted to follow his gaze, looking at Kenobi standing in the doorway, gaze distant, expression inscrutable. “They were never destroyed. They have been hiding, all this time.”

“You killed him,” Master Ky said dully, “the Sith on Naboo.” Kenobi nodded sharply. “You were a Padawan . Forgive me, I don’t mean to offend, but how do we know he was a Sith, and not some pretender? Again, I mean no offense, but you were a Padawan .”

Kenobi paused, grimacing. “We’ve uncovered traces of another. The Rule of Two...”

Master Ky sucked in a breath, and Asajj frowned, knowing that there was meaning in that that she did not understand. But now was not the time to ask questions.

“ Kriffing Hels,” Master Ky swore, and Asajj drew back, startled. Her Master never swore. She narrowed her eyes at him, and he squeezed the arm still around her shoulders gently. He shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut. “He nearly killed your Master.”

“Yes,” Kenobi whispered, staring, unseeing, at the floor, “it was a near thing. Very near.”

Unwillingly, Asajj remembered the day her first master had died. She remembered the day that Master Ky had been shot in the back, the injury that had nearly killed him and had weakened him so drastically. Her arms tightened around him, and he hugged her back.

For a long moment, there was silence, and then Master Ky said, “You must be an impressive duelist. If I were at my best, I should think I would have liked a spar.”

Kenobi smiled faintly, his gaze still distant. “When you are at your best again, Master Narec, I will look forward to it.”

Asajj was not quite as nervous as she strapped herself in as they prepared to leave hyperspace. Well, she wasn’t as nervous about the flying . She was still anxious about what would happen when they reached the Temple, and she had tried to release it into the Force, but she hadn’t been all that successful. She’d buried it under the shields Master Ky had showed her how to create--she knew how happy her Master was about going home, and Asajj didn’t want her feelings to spoil his happiness.

But it also had left her to stew in it on her own, and maybe that hadn’t been the best plan.

She sighed as she settled into her seat, and Master Ky squeezed her shoulder before turning back around to the controls. Asajj took a deep breath as they came out of hyperspace and--

Her eyes widened. “ That’s Coruscant?”

“Yes, Padawan,” Master Ky said, his voice filled with almost as much wonder and disbelief as her own. 

The entire planet was covered in lights, the whole world becoming one massive city, and the planet was roped with different lines of ships. Their own craft bypassed these, and Kenobi clicked on the comms.

“This is Knight Kenobi, requesting Temple landing clearance.”

“ Knight Kenobi, you are cleared to land in dock T-1, ” someone replied, and Kenobi’s eyebrows rose.

“Thank you.” He clicked off the comms and turned to his passengers. “Priority clearance. They really are happy to see you.” Kenobi winked, and Asajj scowled, mostly to ward off the blush that was threatening to rise. He was, admittedly, rather handsome.

Kenobi slowed them significantly as they approached the city-planet’s surface, and Asajj got her first look at the Jedi Temple. Looking at it, with its spires and ziggurat, it was exactly as Master Ky had described it. Even so, she hadn’t imagined how large it would be.

Just how many Jedi were there ?

Kenobi brought them in to one of the rooftop landing pads and killed the engines before unclipping himself, Master Ky following eagerly. Asajj stayed where she was, gripping either side of her seat hard . Kenobi looked at her and gave her a small, gentle smile before making his way out of the cockpit, leaving the apprentice alone with her Master.

“Asajj? What’s wrong?” he asked softly.

“This is just… so different,” she said, and it felt like it wasn’t enough to truly describe how terrifying all of this was. But Master Ky knew her well, he knew her best of anyone alive, and he smiled gently and unclipped her harness for her, pulling her up and into a hug.

“Everything will be alright, little one,” he murmured. “This is a good thing, I promise. This isn’t just my home--it will become yours, too.”

Asajj allowed herself one moment to be childish about this, clinging tightly to her Master, burying her face into his shoulder, before she drew back and nodded, taking a deep breath.

“Let’s go.”

His smile was worth it.

Kenobi, it seemed, had waited for them to be finished before opening the ship. The instant the ramp had lowered and the doors were open, Asajj heard a shout, and her hand flinched toward her ‘saber before she recognized what was happening: a small child was running full-tilt at Kenobi, shouting his name. Kenobi only laughed and made sure he was out of the way of the ramp, not blocking their own path, before he sank to one knee and opened his arms. The child barreled into him, speaking so rapidly Asajj didn’t even recognize if he was speaking Basic.

“Ani, Ani, slow down,” Kenobi laughed. “One question at a time. Yes, I’m fine; no, I did not bring you pallies, they wouldn’t have kept well; yes, I did bring you the dried peppers you asked for.”

“Thank you, Obi!” the boy--Ani, apparently--said. It was then that he processed Asajj and Master Ky. “Um, hi!” He pulled away from Kenobi to bow clumsily.

“Hello, Initiate,” Master Ky greeted him gently. “I am Master Ky Narec, and this is my Padawan, Asajj Ventress.” He bowed, and Asajj copied him.

“Pleased to meet you! ‘M Anakin Skywalker,” the boy said, grinning broadly. “You’re Master Yan’s friend, right?”

“I am,” Master Narec said. Anakin whooped.

“He’ll be really happy you’re here,” Anakin told them. He leaned towards them, looking far too serious for a child. “He broods a lot. Like Obi-Wan.”

“I am right here , Anakin. I can hear you,” Kenobi sighed, rolling his eyes. Anakin giggled, and then turned around.

“Oh, Master Mace is here! Hi, Master Mace!” Anakin had to shout to be heard, and half of the landing pad staff glanced over. Kenobi huffed and rolled his eyes again, ruffling the boy’s hair. Anakin squawked and glared at him; Kenobi merely smiled as he stood to bow at the approaching Master.

So this was Mace Windu, the man on the comm on Rattatak. Asajj studied him as he approached: he was younger than she’d expected, for a Master, with dark, smooth skin, no hair, and kind dark eyes. When he got close enough, Asajj could see that he was smiling slightly.

Master Ky bowed again, and again Asajj hastily copied him--bowing wasn’t a particularly popular greeting on Rattatak, especially not when they spent most of their time trying not to be found out as the Jedi they were. Master Windu bowed back.

“Master Narec, it is a relief to see you again,” he said warmly.

“I am glad to be home, Master Windu,” her Master said, his own relief clear in his voice and his smile. Master Windu looked to Asajj.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Padawan,” he greeted her.

“...you as well, Master,” Asajj managed, suddenly shy. Master Ky squeezed her shoulder gently, prompting her to keep descending the landing platform.

“We’ll get you to the Quartermaster first,” Master Windu said. “Your meeting with the Council will keep until tomorrow; I understand you kept mission logs?” Master Ky nodded slowly. “We’ll need some time to review them, and you’ll need time to settle in. Knight Kenobi, you know where your first stop will be.” Kenobi groaned.

“Master Windu, I can assure you that won’t be necessary--”

Windu raised an eyebrow, folding his arms over his chest, glaring lightly at the Knight. “Well, I’m not going to be the one to tell Master Che that. So good luck.” Kenobi groaned again and Anakin giggled. “In fact, I think I’d better send Initiate Skywalker with you to make sure you actually go to the Halls.”

“Of course, Master Mace,” the boy said, his tone far too grave, but he was smiling, his eyes bright with amusement. “I’ll make sure he gets there, even if I have to start pouting to convince him.”

Windu’s serious expression broke, and he snorted, shaking his head. “Master Narec, I’ll escort you and your Padawan to the Quartermaster.” Master Ky nodded and gestured for him to lead on.

The Temple seemed even bigger on the inside, although Asajj knew that such a thing wasn’t possible. She had been trained to be able to at least trace her path back to where she’d started, on Rattatak, but this … Hallways were everywhere, interspersed by doors and rooms and, every once in a while, larger rooms that had several hallways branching off from them. Asajj hadn’t even been in the Temple for ten minutes before she felt lost, and she knew there was no way she could make it back to the hangar by memory alone.

And the Quartermaster’s was… overwhelming. They gave them so many things , and Asajj didn’t know what half of the fancy soaps they gave her were made of, and they wanted her opinion on what sorts of tunics she’d like to wear, and she’d just blinked at the Besalisk Master before saying, “...black ones.” He’d blinked back at her, and then tried to clarify which style she’d like, and Asajj had looked to her Master for help.

“Both traditional and simplified, please. I expect she’d also like purple,” Master Ky said, giving Asajj a slow wink. Her shoulders had slumped in relief.

Once their arms were weighed down by crates filled with their new clothes and toiletries, the Quartermaster issued them a room assignment--and Master Windu had sighed.

“We’ll have your things dropped off. If you’d both like to grab a change of clothes, we’ll have to make our own stop in the Halls,” he sighed. “Master Che will not be pleased if I allow the two of you throughout the Temple proper without being cleared, first.”

“Especially since no one else has visited the planet in the last decade, at least,” Master Ky agreed. “No telling what strange illnesses we’d be bringing by.” Asajj knew that the explanation was mostly for her benefit, and she was quietly grateful for it even as she scowled.

Hesitating for only a moment before grabbing a set of dark purple tunics with a black obi, Asajj nodded to her Master and they set off again, trailing after Master Windu.

One of the halls he led them through opened up into a multi-tiered, enormous , almost cavernous hallway; the ceilings were high, and tall pillars rose up and up and up and she had to crane her neck back to see the ceiling so far above them.

“Wow,” she whispered.

“This is the Main Hall,” Master Ky told her softly, nodding as they passed other Jedi. “This version was rebuilt after the Sacking of Coruscant about three millenia ago.”

Asajj blinked. That was… older than she could imagine. She nodded slowly, staring wide-eyed at the hall around them. They crossed it quickly, and she was a bit disappointed to leave it behind, especially when they crossed into a set of hallways painted soothing shades of blue and green. Healers, ugh .

They approached the front desk just as Kenobi and the boy, Anakin, were heading out. The two of them stopped, and Asajj raised an eyebrow at their clasped hands, smirking. Kenobi merely smiled at her, and Anakin raised his chin, as though daring her to say something. She rolled her eyes back, and he grinned at her.

“Ah, Master Narec, Padawan Venteress, we meet again,” Kenobi said, winking at them. Master Ky laughed and shook his head. “Well, at least I didn’t pick up any sort of infestation in the time I was down there.” For some reason, that made Master Windu wince, and Asajj just knew there was a story there. “Your turn, I suppose.”

“Ah, there you are!” Another Jedi said, a Twi’lek woman with a lightsaber on her hip, although her tunics were far simpler, and blue. “I’m Vokara Che, Master Healer. And the two of you are very overdue for your regular check-ups. Come with me, please.”

She turned on her heel, expecting them to follow, and Master Ky shook his head before waving a quick goodbye to the others, nudging Asajj along when she hesitated.

The woman led them to a room with a bed and two chairs, waving at the bed. “Who’d like to go first?”

“My Padawan’s exam will be quicker, I think,” he sighed. “Want to get it over with?” She nodded reluctantly and sat down on the bed, her Master taking the chair just behind her. Master Che nodded and turned to a cabinet against one wall, pulling out some sort of scanner.

“Alright, a general scan for any issues, a simple blood test, and a quick history, and we’ll be done,” she said, and began waving the scanner around over her body. The diode at the tip turned various colors, the machine beeping slightly, and Master Che frowned. “Have you broken many bones?”

“A few,” Asajj answered. “My ribs, at one point, but they were just cracked, not actually broken . I broke my left arm, and my right leg, a while ago. Long fall onto some big rocks. I was too concussed to use the Force to slow myself that time.” She shrugged.

“I see,” Master Che said. “Well, you’re in good shape, not ill, although I’d like you to gain some weight.”

“She wasn’t so bad off, until her growth spurts started,” Master Ky said, sighing. Asajj rolled her eyes. Of course he had to make another comment about it.

“I’m not surprised,” Master Che said, smiling. “She is tall for her age. Now, just a quick blood sample. Finger, please.” She pricked one of Asajj’s fingers, and slipped the device into a terminal in the corner. Turning back around, she picked up a datapad and faced Asajj. “Now, medical history. Any major illnesses?”

“Some sort of fever a few years ago,” Asajj said, looking to her Master, who shook his head.

“We aren’t sure what it was, but she was bedridden for over three weeks,” Master Ky said, “but I never noticed any lingering effects. She recovered well.” Master Che nodded.

“Any allergies?”

“Koja berries, but I doubt that will be a problem,” Master Ky said, smiling lightly. “They are native to the planet we were on, and let us just say that they don’t export much of anything. I doubt we’ll come into contact with them.”

“Still, she may be allergic to other berries,” Master Che pointed out. “We’ll get a test done to be sure. I at least want to rule out what’s regularly served here before you take your chances in the refectory.” Master Ky nodded. “Alright, any aches or pains, any chronic issues of any kind?”

Asajj shrugged. “My joints ache, but Master Ky says that’s just the growth spurts. I get headaches sometimes, but Master Ky said that’s more to do with dehydration than anything. We were on a desert planet.”

Master Che nodded in satisfaction, turning back around to consult the terminal. “Well, you’re healthy, overall. I’d like you to gain weight, and we’ll need to watch your iron, but it’s nothing that won’t be resolved by a proper diet. You have an impressive midichlorian count, Padawan. Just over 13,000.”

“Oh,” Asajj said, blinking. She wasn’t sure what to say to that, really. Master Ky had told her about midichlorians, but they’d never had the equipment available to actually test her. They hadn’t meant much to her, really, though it was nice to be complimented.

“If you’d like to shower and change, there’s a fresher through there,” Master Che said, pointing toward another door behind her. Asajj nodded, picking the purple robes back up and heading for the ‘fresher.

When she came out, hair still a bit damp from a real water shower , Master Ky smiled broadly at the sight of her in the robes.

“That suits you,” he said, and she scowled, but knew that he could feel her spike of satisfaction.

“How bad off are you, old man?” she asked, and he snorted.

“I’ll live.”

“Your Master is going to need surgery, and a week in a bacta tank,” Master Che said bluntly. “Once we get that done, I’d estimate three to five months of recovery before you’re cleared for field work again. Light duty in maybe two to three months. But I do expect a full recovery.”

Master Ky smiled and nodded at her. “Thank you, Master Che.”

“Of course,” she said, smiling gently at him. “Now, if you’d like to go clean up yourself, I’ll call a Padawan to lead you to your new quarters.”

Master Ky nodded, squeezing Asajj’s shoulder before entering the ‘fresher. Master Che sat down in one of the chairs, activating the comm on her wrist, asking for a Padawan Eerin to come in five minutes. Given how long her own shower had been, Asajj wondered if her Master would need more time, but didn’t comment on it.

“Now, Padawan, do you have any questions?” Asajj blinked in surprise.

“Um, what sorts of questions?” she clarified slowly, and Master Che smiled at her softly, her lekku twitching.

“Any sort,” she said. “I’m used to being the first to really interact with new arrivals to the Temple. I get asked all sorts of questions.”

“Oh,” Asajj said. “Why did Kenobi have to come here? Because he was on a strange planet, and you wanted to make sure he didn’t pick up anything?”

“Knight Kenobi, dear,” Master Che corrected gently. “And yes, that’s part of the reason. But Knight Kenobi… I’ve known him practically his whole life, and I swear he has a special talent for getting himself hurt. He’s on mandatory visits after each mission. It’s not uncommon for field Jedi.”

“Oh,” Asajj answered. “Thank you. What… what happens now?”

“Well, once your Master is finished changing, we’ll have Padawan Eerin take you to your new quarters, and then tomorrow you’ll speak to the Council,” she said. “They’ll want to confirm your position as his Padawan, and ask a few questions about what you’ve being doing these past years. I imagine they’ll arrange for placement testing, and then you’ll begin taking classes with your fellow Padawans.

“At some point, preferably soon, your Master will need to be in the Halls for a week or so after we perform the surgery for his back. We’ll find someone else for you to stay with, or to join you in your quarters, while he’s here. But no need to worry about that yet,” Master Che assured her. “Just focus on the new quarters you’ll be going to. I hear they have a fantastic view.”

Asajj nodded slowly. That matched, at least, with what Master Ky had told her, and it was nice to have it confirmed. After a short knock, the door slid open and Asajj blinked at the Jedi--Padawan Eerin, she thought this must be. She was pink-skinned, hairless, with large eyes and a broad smile. Asajj had never seen anything like her before--judging from the webbed hands, she was from an aquatic world. No wonder she hadn’t seen any of them on Rattatak.

“Padawan Ventress,” the older girl greeted her, bowing slightly. Asajj stood up to bow back. “Padawan Bant Eerin. I’m pleased to meet you.”

“You too,” Asajj answered. Apparently that was a thing Jedi said, and she filed it away for next time.

Master Ky emerged from the ‘fresher, his hair untied and still damp, just as hers had been, falling down around his shoulders. She hadn’t quite realized how long it had gotten. Maybe she’d offer to braid it for him tonight--he’d always liked that.

“Ah, Master Narec,” Padawan Eerin said, bowing. He bowed back. “Padawan Bant Eerin. It’s good to have you back, Master.”

“I remember you,” Master Ky said, smiling at her. “I taught your introductory course on jar’kai.”

Padawan Eerin smiled back, nodding. “Well, your room assignment is in block J, so it’s a bit of a walk. Shall we?”

Asajj’s head was spinning by the time they reached their new quarters. They’d taken two sets of stairs, one turbolift, and dozens of hallways to get to the door of their new quarters.

That settled it. She was going to need a map.

“Thank you, Padawan Eerin,” Master Ky said, and Asajj remembered to bow along with him this time. Eerin bowed back, smiling.

“The Council will comm in a bit to let you know the time for your meeting tomorrow,” she told them, and Master Ky nodded. She took her leave, and Master Ky palmed the door panel, the door opening with a soft woosh , and Asajj cautiously followed him inside.

She gaped at the rooms inside. There was a living room with an actual couch , dark green with cushions and puffy pillows, and there was carpet covering the floor, and it looked so soft, and there was an actual, solid wooden table and chairs next to a full kitchen , and there were plants in the sills of the very large windows on the back wall, letting in the light and giving them a view of the Coruscant skyline.

“Wow,” she breathed. “This is all just for us?”

“Yes,” Master Ky answered. “I’m sure the bedrooms and ‘fresher are down that hallway. Why don’t we go see your new bedroom?”

Asajj nodded slowly, her mind still reeling at the idea of having an entire space to herself . It had been just her and Master Ky for so long, living in their little one-room hut, and while she was looking forward to finally having some privacy , it was… strange. She wondered how she would sleep without being able to hear him breathing, the constant affirmation that he was there and alive .

She followed her Master down the hallway, and just as he’d said, there were two rooms. Master Ky smiled and gestured to the one on the left, and she nodded; the door opened automatically as she approached. There was a bed--an actual bed , with a sleep couch, and blankets--she ran her hand over the dark purple blanket, smiling at the softness of it. There was a wooden desk with a chair, several datapads stacked neatly on top, and a commlink, and when she checked the closet, her new clothes had already been hung up for her.

Asajj turned and crossed the hall to look into her Master’s room, smiling when she saw him stretched out on the large bed, his hands behind his head, smiling widely.

“A bed , Padawan,” he sighed. “A real bed . I swear my back has never felt this good.”

Asajj laughed and impulsively leapt over, throwing herself down beside him. He grinned at her and moved one hand, wrapping his arm around her and pulling her to his side. She sighed and put her head on his chest.

“This is a good thing, isn’t it, Master? Being here?” she asked. He hummed.

“Yes, little one,” he answered. “It is. For both of us.”

It was nearly time for dinner, and Master Ky had just suggested testing his memory and trying to find a dining hall when their door chimed. Master Ky started to get up from the couch, but Asajj caught his slight grimace as his back twinged again, and she glared at him before scampering over to answer it herself.

Their visitor was tall , and Asajj blinked up at him. He was broad-shouldered, too, just a massive man, smiling down at her gently. He had long hair, brown starting to be shot through with streaks of grey, a beard, and a crooked nose.

“Hello, Master,” Asajj said, remembering to bow.

“Hello, Padawan,” the man answered. “I saw that I had new neighbors and thought I might introduce myself. Master Qui-Gon Jinn.”

“Asajj Ventress, Master. Nice to meet you,” Asajj said quickly, and his lips twitched in a wider grin. “Would you like to come in?” He nodded, and she stepped aside.

“We have company, Master,” Asajj said, and then Master Ky was pushing himself up from the couch, clearly ignoring the pain he was in, and smiling broadly.

“Qui-Gon? Force, has it really been so long? Last time I saw you, you were an eighteen-year-old Padawan yourself,” Master Ky said.

“Yes, I was out of the Temple consistently for years after my Knighting, and then you were on your own… extended mission.” Master Ky snorted.

“That’s a polite way of saying I got myself stranded,” he laughed. “But I believe it was the will of the Force. I wouldn’t have found my Padawan, otherwise.” He sent Asajj a warm look, and she scowled and quickly looked down at the floor. “Even so, my thanks to your former Padawan for the ride home.”

“Ah, that does explain things,” Master Jinn hummed. “Obi-Wan merely said he had a stop-over to make, collecting an overdue Master and his Padawan. He did not say who , however. He likely intended it to be a surprise for Yan.”

“Yes, he did say that they see each other frequently,” Master Ky said. “Frankly, I was surprised, but I’m glad to hear that the two of you are getting along better than I recalled you did, at least.”

Master Jinn laughed. “We… tolerate one another, for the sake of our lineage,” he said, but there was something exasperatedly fond in his voice. “And my imp of a former apprentice suggested that I invite you over for dinner tonight. We have them weekly, when we’re all in-Temple, and I’m certain Yan would be pleased to see you, and meet your Padawan.”

Master Ky looked to Asajj, raising an eyebrow, and she nodded slowly. The chance to meet one of her Master’s actual friends was too good to pass up.

“Thank you, Qui-Gon. We’d be glad to join you.”

Master Jinn smiled and nodded. “Everyone will be arriving in half an hour or so, and my rooms are just down the hall, J-329.”

“We’ll be there,” Master Ky assured him, and then he hesitated for just a moment before adding, “I am very glad to see you’re recovering well. I heard what happened on Naboo.”

Master Jinn’s smile dimmed somewhat, but he nodded his thanks. “If it were not for Obi-Wan, I doubt I would have survived. But between the Force and his stubbornness, Master Che tells me I will fully recover. Eventually.”

Master Ky’s smile was broad and pleased. “I am glad to hear it, Qui-Gon.”

Master Jinn nodded. “I’ll see you both for dinner, then.”

Asajj was, honestly, expecting quarters like theirs, but Master Jinn’s quarters were vastly different. The couch was lower, and looked worn, comfortably broken in, and the table was far lower, surrounded by cushions rather than chairs. And there weren’t just plants in the windowsill, there were plants everywhere --on the caff table in front of the couch, on the shelves against the wall across from the couch, in the corner next to the dining table, on the counter in the kitchen. Everywhere she looked there was green .

She saw Kenobi in the kitchen, bickering mildly with an older Jedi, wearing dark grey robes, with salt-and-pepper hair, and ridiculously perfect posture.

“Welcome,” Master Jinn greeted them, “please, come in and make yourselves comfortable.”

“Get out of my kitchen, Grand-Master,” Kenobi said flatly. “I assure you, we did put enough wine into the sauce, and I can take it from here.”

The older man sniffed haughtily, but made no reply, turning on his heel to leave the kitchen--he froze as he turned around and caught sight of Master Ky.

“Ky Narec?” he said, and Master Ky laughed, nodding.

“Yan,” he said, “it’s good to see you again, my friend.”

Master Yan--Asajj didn’t know if that was his first or last name--crossed the room quickly and swept her Master into a strong embrace. Master Ky hugged back just as eagerly. After a long moment, Master Yan let go, stepping back and fixing a curious gaze on Asajj.

“And who is this?”

“Asajj Ventress, Master,” she said, bowing. She wondered if she’d ever get used to it. The other Jedi seemed to bow constantly --her point was proven when Master Yan bowed back.

“My Padawan,” Master Ky added, and Master Yan blinked, something like recognition in his eyes, and then smiled.

“Congratulations,” he said to Asajj. “You found yourself a fine Master.”

She gave him a small, tentative smile, and Master Ky chuckled.

“You’ve never congratulated me on my excellent Master,” Kenobi called from the kitchen. Master Yan scoffed.

“I did not have to raise Ky and constantly remind him not to leave his socks in the living room,” he said dryly. Master Jinn huffed indignantly beside them.

“Oh, that’s a fair point,” Kenobi said, clearly trying to hold back a laugh, “he still does that. I gave up on the habit ever changing years ago.”

The door chimed, and Master Jinn smiled, grateful for the interruption to that line of conversation. “That would be our straggler.” He moved to answer the door, and Asajj blinked as she recognized the little boy from the landing platform, Anakin, wearing his tunics with a cloth bag slung over his shoulder.

“Hi guys! And hi again, Master Narec, Padawan Ventress,” he said cheerfully, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Sorry I’m late--when Obi told me you two were coming to dinner, I wanted to stop and get you something.”

“That’s very thoughtful of you,” Master Ky hummed. “Thank you, Initiate.”

“I don’t know you all that well yet, but I know Jedi like tea, so I brought you some of everything!” Anakin said, reaching into the bag to draw out a small box filled with flimsi bags of labelled, loose leaf tea.

“Thank you,” Master Ky said. “This is a lovely gift.”

“You’re welcome!” Anakin said brightly before turning to Asajj, who simply blinked at him. Whatever she’d expected from this dinner, it hadn’t been… this. “So, I was new to the Temple, too, for a while. I got here almost a year ago, and I had a really hard time remembering where everything was--’cause the Temple is huge , just absolutely giant , y’know? And Obi-Wan and I drew all these maps, but I don’t need them anymore, so I thought I’d give them to you!” He pulled out several sheets of flimsi, neatly bound with a clear cover. Asajj took it from him slowly.

“Thank you,” she said, grateful that she wouldn’t have to ask Master Ky to draw one for her, as she’d been thinking of doing.

“And, I, um, I got you something else, too, if it’s okay with your Master,” he said, suddenly a bit shy. He pulled a strand of decorative metal beads out of the bag, holding it up. “I noticed you don’t have a braid, and other Padawans that don’t have braids use these silka beads instead. I was thinking that, y’know, you could wear it until your hair grows out long enough for a braid.”

“That’s a wonderful idea, Initiate,” Master Ky said. “Thank you very much. Would you like that, Asajj?”

Asajj made a face, considering the idea. “Would the beads just come out if they’re pulled on?” Master Ky laughed.

“We decided to forgo the braid after trying it for a time, as whenever we found ourselves in a fight, our adversaries tended to pull on it,” he explained to the others. “And yes, we can certainly arrange it so that if it’s tugged on, it will simply come out.”

Asajj nodded slowly, smiling. “Then yes, I’d like that. Thank you.”

Anakin beamed and then hugged her , of all things. Asajj’s lip curled and she patted him on the head awkwardly. Anakin giggled and pulled away, bouncing off towards the kitchen where Kenobi was starting to transfer the food onto the table.

As they sat down to eat, Asajj couldn’t help the tension she felt. She’d rarely ever been surrounded by other people at mealtimes like this--in fact, she could count the number of times she and Master Ky had sat down to a real meal on one hand. Most of the time, they had eaten what the could scavenge or hunt themselves, and only a few times, after they’d helped some of the Rattataki people, had they been treated to an actual meal . Of course, normally the Rattataki were in the same position they themselves were, scrounging for food and hunting where they could.

Asajj still wasn’t entirely sure how she felt about being in the Temple. She didn’t know what her role would be here, how she should behave or what she should do . She stell felt that flicker of anxiety that she hadn’t been able to fully let go of yet.

But the food was delicious, and conversation between the Jedi around the table was easy, filling her and her Master in on the important, interesting, or amusing stories of the past ten years. Asajj saw her Master truly relax and let his guard down for the first time in… well, ever .

Slowly, Asajj decided that maybe the Temple really would be a good thing. She owed it to Master Ky, anyway, to give it a chance, at least. Decision made, she did her best not to scowl throughout the rest of the meal.

Asajj shifted her weight, widening her stance; she was too well-trained and too experienced to show nerves by squirming, instead merely tensing for a fight. It was a battle habit, and Ky smiled sadly. She was impressive, his Padawan, but she had had to learn far too many cruel lessons for her young age.

“Now, when we enter the Council Chamber, I will stand to the right, and you will stand just behind me to the left,” Ky explained. “Then we bow. Wait for the Council to address us, and let me do the talking, unless they call on you directly.”

“Yes, Master,” Asajj agreed, quietly relieved not to be expected to carry a conversation. Ky reached out to squeeze her shoulder gently.

“They won’t bite, Padawan. And you’ve already met Master Windu.”

She raised an eyebrow at him, but did not have a chance to reply as the doors swung open.

Asajj was momentarily distracted, examining the tiled mosaic floor, the ring of seats occupied by so many different species, all radiating serenity-peace-Light in the Force, and the tall windows behind them with a dazzling view of the city-planet and the traffic whizzing by. She shook her head slightly and made to catch up to her Master, keeping just behind him as she’d been instructed. They stopped in the center of a circle formed by the mosaic, and bowed.

“Masters,” Ky greeted them.

“Master Narec.” Asajj looked over at the man who had spoken, a tiny little green thing with white whisps of hair, holding a gnarled stick. “Good to see you well, it is. Gone, we had thought you to be.” He felt warm-kind-joyful in the Force, and Asajj tentatively decided that she liked him. He turned his large eyes on her, giving her a slow, sleepy smile. “And you, young one. Introduce yourself to us, will you?”

“Asajj Ventress, Master. I am Master Narec’s Padawan Learner.”

The little Jedi’s smile grew wider. “Ah! Good, this is. Yes, yes, good ! Always brighter, the Force is, when a student, the Order gains. Master Yoda, I am. The Temple, your Master’s home, it is. Your home, it will become.”

Asajj blinked, and then smiled back, bowing her head. “Thank you, Master Yoda.”

Beside her, Ky was glowing with happiness-pride , and the room fell silent for a moment as they all basked in the sense of rightness swelling in the Force.

“Master Narec,” Master Windu said, “could you give your account of the last ten years years?”

“Of course,” Ky said, clasping his hands behind his back. “In sum: I landed on a planet called Rattatak ten years ago. My ship was destroyed, and that was when I lost contact with the Temple. Rattatak is not in the Archives, nor on most maps--it’s just barely inside of the Unknown Regions, after all. In the wider galaxy, it is really known only to smugglers and slavers…”

He gave a brief summary of his time away, from discovering the tribal warlords who ruled Rattatak were slavers, in league with the pirates who raided the planet, to finding Asajj as a young child, a slave whose owner had just been killed. He took her on as his Padawan, scheming against the warlords and freeing slaves where they could, and trying to find a way off of the planet.

“Until three days ago, when Knight Kenobi came to collect us,” Ky explained, and then he paused thoughtfully. “Masters, he never did explain how he found us.”

“What did he tell you?” Master Windu asked.

“When I asked, he merely reminded me that ‘all things are possible, with the Force.’” A ripple of amusement went through the Councilors then.

“His usual excuse, that is,” Master Yoda said, shaking his head, a fond smile on his face. “Strong in the Unifying Force, Knight Kenobi is. Many visions he has. Honest he was--guide him to you, the Force did. Clear , he was not.”

Master Windu snorted. “He’s an infuriatingly cryptic bastard,” he muttered, and startled laughter rang through the Chambers. “But one of our best. In any case, I speak for all of us when I say that we’re glad he was able to bring the two of you home.”

“We are pleased to be here, Masters,” Master Ky said, his relief and happiness evident.

“There are only a few more matters to settle,” Master Windu continued, glancing down at the datapad he held. “Master Che has recommended corrective surgery for your back injury, requiring one to two weeks in the Halls. When would you like to schedule that?”

“In a few weeks, I think,” Master Ky answered. “That will give my Padawan time to complete her placement assessments and begin her classes. Once she is settled, I will go to the Halls.”

“Good,” Master Windu agreed, nodding. “And the matter of Padawan Ventress’s placement exams. I understand you completed quite a few in transit?” Asajj nodded once, and he hummed, looking back down at the datapad. “You did very well in mechanical aptitude, tactics, negotiation, and philosophy.” Asajj blinked; she hadn’t thought she’d done that well in philosophy. Most of it seemed… pointless to her. She had discussed it with Master Ky, when he insisted she learn, but she didn’t much see the point in that kind of endless thinking in circles when she needed to keep her focus on her surroundings, always vulnerable to attack. “We’ll have to schedule the exams we weren’t able to complete without having you here. Master Ky noted that he expects you’ll do well in your combat assessments.” Asajj blushed and quickly looked down at the floor, feeling tendrils of fond amusement from the Councilors and her Master both. “Master Ti will meet with you this afternoon to schedule the exams and explain the course requirements; there have been a few changes, since you’ve been away.”

“I should hope so,” Master Ky quipped, and the Councilors smiled indulgently.

“Nothing further has this Council for you now,” Master Yoda said gently. “Rest, you should, now that home, and safe, you are.”

“Yes, Masters. Thank you.”

Asajj smiled, an actual smile , not a smirk, and certainly not a scowl as she bowed. She was starting to get the feeling that she could get used to this Temple life.

But she knew, one day, she’d have to leave. Asajj would never break her vow, after all. Rattatak would be free, and she would see it done.

...though she supposed that, for now, there was no harm in enjoying being someplace calm and safe, with more creature comforts than Asajj had ever had before in her life--plus they would even be able to get her Master back into fighting shape. Yes, the Temple was going to be a good thing.

If only just for now. 

Chapter Text

Shmi Skywalker had things , now. She had never owned anything before--not even herself. But she owned the beautiful, warm quilt that Ma Jira had pressed into her hands, bestowing a kiss on her forehead with a small smile and a warning that it would be colder in space than Shmi could know; she owned the matching set of blaster pistols she now wore on each hip after taking them from Gardulla’s men, with ivory grips and intricate carvings; she owned the vibroblade she had killed many depur with, back on Tatooine, when she broke her chains.

She did not own her room, but Jango had made it clear that this space on his ship was hers for as long as she was with him. The room was small, with nothing beyond a bed, a footlocker, and a desk, but it was hers . Jango had had that look on his face, as though he wanted to apologize for not being able to give her more, but he said nothing, likely not wanting to belittle what she did have. She was grateful for it.

The first month and a half on Slave I --and she could not pretend to understand why Jango had given his ship that name, except to punish himself for what had not been his fault, but had taken him from his people and thus harmed them, harm that he saw himself as having done--they did not go anywhere. Jango had plenty of fuel and supplies on his ship, and they drifted in space, mostly sublight. Shmi enjoyed it, finding that the cold of space was worth it for the beauty of looking at the stars this way.

They found an easy routine. Each morning, Shmi would make breakfast, mostly because she was better at cooking than Jango, and he ate whatever she made with quiet thanks. Like many Amavikka, Jango was a man of few words and heavy thoughts, although she thought he may have been that way before his time in chains. When he spoke to her, his voice was calm and even, though not soft. He did not treat her like something delicate, the way that Obi-Wan had looked at her, and Shmi liked that.

After breakfast, they continued to sit at the table in the little galley kitchen, and Shmi learned. She had always felt that there was so much she did not know, but now she knew it , and her heart and mind hungered greedily for knowledge. She could read, but only Huttese and Bocce, and Jango taught her Basic alongside Mando’a. Shmi did not know if Mando’a fit her yet, but she liked the sound of it, and the feeling of the hard consonants and double vowels on her tongue.

And it was not so different from Amatakkan--she recognized the spark in Jango’s eyes when he spoke the language of his people, the language of his heart and his home. Mando’a was not secret , not like Amatakkan was, but Jango had explained, in vague, clipped sentences riddled with pain, that Mando’a was no longer the primary language of Mandalore. So while it was not secret, not guarded closely against outsiders the way Amatakkan was, it was still something precious. She held each new word in her heart, whispering them to herself at night in the privacy of her dark room, staring out the viewport at the stars. Shmi was a buir . Anakin was her ad . Together, they were aliit . Those were her favorite words.

When either Shmi or Jango grew restless, bored of sitting, Jango would lead her to the cargo hold. They started slowly: he taught her how to throw a punch, explaining how she should widen her stance to better her balance, how she should bend her knees ever-so-slightly, how she should make her hands into fists to avoid broken fingers and hands--hands that had, until so recently, only ever known work-blisters and sun-cracked skin, and not the split knuckles she gave herself, punching the bag in Slave I ’s cargo hold over and over again as Jango looked on, expression inscrutable. He showed her how to hold the vibroblade, how to smoothly draw her pistols. He showed her how to shoot with both hands and insisted that she practice until she could aim well with both, using practice rounds to avoid shooting holes in the hull.

He never touched her unless she asked, even to correct her posture, preferring to show her himself and have her mimic him. Shmi appreciated it, although it was yet another reminder that he knew how it felt to hold the knowledge that your body was not your own to command.

Some evenings, after dinners that Shmi again made for them both, Jango would sit and tell her stories. They were not like the stories the Amavikka told, meant to save lives, although Shmi did not doubt that Jango’s stories held life-saving lessons, in their own way. Jango spoke of Manda'yaim, and Concord Dawn; he spoke of the endless wars that plagued them, causing suffering both to the Mando’ade and the land itself, scorching Mada’yaim until the only plants that thrived were the stubborn, hearty ones, just like Tatooine’s deserts; he spoke of the Haat Mando’ade , his vod’e , and how they had lived and laughed and loved and fought (though he never spoke about how they died; Shmi already knew, Obi-Wan having told her one night, sitting with her and staring up at Ar-Amu after a long night of teaching her fellow Amavikka to fight, and her heart ached for Jango and all that he had lost).

Other evenings, they went their separate ways; Jango to his own berth, or to the cockpit or the engine room to check on everything, and Shmi to her room , the thought still sending a little thrill down her spine. Those nights, she would sometimes lay in the darkness and think of how much had changed in such a short time, her head almost spinning. Those nights, she felt like she was holding her breath, expecting to wake up and be a slave again, her son in chains beside her, all of this having been nothing more than another dream.

Other nights, she called Anakin, smiling softly and warmly as they told each other everything they had learned. She gave him lessons in Mando’a as she learned it, and he excitedly chattered about his classes in the Temple, or how Master Qui-Gon was healing. But most of all, Anakin spoke of Obi-Wan, and it made her happy, it eased the fears that came from having her son so far away, to know that someone as… capable as Obi-Wan Kenobi was looking out for Ani.

On the best nights, Shmi fell asleep looking at the stars, the comm unit still on but silent as she and Anakin drifted off together, listening to each other’s calm, even breaths.

For the first month and a half of her time with Jango Fett, Shmi felt as though she was waiting for something, though she was not sure what. But that was fine--she had spent her entire life, until the uprising, as a slave, and a slave’s life was an endless wait . Waiting to break their chains, waiting for the day their depur tired of them and sold them on, waiting to die if they could not break their chains in any other way. Shmi had spent nearly thirty years waiting. She was good at it.

And then one morning Jango stood up after breakfast. “I’m going to the cockpit. There’s a copilot’s chair.” He had raised an eyebrow, and Shmi had smiled at him. He never so much as invited her to do anything, not in so many words, and she thought he feared that she might take it as an order if he did.

She followed him to the fore of the ship, watching carefully as he punched in their coordinates and began to take them to lightspeed.

Shmi wondered where they would go, and it took her a long moment to remember that she could ask . “Where are we going?”

“Kamino,” Jango answered, his jaw clenching briefly before he shook his head. “It’s… an ongoing job of mine.” He turned to her, something in his eyes that spoke of regret, and hope, and love at all once. “I trust you. Am I wrong to trust you?”

Shmi pursed her lips. She did not insult him--she did not insult either of them--by giving him an immediate answer. She did not say “of course,” or “why wouldn’t you?” Instead, she thought about the question, turning it over carefully in her mind.

“That depends very much on what you might ask me to do,” Shmi answered instead, and Jango’s lips twitched in a smile, clearly pleased by her answer.

“What you will see on Kamino,” he said slowly, “I need you to keep secret. You must not tell anyone, not even your ad .”

Shmi smiled softly. That, at least, she could do. All Amavikka knew how to keep secrets, they learned early and quickly and brutally that some things should never be shared with depur . Some learned far more brutally that some things should not even be shared amongst other Amavikka.

“I can do that,” Shmi assured him. “ Elek .”

Jango’s lips twitched in another smile, and he nodded sharply. They did not speak as they travelled, this time, and Shmi occupied herself by watching the stars, stretched into thin lines outside the viewport by the distortion of hyperspace, and pondering the question of just how much she and Jango could trust each other.

Kamino was… breathtaking. As they approached, the planet looked like a swirling blue marble, like one of the little glass beads Shmi had seen in the markets but had never had the spare coin to buy, if she could even have owned them.

“Water,” Shmi whispered, leaning forward in her seat. Jango nodded.

“Kamino is entirely ocean,” he explained, bringing the ship down slowly into the atmosphere, the ship passing through thick, rolling, white and grey clouds. Shmi marvelled at them, wondering what it would feel like to reach out and run a hand through them. She had never seen clouds , before--not any like this . The only clouds on Tatooine were made of dust and signalled a savage storm. “We’re lucky it’s clear today. The storms on Kamino can be rough.”

Shmi’s eyes widened further. She had known , in a distant sort of way, that other places that were wetter than Tatooine had storms of their own. But to picture water , falling from the sky, waves rising and breaking and crashing, driven by wind was… It brought a light sheen of tears to her eyes, and she blinked them away--water was too precious to her to waste on crying, and she hadn’t since the pain she’d gone through to bear her ad .

As they grew closer to the planet’s surface, Shmi saw that there were settlements, seemingly floating atop the mass of water, all white and clean. Jango brought them down on a landing platform extending from the buildings and killed the engines. Standing, he readied himself to leave the ship. He did not disarm himself, Shmi noted, but he did not look as though he was tensing for a fight. This place was safe enough, she decided, though the weights of her pistols on her hips and the vibroblade in her boot were still a comfort, a reminder that she was now free to defend herself, and learning the skills to do so.

A strange, ethereal being emerged from the white buildings, tall and pale, hairless, with large eyes and a long neck.

“It is good that you have returned,” the strange woman said without preamble as they descended the ship’s ramp and stepped onto the platform. “We were beginning to think you weren’t coming for the decanting.” Jango nodded sharply, but made no reply. The woman was unfazed, and merely turned to Shmi, head swaying, bowing her head, blinking slowly at her. “I am Taun We.”

“I am Shmi,” she said simply, a whisper, an instinct, telling her not to give Skywalker as her name--the same whisper that had prompted her to ask Jango if he would bring her along. She did not bow; she had wondered, for a time, if the Jedi were not the only ones who bowed in greeting, if it might be a normal gesture of respect and salutation. She had decided it did not matter. She was Shmi Skywalker, and she was not a slave. She had broken her chains, and she would never bow to anyone again. Taun We swayed a bit more, and Shmi thought that might be a nod.

“Will you require quarters here?”

“Yes,” Jango answered for her. “The quarters beside mine will do.” He glanced at her in quiet apology, and Shmi only smiled. She knew how he hated to make any of her decisions for her, but she did not mind this time. She was a stranger here, and did not know the lay of the land--such as the “land” was.

“Of course,” Taun We said simply. “They will be ready for you shortly. Would you like to see the unit?”

Jango’s jaw clenched, but he nodded curtly. Shmi wondered what they were talking about, but figured that she would find out soon enough. She could be patient. She was good at waiting.

The inside of the facility on Kamino was not terribly different to what she’d seen outside. It was white, and so clean . Shmi did not know if she liked it, the absolute lack of dust or sand , or if she found it disconcerting. She and Jango followed Taun We down blank white corridors, occasionally passing more of the same long-necked species, who paused in their walking to sway their heads in what Shmi was now certain was a nod.

Finally, they went through a doorway, and inside this room--still starkly white, and Shmi wondered if perhaps they saw colors differently, or if they simply preferred white above all others--was a dizzying assortment of equipment. There were screens with unfamiliar text characters displayed alongside live graphs, monitoring something, and tubes and wires and--

There, along one wall, was a small tank, and inside of it was a child.

Jango stepped over to the tank, pulling off one of his gloves and reaching out to press his hand against the side of it.

“ Su’cuy, ner ad’ika ,” Jango murmured, and Shmi blinked.

This was Jango’s child. Jango was a buir , or… going to be. She remembered what Taun We had said on the landing platform about a “decanting”--removal from the tank, she realized. Jango’s child was about to be born, somehow motherless.

“Your unit will be ready precisely on time,” Taun We said, sounding pleased and proud, although her expression did not change. “We will decant the unit in ten days.”

Jango nodded, still staring at the child floating in the tank. “Good.”

“We will be inspecting the first batch of one hundred this afternoon,” Taun We continued. “Will you join us?”

“Yes.”

Taun We’s head swayed again. “We will collect you when it is time. Please relax, until then.” Taun We bobbed her head again to Shmi, who simply nodded back, and then the tall being seemed to glide out of the room, leaving them alone.

Shmi watched in silence as Jango continued to simply stare at the child in the tank. She could not deny that he already looked at them like a buir would, and a small smile crossed her face. Jango was surprisingly kind, for someone so gruff and dangerous, and he would be a good protector. He was a good teacher.

He would make a good buir .

“ Tion’gar’ad? ” Shmi asked, uncertain if she’d gotten it right, but Jango only nodded. He turned slightly to look at her, nodding again, and Shmi smiled, crossing the room to the tank to look at the child more closely. In the white blue light of the tank, it had been harder to tell what the child actually looked like from a distance. Drawing closer, she saw a few fine, dark hairs on its head, and tan skin that would match Jango’s. She smiled--definitely a boy. “ Tion’kaysh’gai? ”

“Boba,” Jango answered, his voice warm, filled with wonder. “Boba Fett.”

“Boba,” Shmi repeated, and after a beat, she pressed her fingers to her lips and then to her heart. Jango smiled at her softly. “He has no mother?”

“No. He is… the Kaminiise are cloners,” he explained, and Shmi blinked. She had heard of cloning before, of course, but that had only been for direct medical purposes, such as replacing damaged organs--not that any such care had ever been available to the Amavikka. It cost far too much, and the Amavikka were not valuable enough for it; it was cheaper to buy a new slave and put the injured out of their misery.

But she had never heard of anyone cloning full sentients before. This was… novel.

“He is yours alone,” Shmi said, smiling softly. “Just as my Ani is mine alone.” Jango gave her a strange look, and she realized he must not know. “There was no father. I cannot explain it as you can explain your ad , but… I am his only buir . There was no father.”

Jango nodded, a curious gleam in his eyes, and they both turned back to the tank. Jango raised his bare hand to touch the glass again, and the boy stirred, kicking slightly. Shmi smiled softly and slowly, almost tentatively, put a hand on his shoulder. Jango tensed for the briefest of seconds, and Shmi almost drew her hand back, until Jango’s other hand crossed his body to rest lightly against her fingers.

Shmi had realized, with Jango telling her that the Kaminiise were cloners, and from her introduction to Boba, that the other “units” and “batch” would be more ade . She wondered what they were for. Not all of them were to be Jango’s children--at least, she didn’t think so. How could one man alone raise so many? Even slave-mothers, who were mother to every slave who had none, did not raise a hundred children all at once. Perhaps they were meant for families on Mandalore; Jango had told her in quiet, pained, soft words how war had torn his people apart, killed far too many of their ade . But she did not ask--that same whisper-pull in her stomach, the ever-present instinct that had kept her alive all these years, told her now was not the time.

Jango and Shmi stayed with Boba until Taun We came for them. Taun We dominated the conversation as they walked through the endless labyrinth of identical white hallways, relating growth statistics, nutrient balances, genetic splicing, and other information that meant little to Shmi, unfamiliar with the cloning process as she was. Jango seemed to be nodding along, though; either he understood more or did not care about the information, and thus did not bother to clarify. Shmi could not tell which it was.

Finally, going through another of those archways with simple frosted glass doors, they reached another room, far larger than Boba’s, but filled with the same tanks, wires, and glowing terminals. Several more of the Kaminiise were in the room, some at the terminals, and others looking over the children in the tanks. At the bottom of each tank was a serial number--Shmi got a glance as she looked around of Alpha-16, Alpha-17, and Alpha-18, though some others said Null-9, Null-10, and Null-11, though she did not know what the distinction was. Shmi wondered if they were waiting for buir to claim them before they were given names, but the thought felt… wrong.

Something about all of this felt wrong .

“They will be decanted on the same day your unit is,” Taun We said. That same satisfied pride in her voice that had warmed Shmi when she was speaking of Boba now made her feel cold. “They have our accelerated aging program, of course, unlike your unit; inside of a year, they will reach the equivalent of three years’ of growth. At that time, training will begin, with the learning modules first, as discussed.” Taun We looked at Shmi, blinking slowly, head swaying. “After another year, the instructors you select will begin working with the units. They will be fully matured and ready to meet the order within the ten-year timeframe, of course.

“In six months, if an acceptable percentage meet standards, we will begin the next, larger batch.”

“How many?” Shmi asked, thankful that her voice came out even. She realized that her hands were shaking.

“Five thousand, for the next batch,” Taun We answered simply. “It is better to be conservative, to ensure a quality product, but we must increase batch production quickly, to meet the full order.”

“And how many… units is the full order for?” Shmi asked. Taun We blinked slowly.

“One-point-two-million units.”

Over one million people . Shmi’s mind reeled, but outwardly, she only nodded, and Taun We bobbed her head again. One million people, one million people, she chanted internally. One million people .

“Decant--” Jango paused, a brief flicker of distaste on his face at the word before he smoothed his expression quickly. “Decant Boba after… this batch. I want to be present for both.”

“Of course,” Taun We agreed easily. “I will show you to your rooms, now.”

Shmi knew that she should pay attention to the route to the room they were giving her, but even if she could have differentiated the blank, barren hallways, even if she could have remembered all of the twists and turns they took, she was too preoccupied by what she’d learned.

Over one million people . These Kaminiise , these cloners, were creating over a million people , and for what purpose, Shmi did not know, only that it did not sound good. It did not seem right .

Taun We stopped in a corridor with several doors, gesturing to two sets of rooms. “Here you are. If there is anything to be done to make them more to your liking, please inform us.”

“Thank you,” Jango said stiffly, and Shmi simply nodded, still unable to speak. If she did, she feared she would scream, and she knew when to keep her silence.

Jango seemed to know whose room was whose, and he gestured to one of the doors, nodding his head at her. She nodded back, slowly, and pressed the control beside the door.

The rooms were stark white, just like the rest of the place, but with accents of grey and blue, at least, to dull the overbearing blankness. There was a living room with a low, long couch, and a small but serviceable kitchen. Shmi suspected there was at least one bedroom down the hall, and a ‘fresher. The walls were a bit strange, curving the way that they did. The far wall was taken up by massive windows, overlooking the calmly flowing ocean beneath them.

Shmi sank down onto the couch and put her face into her hands. Over one million people .

She did not know how long she sat like that before the door chimed. “Come in,” she called, again grateful that her voice was steadier than her thoughts, or her still-shaking hands. She pulled them away from her face, clasping them together to hide her trembling, laying them in her lap.

Jango came through the door, and Shmi barely waited until it had closed behind him to speak.

“I need an explanation,” she demanded. “You must tell me what’s going on here--”

Jango scowled. “ Must I?”

“Yes,” Shmi said flatly, glaring at him. “ You brought me here. I will not break my promise, I will not speak to anyone else of what I have seen here today, but you must tell me what this is.”

Jango sighed roughly and leaned up against one of the straighter walls, folding his arms over his chest.

“I didn’t order them,” he said flatly. “The clones. Well, except for Boba. I was… approached, by someone, not long ago. The Kaminiise had taken an order, and they needed a… template.”

“For what purpose?” Shmi demanded. “What are they going to do with them?”

Jango hesitated. “The order is for the Republic. It’s… an army.”

Shmi felt nothing, at first, at that declaration. She was no longer shaking, she realized dimly, and she felt… cold. Prickly.

But that soon gave way to the fire that the uprising had brought forth in her, and she sucked in a breath, standing, clenching her hands into fists at her sides.

“You are allowing yourself to be cloned , and all of these precious children , gar ade, to be bred to be nothing more than an army ? With no choice , no freedom of their own?” she spat. “What are you thinking ? They will be--” Shmi paused, too furious to speak for a moment, but Jango merely waited her out, unmoving, expression blank and unchanging. “They will be slaves , Jango Fett. You are creating your children only to bind them in chains . How can you be depur ? How can you do this ?”

The accusations fell between them. The air around them felt charged, electric. Shmi was trembling again, but from anger, now, and not from shock.

“There is more to the situation than you realize, Shmi,” Jango said softly. “I was not the only one they approached, to be their ‘template.’ The other was… Montross, the hu’tuunla dar’manda who betrayed Jaster and got him killed. I couldn’t… I couldn’t let that happen. The kind of man that he is, he would have… To have millions of copies of him in the galaxy would be…” Jango growled and shook his head. “I made a mistake, that day, when I exiled him. I should have cut him down.” He sighed roughly, shaking his head again, eyes cast down to stare at the floor, unseeing. “If not me, Shmi, they would have asked someone else. If not Montross, either, they would have found another. This would happen--I can’t stop it. But… I will do what I can for them. I will make sure that they are raised Mando, and I will give them what lives I can. But I couldn’t stop this from happening.”

Shmi stared at him for a long moment. She did not… She did not know if she could accept his reasoning. She did not know if she could learn to get past this.

But Shmi realized that she had never been in his situation. She had seen many of the Amavikka fall during the uprising on Tatooine, of course, but so many of them had lived . She wondered what it would be like to have lost them all , to carry the heavy knowledge that she was the last of them. She wondered what she might do to ensure that their stories and culture lived on.

She wondered what choice she would have made, if she had known that an army of over one million people was going to be created , brought forth from nothing , in her image--and if not hers, then someone else’s.

But she would never be in that situation. She would never face the choices Jango had, and she would never truly know his hurts. For now, that was enough to quiet some of the fire that still raged and thrummed somewhere beneath her skin, under the surface.

“You are a good man, Jango Fett,” she told him quietly. “But you have become so very lost , I think. When did you become the kind of man that looks upon showing mercy as a mistake? When did you become the sort of man who helps depur , whether their plans would succeed without you or not?” Jango flinched, and Shmi sighed. “But what is done is done. I am glad you brought me here.”

Jango looked up at her, frowning. “You are?”

Shmi nodded. “Yes. I left Tatooine to learn how to break my people’s chains, wherever they may be, wherever they may come from. It seems to me that these ade need my help.”

The facility on Kamino, Jango showed her, had many practice rooms. Shooting ranges, bomb ranges (and Jango had had to lead them very quickly away from that one, when he’d seen Shmi’s light up, her smile growing a bit too wide and toothy for comfort), and several larger areas with mats on the floor and staffs and dulled vibroblades hanging on the walls. It was that last room that they stopped in, and Shmi looked over the weapons before choosing a staff.

It was metal, and it was heavy, but well-balanced. Shmi instinctively placed her hands apart on the staff, and she smiled, enjoying the weight of it in her hands. Jango nodded in approval and picked up his own staff.

Slowly, he demonstrated, move by move, how to use it. Shmi liked the idea of being able to whirl in a circle, keeping it extended, and keeping others at bay as she did so. She liked the way the staff felt as she swung--left, right, left, right, up, and then straight down, and then up, and then down to the left, and then up, and then down to the right. Jango kept an eye on her, nodding every now and then.

Shmi was well aware that they were being watched. She had had her entire life to become accustomed to the feeling of eyes on her. Slaves were always watched--by their masters, by other slaves’ masters, by other slaves. She was not surprised when one of the Kaminiise entered, a man this time, and stood patiently at the edge of the mats for them to finish.

Shmi was covered in a light sheen of sweat, her arms tired, and she wondered how long they had been at it. Still, the physical activity had felt good , and it had done wonders to soothe the rage that had been burning, bringing it back down to a slow-simmering anger .

“Greetings,” the Kaminii said, waving his head back and forth on that long neck, and Shmi nodded back. “I am Lama Su, the Prime Minister of Kamino.”

“I am Shmi,” she introduced herself, again giving no surname. Lama Su waved his head again, looking to Jango.

“We did not realize you would be bringing instructors to us so soon,” Lama Su said, a hint of a question in his voice. Jango glanced at Shmi and then nodded, turning back to Lama Su.

“Yes.”

“Forgive me if I offend, as I do not seek to, but if you are instructing her in fighting techniques, what will she instruct the units in?” he asked, swaying his head back and forth slightly on his long neck.

“Shmi is a cultural advisor,” Jango said, and Shmi fought to keep her face from showing her surprise.

“A cultural advisor?” Lama Su asked, blinking at them. “Is there something lacking in the cultural packets we designed?”

“Yes,” Jango growled. “We’ve been over this. Learning about other cultures isn’t enough. They need a culture of their own , otherwise they won’t be whole, or healthy. I know you can’t understand a human perspective, but believe me when I tell you that if you want an army of functional soldiers who are superior to droids, you must allow us to control this part of their… education.”

“I see,” Lama Su said slowly. “In that case, Lady Shmi, allow me to welcome you to Kamino.”

“Thank you, Prime Minister,” Shmi said, nodding again. Lama Su blinked at her again and then hummed.

“Will you be staying with us for long?” Lama Su asked.

“Yes,” Jango answered for them both. “You told me it’s imperative that I not take Boba away from Kamino for at least the first six months. And it will be a vital stage of the… other units’ development. We’ll be here.”

“Excellent,” Lama Su said. “I will inform Sanma Vo; she will be your liason. Anything you may require during your stay, please do not hesitate to ask her.”

“Thank you,” Shmi said again. Lama Su bobbed his head.

With that, he turned and left again, and Shmi turned to Jango. He shook his head minutely, a clear message of not here . She pursed her lips and nodded.

“Let’s get cleaned up,” Jango said. “It’s nearly time for dinner.”

Their routine over the next tenday changed, though not much from what it had been when they were still on the ship. Their mornings were filled with study, Jango continuing to instruct Shmi in Basic and Mando’a, and he had had the Kaminiise give her access to the training modules for the children (not clones, not units--Shmi refused to think of them as anything less than what they were ) which included everything she could possibly want to learn. History, mechanics, geography, geology, physics, a hundred other subjects, and a mind-boggling four hundred languages were available to her now. Jango kindly suggested that she take the placement tests after he realized how overwhelmed she was, and they had settled on modules for mechanics, history, and mathematics, along with Basic and Mando’a.

After lunch, they trained. Jango did not allow Shmi to stop practicing with her pistols, and even the larger blasters, sometimes, although they spent the most time with the staffs, since they were Shmi’s new-found favorite. When she was thoroughly exhausted, they showered, and then went to check on the children.

Shmi took her time, in that blank room, filled by so many tiny lives. She went from tank to tank, giving a few minutes to each child, murmuring softly to them in a jumble of Basic, Mando’a, and Amatakkan. In whispers, so quiet that the Kaminiise and their cameras could not hear, Shmi told them the stories of her people, and vowed that, one day, they would be free, they would break their chains just as she had, and she would see it done, or die trying. It was a heavier thing, now, to promise her life to another, and to so many . Now that she had a life of her own, an oath pledging her life to them meant something.

And Shmi meant every whispered promise, to each and every one of them.

At night, Shmi laid awake often for long hours before sleep found her. Her heart ached, for these children bred to die, and for herself, and the son she had had to give up. She wanted so badly to speak to Anakin, but Jango had told her she could not comm, not from Kamino. Once the children were born, he promised her, he would allow her to take Slave I a short distance away from the planet, closer to one of the hyperlanes, and make her calls there.

“You do not wish them to track you,” Shmi realized. “To track us .”

“No,” he had answered shortly.

“Why?” she asked, tilting her head thoughtfully. “If this army was ordered by the Republic, surely the Order could help us to free them, and put a stop to all of this?”

“Shmi…” Jango sighed roughly, shaking his head. “I don’t think the Order at large knows about it, but it was a Jedi who helped place the order with the Kaminiise .”

Shmi’s thoughts had ground to a screeching halt. “ What ?”

“A Master, a man called Sifo-Dyas, approached them. Unofficially, I heard that he… sees the future. He had a vision of a war that would topple the Republic, and contacted the Senate. But it had to be done quietly , because the Republic--officially, anyway--has no army, and no right to create one. The last military force they had was disbanded at the end of the last galactic war almost a thousand years ago.”

“I see,” Shmi said, voice rough. The Jetii had sanctioned this? Even if it was only one Jedi… She felt that rage beginning to rise again when another thought came to her: Obi-Wan Kenobi had been one Jedi , and he had freed thousands of her people. Slowly, she exhaled, allowing the anger to leave with her breath from her body.

The Order was not at fault, not unless there was proof otherwise. There could be good and bad people in every institution, and she…

Shmi couldn’t even consider the idea that she’d given her son over to those who were depur .

Finally, the day came for the decanting. Immediately after breakfast, she and Jango were met by Taun We and led back to the room where the children were kept in their tanks.

“We will need to sanitize for this,” she hummed. “A sterile environment brings the best chance of a healthy unit.”

Shmi had pursed her lips, thinking of Anakin: she had given birth while still Gardulla’s slave , and she had made it through lying on a dirty floor, only a blanket separating her from the cold stone slabs, a fellow slave-mother on either side, holding her hands as she screamed through the pain. Anakin had been perfectly healthy, and the environment had been far from sterile .

Instead of protesting, she merely nodded, allowing Taun We to guide them into a chamber that blasted them with something cold and sharp-smelling before providing them both with clean scrubs. Finally, they were allowed inside, and it began.

Decanting was… nothing like birth. This was calm, detached, clinical. No one was screaming, and there were no tears of pain, or of joy. A clear, shallow tray was set before each tube, and one by one, the fluids were drained, and the tubes tipped to deposit the children into the trays.

Finally, at last, the cries began; most of the children had not cried, still soundly asleep (almost unmoving, and Shmi had felt a startled burst of panic until she looked carefully and saw that they were all still breathing). But the one they had labelled as Alpha-17 was awake, and he was wailing , and the Kaminiise made no move to comfort him, instead moving on to Alpha-18 beside him.

But Shmi was a slave-mother. She was mother to those who had none, whoever they may be, and she quickly strode forward to the crying boy.

“Please stand back--”

“I need a wet cloth, please,” Shmi cut off the Kaminii who’d spoken. They blinked at her, head swaying faster than she’d seen before--annoyance, she guessed. “He’s awake, and he’s upset. Children this young need to be comforted when they cry, whenever possible.” She looked up from the little boy to fix a glare on the man. “Or do you not want an army of confident and capable soldiers? I can assure you that they will not be if they do not get proper care at such an important stage.”

There was perfect, tense stillness in the room, the silence broken only by the loud cries of the child, and then the Kaminii ’s head swaying slowed, and he turned around to get her the cloth she’d requested.

“Thank you,” Shmi said, perfectly polite again. Turning back to the little boy, she began to coo gently at him as she slowly wiped the remains of the tank fluid from his tiny body. “And a clean cloth, please.”

It was handed to her without argument, this time, and Shmi swaddled him with care and the efficiency of practice before bringing him close to her chest, looking down at him. He blinked at her, dark eyes large on his chubby little tan face, and Shmi smiled at him gently.

“It’s alright, little one,” she murmured, swaying them both gently. “ Udesii, ad’ika, udesii .”

Slowly, the child’s cries began to subside, and his eyes drifted closed. Only then did Shmi place him into the tray--thankfully, she could feel that it was at least heated a bit, keeping them warm until they would be covered in blankets. She strode back over to Jango to continue watching, ready to help the next child who cried. Beside him, she could feel his eyes on her, and she glanced at him, smiling back as she saw the tiny grin on his face, the pride in his eyes.

In that moment, Shmi thought he looked like a proud father.

She decided then that however this had come to be, whatever Jango and that Jedi, Sifo-Dyas, had done, whatever the Republic’s Senate had allowed to happen, these were their children now-- cuun ade.

Jango would find his redemption, and Shmi’s soul would rest easier when they freed them together. She would see it done.

Chapter Text

When Anakin turned eleven, it didn’t bother him that he wasn’t immediately chosen as a Padawan, even though Sian was chosen on her eleventh birthday just a week after Anakin himself turned eleven. He knew that, in a lot of ways, he was still behind, although he was catching up quick--all his instructors said so, and Master Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan agreed with them, so he must be doing well. And Obi-Wan had told him before: there was nothing he could do to ensure he was Chosen. All he could do was learn.

Losing one of the few good friends he’d made in the creche had left him a little… lonelier than before Sian had been Chosen. With Master Qui-Gon cleared for field work again, and both him and Obi-Wan off on missions more than they were on Coruscant (sometimes it even seemed like Obi-Wan was avoiding the Temple, when Master Qui-Gon came back without him, saying that Obi-Wan had been called away to attend to something else before returning. Anakin loved teasing him about it; he knew how much Obi-Wan hated attention, and the reputation he was building with his missions, dangerous but wildly successful, for the most part, had only served to worsen the hero-worship that had begun after he killed the Sith on Naboo), and the fact that Anakin’s other friends were already Padawans, like Asajj, and wherever his mom was, she couldn’t call very much anymore, maybe a few times a month…

Anakin was lonely . And he had too much time on his hands.

But all he could do was learn, Obi-Wan had said. So Anakin threw himself into his classes, spending his spare time in the Archives (and he did try to be quiet, he really did, but he just… had a habit of talking to himself out loud when he read, sorry , Master Nu, and sometimes he got hungry and smuggled in a little bit of food, even though he knew he wasn’t supposed to eat in the Archives) or in the salles.

He would be ready to become a Padawan soon, Anakin promised himself. If he could just get through this paper on the Alsakan Revolution of 324, if he could just finish writing his essay on that forty-page mission summary report on the Order’s involvement in the Stark Hyperspace War, if he could just master the last flip in that Ataru kata they’d been assigned, he would know what he needed to know to become a Padawan. He’d have learned enough , and he would be Chosen.

When Anakin turned twelve, the rest of his Clan-mates who were eligible having already been Chosen (except for Gorkiyo, a Duros who knew already that he was meant for the EduCorps and relieved that no Master had asked, who was actually counting down the days until he turned thirteen with excitement ), Anakin started to worry.

He tried to be happy, seeing Sian and Asajj at the same time --that never happened, not since Sian had started going on missions with her Master. Simple missions, mostly diplomatic in nature, and close to the Core, but still. Real missions . Anakin tried to let the little flicker of resentment go, tried to give it to the Force, but it stubbornly clung on. He sighed.

“What’s wrong?” Sian asked, tilting her head to the side. Asajj was leaning up against the wall in the study room they’d claimed, mostly to make sure that their time together wouldn’t be interrupted, since they got so little of it.

“What d’ya mean?” Anakin asked. He knew he’d overdone the innocence when Asajj snorted, folding her arms over her chest.

“You’ve been acting like someone shot your pet tooka and then ran it over with a speeder, Skywalker,” Asajj said, raising an eyebrow at him, absently reaching up to flick the silka beads she still wore in place of a Padawan braid; her Master had added to the beads that Anakin had initially given her, with beads of different colors and shapes to signify the Trials she’d already gone through. “What are you sulking about?”

Anakin sighed roughly and leaned forward, letting his forehead hit the table lightly. “It’s just… I only have seven months left, now.”

“You’re worried about getting Chosen?” Sian asked, and Anakin murmured an “uh-huh,” muffled by the fact that he was still face-down on the table. “Look, Ani, I wouldn’t worry about it. You’re so strong in the Force, there are bound to be loads of Masters who want to take you on!”

“Then why haven’t they asked ?” Anakin asked, picking his head up. He shifted his weight and bit his lip. “And anyway, it’s not just that. I think… I’m just really, really hoping for someone specific to ask, and he… hasn’t. He hasn’t given me any sign that he even wants to, or that he’s even thought about it.”

Sian and Asajj exchanged looks , and Sian pursed her lips. Asajj shrugged, and Sian sighed roughly.

“Are you talking about Master Jinn?” she asked gently, and Anakin shook his head.

“He’s already told me that he can’t take me,” Anakin said. “He said he’s too old, now, and he wouldn’t be able to guarantee that he would be able to see me to Knighthood.”

“Ah,” Asajj said, smirking. “Kenobi, then.” Anakin nodded slowly, chewing on the inside of his cheek, trying to fight back the tears that came whenever he thought too hard about all of this.

“Anakin… It’s every Initiate’s dream to be Knight Kenobi’s Padawan,” Sian said. “Everybody is asking when he’s going to take a Padawan--he’s been Knighted for almost three years now, after all, and everyone thinks it’s about time, even if he’s still pretty young. But… you know what?”

“What?” Anakin muttered, still completely miserable.

Sian smiled at him softly. “I think you have the best chance of any of the Initiates. It’s obvious how much he cares about you.”

Anakin tried to smile, but he wasn’t sure how successful he was, feeling his chin wobble as he tried not to cry. “Then why hasn’t he asked me?”

“Have you actually talked to him about this?” Asajj asked bluntly. “You said he’s never even mentioned it. He may not even realize you want to be his Padawan.”

“Well, he did mention it. Sort of, a while ago,” Anakin said, staring down at the table. “When he explained everything about the Order and the Temple to me on Naboo, before we came back here, he seemed to go out of his way to make sure I knew about the Corps, and got me thinking about the ExploraCorps and everything I might do if I went… if I go there. So I don’t… I don’t think he wants me as his Padawan.”

“That was years ago, Ani,” Sian sighed. “And he was just a Padawan himself, then--a Padawan whose Master was hurt really badly, and he probably already knew he was going to have to take care of Master Jinn for a while. Of course he wasn’t thinking about taking a Padawan!”

“Oh,” Anakin said, blinking. He hadn’t thought about that.

“Seriously, kid,” Asajj said, rolling her eyes and scowling, “just talk to him. I know we’re all technically capable of reading minds, but I highly doubt he knows what you’re thinking.” Anakin snorted despite himself--Asajj tended to have that effect. Gruff as she was, she still somehow made her friends smile.

“You’re right,” Anakin sighed. “Okay. Next time he’s back in the Temple, I’ll talk to him about it.”

Anakin spent the next three weeks working hard . He barely managed to drag himself into his bed every night, boneless from exhaustion after hours of ‘saber practice and staring at datapads of coursework until the words blurred together.

But Obi-Wan was coming back to the Temple soon, and Anakin needed everything to be perfect to convince him to be his Master. He needed to do what Obi-Wan had told him, and learn as much as he possibly could, to show how good a Padawan he’d make.

Finally, Anakin woke up and knew that today was the day. He could feel it in his bones, the Force whispering around him, and he smiled nervously to himself. Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale, slow and deep. He released the anxiety into the Force.

Nodding to himself, thinking about how proud Obi-Wan was going to be of how good he’d gotten at controlling his emotions lately (well, for the most part--he just still go so frustrated sometimes with his classes sometimes, because, seriously, why was poetry a required class?), Anakin jumped out of bed, pausing to make it neatly and pull on his boots before running out of the dorm.

“Master Tyyyvak! Master!” he called, and the Wookie howled back, allowing Anakin to find her in the main room, surrounded by the younger crechelings playing around her. Wordlessly, she held out a child to him, and Anakin accepted the little orange-skinned Togruta girl, her montrals still stubby little nubs. She blinked calmly up at him with wide eyes, giving him a smile that was mostly gummy, but already he could see the razor-sharp teeth poking through, and held out one tiny, pudgy hand, reaching for his tunics. Anakin snorted. He didn’t exactly like the babies, but he’d learned that it was every Jedi’s duty to help the new generations, just like all slave-mothers were mothers to every slave child. And as he got better with his shields, they didn’t seem so loud to him in the Force anymore.

Anakin bounced the girl lightly as he grinned up at Master Tyyyvak. “Um, Master? Can I be excused from dinner tonight?”

“One of your ‘family dinners?’” she asked, sounding amused. She knelt down to help a youngling who’d tripped get to their feet again, pushing them off gently to continue tottering around in circles. Not for the first time, Anakin wondered how she did this all day. She must really like babies.

“Uh-huh! Master Qui-Gon and Knight Obi are getting back today,” he said. “I can feel it.”

“Yes, Ani,” Master Tyyyvak agreed. “As long as you’re back before bedtime.”

“Sure, Master. Um, here?” Hopefully, he held out the little girl as she wrinkled her nose and frowned at him for being jostled. Master Tyyyvak chuckled, a familiar, throaty sound that made Anakin smile, and took the child back from him. “Thanks, Master! Bye, I’ll see you later!”

As he ran off, he pretended not to hear her call after him, “ Anakin Skywalker ! Stop running in the Temple! ”

Anakin was right, and it was so hard to concentrate on Master Drallig’s ‘saber lesson when he could feel Obi-Wan just outside the room, watching through the glass. He tried to let it go, knowing that he had to do well, he had to show Obi-Wan what he could do, now that he had the opportunity. Finding his focus again now that he had proper motivation, Anakin earned himself a smile and a clap on the shoulder from Master Drallig as he completed the kata they’d been assigned. Anakin grinned back, wiping the sweat from his brow with his sleeve.

“That was very well done, Ani.”

Anakin turned to look at Obi-Wan who’d just come into the room. Anakin looked him over carefully for a brief moment--no obvious bandages, and he was standing on his own two feet, not even swaying from exhaustion like he had been after the last mission he and Master Qui-Gon had taken together. Once he was assured that Obi-Wan was fine, or at least relatively fine, Anakin launched himself at the Knight, who only chuckled and bent down to hug him back.

“Hi, Obi! It’s been so long ! How was your mission? Did you go anywhere really cool? Did you fight any pirates?” Anakin asked, and Obi-Wan laughed.

“Slow down, Ani,” he said, drawing back from the hug, but keeping one hand on each of Anakin’s shoulders as he smiled down at him. “Our mission went well; I would say, since we were on Hoth for a while, that it was ‘really cool’; no, we did not fight any pirates, this time. Only a few wild animals.”

Anakin groaned at Obi-Wan’s bad pun, and Obi-Wan laughed and ruffled his hair, straightening back up and letting go of Anakin.

“Now, if you’d like to shower first, we do have a bit of time before dinner,” he said.

“Okay!” Anakin agreed eagerly, nodding enthusiastically. He quickly grabbed the change of robes he’d brought, since he’d known he would need them, and padded off to the showers. He paused as he heard Master Drallig start talking to Obi-Wan. He knew it wasn’t polite to listen in, but… Anakin listened more attentively, and grinned triumphantly. They were talking about him, and it wasn’t nice to talk about people behind their backs, so that made up for his eavesdropping, he decided.

“He’s a bright student,” Master Drallig was saying, and Anakin’s smile grew even wider at the praise. “He’s a natural swordsman, too.”

“He does seem to be picking it up quickly,” Obi-Wan agreed.

“If I might ask, Knight Kenobi--why haven’t you Claimed him yet?” Anakin’s eyes widened. Master Drallig thought Obi-Wan should be his Master too?

“Oh, not you too,” Obi-Wan groaned. “Master Koon is already hounding me about it.”

“You don’t have that much time left,” Master Drallig said. “Other Masters have stayed away out of respect for your obvious connection with him, but they won’t risk him going to the Corps.”

Anakin’s jaw fell open, his eyes wide. Well, that explained a lot. Sian was right, other Masters did want him, but they all thought Obi-Wan should be his Master just like he did!

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Obi-Wan said, perfectly neutral, and Anakin frowned. He hated it when Obi-Wan danced around giving any actual answers to people’s questions. Obi-Wan never lied , but he didn’t always tell the truth, and this kind of evasion was too much like a lie for Anakin’s comfort.

Deciding that he didn’t want to hear the rest of the conversation, he showered quickly and then struggled into his tunics. Unlike most Initiates, Anakin had asked for the full traditional set, with the undershirt,  two layers of tunics, tabards, and obi. It was what Obi-Wan preferred, after all, and Anakin wanted to show him how well he could follow tradition, despite his rather non-traditional background.

“I’m ready!” he called, his face still pink from the shower, short hair sticking straight up, except for the still-unbraided strand that was tucked behind his right ear. Obi-Wan smiled at him, and Anakin noted that Master Drallig was gone.

Anakin stopped himself from reaching for Obi-Wan’s hand. He knew what the Code said about attachments, and even Master Tyyyvak thought that he was getting a little bit too old for such things, but as always, Obi-Wan just grabbed his hand when Anakin didn’t reach for him, and he felt a warmth blossom in his chest.

“What have you been up to, since we’ve been away?” Obi-Wan asked. He knew most of what Anakin did--he made sure to comm at least twice a week, when he was out in the field, but to hear it from Anakin in person was different, and he always asked again when he got back.

“I got my poetry results back today,” Anakin said. “I aced the paper!”

“That’s wonderful, Ani,” Obi-Wan said, and Anakin beamed at the tendril of pride he felt from Obi-Wan. He’d spent an hour going over that Alderaani poem with Anakin over the comm, when he and Master Qui-Gon had had a little downtime on their last mission. “I knew you could do it.”

“Thanks for your help, Obi,” Anakin said, and Obi-Wan squeezed his hand in response. “And I did really well on my Pre-Reformation History exam!”

“Well, between that and what I saw of your ‘saber skills, you must have spent a lot of your time studying, hmm?” Obi-Wan asked, and Anakin nodded eagerly.

“Yeah, I have been. It’s helped, even if it’s so boring a lot of the time.” Obi-Wan chuckled and sent a small pulse of affection towards him, and Anakin grinned.

Their “family dinner” was wonderful, as always. With Master Yan there, chiding Master Qui-Gon for his lack of self-care, and Obi-Wan for his recklessness--which, Obi-Wan had explained to him a long time ago, before he knew the man very well, was one of Master Yan’s strange ways of showing that he cared about them--everything felt so warm and happy and Light.

Still, Anakin could feel the anxiety he had managed to release earlier returning with a vengeance. He squirmed and pushed his food around on his plate more than eating, finding his nerves made him lose his appetite.

Finally, dinner was over, and Master Qui-Gon and Master Yan went to the living room to drink that awful-smelling brandy they both liked so much, and Anakin realized Obi-Wan was frowning at him, looking concerned.

“Are you alright, Ani?” he asked gently, and Anakin nodded, biting his lip.

“Yeah, I just… can we… talk?” he asked, and Obi-Wan smiled softly.

“Of course,” he said. “Come on.” Anakin followed him down the hall to Obi-Wan’s room. He’d been in here a few times before, when Obi-Wan had different little souveniers from his missions that he wanted to give to Anakin after dinners just like this one. Obi-Wan gestured at the bed--and Anakin had asked about that, why Obi-Wan had a hard, plank-like cot when he had a cushy bed, down in the creche, and he’d been relieved to hear that it was just Obi-Wan’s choice, not a requirement for all Padawans. Obi-Wan was a little weird like that--sometimes he even craved ration bars .

Obi-Wan sank down next to him, just close enough to let their shoulders brush together, and Anakin sighed.

“What’s bothering you, vod’ika ?” Obi-Wan asked. Anakin’s eyes watered slightly, and he sniffled before he could help himself.

“I… why don’t you want me?” he asked, his voice cracking as he tried not to burst into tears. It was not at all what he’d planned to say, the well-rehearsed argument he’d gone over and over in his mind about how good a Padawan he would make, and he regretted it as Obi-Wan stiffened beside him.

“...what do you mean, Ani?”

“I just… I thought I was going crazy,” Anakin said, staring down at the floor. He couldn’t bear to look at Obi-Wan, too afraid that he would see distance and rejection. “I’ve thought for a long time that… well, I’ve been getting worried that I’m not going to be a Padawan. And I know what you said about the ExploraCorps, and I think I would be happy there, but it’s not… I’m supposed to be a Padawan. I just know I am! But… but I also think that I’m supposed to be your Padawan. And I guess some of the Masters think so, too, but you… you haven’t asked . I just… why, Obi-Wan? Why don’t you want me?”

Anakin couldn’t stop the flow of tears, then, and he covered his face with his hands, sobs wracking his body. Only a moment later, he felt Obi-Wan’s arms wrap around him tightly, and the Knight pulled him into his lap, holding him to his chest firmly.

“Oh, Ani,” Obi-Wan murmured. “I am so sorry, dear one. It’s alright now. Udesii, vod’ika. It’s going to be okay.” He kept up a constant stream of reassurance, in Basic and Mando’a, as he rhythmically stroked one hand over Anakin’s back until his tears finally began to ebb.

“‘M sorry,” Anakin sniffled, leaning back to swipe at his nose with his sleeve.

“It’s alright, dear one,” Obi-Wan sighed. “Ani, I…” He paused, shifting them so that Anakin could face Obi-Wan, and he peered down at the boy with a serious expression. “I can’t tell you everything, as much as I want there to be no secrets between us. The choice was not mine to make, however.” Obi-Wan paused, taking a deep breath. “But… I think there is something you need to know, but you must promise me that you will not tell anyone else. Not Sian, not Asajj, and not even Master Qui-Gon. Alright?”

“Okay,” Anakin agreed, frowning.

“I had a vision, of sorts,” Obi-Wan began slowly.

“The vision the Council said you’re not supposed to talk about?” Anakin clarified, knowing that Obi-Wan had lots of visions, but there was on only one that was kept so secret. Obi-Wan nodded.

“I lived an entire life, in that vision,” he said. “I raised a Padawan, and…” Obi-Wan stopped, his eyes distant, unfixed, clouded over with a sheen of tears, and Anakin felt grief , the familiar, heavy weight that Obi-Wan had carried since Naboo--since the vision, Anakin guessed--that none of them knew how to help him with, since he couldn’t talk about it . Anakin felt a twinge of resentment towards the Council, but breathed it out, giving it to the Force quickly. Now wasn’t the time; he needed to focus on Obi-Wan.

“Did he die?” Anakin asked softly. “Your Padawan, in the vision, I mean.”

Obi-Wan nodded, the tears beginning to fall, although his expression remained fixed. “I… I failed him twice. I failed , and he… he became a Sith Lord.” Anakin gasped, tightening his hold on Obi-Wan; the Knight clutched at him just as desperately, closing his eyes, although the tears still leaked out. “I failed him again when I… I couldn’t bring him back to the Light. We fought--I had to raise my ‘saber against my own Padawan .” A choked sob escaped Obi-Wan’s throat. “I failed him. I failed , and I… I left him there.”

He didn’t say that he’d watched himself kill his own Padawan, but Anakin shivered as he realized that was probably what he’d meant.

Obi-Wan drew back again slightly, taking a few steadying breaths, and Anakin tried to radiate as much peace and calm as he could, trying to ignore how sad he was for Obi-Wan, because of how hurt he seemed by the vision, not wanting Obi-Wan to feel any of that right now.

“I’m so sorry, Ani,” Obi-Wan whispered. “I’m doing the same thing to you all over again, aren’t I?” Anakin frowned, and Obi-Wan must have sensed his confusion, because he sighed, but continued: “Master Qui-Gon didn’t want to take me as his Padawan, initially--not because of me , but because his last Padawan had failed his Trials, left the Order, and he… he Fell. Qui-Gon thought that that spoke to some… failing of his, as a Master, and decided it was best if he did not take another apprentice. It made our beginning… difficult. And now, I’m doing the same to you. I’m so sorry, Ani.”

Anakin frowned, still holding tight to Obi-Wan’s robes, and carefully asked, “So you just… you don’t think you’d be a good Master?”

“I don’t know,” Obi-Wan whispered, blinking rapidly to clear away the last of his tears, making a valiant effort to smile, although it didn’t quite work. “But, Ani… what do you want?”

“I want… I want you ,” Anakin admitted, his chin wobbling in his effort not to start crying again himself. “I don’t know how you could be a bad Master. You’re you , and you’re perfect , and you always… you always understand me, even when nobody else gets what I’m trying to say. But… if you don’t want me--”

“No,” Obi-Wan said immediately, and Anakin flinched, trying to pull away, but Obi-Wan pulled him back to his chest, hugging him again. “That isn’t what I meant. I do want you, Ani. But I… I couldn’t bear to fail you. It isn’t you , dear one, it’s me . I have so many doubts . I am… I am far from perfect , Anakin.”

“You sure seem like it,” Anakin muttered, and Obi-Wan laughed, though it was hoarse. Anakin smiled slightly, and this time Obi-Wan let him go when he pulled back enough to look at him. “Do you really want me?”

“Yes, Ani. I do,” Obi-Wan said, giving him a watery smile. “But it’s… complicated.”

Anakin nodded slowly. “Do you want to meditate about it?”

Obi-Wan smiled softly at him. “That’s a wonderful idea, Ani. But let me comm Master Tyyyvak first; I have a feeling you’ll be back rather late. Would you mind making us some tea while I do that?”

Anakin nodded, smiling at him, and he darted in to give Obi-Wan one more quick squeeze before wriggling out of his lap and darting out of his room.

Master Qui-Gon and Master Yan were still in the living room, Master Qui-Gon in the armchair that was indisputably his , a bulbous, misshapen, bright green pillow behind his back that Anakin had made him during one of the creche activities years ago, when he’d first arrived in the Temple, and Master Yan on the couch, one arm draped over the back of it, his other hand holding his drink.

“Is everything alright, Ani?” Master Qui-Gon asked, and Anakin nodded quickly.

“Uh-huh, we’re good,” he said in a rush. “Just, uh, talking a lot. I’m gonna make tea--um, would either of you like some?”

“No, thank you, Initiate,” Master Yan said. Anakin nodded again and escaped into the kitchen, hoping to avoid more of their questions.

As Anakin waited for the kettle to boil, he jumped as he turned and saw Master Yan in the doorway, raising an eyebrow at him, his expression oddly gentle.

“Uh, hi? Master,” Anakin said awkwardly.

“Be patient with him,” Master Yan said, and Anakin blinked. “Obi-Wan’s greatest flaw has always been a lack of self-confidence.”

Anakin nodded slowly. “You know what we were talking about, don’t you?”

“I do,” Master Yan confirmed, nodding slightly. “And I agree with you: the Force means for the two of you to be together. But Obi-Wan is… He has been hurt greatly. The best you could do right now to convince him is to be patient and compassionate.”

Anakin frowned. “Has he… talked to you about… y’know,” Anakin dropped his voice to a whisper, “the vision ?”

“We discuss it, on occasion,” Master Yan answered evenly. “I am exempt from the Council’s ban, given that I experienced the same ‘vision.’”

“Oh,” Anakin said dully. An awkward silence fell, and Anakin jumped in surprise as the kettle whistled. “I need to, uh--”

“Of course,” Master Yan said smoothly, turning to leave.

“Master Yan?” Anakin called after him, and although he didn’t turn around, he did tilt his head and pause his steps to show Anakin he was listening. “Uh, thank you. You’ve always been… You’ve always cared about us. It’s nice. Just… Vor’e .”

Master Yan nodded sharply, and then he was gone, presumably back to the living room with Master Qui-Gon. Quickly, Anakin finished making their tea. Carefully scooping up the two mugs, he bit his lip as he walked back to Obi-Wan’s room, trying hard not to spill any.

When Obi-Wan’s door opened, Anakin smiled. The lights were still on, but Obi-Wan was curled up on his cot, fast asleep, still holding his comm in one hand. Shaking his head, Anakin gently set the mugs down on the bedside table and turned off the lights. Tugging off his boots, he decided that if Obi-Wan had already warned Master Tyyyvak he would be late coming back, there wouldn’t be much harm in letting Obi-Wan sleep for a while.

Anakin sat down on the bed and then laid down, the small bed forcing his back to Obi-Wan’s chest. Without waking, Obi-Wan threw one arm over Anakin’s stomach, nuzzling into his hair lightly. With a gentle smile, Anakin used the Force to tug the blanket over them so he wouldn’t have to move Obi-Wan, and closed his eyes. Even if Obi-Wan was too hurt to be his Master, he could still enjoy this--at least for tonight. He really was getting too old for this.

He was almost asleep when the door opened, and he heard Master Qui-Gon’s soft, deep chuckle at them before a kiss was pressed to his forehead, and then to Obi-Wan’s.

“Sleep well, my little lights,” Master Qui-Gon whispered. Anakin fell asleep smiling, with a lingering impression of warmth and love .

Neither he nor Obi-Wan had any nightmares that night.

Anakin woke the next morning and immediately panicked. He sat bolt upright in the otherwise empty bed, his eyes wide, and he looked at the sunlight streaming in through the windows, and he swore in a truly colorful and creative fashion. (Asajj knew some of the best swears, somehow, and she was always willing to teach him new ones.)

Tripping over his feet as he struggled to walk out of the room as he pulled on his boots, Anakin ran a hand through his hair, which he knew was standing up in all different directions, and scowled as he realized he didn’t have time for a shower.

Jogging down the hallway, he stopped dead as he caught sight of Obi-Wan in the kitchen, at the stove. Obi-Wan turned to look at Anakin over his shoulder, smiling at him. “Good morning, Ani,” he said brightly, as if the night before hadn’t even happened. “Would you like some flatcakes?”

“Um, I’d love to, but I’m running late,” Anakin groaned. “I can’t miss my History class, I need to know what my actual test score was, to make sure my average is still good, and--”

Obi-Wan turned more fully to him, frowning. “Ani, it’s Primeday. Don’t you have a free day?”

Oh. Anakin flushed as he realized that Obi-Wan was right. Seeing that, Obi-Wan laughed and turned back to the stove, returning his attention to the flatcakes.

“Why don’t you go set the table? I’ve already commed Master Tyyyvak again to let her know where you are,” Obi-Wan told him, and Anakin nodded even though Obi-Wan couldn’t see it.

“Is Master Qui-Gon up?” Anakin asked, and Obi-Wan hummed an affirmative.

“He’s left already, however,” Obi-Wan said. “He was roped into leading the younglings’ morning meditation. He’ll already be there, I expect.”

“‘Kay,” Anakin said, somewhat grateful that it would just be the two of them, hoping that they could pick up where they’d left off the night before. Obi-Wan came over to the table, setting the plate with a tall stack of flatcakes down and the bottle of japor-berry syrup before retreating to grab their drinks: blue milk for Anakin and caff for Obi-Wan. As much as he loved tea, Obi-Wan needed that surge of caffeine first thing in the morning, or else he was really grumpy.

“Do you have any plans today?” Obi-Wan asked, grabbing one pancake from the stack and smothering it in syrup as Anakin grabbed three at once.

Well, yeah, honestly, Anakin had had plans. No matter what Obi-Wan’s answer was, Anakin still needed to study; he was in danger of dropping below a 95% in his Core World Politics class, and there was an exam coming up next week. He needed to do well on it to maintain his average, so he could show Obi-Wan he would be a good Padawan, and--

“Not really,” Anakin lied, and Obi-Wan smiled gently.

“Good. I was thinking we might go swimming,” Obi-Wan said, and Anakin beamed.

“That’s awesome! In the Room of a Thousand Fountains, or one of the pools?”

“Hmm, which would you rather?” Obi-Wan asked, and Anakin frowned thoughtfully. Obi-Wan’s favorite was the pool on level Besh-6, the Mon Cala pool. It was where his friend and crechemate, Bant, had taught him to swim, and where Obi-Wan had taught Anakin in turn, in the beginning of his time at the Temple. Swimming had been good for Qui-Gon’s recovery, gentler than other exercise while still building up his muscles again, and the three of them had done a lot of swimming those first few months.

“Can we go to our pool?” Anakin asked, and Obi-Wan chuckled.

“It isn’t ours , Ani, but yes,” he agreed warmly, smiling even as he shook his head in exasperation. Anakin felt he’d made the right choice and beamed at him.

“I know, but we have a lot of good memories there,” Anakin said with a shrug. Then he snickered. “Like when Master Qui-Gon decided to start that splash war, but he didn’t know Bant was already in the pool, just waiting to pull him down!”

Obi-Wan laughed, remembering that day with a fond smile. Anakin’s own grin grew wider. This was a good plan. Remind Obi-Wan of all of the good times that they’d had together, show him that Anakin wouldn’t Fall , he wouldn’t become a Sith , not like Obi-Wan’s other Padawan in that vision did. Obi-Wan had nothing to be scared of, but Anakin just had to remind him of that.

That was what he would do, he decided. He’d spend today with Obi-Wan, trying to make it the best day ever, and then ask again if Obi-Wan wanted him.

With that decided, he set about demolishing his small mountain of flatcakes.

Anakin hadn’t even had to convince Obi-Wan to spend all day doing stuff together. After they were done swimming, Obi-Wan had taken him to the hangars where he helped him rebuild an engine on a Temple transport that the mechanics had written off weeks ago; when it was finished, and the engine actually started, Anakin had whooped and hugged Obi-Wan tightly, knowing and not caring in the least that he was covered in oil broadcasting his pure joy when Obi-Wan laughed brightly and hugged him back.

Then, after a light lunch, Obi-Wan had taken him to the Archives to help him study for his next poetry paper. This time, at least, Anakin got to pick his own poem, and he’d chosen a Mandalorian epic. He had to admit, poetry sounded a lot better when it was Obi-Wan reading it aloud for him, helping him to find meaning in the vague, indirect language (which Anakin still didn’t really get--why didn’t people just say what they meant in the first place?).

After that, Obi-Wan had glanced at his comm, and Anakin’s stomach had dropped, thinking that Obi-Wan had to go soon. Instead, Obi-Wan looked up at him with a wide, easy grin.

“That was confirmation from Master Tyyyvak,” he said. “She’s given me permission to escort you out of the Temple this evening.”

Anakin’s eyes went wide. Since he’d arrived at the Temple nearly three years ago, he hadn’t left it, except to visit the Coruscant Museum one time with the rest of his agemates, all of the Clans going on a field trip at once. It was a wonder Master Tyyyvak hadn’t started pulling out her hair or growling, having to corral that many hyperactive Initiates at once.

“Really? Where are we going?”

“I thought we could get dinner somewhere special,” Obi-Wan answered lightly. “Where specifically is a surprise.” He winked, and Anakin grinned excitedly.

“Okay! Just let me finish my notes real quick, I don’t want to forget what we talked about with the themes,” he said, and Obi-Wan nodded, giving him a moment to tap frantically on the ‘pad he was holding.

In the space of five minutes after declaring he was finished, Anakin was in a taxi with Obi-Wan, fighting against the urge to press his face against the window to watch the other traffic zipping past. They flew for a few minutes and then set down along a stretch of buildings, some skyscrapers, and a few squat ones. Obi-Wan paid the driver and then exited after Anakin.

“It’s this one right here,” Obi-Wan said, indicating one of the squat little one-story buildings; this one had a neon light in the window, flashing “OPEN” at them in Aurebesh.

“What is this place?” Anakin asked, not seeing any signs to name the restaurant.

“This is Dex’s.” Anakin looked up at him with wide eyes, freezing mid-step on the pavement.

“Really?!”

“Really,” Obi-Wan chuckled. He took Anakin’s hand and walked up to the door.

Inside, the restaurant had a pleasant hum of activity: a serving droid with a female vocorder rolled around on her uniwheel, and the place was fairly full with patrons, happily chattering and munching on their food.

“Obi-Wan!” Anakin looked over at the call, seeing a fat Besalisk in a stained shirt and apron approaching them, smiling widely. Obi-Wan let go of his hand just before the Besalisk swept him up in a four-armed embrace tight enough that Anakin was momentarily concerned for Obi-Wan’s spine.

“Hello, Dex,” Obi-Wan wheezed, and Dex laughed, clapping him firmly on the back before letting him go, turning to Anakin.

“Who’s this, then?”

“‘M Anakin,” he introduced himself. “Pleased to meet you!”

Dex’s grin widened and he stuck one of his arms out to shake Anakin’s hand. “Ah, so you’re the little Skywalker who won the Boonta Eve and saved Naboo! Obi-Wan’s told me all about you. Sit down, sit down! The usual, I’m guessing?”

“Please,” Obi-Wan confirmed, nodding at Dex’s immediate reply of “comin’ right up!” and leading Anakin over to a booth. His feet didn’t quite touch the ground, and he swung them back and forth beneath the table, keeping most of his attention on Obi-Wan even as he looked out the window at the tall buildings around them.

They made light conversation for the next few minutes, Obi-Wan patiently answering each of Anakin’s questions about the buildings outside, until Dex reappeared with their food. Anakin beamed and immediately began shoving the frites into his mouth--he liked tubers, in general, but they were so much better fried like this. Obi-Wan smiled at him and shook his head.

“Thank you, Dex.”

“Of course, of course! Now, just let me…” Dex pulled over one of the stools from the counter, plopping himself down on it. Anakin wondered how he fit on it, and Obi-Wan snorted softly. Anakin blushed, realizing he’d heard that thought. “Alright, then, kiddo--” Dex paused to give Anakin a slow, wide, toothy grin that made him freeze, one of the frites halfway to his mouth. “--has Obi-Wan ever told you the story of how we met?”

“No,” Anakin answered slowly, looking from Obi-Wan, who rolled his eyes, but was smiling, too, and then back to Dex.

“You’re in for a treat, then. He was still a Padawan himself, back then, about--oh, fifteen, were you? Anyway, he and his Master had gotten themselves into their usual amount of trouble…”

Anakin didn’t mean to fall asleep on the ride back to the Temple, but he was just so tired . It had been a long day--a good day, an exciting day, but long, and busier than usual. He didn’t realize he’d fallen asleep, leaning up against Obi-Wan’s shoulder, Obi-Wan’s arm around him loosely, until Obi-Wan gently shook him awake. Sheepishly, Anakin followed Obi-Wan out of the taxi, and back into the Temple.

When he started to take the turn back to the creche, Obi-Wan put a hand on his shoulder.

“There’s one more place I’d like to go today,” he said softly, smiling down at Anakin gently. His grin turned teasing as he raised an eyebrow and added, “If you aren’t too tired, that is.”

“I’m awake!” Anakin protested, nodding vigorously. Obi-Wan chuckled and pointed the other way down the hall.

“This way, then.”

He followed Obi-Wan through the halls and to a turbolift, where Obi-Wan punched in a floor far below the surface, in the lower levels that Anakin had never been able to explore before. As the doors opened and Obi-Wan stepped out, Anakin frowned. It was dark down here, only the emergency lights still working; the stone looked rougher and worn, and he wondered how old this part of the Temple was. He darted forward to grab Obi-Wan’s hand, and Obi-Wan, as always, just squeezed gently and pulled him along.

They went through a few stone corridors, mostly empty except for broken-down mouse droids here and there--and Anakin felt bad for them; maybe he could ask Obi-Wan if they could take them back up with them, because he just knew he could get them working again--until Obi-Wan led him through an archway and into a larger hall. It was too dark to really make anything out well, but Anakin thought there were carvings on the walls.

“Where are we?” he asked, keeping his voice low.

“This is one of the oldest parts of the Temple, Ani,” Obi-Wan murmured. “We’re only a few levels up from the Temple wellspring, and the Force feels… more potent down here. Everything seems clearer when I’m down here--I come here, sometimes, when I want to… get away.” When he wanted to hide from people fawning over him, Anakin translated, and he beamed at the fact that Obi-Wan was trusting him enough to show him his hiding place.

Obi-Wan led them to the center of the room and sat down, not caring about the dust. Anakin sat too, folding his legs beneath him, staring at Obi-Wan, who was smiling back gently.

“Do you feel it?” he asked, and Anakin closed his eyes.

Obi-Wan was right, as always. The Force swirled around him as soon as he reached for it, and he thought he heard voices whispering, although he couldn’t understand what they were saying. Until one voice in particular--Obi-Wan’s voice--rose above them all: “ The Council have granted me permission to train you. You will be a Jedi, Anakin. I promise. ”

His eyes flew open, staring at Obi-Wan, whose expression hadn’t changed, still smiling softly.

“Yeah,” he whispered, feeling hope fluttering in his chest. “I feel it.”

Obi-Wan nodded. “Did you have a good day?”

“Uh-huh! It was great,” Anakin said, grinning broadly at him. “Thank you.”

“Good. I wanted… I hadn’t realized how I’d made you feel,” Obi-Wan said gently, “and I’m very sorry for it. I wanted to give you today to show you how much I do enjoy spending time with you. How much I want you.”

Anakin felt that hope beat a little stronger in his chest. “It was perfect,” Anakin assured him, and Obi-Wan smiled.

“Ani, I thought that… well,” he said, taking a deep breath. “The perfect day needs a perfect ending, doesn’t it?” Slowly, Obi-Wan reached out and took both of Anakin’s hands in his. “Anakin Skywalker, would you be my Padawan Leaner?”

Anakin stared at him, smiling so wide his face hurt, and he nodded frantically, words escaping him. Just to make sure Obi-Wan got it, he scrambled forward and threw himself at Obi-Wan, who laughed and hugged him back, settling him more comfortably in his lap as Anakin wrapped his arms around Obi-Wan’s neck.

“Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes ,” Anakin realized he was chanting, and Obi-Wan was laughing, bright and happy, and Anakin squeezed him again before letting go, leaning back, but not moving out of Obi-Wan’s lap. “Thank you, Obi-Wan! I’ll be the best Padawan ever !”

Obi-Wan chuckled softly, rubbing one hand over Anakin’s back. “I’m certain you will, dear one.”

Anakin was buzzing with excitement when he woke up the next morning. Obi-Wan had already braided his hair the night before, in the dark and quiet stillness of the lower levels, and Master Tyyyvak had beamed at them and roared--softly, so as not to wake the little ones--when Obi-Wan walked him back to the creche later that night.

All that was left now was the Confirmation with the Council, and then it would be official. Then he’d really be Obi-Wan’s Padawan.

Anakin smiled to himself and jumped out of bed. He didn’t stop smiling while he showered, or while he brushed his teeth (although that made things a little difficult, but he just laughed to himself about it, in too good of a mood to stop), or while he got dressed. He already knew that Obi-Wan and Master Tyyyvak had gotten him excused from his classes all day, since he’d have to go see the Council, and then move everything to… Huh. He knew that Obi-Wan still lived with Master Qui-Gon--would he just be moving into Obi-Wan’s room with him? Or would Obi-Wan be moving, too?

He decided it didn’t matter (although, privately, Anakin really liked the idea of both of them living with Master Qui-Gon; it made him feel warm and safe and happy, when all of them were together, like how he felt when his buir called) and finally walked out of the dorm to meet Master Tyyyvak.

She was busy, he saw, with a youngling on each hip and another one tugging at the fur on her legs, and Anakin shook his head, still smiling.

He felt a tug on his tunics and looked down; it was the little Togruta girl from the other day, standing on unsteady legs in front of him, holding both arms up.

“Up!” she demanded, and Anakin rolled his eyes, but picked her up. She giggled happily at him and snuggled up against his chest, but not even that could make him stop smiling. Not today.

“Master Tyyyvak?” he called, and he giggled at her somewhat exasperated-sounding, wordless roar in return. “Do you know when I’m supposed to go?”

“I’m already here, Ani.” He turned as he heard Obi-Wan’s voice, smiling so widely that he felt his eyes crinkle. Obi-Wan blinked at him, and then laughed.

“I see you have a passenger,” he said, walking over and bending down slightly to get a better look at the youngling. Anakin frowned as that old, familiar grief passed over his face, but it was gone the next moment, replaced by a gentle smile. “Hello, little ‘Soka.”

The girl giggled at him and simply burrowed closer to Anakin, who rolled his eyes.

“Well, Padawan ,” Obi-Wan said, and just like that, Anakin was beaming again, “are you ready?”

“Yeah! Uh, just let me, um--I gotta put you down now,” he said to the little girl. She glared at him.

“No!”

Obi-Wan laughed. “I promise that we will come back to visit, Ahsoka,” he said. “But he really does need to go with me now.”

Ahsoka turned her glare on Obi-Wan, then, and he merely raised an eyebrow at her. Finally, she made a little, disgruntled “hmph!” and folded her arms over her chest. Obi-Wan laughed again and Anakin shook his head, setting her gently down on the floor.

“You have to be back,” she demanded, looking at them both with an expression that, were it not on a three-year-old, might have passed for stern. “Come play.”

“Of course, little one,” Obi-Wan promised, nodding very seriously at her. He knelt down and held out his right hand, extending his pinky. “Promise.”

Ahsoka clumsily wrapped her own little finger around Obi-Wan’s, and then nodded, brightening to smile again. “Bye!” She tottered off towards Master Tyyyvak, who howled at them in acknowledgement as Obi-Wan turned to lead Anakin out of the creche.

“We’ll come back for your things later,” Obi-Wan said, and then he sighed. “It may take a bit more time than expected to settle the matter of our new quarters.”

“Okay,” Anakin said easily. “Uh, why? You’re moving?”

“Yes, of course. I put the request in last night,” Obi-Wan explained, “but then I spoke to Master Qui-Gon this morning, and… well, he seemed to think it was silly for me to be the one to move, and tried to insist that I stay in our quarters while he moves out. Which I found completely ridiculous, since they are his rooms and have been for decades , but he did not seem to agree. He put in his own request with the Quartermaster, and Master Trekk found us both ridiculous, and has denied both of our requests until one of them is withdrawn.”

“Oh,” Anakin said, and then he giggled. “That is pretty ridiculous. But why can’t you both just stay, and I’ll move in with you?”

Obi-Wan snorted. “You’ll want your privacy, I’m sure. I’d much rather you have your own room.”

“But I don’t need my own room,” Anakin protested. “I like spending time with you, and I don’t need privacy .”

Obi-Wan outright laughed at that and shook his head. “You may think that now, Ani, but wait until you hit puberty. Trust me, you will be glad for your own room when you do. But we’ll sort that out later.” He stopped in front of the lift that would take them up to the Council Chamber. “Ready?”

Anakin beamed at him. “Ready!”

After that first time, when the Council had tested him, and Master Qui-Gon had made a scene , Anakin hadn’t ever been back in front of the full High Council again. It sent a little shiver down his spine, remembering how cold and alone and scared he’d felt that day, but he pushed it away easily.

Everything was different now. He wasn’t the same scared little kid anymore. Anakin knew the Councilors in ways he hadn’t, then--he knew how Master Adi loved the little ones, and saw her in the creche regularly; he knew how Master Kit loved playing pranks, and gave sly little suggestions to Initiates and Padawans who were up to no good; he knew how Master Mace was a demanding teacher in ‘saber class, but he also knew how good it felt when Master Mace smiled at him and told him he’d done well; he knew Master Plo, and their shared love of piloting and mechanics; he knew that Master Shaak loved arts and crafts day more than any other in the creche, and never minded being covered in paint or shimmerdust during their projects; he knew Master Yoda, and his endless patience in the face of Anakin’s equally endless stream of questions.

And this time, having Obi-Wan beside him was different . He wasn’t just some slave Master Qui-Gon had picked up and brought back like a stray. He was a person , his name was Anakin Skywalker, and he was going to be Obi-Wan Kenobi’s Padawan .

He stood taller as he straightened from his bow, and he couldn’t keep the smile off his face, even though he knew that everyone was supposed to be serene and businesslike in front of the Council. It didn’t seem to matter, though, as many of the Masters smiled back.

Even Master Mace looked happier, although for him, that just meant looking calm and serene instead of annoyed, the tension around his eyes and mouth disappearing. “Knight Kenobi, why have you come before this Council today?”

“I seek Confirmation, Masters, for my Padawan Learner.”

“Known to us, Initiate Skywalker is,” Yoda hummed, still smiling, wide and gentle. “A bright student, he is, and determined. A good heart, he has. Kind, he is.” Anakin blushed a little and glanced down at the floor at the Master’s praise. Master Yoda cackled. “Agree, do you, to become Knight Kenobi’s Padawan?”

“Yes, Master!” Anakin answered a bit louder than he’d intended, looking up and nodding. A few more chuckles spread through the room.

“I think we can all see the rightness of the match,” Master Adi said. “So unless anyone has any objections…?”

There was a beat of silence, and the Master Kit said, “Well, Knight Kenobi is still pretty young .” Another chorus of laughter rang through the Chamber, and Anakin got the sense he was missing out on a joke. “But I just think that’ll give him the energy he needs to keep up with the kid.”

“Your vote of confidence is appreciated, Master Fisto,” Obi-Wan said dryly.

Even Master Mace’s lips twitched at that, and he shook his head. “Very well, then. Knight Kenobi, you are officially Master to Anakin Skywalker.”

Anakin beamed again, his cheeks still sore from how much smiling he’d been doing, and he bowed in unison with Obi-Wan.

“Thank you, Masters.”

Master Mace nodded, and then raised an eyebrow at him. “Now, Knight Kenobi, Padawan Skywalker--don’t you have new quarters to settle?”

Obi-Wan sighed. “Yes, Master. Thank you for reminding me.”

As they left the Council Chamber, Anakin made sure to remember what it felt like, this time: the mirth still flowing freely into the Force from the Council, the way the sun filled the room, the way Obi-Wan’s presence was warm and comforting just beside him. It was nothing like the last time he’d left this room, and he felt that last little part of him that doubted finally fall silent.

He would be a Jedi Knight. Anakin just knew it .

Anakin sat cross-legged on the couch, his elbow resting on one knee, and his chin propped up on his hand, watching Master Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan-- Master Obi-Wan--argue. It was… very mild, but for them, it was a full-on fight . They’d been at it for over an hour already, bickering over who was going to vacate the quarters they’d shared for so long.

“--makes far more sense for you to simply move across the hall and into my room,” Qui-Gon was saying for perhaps the fiftieth time. “As I will not be taking on any more Padawans, I will have no need for the additional bedroom.”

“There is no shortage of Master and Padawan quarters, Qui-Gon,” Obi-Wan sighed. “If there did exist such a shortage, I would understand your impulse to leave, but the fact remains that we have plenty of space. I would not turn you out of the quarters that have been your home for over thirty years --”

“Ah, but change will be good for me, I think,” Qui-Gon said, waving a hand at him in dismissal of his point. “I am getting older, and perhaps a bit set in my ways. Perhaps this is precisely the sort of cure I need for that particular problem--”

“Master?” Anakin spoke up, and both turned to look at him. “Um, either of you. Can I see one of your datapads, please? I mean, there’s some homework I need to do, if you’re going to keep fighting for a while.”

Obi-Wan huffed, but turned away to fetch his datapad as Master Qui-Gon blinked at him.

“We aren’t fighting, Ani.”

Anakin raised an eyebrow in an imitation of Obi-Wan. “Sounds like it to me, Master.” Obi-Wan returned and handed him his ‘pad before turning back to Master Qui-Gon, seamlessly picking up the discussion-that-totally-wasn’t-an-argument.

Anakin turned his focus to the ‘pad, hoping that Obi-Wan wasn’t fussy enough to end all of the applications running each time he set it down. Nope! Anakin smiled as he saw the transfer request still sitting there. This part was easy . He cancelled the request, and then logged out of the system, logging back in as Master Qui-Gon. He was really bad at making sure Anakin didn’t see his access code, and it was really easy to remember, anyway, since it was Obi-Wan’s birthday.

Accessing Master Qui-Gon’s request, he simply altered it quickly. He glanced up, listening with half an ear as Master Qui-Gon argued that he simply wouldn’t need so much space on his own, and the simple of fact of how long he’d resided in these rooms was a non-issue, since Jedi formed no attachments, not even to their quarters. A moment later, the ‘pad pinged quietly, a green confirmation message having appeared, and Anakin beamed.

“There!” he declared, holding out the datapad. “I fixed it.”

Obi-Wan blinked at him, and then frowned. “I was unaware that my datapad was broken.”

Anakin rolled his eyes. “Not the ‘pad , Master. The room request. I fixed it.”

Slowly, Obi-Wan reached out to take the datapad, eyes skimming over it, before he started laughing.

“What did you do?” Master Qui-Gon asked with no little hint of suspicion. Wordlessly, still chuckling too much to speak clearly, Obi-Wan simply handed the ‘pad over to him. Master Qui-Gon peered down at it carefully, and then he barked a laugh, too. “You requested a three-room suite.”

“Uh-huh!” Anakin declared. “Since Obi-Wan-- Master Obi-Wan--decided that I have to have my own room--”

“You will thank him for that decision later, Ani.”

Anakin rolled his eyes and continued as if Master Qui-Gon hadn’t interrupted. “--and you two were being so ridiculous about who was going to move, I decided we should all just move. Together.”

“It is certainly a creative solution,” Master Qui-Gon said, a smile beginning to form on his face. He looked to Obi-Wan, raising an eyebrow. Obi-Wan shrugged.

“Well, it’s already been approved,” Obi-Wan said lightly. “And I think we might drive poor Master Trekk out of his mind if we try to alter the requests further.”

Master Qui-Gon nodded, adopting a sagely look. “You are quite right, Obi-Wan. It would be best to proceed with Padawan Skywalker’s ingenious plan.”

“Yes, I quite agree,” Obi-Wan said, just as serene. He turned to Anakin and bowed slightly. “You have our thanks, Padawan, for ending our… dispute.”

Anakin giggled and rolled his eyes again. “Yeah, if you guys are all done being ridiculous now, can we go see our new quarters?”

Their new quarters were perfect . They were huge , too, compared to the rooms Master Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan had shared for so long: the living room was probably twice the size, with a huge, comfy blue couch and two tan armchairs all surrounding a caff table big enough for Anakin to disassemble droids on; the living room led to a kitchen that was huge compared to the size of the little galley they’d had before, and Anakin had smiled at Obi-Wan’s happy little hum when he saw it--Obi-Wan loved to cook, although where he’d gotten that from, Anakin didn’t know, since Master Qui-Gon was just hopeless ; their dining room had a taller table with chairs instead of cushions. One bedroom was at one end of their quarters, just off of the living room, with its own attached ‘fresher, and the other two were down another hallway on the other side, sharing another ‘fresher between them.

“Now, which room would you like, Ani?” Obi-Wan asked. Anakin had looked at the rooms, and they were nearly identical, except for the views; one of them had a view to the Senate dome, and the other overlooked one of the few gardens that were actually outdoors, on one of the rooftop terraces. Honestly, Anakin would be perfectly happy with either room, but he had seen the way Obi-Wan had stopped to stare at the Senate building, tensing.

“The one on the left, I think,” he decided, choosing the room that looked out at the Senate. He smiled. “I can see more ships and speeders going by that way!”

Obi-Wan laughed, and Anakin knew that he’d made the right choice when he felt his quiet relief. “The one on the left it is, then.” He paused. “I think that we might need to trouble Master Trekk once more.”

“What for?” Anakin asked, frowning thoughtfully. Anything that wasn’t in these new quarters already, they had in their old ones.

“We shall have to have the beds switched, and we’ll need a repulsorlift to do so,” Obi-Wan explained, and then a thoughtful little glimmer entered his eyes. Anakin wasn’t sure he liked that look. “Unless you’d like to brush up on your Force techniques.”

Their new quarters were almost straight up from the old ones, Anakin found, only three levels up, but nearly a straight shot. As he leaned slightly out of the window in Obi-Wan’s new room, careful not too lean too far and lose his balance, Anakin bit his lip, concentrating hard as he lowered the sleep couch down from the new room to Obi-Wan, where he was leaning out the window of their old quarters.

“What are you doing, Ani?”

Anakin lost his concentration for a moment, and the sleep couch plummeted a few meters before he caught it.

“ Concentrate, Padawan! ” he heard Obi-Wan yell out the window below.

“Sorry, Master!” he yelled back. His tongue darted out between his lips as he renewed his focus, though he was still distantly aware of Master Qui-Gon behind him. Finally, Obi-Wan took over, levitating the sleep couch into his old room. Anakin relaxed, turning to Master Qui-Gon. “Um, Master Obi-Wan didn’t want to bother Master Trekk with having the beds moved around. So he decided we should use the Force to do it ourselves.”

Master Qui-Gon stared at him, and then laughed. “A clever idea, if a bit… dangerous,” he hummed. “Why don’t you allow me to get the bedframe, hmm?”

Anakin nodded eagerly--it had been hard enough to move the sleep couch, and the bed frame was a lot heavier. He knew what Master Yoda said--“size matters not”--but still . If he kriffed up the second time, a falling metal frame could do a lot more damage than a sleep couch.

He stepped back and allowed Master Qui-Gon to begin levitating the frame out the window once Obi-Wan called that he was ready. It went smoothly, and then Master Qui-Gon stepped back.

“Your turn again, Ani.”

Anakin nodded and stepped back up to the window.

Ready? This time, Obi-Wan’s call came through their bond, and Anakin sent back a pulse of affirmation. A moment later, the field cot came floating through the window below him, and then began drifting upwards. Anakin reached out, wrapping it in the Force, and he could feel Obi-Wan around it, too, his familiar warmth and precision. Anakin noticed Obi-Wan’s influence over the cot lessening, leaving it in his hands, and Anakin finished the journey; the cot wobbled only slightly as he brought it in through the open window.

Well done, Padawan , Obi-Wan said over their bond with a little wave of happiness. Anakin beamed, not bothering to reply when he knew Obi-Wan could feel his own pleasure.

“Well, now that that’s done,” Master Qui-Gon said, that same glint in his eyes that Obi-Wan had had, “there are a few other items that need to be moved…”

Anakin grinned.

They got their first visitor that afternoon, after they’d finished moving everything up. Many of Master Qui-Gon’s plants were still on the floor in the living room, waiting to be placed in their new homes; Master Qui-Gon picked each one up and then carried it around the entire apartment, muttering to himself as he placed the pot on a shelf, or a table, and then shook his head, picked it back up, and repeated the procedure. Obi-Wan had set his own room to rights fairly quickly, and was busy helping Anakin decorate his own. He’d done a little bit of that, helping with some of the murals in the creche on art day, but this room was his , and Obi-Wan had told him he could do whatever he liked. Anakin had found a map reader and they both found themselves quickly covered in paint as they began tracing the patterns of constellations onto his walls.

When their door chimed, Anakin heard Master Qui-Gon call for whoever it was to come in rather absently.

“Where’s Kenobi?” Anakin and Obi-Wan looked at each other--that was Master Mace, and that was his “you-are-in- big -trouble” voice. Obi-Wan sighed and shook his head, padding out of Anakin’s room; Anakin followed just behind him. Whatever Master Mace wanted to yell about, it was better if Anakin were there, too--he thought that Master Mace tried to steer away from some of his nastier comments when younger Jedi were around.

“Master Windu, what can I do for you?” Obi-Wan asked politely, and Master Mace raised an eyebrow, looking them both up and down, taking in the paint splotches that covered them. “Ah, don’t mind us--we were redecorating. Would you care for some tea?”

“No.” Master Mace sighed and shook his head. “You’ve been his Master for less than eight hours , Obi-Wan. What the kriff ?”

“I’m terribly sorry, Mace, but I’m not sure--”

“Half the Temple saw you three levitating a karking garden through the windows,” Master Mace growled. “We won’t be able to give lectures on ‘inappropriate use of the Force’ for weeks after this. And I swear, if you gave any of the Initiates any ideas , you will--”

“Here,” Master Qui-Gon interrupted him, shoving a purple, leafy plant in a bright yellow pot into Master Mace’s hands. He blinked and stared down at it. Obi-Wan giggled, and Anakin hid his face in Obi-Wan’s side, trying to hide his own laughter. One of Obi-Wan’s paint-covered hands came up to rest on his shoulder. “Help me decide where to put this.”

Master Mace glared at Master Qui-Gon. “Of course you were in on this.”

Master Qui-Gon smiled innocently and shrugged. “Anakin and Obi-Wan were quite helpful to me, moving my things from our old quarters. Some days the old war wound bothers me more than others.” Master Qui-Gon paused to pat his stomach, sighing dramatically. “I fear today is one of those days, and they acted quite compassionately, deciding to save my old bones and aching muscles the many trips.”

He knew that Master Qui-Gon wasn’t really in that much pain, and he was just playing it up to get them out of trouble. And Anakin couldn’t help himself--he burst out laughing just as Obi-Wan did again, the two of them leaning on each other. Anakin swore he saw a vein start throbbing on Master Windu’s forehead.

“And the bed?” he ground out.

“That was an act of compassion, too, Master,” Anakin said, managing to stifle his giggles enough to sound very proper , though he was still leaning against Obi-Wan and smiling far too broadly, “for poor Master Trekk’s sanity.”

Obi-Wan howled with laughter, and Anakin went with him, and finally Master Qui-Gon broke, too, throwing his head back and laughing as Master Mace just stared at all of them.

Finally, as the three of them subsided into giggles, Master Mace shook his head, wordlessly turned around, dropped the plant gently onto the carpet beside the door, and left.

“You know,” Qui-Gon said, wiping away his tears of laughter, “I do rather think I like that plant there.”

Chapter Text

In spite of the mutterings of the other Masters about attachment , Qui-Gon was pleased by his new living arrangements. He hadn’t wanted to admit to Obi-Wan that he had had no desire to remain in those rooms, still steeped in Obi-Wan’s own presence, without him. He was grateful to Anakin for finding a clever excuse for them. And the new quarters were quite to his liking--they got good light, and there was enough space that Qui-Gon thought he might be able to pick up a new batch of plants from the gardens.

Anakin was settling in well, he was glad to note. Qui-Gon had gotten a sense of… desperation from the boy before Obi-Wan had Chosen him, but that seemed to have faded away into joyful happiness and determination. Qui-Gon was glad to see that Obi-Wan was not making the same mistakes with Anakin that Qui-Gon had made himself when Obi-Wan had been young. It made Qui-Gon smile, walking into their quarters and seeing a half-disassembled mouse droid on the caff table where Anakin had left it, one of the signs of the boy settling in.

But Obi-Wan…

Qui-Gon had realized, of course, that Obi-Wan still did not sleep well. He hadn’t since Naboo, and while he was concerned by the fact that even the space of two years hadn’t been enough to rid Obi-Wan of the nightmares he suffered, Qui-Gon knew that there was little he could do. Obi-Wan had taken to long meditations before bed to reenforce his shields, making sure that his nightmares no longer woke Qui-Gon up (and they hadn’t, not since that night so long ago now when Qui-Gon had gotten a glimpse of that awful, fiery vision-dream), but Qui-Gon still knew when he hadn’t slept well, or hadn’t slept at all. It was much too difficult for Obi-Wan to hide the slight dimming of his presence in the Force, the slight shadows under his eyes, from Qui-Gon’s familiar gaze. Anakin, Force bless him, did not seem to realize.

No matter how much it chafed at him, Qui-Gon could not demand answers, per the orders of the Council--and even if he did disregard that particular instruction, as he had set aside so many others over the years, he knew that Obi-Wan would not answer him. Qui-Gon could offer no help, no support, beyond making Obi-Wan’s caff for him particularly strong and sugary when he emerged from his room and Qui-Gon saw the set of his jaw, the far-off quality to his gaze. He could do nothing besides hug him tightly before bed each night, in an effort to give him something of love to hold onto, trying to ward off the nightmares. He could do nothing besides try to distract him when they saw each other throughout the day, starting discussions on philosophy that did not interest him in the slightest, simply because he knew Obi-Wan found it all fascinating, pondering the mysteries of the Force and the intricacies of the Code.

But Obi-Wan had been doing… well enough, lately. He slept better on missions than he did at the Temple (and what that said about what Obi-Wan had Seen, Qui-Gon did not care to think about, choosing instead to believe that it was the sheer exhaustion from the missions that made his sleep less disturbed, and pointedly did not think about the fact that it was likely the Temple itself), and he and Qui-Gon had been out in the field frequently since Qui-Gon had been cleared. He had been delighted when Obi-Wan requested him as a mission partner, and the Council had been quick to agree to it. They were an effective team, and even though Master Rancisis had pursed his lips, no doubt thinking that the whole thing reeked of attachment, they had not given the Council cause to regret the decision in the last eighteen months or so that they had been paired together as equals .

Qui-Gon had respectfully declined to go back onto the mission roster by himself, once Obi-Wan was grounded to give him and Anakin their chance to adjust. He was Obi-Wan’s partner, after all--he might be a Knight, now, but Qui-Gon could still clearly see that he needed looking after. And besides that, they had not been able to spend more than a few weeks at a time back in the Temple since Naboo. With a young Padawan, he knew that Obi-Wan would be removed from the roster for at least six months in the Temple as they grew accustomed to each other (not that Qui-Gon thought they would need that much time; the two clearly adored each other already), and he was content to wait until Obi-Wan was ready again, and Anakin was able to come with them.

And, well… perhaps it was attachment, Qui-Gon conceded, if only to himself, in the privacy of his own thoughts. But he had been given a great gift, having his two cherished Lights so near him, and he was content to bask in it for as long as the Force--or the Council--permitted it.

Qui-Gon was in their quarters, happily humming to himself--slightly off-key; he’d never been much of a singer--as he carefully watered and pruned his leafy charges, idly contemplating the gifts the Force had given him in recent years, when the door chimed.

“Come in,” he called absently, not turning away from the finicky Nubian vine that grew down from atop the shelving unit in the living room. It had been a gift from the Queen, during his recovery, and Qui-Gon knew that she must have asked Obi-Wan what to get him. It was rare that a Jedi accepted a gift of any kind, and if they had to accept (or risk a cultural or ceremonial faux pas), the gifts were generally turned over to the Quartermaster, either to be put into the Temple’s stock, or given to the Archives, if the gift was of some cultural significance. But a simple plant, Qui-Gon had been able to excuse, and it truly was lovely, and worth the effort when it flowered once a month, tiny little white blossoms with yellow centers draping down from its tall perch.

“Ah, Master Jinn! Just the man I was looking for.” Qui-Gon half-turned, nodding politely to Cin Drallig.

“Master Drallig, what a pleasant surprise,” he said. “Please, have a seat. Would you care for some tea?”

“Oh, yes, please. Thank you.”

“Of course,” Qui-Gon said, giving the vine one last little, barely-there stroke before stepping back, moving to the kitchen. “I have red, green, or black.”

“Green, if you would.”

Qui-Gon prepared the tea quickly, soon returning to the living room to sink down into his preferred armchair, setting both teacups on the caff table--though he had to gently push aside several droid components to make room for them--and arranging the pillow Anakin had made him behind him. It may be ugly, but it brought a smile to Qui-Gon’s face and it was perfect for supporting his back, which had never quite been the same, after Naboo.

“What can I do for you, Master Drallig?” Qui-Gon asked politely. He frowned slightly at the predatory smile the ‘saber Master gave him in return.

“I saw that you’ve been removed from the mission roster for the first time in years,” he said, generously discounting the numerous times he or Obi-Wan or both had been grounded due to injuries, “and I thought you could help with a little… project.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. I’ve seen you in the salles, and what you’ve put together is… impressive,” Master Drallig said, and Qui-Gon smiled. Although the injury rarely hurt anymore (despite what he had said to Mace--it had served as a convenient excuse), he had found that his range of motion was not quite what it once had been, after the surgery to graft his abdominal muscles back together. As his recovery progressed, it had become clear to him that he would not be able to reclaim his title of Master of Ataru, not when he could no longer manage the rolls, jumps, and flips that were required. Instead, he had taken from it what he could, still preferring its sweeping slashes, decisive strikes, and twists, and with surprisingly patient help from Yan, he had incorporated Makashi. It had been easy enough to join in the lessons Yan gave to Obi-Wan, and Qui-Gon had been pleased to find that his body and subconscious mind had forgotten less of the form of his childhood than he’d feared.

“Thank you. What project would you like my help with?”

“Well, there are some of our brethren at the Corellian Temple who have similar injuries to yours,” Master Drallig began. “I had hoped that since you’re going to be grounded here for a time, you might be willing to help them adapt their forms as you did your own. All of our candidates have already agreed to come to Coruscant, if this goes forward, so you wouldn’t need to leave at all.”

Qui-Gon nodded slowly. It was an interesting proposition, and he had thought briefly about volunteering for a teaching rotation, or offering his services to the AgriCorps Knights who were in charge of the Temple gardens to fill his time while Anakin was in classes or off with Obi-Wan, training.

“How large is this group?”

Seeing that he was catching Qui-Gon’s interest, Master Drallig smiled broadly and leaned forward, holding his mug in both hands. “There are four Masters, one Knight, and two Padawans with similar injuries,” he said. “All of them prefer Ataru, although there’s a mix of secondary forms.”

Qui-Gon nodded slowly, and then tilted his head thoughtfully. “Have you thought of asking my former Master for his assistance as well?” he asked. “It was only with his help that I was able to develop my rather… unique style.”

Master Drallig’s expression turned sheepish. “I, ah, haven’t been able to catch him.”

Qui-Gon snorted, shaking his head. “He likely thought that you wanted him to teach a class of younglings,” Qui-Gon joked, and Master Drallig snorted.

“Like Hels,” he muttered. “After what happened last time? We only asked him to judge the ‘saber tournament, not even to teach them personally , and Padawan Ijiki wouldn’t stop crying when she picked up a ‘saber for weeks .” Master Drallig sighed and shook his head. “You think he’d agree?”

“I think he might,” Qui-Gon hummed. “I’ll speak to him this evening.”

“And you?”

“I am happy to help my fellow Jedi,” he said honestly, smiling widely. “Of course you can count on my assistance. When would they be arriving?”

“Next week,” Master Drallig answered, smiling just as broadly, though the expression was tinged with relief. “I can’t thank you enough for your assistance.”

“It’s no trouble at all,” he was quick to assure the Master. “Although… have you gotten clearance from the Council? I know that they have certain… opinions about our Corellian counterparts.”

Master Drallig chuckled. “It was Master Windu’s idea, as a matter of fact. He made a few… interesting comments that lead me to believe that our Council is trying to foster a closer relationship with the other Temples.”

Qui-Gon felt-heard-saw a rush of blue-green-yellow as it seemed to whisper change . He blinked in surprise--he had thought his synesthesia to have been dealt with long ago.

“That would be wonderful,” Qui-Gon said honestly, trying to ignore the strange sensation for the moment. He would meditate on it later. “And novel.”

Master Drallig smiled. “Yes, I think so.” He finished his tea and held up the empty mug. “Thank you for the tea, Master Jinn, and for agreeing to help us.”

Qui-Gon nodded, grinning back. “You’re quite welcome. I am simply glad to be of use.”

Master Drallig laughed. “I was honestly uncertain whether you’d have the time for it or not,” he said. “I hear that Padawan Skywalker is quite a handful, and I remember Obi-Wan from my classes. Corralling the two of them must be…” He trailed off, giving Qui-Gon a look full of amused pity.

Qui-Gon shook his head, a smile still tugging at his lips. “If you have time for another cup of tea, I could tell you a story or two…”

Qui-Gon blinked at the table absolutely covered in food. Obi-Wan and Anakin had returned early and begun cooking hours ago, sternly shooing him away; he had thought that they might have been making some rather extravagant dish, and had merely smiled, wished them well, and left them to it--there was no need to worry about them burning down the kitchen, after all. Qui-Gon was the only one of the three inept enough to manage that.

When it had finally begun to approach their usual hour for dinner, Qui-Gon had wandered back in, only to find the table covered in far more food than their usual assortment of guests could manage to eat.

“What…?” he asked, and Anakin laughed. Obi-Wan ruffled his hair after setting down a pot of still-warm mashed tubers that looked and smelled absolutely divine . Qui-Gon briefly wondered if he could sneak past them to retrieve a spoon to sample a taste or two.

As if sensing his thoughts, Obi-Wan fixed him with a light glare. “You may have some when our guests arrive.”

Qui-Gon frowned. “Are you planning on feeding the entire floor?”

Anakin snickered and bounced on the balls of his feet while Obi-Wan simply shook his head. “You’ll see soon enough, Qui-Gon.”

Dinner that night was also arranged as a sort of “house warming,” Qui-Gon found. It was a nice surprise when a great many of their friends among the Order arrived, precisely on time, as most Jedi were wont to do: Ky and Asajj, who was scowling more gently than usual, came bearing a lovely, hand-woven tapestry of the Temple for them to hang on the too-empty wall above the couch; Yan arrived with several bottles of brandy that Qui-Gon knew at a glance were ridiculously well-aged and expensive, and for those still too young to drink, several thermoses full of the hot cacao Qui-Gon had not seen him make since the very earliest days of his apprenticeship; Yoda was levitating a lovely green and blue carpet, rolled up and still roughly five times his own size, perfect for their much larger living room; Bant arrived, sporting a bright smile and three new medkits, which made Obi-Wan laugh, although Qui-Gon had frowned at the gift and its implications; Anakin’s friend and fellow Padawan Sian arrived next, with her Master in tow, a Twi’lek woman named Vernae Massi, and they came bearing a new tea set that Sian had made for them, a little lopsided but an enchanting shade of shimmering blue; finally, Mace arrived, frowning and holding a tall, thin end table with gentle, sweeping curves.

Looking pointedly at Qui-Gon, Mace set the table down beside the purple deneva plant that had not been moved from where he’d placed it earlier that week, bent down to pick up the plant, and then placed it on the table.

“It’s a plant stand,” Mace said tersely, folding his arms over his chest. Qui-Gon burst into a fit of laughter, only exacerbated by Mace’s glare. Finally, Mace simply sighed and shook his head.

When Qui-Gon’s laughter subsided, he gestured for Mace to join the gaggle of other Jedi. Sian, Anakin, and Asajj were all on the floor beside the couch, looking at the droid parts scattered on the caff table as Anakin excited chattered at them about how the repairs were going; Yoda was perched on the arm of the chair Yan was sitting in, each of them nursing a drink, speaking quietly with Ky, Bant, and Vernae who were sitting on the couch. Qui-Gon frowned, glancing around for Obi-Wan.

He saw him half-hidden in the shadow of the hallway leading to the bedrooms. Qui-Gon turned to Mace, gesturing for him to help himself to the food and drink on offer, and then went to Obi-Wan’s side.

“Are you alright?” he asked, and Obi-Wan looked up at him, jerking back slightly as though startled before giving him a small smile.

“Yes,” he said. “I’m fine. I just… wanted to get a good look at everyone. This was the best vantage point.”

“Oh?”

Obi-Wan hummed. “I wanted to remember this moment.”

That strange, unfathomable grief that Obi-Wan carried with him flared for a moment in the Force before vanishing, replaced by contentment. Qui-Gon smiled and reached up to squeeze one of his shoulders.

“Come,” Qui-Gon said gently. “We should join them.”

“Of course,” Obi-Wan agreed easily, his shoulders straightening from their slouch and stepping from the shadows. “It’s rude of me to neglect our guests.”

By the end of the night, it was only Mace, Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan, and Yan left, with Mace and Yan on the couch, Qui-Gon in one of the armchairs, and Obi-Wan sitting on the floor, leaning back against Qui-Gon’s legs. They had all drunk enough to be pleasantly buzzed and content to continue drinking for the moment. Bant had left first, having drawn the short straw on the nightshift in the Halls. Master Vernae had left shortly after, when Sian had started to drift off, gently shaking her awake and leading her out, still bleary-eyed. Anakin had fallen asleep face-down on the plush carpet Yoda had given them, and the old Master had smiled and patted his head before declaring that he, too, needed to get himself to bed. Obi-Wan had gently prodded his Padawan up, making sure he went to his bed before he regained any energy, or fell asleep on the floor again.

And that left the four of them, still drinking and speaking in low, soft tones, mindful not to rouse Anakin sleeping now just down the hall. Yan had grimaced at Qui-Gon when he’d taken a portion of the cacao and added the brandy to it, but Mace had seemed to think it was a wonderful idea. When Obi-Wan had wrinkled his nose at them, just a bit, Qui-Gon hid snorted at the look of approval Yan gave him.

His thoughts were pleasantly muddled, and it was only then that Qui-Gon remembered his promise, a random thought floating by that he managed to seize onto (distantly, Qui-Gon realized that he might be a bit more intoxicated than he’d thought). He turned to Yan, who raised an eyebrow at his suddenly thoughtful expression.

“Master Drallig visited earlier,” he said. “He asked for my help with a project.”

“Oh?” Yan asked warily, gently swirling his brandy in its crystal tumbler. Qui-Gon would not have had such an expensive, lavish thing in his possession had Yan not gifted him a set upon his Knighting. The glasses were beautiful, but they had been shoved deep into his cabinets for years, and only after their reconciliation had they been used. Qui-Gon thought that the little flutter of pleasure Yan had let slip through his shields at finding them one night had made holding onto them for several decades more than worth it.

“Yes. Apparently there is a group of some seven Corellian Jedi with injuries similar to my own, all students of Ataru looking to return to ‘saber work,” Qui-Gon explained. “They’ll be coming here next week, and Master Drallig suggested that I might help them. Given your help during my own recovery, I thought you might be willing to assist us.”

Qui-Gon had not been expecting a “yes,” although he thought that he would not be surprised if Yan agreed. He was ready for everything, he had thought, up to and including a flat refusal.

He was not expecting Yan to go perfectly still, paling slightly, and then down the rest of his drink at once. He stood up, and declared, “Please excuse me. I… need some air.”

With that, Yan made his way to their balcony, shutting the door firmly behind him.

Qui-Gon blinked, frowning. “What…?”

Obi-Wan sighed, shaking his head. “I’ll go after him.”

Mace looked… thoughtful, and a little sad, his lips pursed tight. Qui-Gon frowned at him. “What was that?”

Mace sighed, leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees, both hands clasped around his drink as he stared down into it. “Qui-Gon… Have you ever noticed that Yan doesn’t spar with anyone but you or Obi-Wan?”

Qui-Gon’s frown deepened, a furrow forming in his brow as he thought. Yan had quite a reputation in the Temple as an expert swordsman--a well-earned reputation, certainly. He had proven himself time and again in the salles, and during Qui-Gon’s apprenticeship, there had been many Knights and Masters lining up to challenge him, and later on, Yan had delighted in showing off in front of Xanatos, pointedly reminding him that he was still a superior fighter to even Qui-Gon, who had developed a reputation of his own by then.

But, later… Later, Yan had spent so much time away from the Temple that Qui-Gon had barely had to put any effort into avoiding him. And he hadn’t returned to the Temple for any real length of time until… After Naboo. And since Naboo, Qui-Gon had not heard of a single bout, which had been strange, now that he noted the absence. Losing to Yan had long ago become a sort of… rite of passage, for young Knights and Senior Padawans who were a bit too full of themselves.

“I suppose I hadn’t thought about it,” Qui-Gon finally answered. “Why won’t he?”

“It’s… complicated,” Mace sighed, hanging his head a little lower, his shoulders stiff.

“It’s that Seeing , isn’t it?” Qui-Gon asked. Mace did not answer; his silence answered for him. “I am growing tired of this, and severely annoyed by your decision to force yourselves to keep your silence. It is affecting all of you to this day, and something that large, a Force event such as that, should not be kept secret. For Force’s sake , Obi-Wan still doesn’t sleep well, and now you mean to tell me that Yan Dooku, one of the best ‘saber duelists in the Order, won’t so much as spar ? I am being driven mad , Mace, watching this affect the people I… am close to. And I can do nothing . Please, Mace--if the Council won’t agree to making the contents of that vision public to the Order at large, at least consider making an exception for me .”

Mace shook his head slowly. “It’s not that simple , Qui-Gon. Knowing would… change things for you. You would look at… certain people differently. What they need is the you that you have always been, and believe me when I say that you would never be able to look at some of us again without thinking about it.” He shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut as if warding off a headache. “More importantly, there is too much at stake here. We can’t tell you, Qui-Gon. Not… not yet.”

Qui-Gon felt a flare of frustration, of anger , and a flash of red-and-deep-orange passed through his sight. Slowly, he inhaled, and then exhaled, reaching for the Force. He let the emotions go, as much as he could. What was left was an impression of burnt orange bitterness. That would do, for now.

“Do you truly believe it is best that I not know?” he asked lowly.

“Yes,” Mace said, opening his eyes to meet Qui-Gon’s, his dark eyes intense and earnest. “For now. Someday, we will tell you everything. But not now. Not yet.”

Qui-Gon held his gaze for a long moment before nodding, his shoulder slumping slightly. “Alright. For now.”

Mace nodded, sinking back into the couch again, both of them sipping at their drinks. Finally, the balcony door slid open, and Obi-Wan entered, smiling slightly, and Yan after him. The elder man still looked a bit paler than usual, and his gaze was heavy as it rested on Qui-Gon, but there was something to the set of his shoulders that spoke of a familiar determination. It was comforting, in that moment, as it was just so… very like him.

Yan sighed. “I seem to have made your gathering morose.”

It was not quite an apology, but it was the closest he would get. Qui-Gon managed a smile for him. “It’s quite alright.”

Yan nodded stiffly. “As to your request, I will help you.”

He blinked, and then his smile grew more genuine. “I would be grateful for your assistance,” Qui-Gon said honestly, “but if you have your reasons for… deciding against it, then we will make do without you. You don’t have to do this.”

“I must,” Yan disagreed, voice like durasteel. “We will discuss the details later.”

Qui-Gon stared at him for a moment more, and then nodded, grinning broadly. “Thank you, Master.” As ever, he appreciated Yan’s pulse of satisfaction at the title, when it came from Qui-Gon in particular.

With another nod and a long, significant glance at Obi-Wan, Yan left. Mace left shortly after, and Qui-Gon knew that the warning look he levelled at Obi-Wan was to caution him against telling Qui-Gon anything. Obi-Wan’s lips had pursed into a thin line, but he nodded curtly, and Mace was appeased.

The two of them began cleaning up in silence, both of them preoccupied by their heavy thoughts. Qui-Gon wondered about what had happened to them, what all of this could mean , what could drive Yan, who had always taken such vicious joy in wiping the floor with his fellow Jedi, to simply… stop.

Qui-Gon glanced at Obi-Wan. There had come a time during his apprenticeship when their bond had been so strong, their knowledge of each other so complete, that Qui-Gon had been able to tell at a glance what was going through his mind, without having to check their bond.

He clenched his jaw as he realized that he had no idea now what Obi-Wan was thinking, and he hadn’t been able to really tell without the bond’s aid since Naboo.

For all that it was a beautiful planet, filled with the greenery that Qui-Gon so loved, and its people vibrant and peaceful, he was beginning to… not hate, he reminded himself, Jedi don’t hate, but… He was severely annoyed by its existence, and all that had come of it.

The next morning, Obi-Wan was already gone when Qui-Gon woke, but Anakin was sitting on the floor in the living room, his bare toes wiggling in the plush carpet Yoda had given them. Qui-Gon smiled at him before blinking.

“Don’t you have classes this morning, Ani?”

“No,” Anakin said, shaking his head as he turned over the mouse droid in his hands again. He bit his lip. “I have a free day every Primeday.”

“I see,” Qui-Gon answered slowly. There was something… off about him this morning. He wondered if Anakin had been able to sense the change in atmosphere in the Force after Yan’s… whatever that had been. “Have you eaten yet?”

“‘M not hungry,” Anakin murmured. Qui-Gon studied him for a long moment before going over to sit in his armchair.

“What’s wrong, Ani?”

Anakin wouldn’t look at him, still staring down at the mouse droid. “I… really didn’t mean to do it.”

“Do what?” Qui-Gon asked, his stomach sinking. The last time Anakin had said that, Qui-Gon had learned about the fighter he’d piloted to blow up the droid control ship in orbit around Naboo. That phrase did not bode well.

“I’ve been fixing the mouse droids from the lower levels,” Anakin said slowly. “And just… to make sure they’re good, before I let them out into the Temple, I let ‘em run here for a while before turning them loose, you know? And I’ve been upgrading them. Obi-Wan-- Master Obi-Wan--” Qui-Gon’s lips twitched at the quick correction. “--is always complaining about how the Temple isn’t secure enough, so I thought giving them a hard drive and an extra audio input would be a good idea. It’s really easy, since they already have good optical ports, and--” Anakin stopped himself before he went into an off-topic rant about the mechanics of it all, and Qui-Gon almost smiled again until he shifted guiltily. “Anyway. I, um, there was one stuck on the balcony. And it recorded some stuff. From last night.”

“Did you watch it?” Qui-Gon asked, careful to keep his voice neutral. Anakin bit his lip and shrugged.

“A little bit? I didn’t know what it was, until I started watching. But… it seemed… private , so I stopped after a couple seconds,” Anakin said, shifting guiltily, his shoulders slumping. “I didn’t want Obi-Wan to find out and be mad at me.”

“Do you still have the recording?” Anakin nodded, finally looking up at Qui-Gon, something hopeful in his expression, like he thought Qui-Gon would tell him how to fix this. Qui-Gon gave him a reassuring smile. “Why don’t you give it to me, and I will take care of it?”

Anakin’s expression turned suspicious . “Are you gonna watch it?”

Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow. “I will give it to Mace.”

Slowly, Anakin nodded, relaxing again, and he grabbed a spanner to unscrew the bottom of the deactivated mouse droid, pulling out the hard drive and handing it over to Qui-Gon, looking relieved.

“Thanks, Master Qui-Gon,” he said, and then bit his lip again. “Are you gonna tell Master Obi-Wan?”

“Well, it seems to me that Obi-Wan already knows about this project,” Qui-Gon said slowly, “so why would I need to tell him?” He winked, and Anakin’s smile was broad and happy.

“Thank you!” Anakin said, and Qui-Gon nodded, slipping the hard drive into one of his pockets.

“You’re very welcome, Ani. Now, why don’t we find us both some breakfast, hmm? I heard the refectory in the South Tower is serving fried tubercakes this morning.”

Anakin nodded eagerly, jumping up and running off to his bedroom to find his boots. Qui-Gon palmed the hard drive through his tunic and smiled to himself.

He would turn it over to Mace-- after he had watched it. Anakin had not caught the technicality, that he had never actually promised not to --and they would have to work on that, eventually; with all of the negotiation assignments they were sent on, that was precisely the sort of tricky language Anakin would need to learn.

But Qui-Gon was tired of being kept in the dark, and he knew himself well enough to admit that he could not resist this temptation. Surely such an opportunity could not be overlooked--Jedi, after all, did not believe in coincidence , only the guiding hand of the Force. Clearly, the Force meant for that mouse droid to be there, and for Qui-Gon to have this footage. If he could not be told by those affected, he would find out what was happening another way.

His course decided, Qui-Gon’s smile widened even further as Anakin emerged from his bedroom, his tunics a little straighter and his boots in place, looking brighter and radiating sheer relief . Taking his hand, Qui-Gon led them from their quarters and down to the dining hall. He would watch it at the earliest opportunity, when he could find a moment alone.

In the end, Qui-Gon had to escape to the Archives to view the footage. He had not had a moment alone at all; with Anakin out of classes that day, he remained in their quarters until Obi-Wan was finished with his… Qui-Gon frowned as he realized he still did not actually know what Obi-Wan did all day. He was infuriatingly good at changing the subject; Qui-Gon had obviously taught him too well. Just another question to add to his ever-growing list, he supposed. He pushed the thought away and connected the hard drive to the dataviewer in the study room he had commandeered, and then locked.

He watched as the mouse droid’s recording showed Yan’s appearance on the balcony, and Qui-Gon spared a second to appreciate the quality of the video; Anakin had done a superb job at retrofitting the little droid. Only a few moments later, Obi-Wan joined him. Yan stood stiffly, hands clasped behind his back, and Obi-Wan walked over to lean against the railing, resting his forearms on it. For a while, they stood in silence, until Obi-Wan broke it.

“Are you a Jedi?” he asked, voice calm but firm. “Or aren’t you?”

Yan stiffened, and Qui-Gon frowned at the odd question. “That is the question, is it not?”

“Only to you,” Obi-Wan answered, shaking his head. “You’ve been… You’re acting as though you need to perform some sort of penance .”

“Don’t I?” Yan asked flatly.

“Perhaps, from a certain point of view,” Obi-Wan sighed. “But from another… From my point of view, you had a vision showing you the absolute worst possibility. It showed you what you could become, and instead of surrendering to it, instead of Falling --” Yan flinched; Qui-Gon felt a horrible sense of realization beginning to grow in his stomach. “--you rose above it. You decided that you would not .”

“It happened,” Yan snapped, heat beginning to enter his voice, no longer quite as steady, as level. “We all bear the proof of that.”

“Yes, it did. But I think of it as… reincarnation,” Obi-Wan said, tilting his head thoughtfully. “This is a different life, and you are not Darth Tyranus. So who are you, Yan Dooku? Are you a Jedi, or aren’t you?”

They lapsed into silence again, and Qui-Gon could tell from the set of Yan’s jaw, from the smallest of furrows between his brows, that he was contemplating the question.

A beat later, his mind caught up with Obi-Wan’s words: Darth Tyranus. The name of a Sith Lord , given to his Master .

Finally, Yan grimaced and shook his head. “I am trying to be.”

Obi-Wan nodded decisively. “Then help . I know about that vow you made, and I understand why you would promise never to raise your ‘saber against another Jedi, but you have already made exceptions to it. To spar with someone is not at all the same as trying to kill them, Grand-Master, and surely even you can recognize that.” His tone took on an edge of fond exasperation, and Yan huffed lightly. 

When Yan didn’t reply, Obi-Wan shook his head. Lower, he said, “You know what we’re facing. None of them are ready. You can help us, and if you are a Jedi, then that is your duty, is it not?”

Slowly, Yan straightened, and that same determination and almost defiance that had so comforted Qui-Gon now seemed… disturbing.

“It is.”

Obi-Wan turned to him, his back to the droid so that Qui-Gon could not see his expression. Whatever Yan saw there, his lips twitched in a valiant effort at a smile, though it vanished quickly. Obi-Wan nodded, and the two went inside, the mouse droid scurrying in after them, just barely avoiding having the door closed on it.

Qui-Gon disconnected the hard drive, staring down at it in his hands for a long moment. Perhaps Mace had been right. What he had just heard--the implications of what he had just heard… Perhaps he shouldn’t have this knowledge.

Qui-Gon certainly wished he didn’t, anyway.

Qui-Gon had intended to keep his word, and give the drive to Mace, but he knew that it would require an explanation. He also knew that he would not be able to lie, or feign ignorance convincingly--not that Mace would ever believe that he hadn’t watched it. They both knew he was in the habit of sticking his nose where it did not strictly belong.

Instead--only for now, he promised himself, because he did not want to watch that again, so there was no real need to keep it--he carefully took his small wooden box out from beneath his bed. It was plain, with no lock--such protection was not needed in the Temple, for no other Jedi would invade another’s privacy. Removing the lid, his fingers brushed only briefly over the little tokens inside: a small lock of Tahl’s curly, dark hair; a single bead from Xanatos’s Padawan braid he had managed to salvage; a string of dark, wooden meditation beads that had once been Micah’s; another single bead from Feemor’s Padawan braid--and oh, how he regretted burning the rest of it. These were the memories of people who were lost to him, either to rejoin the Force, or to the ravages of time and old hurts.

But Obi-Wan’s Padawan braid had not been relegated to this box, shoved beneath the bed, held too close to dispose of, but too far away to be able to look at each day. No, Obi-Wan’s braid, the neatly cut and still-braided length, was kept inside a pouch on his utility belt, just as he knew Obi-Wan still kept the river stone Qui-Gon had given him on his thirteenth birthday in his own belt.

Slowly, Qui-Gon put the hard drive down atop his little momentos, closed the lid, and slid the box back into place.

He needed to meditate, now more than ever.

It was already late when Qui-Gon reached his favorite meditation spot in the Room of a Thousand Fountains. It was a ways away from any of the ponds, although he could hear the distant rush of the largest waterfall still; vibrantly green grass spread out around a large tree; the tree itself had grown for a long, long time, and it was not straight, instead twisting as it grew, its branches and roots radiating around it in wonderfully organic, gnarled combinations, and its leaves were a beautiful combination of greens and deep blues.

Slowly, he sank down beneath the tree, finding a comfortable spot beneath the roots, and bowed his head, closing his eyes. Qui-Gon reached for the Force, his breathing slowing, his awareness reaching beyond his body and to the garden around him. He felt the grass around him, the roots and reaching limbs and leaves of the tree beside him, the joyful rush of the waterfall beyond that.

From this viewpoint, it was far easier for him to separate his emotions, which was precisely the perspective he needed at that moment.

Yan Dooku, Qui-Gon’s Master, had Fallen. He had become a Sith Lord .

That revelation was still the most difficult to fathom. He had known , of course, that Yan struggled with the Order, and with his place in it. They had become too stifled by old traditions that had served their purpose, and now served no other than to act as chains, keeping the Order from returning to what it had once been. After Galidraan, after he had acted as a “mindless executioner” in his own words, on nothing more than the orders of the Senate, Yan had become… disillusioned with the Order. Playthings of the Senate, he had called them all. Nothing more than powerful puppets.

But even though Qui-Gon had seen all of that in him, before Yan had retreated to the Outer Rim, as far away as he could get from the reach of the Senate, and they hadn’t spoken for that long stretch of years, he never would have thought Yan capable of Falling , let alone becoming a Sith .

And Obi-Wan had said it so casually , so flatly . “Darth Tyranus” had tumbled from his lips as though he said it every day , as though it were nothing .

Qui-Gon knew that he could go around and around in circles on this train of thought, his head spinning as he tried to understand it. He breathed deeply, in and out, setting it aside for now. He had more pressing concerns.

One particular concern was the most pressing: what was the chance that he would Fall again, in this lifetime?

He had seen the pain on Yan’s face when Obi-Wan had so flatly asked him “are you a Jedi, or aren’t you?” He had heard Obi-Wan reference some vow he had made, never to raise a lightsaber against another Jedi (never again , Qui-Gon supposed, a shiver running down his spine, soothed by the gentle touch of the Force a moment later). He had heard Yan’s quiet declaration: “I am trying to be.”

Here and now, Yan was a Jedi. But… the Sith were still out there. Qui-Gon knew it, Obi-Wan knew it, the Council all knew it, although they rarely spoke publicly about it. Sith always came in pairs: a Master, and an Apprentice. Thanks to Obi-Wan, they had learned that Darth Maul had been the Apprentice, and someone named Darth Sidious was the Master (and the missions he had taken to confirm that… Qui-Gon had not been permitted to go with him, Obi-Wan taking these secretive assignments between those they went on together, and he often returned wounded, or at least pale, thin, and tired, with dark bruises beneath both eyes. Qui-Gon’s heart ached every time he had to let him go). But if they knew who Darth Sidious truly was, they had not shared his identity with anyone else.

And so the Sith remained, somewhere out there in the galaxy. And while the Sith remained, there was a chance that Yan would Fall.

Hels, there was a chance he would Fall even if the Sith were eliminated.

But… did that really change anything? Qui-Gon himself had almost Fallen more times than he cared to dwell on. When he had faced Xanatos that final time, when Tahl had… when Tahl had died, in front of his eyes, he had felt so much rage , and only the soothing, determined, perpetually Light presence of Obi-Wan beside him both times had kept Qui-Gon anchored. But it proved Qui-Gon’s point: they all had the potential for a Fall, and that potential was only amplified so long as the Sith survived.

Keep your focus here and now, Jinn , he scolded himself.

Here and now, Obi-Wan clearly trusted Yan. Qui-Gon knew how often he had left Anakin alone with Yan, and if Obi-Wan trusted him with his Padawan, then that said he trusted Yan at least as much as he trusted Qui-Gon.

Qui-Gon suddenly remembered their first conversation with him, after Naboo. “My Grand-Master has been changed by recent events. Between the loss of Master Sifo-Dyas, and your injury… I believe it caused him to examine more deeply the relationships he does have within the Order,” Obi-Wan had said. At the time, Qui-Gon had not known that Yan had been affected by the same visions Obi-Wan had Mace had. He had thought Sifo-Dyas and the return of the Sith to be Yan’s motivation.

But he also remembered how Obi-Wan had pushed the two together, how he had encouraged Yan to seek out Yoda’s company, and even Mace’s, and how he had brought back his old friend Ky Narec. He was clearly trying to help him create more ties to the Order.

Finally, Qui-Gon came to the conclusion that this didn’t change anything. Here and now, in this moment, Yan was a Jedi Master, and not a Sith Lord. He supposed, if anything, this was simply… a warning, a signal to watch Yan more closely, to keep an eye out for any warning signs. But he had seemed determined enough, in that conversation Qui-Gon had never been meant to see or hear, not to Fall. Almost too cautious--Qui-Gon’s stomach sank as he realized Yan might already be acting out of fear .

But he could not hold it against Yan, Qui-Gon decided. If he were suddenly confronted with an entire lifetime’s worth of knowledge that included himself not just Falling, but joining the ranks of the Sith , Qui-Gon would be afraid. He would be afraid of himself, just as he had seen Yan now was. Releasing that sort of fear was the work of a lifetime. Not all of them could be Obi-Wan, who had promised with all the sincere determination of a child that he would never Fall. Even if they did make such a promise, not all of them could keep it, not like Obi-Wan could, not like Qui-Gon somehow knew that he would. For many Jedi who actually went out into the field, on missions, seeing the best and worst of the galaxy, it was the work of a lifetime simply to remain within the Light.

How could he condemn Yan for such a struggle? Especially when, from Qui-Gon’s own perspective, at least, he hadn’t Fallen?

Finally, Qui-Gon felt the Force wrap around him, warm and bright. It was settled, then: Yan was his Master, as he had always been, and he was a Jedi. Qui-Gon resolved to continue to treat him as such, and--he felt a flutter of chagrin--he also resolved not to pry any more into the matter of those alternate lives.

He truly didn’t want to know, not if it led to revelations like this .

Slowly, Qui-Gon exhaled once more, feeling the worst of his doubt fade away. It would take more than one meditation to reconcile himself to this new knowledge, he realized, but he had made a good start.

His eyes flew open as he felt the familiar, sharp thwack of a stick against his shin. Wincing, he narrowed his eyes at Yoda, looking back at him with a gentle smile that belied the strike.

“Master,” Qui-Gon greeted him, nodding. Dimly, he noticed that it was morning already, light streaming in through the tall glass dome that covered the garden. Though he could see no one else, he could sense the lights of other Jedi beginning to fill the space.

“Long in meditation, you were,” Yoda hummed. “Miss breakfast, you did. Worried, your Padawans were.”

Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow at Yoda’s use of the plural, a protest that Anakin was not his Padawan on the tip of his tongue, but Yoda’s eyes narrowed, and his hand twitched around his stick, and Qui-Gon slumped slightly with a defeated sigh. Yoda nodded, looking pleased.

“Centered again, are you?” Yoda asked, and Qui-Gon nodded.

“Yes, Master.”

“Good,” Yoda declared. “Good. Your balance, you will need. Coming, many changes are.” He looked a bit… manically gleeful , and Qui-Gon tried to resist the urge to frown. Yoda cackled at him outright, then, his ears flicking upwards.

“What changes, Master?”

“Know yet, I do not. Making these changes, I will not be. To see the Council, you will come, after mid-meal,” Yoda ordered, his eyes glittering.

“Of course, Master. Thank you.”

Yoda nodded, fixing him with another impish look, his smile a little too kind and his eyes glittering. “Breakfast, you missed. Eat, you must.”

Oh no . “...of course, Master. I will return to my quarters--”

“Feed you, I will,” Yoda interrupted him breezily. “Stew there is, in my quarters. Come, come.” He stood, gesturing for Qui-Gon to follow, and he quickly pushed away his grimace, his face becoming a blank mask of serenity. Yoda wasn’t fooled in the slightest, Qui-Gon knew, but even as old as he was, even as a Master in his own right, Qui-Gon would never tell Master Yoda to his face that his stew was terrible .

Besides, he knew that he was even worse in the kitchen, so what right did he have to complain?

Resigned to his fate, Qui-Gon rose to his feet and followed after his Grand-Master.

Qui-Gon was not alone when he came before the Council. He saw Obi-Wan, waiting outside the double doors, hands tucked into the sleeves of his robe, having an animated discussion with an unfamiliar Jedi, a tall human or near-human man with white hair. He looked relatively young, though certainly older than Obi-Wan.

“Ah, Master! There you are,” Obi-Wan called, and Qui-Gon smiled reflexively. It had been two years already, since his Knighting, but even still, Obi-Wan tended to default to his title in public. As he approached, Qui-Gon paused to bow to the stranger.

“You must be Master Jinn, I take it?” the unfamiliar Jedi said, giving him a warm smile and a not-so-subtle evaluating glance.

“I am. And you are…?”

“Djinn Altis,” the man introduced himself, bowing in return. Qui-Gon’s eyebrows shot up.

“Oh dear,” Qui-Gon said. “I have heard of you. The Council summoning both of us at once? That does not bode well.”

Master Altis threw his head back and laughed heartily. “No, it doesn’t. We can only trust in the Force, and hope that they don’t mean to chuck us both out in one go.”

Qui-Gon snorted, and Obi-Wan shook his head, a small smile tugging at his own lips.

“I doubt it,” Obi-Wan said. Qui-Gon turned to him.

“Were you summoned as well?”

“Yes, but my appointment is after yours,” he said with a shrug.

“And where is Anakin? His classes must be over by now.”

Obi-Wan nodded. “He’s with Yan. I finally got him to agree to work on Anakin’s katas.” Qui-Gon felt a strange flutter of mingled hope and affection along with the strangest feeling of dread , probably due to the heavy weight of the knowledge of what Yan was, what he could be--

He wasn’t given long to dwell on it as the doors opened. Obi-Wan gave him a warm smile and moved to take a seat in one of the chairs kept outside the Chamber. Qui-Gon nodded to him and made his way into the Chamber.

As both of them were Masters, Altis and Qui-Gon stood side-by-side in the center of the circle, bowing in unison.

“Master Jinn, Master Altis,” Mace began, nodding back. “We requested the two of you in the hopes that you would agree to help this Council with a… project.” He gestured to Qui-Gon. “Master Jinn, I understand Master Drallig already approached you about helping a few of our injured fellows from the Corellian Temple.” Qui-Gon nodded. “They will not be coming alone.

“The Corellian Temple, the Temple of Eedit on Devaron, the Temple of Dantooine, and the Temple of the Kyber on Jedha will all be sending representatives to us. They will arrive next week,” Mace said, and Qui-Gon blinked in surprise. Beside him, he could feel Altis release a similar feeling into the Force around them.

“And this project would be…?” Altis asked, frowning thoughtfully.

“Contrary to what you may believe, we do listen to you,” Mace said, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips before his expression smoothed. Qui-Gon laughed, and Altis snorted, shaking his head. “The Order is… stagnating. Our numbers are only a fraction of what they were before the Reformation, and we have fewer and fewer Padawans being Claimed, and in turn graduating to Knights each year. We feel that there must be more of us, to counter the growing Darkness of the galaxy, and that change must begin now.

“To that end, we hope to form a closer relationship with the other Temples. Their representatives are coming to form a committee, and the aim of that committee is to work together to determine how we can all change, to become stronger together. What the Council is asking of you is that you two represent the Coruscant Temple.”

Qui-Gon was not just surprised by that, he was shocked . He exchanged startled glances with Altis, both of their eyes wide, perfect mirror images. It was not just that Qui-Gon was surprised that they would ask him and Altis--a man who had, since his Knighting, been gunning for Qui-Gon’s spot as the most controversial Jedi in the Coruscant Temple--to represent them. Qui-Gon was also shocked that they had finally seemed to see reason and acknowledge that certain elements of their traditions should be changed.

Qui-Gon focused his attention on the Councilors again, noting Yoda’s unabashed smile, the sheer excitement and glee he was radiating in the Force, and realized that he felt only anticipation from them--there was no expectation, no pressure. He found his answer came easily.

“I would be happy to accept, Masters,” Qui-Gon said, bowing his head. “And I am honored to have been asked.”

“I will also do my part,” Altis said, a teasing grin making its way across his face as he added, “however unexpected this vote of confidence may be.”

Many of the Councilors smothered laughs at that, but not Yoda, who chuckled loudly. Mace shook his head, a smile on his face again.

“Thank you. The other representatives will begin arriving over the next few days. Once they have all arrived, we will coordinate the details with you,” Mace said.

“Thank you, Masters,” both Qui-Gon and Altis said in unison, bowing again.

“May the Force be with you,” Mace said, something like hope in his voice that Qui-Gon did not want to examine too closely.

When he passed Obi-Wan, making his way out with Altis just behind him as Obi-Wan was headed in, his former Padawan gave him a gentle, knowing smile and a nod. Qui-Gon wondered if this had ever happened Before , and decided he really didn’t want to know. He’d learned his lesson about prying into that other time.

Obi-Wan had not yet returned from his meeting with the Council when the door to their quarters opened and Anakin entered, followed by Yan. Qui-Gon looked up from the datapad he’d been reading, a summary on all of the changes made to the Order during the Reformation and since, giving them both a smile as Anakin ran to hug him, as he always did.

“How was your lesson, Ani?” Qui-Gon asked, and Anakin’s eyes lit up.

“It was so wizard !” he said enthusiastically. “Master Yan is really, really good. I can’t believe I’d never seen him use his ‘saber before!” Trying to whisper and not quite-managing it because of his lingering excitement, Anakin added, “Even if he is a really tough teacher, I had a lot of fun. And I think I learned a lot.”

Qui-Gon glanced up at Yan, who was pretending not to have heard, and he grinned. “That’s wonderful, Ani. Now, Obi-Wan isn’t back yet, so it’s looking like we’re off to the refectory for dinner. Why don’t you go get cleaned up?”

“‘Kay!” Anakin agreed easily, scampering off to the ‘fresher. Qui-Gon smiled and shook his head at the boy’s energy and enthusiasm before turning to Yan.

“How was it?” Qui-Gon asked.

“It went well enough,” Yan said. “He is a bright child, although he has far more energy than I recall even you having at that age.”

Qui-Gon laughed, shaking his head. He leaned forward to set the datapad on the table. “Would you care to join us for dinner?”

Yan raised an eyebrow. “If that is the case, I will simply cook here,” he sniffed, and Qui-Gon chuckled. Due to his complete inability to cook for himself, Qui-Gon had never had a problem with the food served in the refectory, although Obi-Wan had never been fond of it, and Yan shared his aversion. “I’m certain Obi-Wan will have something I can manage.”

“Thank you,” Qui-Gon said. “I would offer to help, but…”

Yan raised an eyebrow at him. “These are not my quarters, and I technically have no power to ban you from the kitchen; though I doubt it will come to that, as you do not seem eager to try your hand again.” He made his way toward the kitchen, checking their cupboards and cooling unit before beginning to pull several packets out onto the counters. “What did the Council want with you?”

“Ah, that,” Qui-Gon said, blinking. The mere thought of it still sent his mind spinning. “They’re forming a committee, and they asked that I join them, along with Djinn Altis.”

“I hope they realize what they have set upon themselves,” Yan said lightly, and Qui-Gon snorted.

“Yes, we said much the same.” He shook his head. “The other representatives are from several of the other Temples. Apparently our Council has finally seen how stagnant we have become, and they’ve asked us to propose solutions.”

“Have they now?” Yan asked, his voice filled with no little wonder.

“They have. It’s a vague assignment, but I think they intended that,” Qui-Gon said thoughtfully. “They don’t want to narrow the scope of our suggestions, though how many of them they’ll actually accept remains to be seen.”

“I see. Come here, please.” Qui-Gon frowned, but moved to join Yan in the kitchen. Yan handed him a cutting board and a handful of leafy green herbs, gesturing towards their knife block. “Even you can chop something.”

Qui-Gon laughed and shook his head, but set the cutting board on the counter and grabbed a knife, slowly beginning to pare down the herbs. They worked in companionable silence, only interrupted when Anakin emerged from the ‘fresher, face scrubbed pink and his still-drying hair standing up on end.

“I thought we were going to the dining hall…?” Anakin asked, trailing off and biting his lip.

“Yan offered to make dinner for us,” Qui-Gon explained.

“Oh, that’s… nice,” Anakin said, squirming a little. “But um… will it be safe to eat?”

“Is my cooking truly so terrible, young one?” Yan asked, turning to raise an eyebrow at Anakin, who flushed deeply.

“No! No, it’s good, I just… Master Qui-Gon is helping?” Qui-Gon and Yan exchanged glances, and then Qui-Gon burst out laughing.

“My reputation must be terrible ,” Qui-Gon said through his chuckles, and Anakin tentatively grinned up at him.

“Well, Master Obi-Wan did tell me about the time you tried to make him a cake for his birthday,” Anakin said. “He appreciated that you tried , but he didn’t really like having to eat in the refectory for the next week while the oven got replaced.”

“I had almost forgotten about that,” Qui-Gon said, shaking his head. “Here, Ani. You’re much better at this than I am--why don’t you take over for me, and I’ll set the table?”

“‘Kay!” Anakin agreed easily, jumping up to take the knife from him. Yan pursed his lips, watching Anakin begin to carefully chop the herbs before deciding that he knew well enough what he was doing and turning back to his own task. Qui-Gon smiled at the two of them and then took the dishes from the cabinet, moving over to set the table.

“Is Master Obi-Wan still with the Council?” Anakin asked, frowning.

“Yes, he is.”

Anakin glanced at the chrono on his wrist and then sighed. “He’s been there for a long time.”

“He has,” Qui-Gon agreed.

“Do you know what they’re talking about?”

“No, Ani, I don’t,” Qui-Gon sighed.

“I sense they may be a while yet,” Yan hummed, his own spark of prescience rearing its head. “We should get started. We shall set some aside for him.” Anakin nodded, pouting a bit and falling silent for the rest of the time it took to make the meal, a delicious stir-fry.

Conversation over dinner itself was subdued, and Qui-Gon finally sighed when he saw Anakin pushing his food around more than eating it.

“Long Council meetings are not unusual, Ani,” he reassured the boy. Anakin bit his lip.

“It’s just… Master Obi-Wan feels so… prickly right now. I think they’re arguing,” Anakin said. Qui-Gon chuckled.

“I have argued with the Council many times, little one, and it has always turned out alright.” Yan raised an eyebrow at him, no doubt remembering the time he had landed himself a three-month censure, and then arguing with the Council had extended it to five months. Yan had mentioned it each time they spoke for the next year after that.

“Yeah, I know, but I feel like he’s going to have to leave soon,” Anakin said. Qui-Gon frowned.

“He’s meant to be here in the Temple for a time, for the two of you to acclimate to your partnership,” Yan said smoothly. “I doubt the Council will give him a mission this soon, especially one that you would not be permitted to accompany him on.”

Anakin brightened somewhat, managing a smile, and more of his food began to make it to his mouth. Qui-Gon shot Yan a grateful smile, and Yan nodded slightly back before glancing away at Obi-Wan’s empty seat. Qui-Gon wondered idly if Yan had ever known Anakin in that other lifetime--it was unlikely, he decided, if Yan had… left the Order.

Finally, just as they were finishing up, Obi-Wan arrived. He looked… tired, but managed a smile for the three of them.

“Obi!” Anakin cried, forgetting the title along with the second syllable of Obi-Wan’s name. Obi-Wan’s smile grew a bit more genuine as Anakin shot up from the table, running over to hug him. He barreled into Obi-Wan, who simply wrapped his arms around him in return. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Ani,” he laughed. “I promise. The Council doesn’t bite.” Anakin giggled as though this were some sort of inside joke between them, nodding and squeezing for another brief moment before reluctantly letting Obi-Wan go.

“We cooked dinner,” Anakin said, and Obi-Wan shook his head.

“That was very thoughtful of you, but I think I’ll save it for now.” Yan exchanged a look with Qui-Gon, both of them knowing that Obi-Wan tended to lose his appetite when his thoughts were too full. Wordlessly, Yan stood and began clearing their plates, Qui-Gon moving to help him a moment later.

Obi-Wan allowed Anakin to steer them both to the couch where he was forced to sit, Anakin climbing half into his lap. “How was ‘saber practice?”

“Master Yan is so fast, I could barely keep up!” Anakin said, and with that, he was off, chattering excitedly about what Yan had shown him in the salles, barely stopping to breathe. After a while, Obi-Wan shifted them so that Anakin’s back was to him, undoing his braid to smooth it out and re-braid it, the action soothing both of them as Anakin spoke.

Finally, Anakin began to trail off, pausing to yawn more and more frequently, his body slumping back until he was pressed against Obi-Wan’s chest. With a small, fond smile, Obi-Wan gently nudged him awake and sent him to bed.

Yan and Qui-Gon had finished cleaning up the kitchen by that point, and in silent but mutual agreement, pulled out the brandy and the crystal glasses, pouring for themselves and for Obi-Wan. When he emerged from the hallway to their bedrooms after ensuring Anakin made it to bed, he blinked at them, and then smiled, taking the drink. Qui-Gon gestured to the couch, and Obi-Wan nodded, retaking his seat as Qui-Gon and Yan settled themselves in the armchairs.

“What did the Council want with you?” Qui-Gon asked, echoing Yan’s earlier question to him. He kept his voice light and curious, trying to stifle his worry from shining through, knowing that it would serve only to make Obi-Wan feel guilty in turn. He still disliked being fussed over.

Obi-Wan snorted, taking a sip of the brandy. “It’s more what I wanted with the Council,” he muttered. Shaking his head, he continued to stare at the drink he held in both hands before quickly glancing at Yan, frowning. “Jango Fett contacted me today.”

Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow.

Yan stiffened, and carefully said, “I had heard rumors that your time on Tatooine was not all that it appeared to be.”

“Well, that much is true,” Obi-Wan sighed, reaching up to run one hand through his hair, mussing it. Qui-Gon’s lips twitched. “Jango was in on the plan from the start. Pretending to turn me in for the bounty was the easiest way to get us into Jabba’s court.” He looked at Yan again. “He’s a good man.”

Yan did not reply, so Qui-Gon took up the conversation again. “What did he have to say?”

“I made him a promise,” Obi-Wan said slowly, a flush beginning to creep over his face, “the first time we met. He was calling to collect.”

Qui-Gon frowned. “What sort of promise?”

Obi-Wan looked back down at his drink. “I offered my… assistance with Kyr’tsad ’s leaders. It is a promise that I fully intend to keep, but the Council was… less than pleased by my decision.”

“I can imagine so,” Yan said flatly, “considering the last time the Order intervened in Mandalorian affairs.”

Obi-Wan shook his head and sighed, swirling the brandy around before downing a large portion. He looked Yan in the eye. “Not to reopen that particular wound, Grand-Master, but the last time was orchestrated by Kyr’tsad . And they went unpunished for it. Since then, their power has only grown, doubly so since the Senate failed to impose any meaningful consequences for their ally’s actions in recent years.”

“Their ally?” Qui-Gon asked, frowning thoughtfully.

“The Trade Federation,” Obi-Wan sighed. “They’ve been funding Kyr’tsad for years. Not that I’m terribly surprised that the Senate failed to act, given that they’re all just puppets-- ”

“Obi-Wan,” Yan cut him off smoothly, raising an eyebrow in warning. Obi-Wan pursed his lips and ran a hand through his hair again. Qui-Gon quietly wondered what he had been about to say, but also how stressed he probably was, to let even that much slip. He was normally more careful than this.

“The Trade Federation is obviously connected to the Sith,” Qui-Gon said, sinking back into his chair as he thought the problem through. “They would not have been working with a Sith assassin on Naboo if they were not. But why would the Sith have an interest in Death Watch?”

“We should not be discussing this,” Yan warned them. Obi-Wan waved a hand.

“All of this can be deduced through simple logic,” he sighed. “We aren’t saying anything we shouldn’t be.” Yan sat back, eyes narrowed, shoulders tense. Obi-Wan turned back to Qui-Gon. “We all know that Mandalore was traditionally allied with the Sith, but since the Clan Wars, they’ve been moving in a different direction--a more peaceful direction, and one that has made them more likely to work with the Order, or at least feel neutrally about us. The Sith’s numbers are far fewer than our own, and an army of well-trained commandos who are known to be quite effective against Force-users would be a great threat to them. By allying themselves with Kyr’tsad , they’re seeking to neutralize the threat to themselves while increasing the threat to us .”

Qui-Gon frowned, blinking at Obi-Wan. He was right, of course--all of that made perfect sense. “So why does the Council disagree? I would think that they would recognize the threat as you have.”

“They agree that it is a threat,” Obi-Wan said, slumping back on the couch, “they simply disagreed with how I proposed to go about it. They questioned my… motivations.”

“Oh?” Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow again, thinking of Satine Kryze, and the way Obi-Wan had looked at her, and the faint thrill of fear Qui-Gon had felt. He had almost thought that Obi-Wan would choose to remain behind, to stay on Mandalore to be with the Duchess. “And why is that?”

“Stop this,” Yan ordered, and Obi-Wan shook his head.

“He’s right. I really shouldn’t say any more,” he said softly. “But what I can tell you is that I did get them to agree, in the end. I’ll be leaving next week. Would the two of you be willing to watch Anakin for me? I hate to leave him so soon, but there’s no way I would bring him into this. He’s far too young, yet.”

Yan and Qui-Gon exchanged looks , and Qui-Gon knew that they were both thinking of how relieved Anakin had been when Yan had assured him that Obi-Wan was unlikely to be sent away so soon on a mission.

“Of course,” Yan agreed. “Qui-Gon will have his committee taking up much of his time, but it should be possible to schedule our other project for the time he is in classes. We will look after him.”

“Thank you.” Obi-Wan looked more exhausted than he had when he’d first walked in, and he drained the rest of his drink in silence.

“Go to bed,” Qui-Gon ordered, and Obi-Wan gave him a fond look, a smile tugging at his lips. He bowed his head.

“Yes, Master . Goodnight.” He paused to nod to Yan, still smiling softly. “Grand-Master.”

As soon as Obi-Wan was out of the room, Qui-Gon huffed and slumped in his chair. Anakin was going to have a fit about this.

And he wasn’t exactly fond of this mission either. From what Obi-Wan had said, Qui-Gon had a feeling this was going to be dangerous--well, more dangerous than their usual missions, anyway. His stomach sank as he realized that, yet again, Obi-Wan was going where he could not follow, and there would be nothing he could do to keep him safe .

“I’m having another,” Qui-Gon announced, holding up his now-empty glass. “Would you like one?”

Yan snorted and held out his glass. “I suppose my Grand-Padawan is driving us both to drink tonight.”

Qui-Gon’s lips twitched in an attempt at a smile. “He does that, from time to time.”

Chapter Text

Shmi was angry with him. Jango had known that she would be, of course. She truly was mandokarla , and being told that she would have to remain behind while he went to fight Kyr’tsad was galling to her.

But Jango had no choice. It wasn’t that he didn’t think Shmi capable--he had taught her well, and she had learned quickly, and was now helping the little ones with their introductory weapons classes. It was just…

Jango was good , he was capable , and he knew it, and Kenobi was good, too, but even with that, there was no guarantee that he would survive this. And mhi ade … They could not risk both of them. If Jango died trying to free Mandalore from Kyr’tsad and their terror, Boba would need someone. All of the ade would need someone.

He had thought all of this through carefully before breaking the news to Shmi as gently as he could. He had realized that she would be angry, that she would think it unfair , but even though he was prepared for it, the sting of her anger still hurt. She had spent the past two weeks speaking to him in terse, clipped sentences, and she had opted to spend most of her days with the ade , rather than training with him or seeking him out for conversation.

Still, it brought a small smile to his face when Shmi came to see him off, holding Boba on her hip with her left arm securely around the toddler. Her lips were pursed, and he saw the fire in her eyes, the rigid way she was holding her shoulders. Boba saw him and gave him a gummy smile, reaching out for him. Jango chuckled and simply grabbed one of his tiny hands with a few of his fingers.

“Not right now, Boba,” he said gently. “I’m sorry, ad’ika . I have to go away for a while. Be good for gar ba’vodu , yeah?”

Boba frowned at him, but nodded. “ Lek ,” he said. “Back soon?”

Jango smiled and squeezed Boba’s hand gently. “As soon as I can,” he promised, and Boba’s nose scrunched up, no doubt catching that there was no time frame attached. His son was smart , so much so that Jango sometimes wondered if the Kaminiise had tampered with his genetics after all. Jango didn’t think he was that smart at Boba’s age.

He looked up at Shmi, who seemed to have softened somewhat, watching him interact with Boba. “Thank you. For watching him while I’m away.”

Shmi shook her head. “You never have to thank me for that,” she murmured. “But you must come back to him. To all of them. Don’t get yourself--” She glanced down at Boba, and Jango grimaced. “--hurt.”

“Kenobi agreed to help,” he reminded her. “I don’t think there’s much a Mandalorian and a Jetii can’t do. We’ll be fine.”

“ K’oyacyi, ner Mand’alor ,” she said. “We’ll be waiting for you.”

Jango nodded. “ K’oyacyi , Shm’ika. I’ll be back for you, ad’ika . I promise.”

He leaned forward and pressed his forehead to Boba’s, both of the little boy’s hands reaching up to grab his cheeks. Slowly, Jango drew back, smiling tightly at them as Boba continued trying to reach for him. With that, he turned and strode into the ship without looking back again.

As Jango made his final approach, he couldn’t help but feel… unnerved. This marked his first return to Mandalorian space in well over a decade, and he was… simultaneously homesick and guilty. He slowed as he passed Mand’yaim , staring down at it through the cockpit for a moment before continuing on to Concord Dawn.

His pulse started to pick up and there was a sinking sensation in his stomach as he neared the old Fett homestead. He landed the ship not far from the house, and spent a moment sitting at the controls taking deep breaths. Slowly, he rose and went to lower the ramp.

He could see most of the land, bathed in the warm dawn glow. The farmstead was showing obvious signs of neglect: the fields were overgrown, the harvester was lying on its side, rusting away in the field (already stripped of any useable parts, Jango figured), and most of the windows he could see were busted out. But the farmhouse was still standing, as was the barn, and the doors were intact. It would be good enough, for now.

For a moment, Jango thought about going into the farmhouse, but he hesitated at the front door, his mind flashing to the image of his parents’ bodies lying on the floor, blood pooling around them, his father screaming at him to run, Jango, and don’t look back--

He concentrated on his breathing, slow and steady, and relaxed the hands he hadn’t realized he’d balled into fists. Jango turned away from the farmhouse, heading back to Slave I . Reentering the ship, he sank down onto one of the benches and pulled out his pistol, taking it apart just to inspect it and put it back together; he’d cleaned it already, just before leaving Kamino, but he needed something to do , something to keep him from thinking about--

Jango scowled down at the pistol and wished Kenobi would hurry it up already.

It was nearly midday when the Prudii touched down. Jango finally emerged from Slave I again, eying the Jetii ’s ship carefully. It looked like he’d been taking good care of it, although there were a few more traces of carbon scoring attesting to more firefights than Jango had seen on Tatooine. When Kenobi descended the ramp, he wasn’t wearing his tunics, thankfully. Instead, he’d donned an outfit similar to what Jango had seen before, with tall boots, synthleather jacket, and tight pants. His Jetii’kad was nowhere to be seen, probably in that convenient pocket he’d sewn into the inside of the jacket, but there was a blaster on his hip.

He smiled as Jango approached, crossing his fist over his chest again, as he had the first time they’d met. “Mand’alor.”

Jango nodded and extended one hand. A brief look of surprise flitted across Kenobi’s face before he grinned again, clasping Jango’s arm near his elbow in the traditional Mandalorian greeting.

“Kenobi,” Jango said. “ Vor entye. For coming.”

The Jetti ’s grin turned sharper at that. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

Jango studied him for a moment and then shook his head. “I believe you. Come on, onto the Slave .”

“Where are we going?” Kenobi asked, tilting his head thoughtfully.

“If you’re going to be fighting,” Jango said, “you’re going to need beskar’gam .”

Kenobi froze, staring at Jango with wide eyes. “I couldn’t--”

“You’ll have to,” Jango said grimly. “Unless you want everyone to know you’re a Jetii , you need to hide your identity. That means not using the Jetii’kad , and covering up that distinctive hair of yours.”

Kenobi shook his head. “I couldn’t , Jango. I’m a Jedi , I can’t swear vows that require allegiance to anything or anyone else. I can’t swear to the Resol’nare .”

“You came when I called.” Jango pointed out, raising an eyebrow at him. Kenobi flushed, but lifted his chin in defiance of his point. Jango shook his head. “But I didn’t say you had to swear to the Resol’nare . I know what I’m offering, Kenobi. You…” He truly had thought about this, long and hard--he had even discussed the issue with Shmi, before he told her that she couldn’t come with him. They had decided that if anyone deserved to be honored as close to Mandalorian as possible, it was Kenobi--and it certainly wouldn’t hurt to get closer to Kenobi, to have him on their side when he and Shmi enacted their plans to free mhi ade , waiting on Kamino for him, their future and lives hanging on this mission. “Consider it thanks, for answering when I called.”

Kenobi softened, and then he sighed. “ Vor entye ,” he said quietly. Then he shifted almost guiltily and Jango’s eyes narrowed. “I presume you plan to take us to an armorer?”

“Yes.”

“Well,” Kenobi said, looking sheepish, “at least they will not have to start from scratch.” Jango frowned, but before he could ask what Kenobi meant, the Jetii was already turning around to head back up the ramp of the Prudii . After a long moment, he reappeared, carrying a large metal case. He set it down in front of Jango, who cocked his head in silent question, and Kenobi unlocked it, raising the lid.

Inside lay a full set of beskar’gam --and it looked like real beskar , too, not durasteel. The blue and grey paint was worn, but the armor itself had been well cared for.

Jango looked up sharply, his brow furrowed. “ How ?”

“It was a gift,” Kenobi sighed, “from Satine Kryze. This is the armor that I took from one of the Kyr’tsad who tried to kill her. I wore it then for similar reasons--we were on the run, and had to hide our identities. At the end of our time here, when we had assured her and the Jorad’alor ’s safety, she told me to keep it.” He paused, looking down at the armor with a wistful expression. “I had thought to return it to you. I knew that I would not wear it again--it wouldn’t be right. But it felt wrong to have it tucked away, never seeing use. Such things are meant to be passed down.”

“They usually are,” Jango agreed. “It’s good that you still have it. You’re right--it will lighten the armorer’s load.”

“Yes, though I’m afraid they will still have some work to do,” Kenobi said, smiling wryly. “I haven’t worn it since I was sixteen.” He frowned, then. “Not that I think I’ve grown much since then.”

Jango chuckled and shook his head, jerking his head toward the Slave again. “Let’s get it loaded and get going.”

Only a few minutes later, Kenobi was settled into the co-pilot’s chair, and Jango was taking them over the fields and planes. Without looking away from the controls, Jango said, “I need to… warn you. About the armorer.”

“Oh?”

“She’s from a Clan that still observes many of the Old Ways,” Jango explained. “The Clan--which they call ‘the Tribe,’ as any Mandalorian from any Clan may join them, as long as they swear to the Creed, which is their version of the Resol’nare. They never remove their helmets in front of outsiders, and they consider anyone not of their Clan to be an outsider.”

Kenobi hummed consideringly. “I’ve heard of them before. I believe we met a few of them, helping Satine. They helped us in turn, although we never did learn who they were.”

Jango nodded slowly, satisfied that Kenobi wouldn’t be offended or make an insensitive request for them to remove the helm. Not that he really thought Kenobi would have done so even if he hadn’t warned him, but it was better to eliminate the possibility than gamble.

Within twenty minutes, they had reached their destination. It was a large compound, sitting atop a hill. They certainly weren’t hiding , although they were far enough from any of the major cities that they would get few visitors. Jango landed the ship not far from the compound, and by the time he and Kenobi exited the ship, there was a woman waiting for them, wearing a skirt and tall boots, chest armor and pauldrons, with a fur draped over her shoulders. Her helmet was gold with small spikes on top of it.

As they approached, she crossed her right fist over her chest and nodded deeply. “ Mand’alor .”

Jango nodded in return. “Thank you for agreeing to help.”

“This is the Way,” she replied simply, and turned a considering gaze on Kenobi. “He is the one?”

“Yes. Though you will not have to start from scratch.”

She nodded again, turning back to Jango. “There are those within the Tribe who wish to help you.”

Jango blinked. He hadn’t been expecting that--the Tribe had always been an outlier, the Clan Wars having no impact on their policy of accepting any Mandalorian so long as they were willing to swear to their Creed. It meant that they were able to remain neutral during the Clan Wars, and he was surprised by the offer of help.

Though truth be told, this was what he was hoping for, even if he hadn’t expected it from the Tribe. He had asked Adonai and the few remaining Haat Mando’ade he knew of who were still alive--the few who had not been on Galidraan with them (and the thought still sent an icy spear through his chest, but not the boiling, bitter rage of before, which was a pleasant development) to spread the word that he was returning. He hoped that they would rally, though he was prepared to do without them. Or die trying. Either way, he would regain his honor, and if he died, his soul would rest easier.

“ Vor entye ,” he said slowly. “I know it must mean much to you to part from the neutrality of the Tribe.”

“ Kyr’tsad cuyi dar’manda ,” she said flatly. “They are an abomination. We will be glad when they are no more, and the Tribe will not allow a battle to be fought for us. We will help. Now, show me the beskar’gam .”

Kenobi nodded, retreating into the ship to bring the case down, placing it before the armorer. She knelt down, opening the box slowly, staring at the beskar’gam inside. Finally, she nodded and rose.

“These are fine pieces,” she said, and Jango was grateful that she did not ask where the armor came from. Though she probably realized, given the peeling but distinctive paint job. “You will need to be measured. Do you require any alterations aside from sizing?”

Kenobi paused for a moment. “If the seams on the boots could be loosened, that would be appreciated. My fighting style requires greater flexibility than the current tight seams allow.” The armorer nodded and picked up the box as though it were weightless, nodding for them to follow her.

She took them around the side of the compound and through a gate where two burly Mando’ade , also in full armor and holding heavy blaster cannons, stood guard. They crossed their right hands over their chests, nodding deeply, though they said nothing. Through the gate was an open courtyard, and off to one side was the forge.

“Take the jacket off,” the armorer ordered. Kenobi shrugged out of it as he gave Jango a significant look . Realizing he was right about where Kenobi had stashed his Jetii’kad , he wordlessly took the jacket and draped it over one arm, moving to sit on a small bench near the forge to observe. The armorer began to move around Kenobi in slow circles, eyeing him carefully and running a scanner over him to capture measurements before finally nodding and moving to take the beskar’gam from its container, beginning with the helmet. “I will repaint this for you as well, unless you would like it stripped bare.”

Kenobi paused. “Bare beskar is a bit… attention-catching. The paint would be appreciated.”

The armorer nodded. “Colors?”

“Black,” Kenobi said immediately, and then he paused. “And silver.”

The armorer tilted her head thoughtfully, likely considering the meaning of his choice. Jango knew that there was no way Kenobi didn’t realize the meanings behind those choices--black for justice and silver for one seeking redemption. His obvious respect for and knowledge of Mandalorian culture would have been enough, but the choices were also just too appropriate for the man. Not that Jango thought Kenobi needed to seek redemption, but the fact that he was a Jetii , one of the Order who had slaughtered his people, and yet he had answered the call of the Mand’alor … It felt right. It felt like a new beginning-- cin vhetin .

Finally, the armorer nodded. “A fine choice. I will begin work immediately. Mand’alor , you and your burc’ya may find refreshments in the house, if you wish.”

Jango glanced at Kenobi, who tilted his head and looked back to the armorer. “I’ve never seen beskar worked before. Might I remain?”

“As you wish.”

It took several hours for the armorer to refit the pieces, separate the seams on the cetare , strip the paint, and then repaint them. Kenobi watched with rapt attention the entire time, sitting on the ground near the forge with his legs tucked beneath him, his hands resting on his thighs. Jango remained on the bench, keeping a strong grip on the jacket that held Kenobi’s Jetii’kad . Several members of the Tribe came out of the compound to look at them, staying a fair distance away and speaking quietly amongst themselves as they peered at them. Jango got the impression they didn’t get many visitors out here.

Finally, the armorer was finished, and she handed over the beskar’gam and one of the black bodysuits that would go underneath, and Kenobi merely stared at it for a time, expression inscrutable, before accepting it.

“ Vor entye ,” he murmured, and rose.

“You may change inside. The first door on the left,” she instructed. Kenobi nodded and disappeared within the house. The armorer turned to Jango, then. “Does your beskar’gam require maintenance?”

“ Nayc, vor’e ,” Jango answered, and she nodded her acceptance, returning to the forge proper to begin replacing her tools.

Only a few minutes later--and the speed at which Kenobi managed to don the armor was indication enough that he knew how to wear it, which made something warm in Jango’s chest--Kenobi emerged from the compound, holding the clothes he’d been in before. He set the neatly folded clothing down on the bench beside Jango and straightened, letting them both get a good look at him.

Kenobi in beskar’gam was… striking. The armor was mostly black with silver lines accentuating the joinings of the plates, and running down his arms and legs. He had even pulled on the buy’ce , and with it, he looked like a true warrior. It felt right, when Jango looked at him--he was strongly reminded of watching Kenobi fight in Jabba’s throne room, all fire and righteous fury. Fleetingly, Jango wondered what it would have been like had a Mandalorian been on Stewjon to find Kenobi and save him from his dar’buir instead of a Jetii. He would have done well as a foundling, Jango thought.

“It suits you,” Jango murmured, and Kenobi nodded in thanks.

The armorer strode over, circling Kenobi again with an appraising eye. Finally, she hummed, and tilted her head.

“You wear it well,” she said, voice full of approval, making up for her lack of expression, face covered by her buy’ce . She turned to Jango again. “It grows late. You may stay here for the night, if you wish.”

Jango glanced at Kenobi. “Will you be alright to leave the Prudii for tonight?” Kenobi nodded again. “We will stay. Vor entye .”

The armorer straightened somewhat. “We may not follow the Resol’nare as most know it, but you are Mand’alor . We recognize this, and require no thanks for our assistance. This is the Way.”

Jango blinked, and then smiled at her. “This is the Way,” he echoed, as he knew was their custom. She seemed pleased as she nodded to him before turning away, gesturing another Mandalorian over.

He was a big man, tall and broad--nearly a full head taller than Kenobi, who was a few inches taller than Jango himself. Still, he moved with the grace common to Mando’ade , given their training.

“They will stay with us tonight,” the armorer told him. “See to their accommodations.”

“ Elek, Alor ,” the man said, his voice deep through the modulation of the helmet. Kenobi took his clothes from the bench and his jacket from Jango, who stood to follow the Mandalorian.

They were silent as the larger man led them into the compound. It was bright and warm inside, and distantly, Jango could hear the sounds of children laughing and playing, and he smiled. The smile dimmed somewhat as he remembered Boba, and the rest of his ade on Kamino. Taking a deep breath, he reminded himself that he was doing this for all of his people, including the ade the Kaminiise had created, and pushed it from his mind.

They were led through the halls, the armored Mando’ade they passed nodding deeply and placing their fists against their chests, and up a flight of stairs. The Mandalorian stopped at the top of the staircase.

“The first two rooms on the right are unoccupied. Latemeal will be served soon downstairs,” he said, and Jango nodded. Without waiting for a reply, the Mandalorian crossed his fist over his chest and turned to leave them.

Jango chose one of the rooms and walked in, watching out of the corner of his eye as Kenobi entered the one beside it. The room was pleasant, if a bit plain. Light-colored stucco walls, large bed, a long mirror with a shelf mounted beneath it, an attached ‘fresher, and an armor rack in the corner and a chair beside it. The windows were all small and set high up near the ceiling--easier to avoid being sniped. Jango appreciated the sense of security it gave.

He decided against taking his armor off, yet, if they still had to go down for dinner. Instead, he simply set his buy’ce onto the armor rack and exited the room again, heading for Kenobi’s. He knocked on the door, and the Jetii called for him to enter after a moment. This room was identical to his own, and Kenobi had also set his own buy’ce onto the armor rack, sitting down on the edge of the bed. He gestured to the chair, and Jango moved to sit down.

“This is convenient,” Kenobi said, and Jango tilted his head in silent question. “If I simply keep the buy’ce in place, the others joining us will likely assume that I am of the Tribe. We don’t have to correct them, and none of them would ask me to remove it. That will serve to hide my identity nicely.”

Jango nodded slowly. “Their help is an unexpected boon. We’ll have to wait until the rendezvous at the homestead tomorrow to see how many will actually answer the call, but the Tribe are known for their warriors. They are particularly skilled.”

Kenobi nodded slowly. “What is the plan?”

He did not get a chance to reply as a small, young voice came from outside. “‘Scuse me, Mand’alor , bal gar burc’ya ! Food’s ready! Haili cetare! ”

Jango chuckled and Kenobi smiled softly, both of them exchanging amused looks as they rose. Neither bothered to retrieve their helmets before Kenobi opened the door. The child who had called to them was already gone, and they made their way down the stairs.

As they reached the main level, Jango could smell the spices of the food and followed his nose toward the kitchen. There was a long galley with perhaps two dozen of the Tribe standing around, waiting to grab their portions--likely to be taken back to their individual quarters to be eaten, since they could not remove their helms even to eat in front of others. As Jango approached, Kenobi just behind him, the others parted for them, dipping their heads and bringing their fists to their chests.

It made Jango… conflicted. He couldn’t deny the flash of pleasure , of satisfaction , at being recognized as Mand’alor . The hope that his people would rally to his cause again was so strong it brought the sting of tears to his eyes, though they did not fall. But he also felt… ashamed. He knew that he could not have changed what had happened--Jango had been a prisoner. He had been a slave , and it had kept him from his people for so long, but it still felt to him as though he had abandoned them.

That they accepted him back so easily was a gift from the ka’ra , and not one that Jango knew he fully deserved.

He put the thoughts from his mind with some effort as he and Kenobi entered the kitchen, the familiar heat of the spice bringing its own sheen of tears to his eyes, and he grinned broadly. A lithe Mandalorian, still in full armor, and a young child--too young to have armor; Jango guessed the little blonde boy was maybe ten, at the oldest--serving the portions out.

“ Mand’alor ,” the man greeted them, nodding. He placed his fist across his chest, and the child copied him, beaming excitedly. Jango nodded to them.

“ Tiingilar? ” Jango asked hopefully, and the kid nodded quickly.

“And buir has plenty of tihaar !” the boy said excitedly. Jango chuckled.

“Just juice or milk for you, ad’ika ,” the Mandalorian man said, sounding fond. The child pouted for a moment before grabbing a bottle and offering it to Jango, who took it with a nod of thanks. The child flushed and stepped back, almost hiding behind his buir , who chuckled softly and offered them two large bowls of the stew.

Jango was right; as they sat down to eat, no one else joined them, the others taking their portions and retreating to their rooms to eat in privacy. He watched as Kenobi took his first bite of the stew, waiting for him to start coughing and choking on the spice, but he didn’t. Instead, Kenobi let out a quiet noise of satisfaction and continued eating eagerly. His eyes weren’t even watering, and Jango blinked at him in surprise.

After a moment, Kenobi seemed to realize that he was watching. He swallowed quickly and raised an eyebrow at him. “What?”

“I’m just… surprised.”

Kenobi chuckled. “I did tell you that we spent a year on the run in Mandalorian space. We survived during that time mainly on the kindness of strangers willing to harbor us, and to feed us. I became quite accustomed to Mandalorian spice, although my--” He paused, pursing his lips for a moment before continuing. “--my buir didn’t fare so well. I thought he was going to choke to death every time we had a proper meal.”

Jango chuckled, shaking his head. He understood that Kenobi meant that Jetii , Jinn. Smart of him not to say “Master” around here, avoiding the connection to the Jetii , or any unpleasant assumptions about slavery on the part of anyone who might have overheard.

“Does your familiarity with Mandalorian cuisine extend to tihaar ?” he asked, teasing lightly as he poured for them both. Kenobi hummed.

“Of course,” he agreed, “although it’s been some time. I hope you won’t think less of me if I’m haryc b'aalyc before long.”

Jango laughed outright at that, and Kenobi looked pleased. “Don’t get too drunk. I do need you functional tomorrow.”

Kenobi only smirked as he raised his glass. “ K’oyacyi! ”

Jango shook his head in amusement as he softly clinked his own glass against Kenobi’s. “ K’oyacyi! ”

Kenobi, Jango found, had been modest. He could hold his liquor well, and between the two of them, they had worked through over half the bottle of the strong liquor and found themselves pleasantly buzzed, though not quite haryc b’aalyc . They lingered downstairs, seated at the table, drinking and speaking quietly, Jango pulling as many stories as he could from Kenobi about his time protecting Satine Kryze. His appreciation for Mandalorian culture, and his appreciation for her , rang through clearly in his fond retelling. Jango thought Kenobi might be carrying a torch for her as much as she was for him.

Finally, when activity downstairs had ceased, all of the Tribe having retreated to their rooms to sleep a while ago, Jango and Kenobi stood in silent but mutual agreement to return to their rooms. Jango removed his beskar’gam carefully, placing it on the rack, passing one hand over the cuirass before sinking down onto the bed gratefully, down to his blacks. With a contented sigh, he closed his eyes, sinking into sleep surrounded by Mando’ade for the first time in well over a decade.

Jango woke just before dawn the next morning, always an early riser. Slowly, he stretched, smiling in satisfaction as his back cracked loudly in the quiet room, feeling lighter and more well-rested than he had in years . He paused to pull on most of his armor, again neglecting the buy’ce before leaving his room, stopping to knock on Kenobi’s door.

When Kenobi called for him to enter, he found him on a holocall, and he was strongly reminded of when he had “met” Master Jinn. But this time, it was a young boy staring back at them, his eyes going wide as he caught sight of Jango.

“Obi, behind you!”

Kenobi stared at the boy for a moment before slowly glancing at Jango behind him. Turning back to the child, he sputtered a laugh.

“He’s a friend, Ani,” Kenobi said. “This is Jango Fett.”

This was Anakin, Jango realized after a moment. Shmi’s ad . Slowly, he stepped forward, nodding to the child.

“What?” Anakin asked, his face scrunching up in confusion, looking from Kenobi to Jango. “He’s your friend ? I thought he captured you!”

Kenobi blinked, and then sighed, shaking his head. “My apologies, Padawan. I had thought you would catch the technicalities in what I told you about Tatooine.”

“Technicalities?” Jango asked, turning to Kenobi. He nodded, running a hand through his hair.

“I believe my exact words were: ‘The official story is that I was captured to be turned in for a bounty, fortuitously on the same day a slave uprising took place,’” Kenobi explained before turning back to Anakin. “I’m sorry I wasn’t clearer. I had thought you would catch that there was an unofficial , true version to the story.”

Anakin’s confusion faded away into irritation. “Is this one of those things you want to tell me, but the Council says you can’t talk about it, so you have to talk around it and hope everyone else gets it?”

“Just so,” Kenobi confirmed with a nod. Anakin sighed heavily.

“I hate that.”

“Jedi do not hate , Ani,” Kenobi said loftily, and Anakin rolled his eyes.

“I know, I know ,” he grumbled. “‘We only become severely annoyed.’”

Jango snorted at that, folding his arms over his chest and fixing Kenobi with a pointed look . It seemed to him that Kenobi hated plenty of people--he’d hated the Hutts, and Jango knew that he hated Pre Vizla. Kenobi glanced at him and frowned, shaking his head minutely before turning back to Anakin, who was now staring at Jango with a thoughtful look that Jango recognized. The kid certainly had quite a bit of Shmi in him.

“So you actually helped the slaves with the uprising?” Anakin asked slowly, and Jango nodded. Anakin stared at him for a moment longer before smiling brightly. “Pleased to meet you, then! And, uh, vor entye .”

Jango blinked. He hadn’t been expecting the sudden change in demeanor--nor had he expected the Mando’a, although he should have, thinking about it. Shmi still spoke to Anakin often, leaving Kamino several times a month to comm him, quietly coordinating a schedule so she would catch him on a free day when he had no classes and they could spend long hours simply talking and enjoying each other’s presences from afar. Of course she had taught him Mando’a.

Finally, he nodded. “You’re welcome.”

Satisfied, Anakin turned back to Kenobi. “I’m still mad at you, you know.”

Kenobi sighed. “I know. And it’s alright to be upset about it, and I’m proud of you for letting me go. Have you been meditating on it?”

“Yes,” Anakin said, softening slightly. “Master Qui-Gon’s been helping. And Master Yan is keeping me really busy with ‘saber practice.”

Kenobi smiled gently. “That’s good, Ani. I’ll be expecting you to show me a new kata when I get back, hmm?”

“Okay,” Anakin said before falling silent and biting his lower lip, eyes wide. It made him look far younger than Jango knew he was. “Just… you will come back, right? You have to .”

“I promise that I will always do my best to come back,” Kenobi said. “If I am able, I will come for you, Anakin.”

Jango recognized the way that the words were spoken, a sort of ritual between them. Anakin brightened, finally smiling again, and he nodded. The kid glanced at something out of range of the image, and then he sighed. “I gotta go. I’m presenting my paper on Dha Werda Verda today, and I can’t be late.”

Jango blinked again at yet another unexpected reference to his culture. Shmi, it seemed, had taught him well. Kenobi merely smiled gently.

“I’m sure you’ll do wonderfully, Ani,” he said. “You could recite it in your sleep by now.”

“I’m pretty sure I have . I’ve definitely dreamed about it enough,” Anakin giggled. “Bye, Obi. You gotta call me tomorrow, okay?”

“Of course, Ani,” Kenobi agreed easily. “Now go, don’t be late.”

Anakin nodded and leaned forward, and the image winked out.

“So that’s Shmi’s boy,” Jango said slowly, and Kenobi nodded, still smiling. He thought the conversation over, and tilted his head in question. “What’s a Padawan?”

“An apprentice,” Kenobi explained. “Anakin accepted me as his Master not long ago.”

Jango nodded, a small smile appearing on his face. Shmi would be pleased to hear that, if she didn’t already know. She’d always liked Kenobi--not that he could blame her, since he was the Jetii who’d freed her and her people. And Jango agreed--Kenobi wasn’t so bad, for a Jetii . He trusted him with beskar’gam and the freeing of his own people, after all.

“We’ll have to leave soon,” Jango said abruptly. “The meeting at the homestead is this afternoon.”

“Of course,” Kenobi agreed easily. Like Jango, he was already dressed in his beskar’gam , sans buy’ce . He stood and grabbed the bundle of clothes in one hand, holding his helm in the other. “I’m ready when you are.”

Jango hesitated a moment. “What will you do with your Jetii’kad ? Do you have somewhere secure to stash it on the Prudii ?”

Kenobi grinned at him and stood, turning around. At first, Jango saw nothing different, but then Kenobi reached to the small of his back, pulling a bit of the hilt out. He’d sewn in a pocket, the slim cylinder fitting inside it without being too conspicuous, hidden entirely by the black fabric. Jango hummed an approving noise.

“I know I shouldn’t use it, but I’d rather not be without it entirely,” Kenobi explained, and Jango nodded his understanding. It was always better to be prepared.

The armorer was waiting for them out front, speaking to the same large Mandalorian who had led them to their rooms the night before. They both nodded and put their fists across their chests as Jango approached.

“ Mand’alor ,” she said. “The Jorad’alor provided us with the location of your meeting. Those of the Tribe who wish to help will follow you there.”

Jango nodded and hesitated for only a moment before offering, “This is the Way.” She seemed pleased by his answer, though he still had to stifle the urge to thank her, knowing that she wanted no thanks from him.

The armorer turned to Kenobi, then, looking him over and nodding. “You are a fierce warrior. It was my honor to help you.”

Kenobi stared at her for a moment before smiling. “I am not the Mand’alor , so allow me to say this: vor entye .” The armorer’s head tilted, and Jango got the distinct impression that she was amused .

“This is the Way,” she said simply, repeating Jango. “I will remain here, as our forge and our beskar must never go unguarded. K’oyacyi !”

“ K’oyacyi !”

There were already a few ships beside the Prudii when Jango brought Slave I back down to the homestead. Jango looked them over carefully as he landed: all Mandalorian make, none sporting the Kyr’tsad colors or insignia. Around the ships a little gaggle of some ten Mando’ade were sitting in the overgrown grass; none of them wore Kyr’tsad beskar’gam , either. Jango decided there was no immediate threat. Anyone from Kyr’tsad who had heard and hoped to infiltrate the group wouldn’t actually make a move until later, when more of them had gathered.

At least, Jango hoped there would be more. He knew that the Tribe was going to lend him its strength, but how many other Mando’ade would actually answer his call?

“Oh,” Kenobi breathed as the ramp lowered, and Jango drew himself from his thoughts, turning around to look. The Mando’ade had gotten up and walked over to the ship to greet them, and there was a familiar face standing at the fore.

“Saiya?” Jango asked, blinking at her as she beamed at him. She was wearing full armor, painted orange and brown--for a lust for life and honor. Good choices for her, and so reminiscent of Tatooine’s own coloring. Saiya crossed her closed fist over her chest, nodding to him.

“ Ner Mand’alor ,” she greeted him, and he laughed, shaking his head.

“Not that I’m not pleased to see you,” Jango said, “but what are you doing here?”

“Shmi wasn’t the only one to get herself adopted by a Mandalorian. After the uprising, many of us wanted to leave Tatooine,” she said. “ Jorad’alor Kryze offered us a place here--any of us who wanted to come. And many did--we all remember what you did for us, even if we were instructed not to speak of it openly. I came here with all of my cousins--” She gestured to the other Mando’ade . “--and we were adopted into Clan Kryze. Many others did the same.

“As to why we’re here ,” Saiya continued, still smiling at him, “We swore to the Resol’nare . When the Mand’alor calls, you answer.”

Jango smiled back at her. “ Vor entye ,” he said, and she nodded. Turning his attention to the others with her, he realized that he did recognize their faces, even if he did not recall all of their names. As Saiya had said, they were all from Tatooine, and as he looked them over, they all pressed their closed fists across their chests, smiling at him. He nodded, allowing his own smile to grow larger.

“And Ben!” Saiya exclaimed, reaching out to clap Kenobi’s shoulder as he passed. “ Su’cuy !”

“ Su’cuy ,” Kenobi returned, chuckling. “I had heard from Ma Jira that you’d left Tatooine, although she did not say where you had gone. This is a pleasant surprise.”

They broke off into smaller groups to catch up as Jango sat down and began cleaning his blasters for the second time since leaving Kamino.

More ships arrived quickly, after that. There were two ships from the Tribe, each holding twenty-odd Mando’ade , and Jango was pleased by that. Smaller vessels came, too, holding individual families or small groups of friends. Several more ships of freed Amavikka from Tatooine arrived, and Saiya and her group greeted them cheerfully. Jango’s smile was fond as he watched them press their foreheads together in a Keldabe kiss before pressing their fingers to their mouths, then over their hearts. Like Shmi, they seemed to have found ways to integrate their culture into their new lives as Mando’ade .

Watching the steadily-growing group mingle, Jango felt at home in a way he hadn’t since well before Galidraan. He hadn’t taken the time to appreciate how it felt, the fire burning away in his chest, at being surrounded by Mando’ade -- ner Mando’ade .

The ships stopped landing at midday, and Jango stood slowly. He hadn’t kept precise track of the numbers, but he guessed there were over two hundred of them there. It exceeded both his expectations and his hopes. They were an interesting mix, too--he recognized several older Mando’ade as some of those who had not been on Galidraan, including three who had been benched due to their injuries, and one woman who had been too heavily pregnant to fight; some he recognized as not having been Haat Mando’ade , but honorable enough, from some of the other Clans--members of House Kryze were heavily represented, he was glad to see; there were also younger Mando’ade he had never met before, many of them following older family members around.

Jango moved a bit higher up on Slave I ’s ramp and whistled high. Instantly, the Mando’ade fell silent, all looking to him. In unison, they all brought their right fists over their hearts, beskar clinking on beskar the only sound, and he felt breathlessly dizzy for a moment. He had never thought he would see that again.

He took a deep breath--he hated this part. Grand speeches were never really his forte--that was his buir , all grand rhetoric and rousing, fiery words.

“ Vor entye, ” Jango said, raising his voice so they could all hear him. “ Vode’an .” He paused briefly, fighting the urge to grimace; he knew that Kryze had quietly spread the story of why he had not returned to them after Galidraan, but he still felt the need to address his long absence. “I have been away for a long time. That you still rally to the call and recognize me as Mand’alor … Mandokarla . All of you.”

“This is the Way,” the members of the Tribe called back all at once. Jango nodded, smiling at them.

“We all know why we’re here. The Clan Wars are all but over. All other Houses have made peace; only the dar’manda of Kyr’tsad continue to fight. They do not fight honorably; we all know this. Last week, they attacked both a hospital and an orphanage; they left no survivors in the hospital, and took all of the children to their indoctrination camps.” A ripple of displeasure went through the crowd; Jango knew that they were sickened by what Kyr’tsad had done, and waited for them to calm again. “This cannot be allowed to continue, and we finally have an opportunity to end it.”

He scanned the crowd again; he had paid close attention to each individual as they arrived, and none of them were Kyr’tsad conspirators. That he could tell, anyway, and his intuition for such things was fairly good. He recalled looking back at his dislike of Montross as a child, and he wondered if Jaster might have listened if he’d told him, or taken it as jealousy of the man’s position as his buir ’s second-in-command.

Jango put the thoughts aside, refocusing on the moment. “One good thing came from the attacks last week,” he told them. “Clan Kryze was able to attach tracking devices to the gunships they used. For the first time, they went undetected. Further intelligence confirmed that we’ve found their central camp, and their leadership is there.”

A murmur of excitement went throughout the camp, and Jango smiled toothily. “We will need time to prepare our attack. Ben--” He paused, scanning the crowd for Kenobi, finding him near the back, buy’ce already on to prevent anyone from recognizing him for who he really was; he gestured to him. “--and Saiya--” Jango found her in the crowd, near the front, and nodded to her. She waved to everyone, grinning broadly, her buy’ce under her other arm. “--and I will come around to ask what each of you specialize in. Once we have that information, we’ll put together our plan of attack and give you further instructions tomorrow morning.

“For tonight, rest easy knowing that tomorrow, all of those Kyr’tsad hu’tuun’e will be marching far away.”

“ Oya! ” a good many of them cried, and Jango grinned, nodding.

When they grew quiet and still again, simply waiting for his dismissal, Jango added, “And go easy on the tihaar .” A chorus of laughter went up, and Jango nodded once more at them before descending the platform.

“That went well enough,” he muttered to himself, and shook his head. Time to get to work.

By early evening, it had begun to feel like a real camp of Mando’ade , the way Jango always remembered it. Many of them had pulled benches and tables and chairs from their ships, laying them out in the now trampled-down grass. Many were sparring, and Jango saw more than a few arm wrestling matches going on; there were many others sitting and speaking quietly, cleaning their weapons or armor; a few of the younger ones were practicing with their blasters or vibroblades, the older Mando’ade standing watch and offering tips.

Someone--probably Maari, the woman who’d been left behind for Galidraan due to her pregnancy; she always was a mother tooka--had even set up a little camp kitchen, cooking up another batch of tiingilar to be passed around for dinner. Tihaar flowed freely, but he had yet to see anyone so much as stumble; whether that attested to their high alcohol tolerance or them heeding Jango’s warning, he didn’t know.

Jango had made his rounds of the Mando’ade , and sat on the ramp of Slave I , watching the others fondly as he waited for Saiya and Kenobi to finish. Saiya approached first, a bowl of tiingilar in each hand. She held one out and he nodded his thanks, beginning to eat eagerly. The food on Kamino was so bland , no matter what Shmi tried to do to it. He had missed the burn and tingle of real spice .

Kenobi approached quickly after, not eating with them to maintain his implied cover as one of the Tribe. Jango nodded at him, and he sat sideways on the ramp so he could see both Jango and Saiya.

“I pulled thirty-three heavy infantry, fourteen stealth ops, and twelve snipers,” Saiya offered first.

“Forty-two heavy infantry, eight snipers, and eighteen light infantry,” Kenobi offered.

“I’ve got thirty-seven heavy infantry, nine light infantry, and forty-seven who can do ‘whatever is required,’” Jango said. Saiya raised an eyebrow, and he shrugged. “The Tribe are an interesting group.”

“Two-hundred-and-twenty-three, including the three of us,” Kenobi mused aloud. Jango nodded; it was much better than he’d expected. “How many did intelligence find in the camp?”

“Just over three-hundred total, but close to a hundred are children,” Jango said, and Saiya growled quietly. “The barracks where the children are kept are underground, so at least we shouldn’t have to worry about them during the assault.”

They all fell silent for a moment, Saiya and Jango returning to their food and trying not to think about what Kyr’tsad might be doing to those ade , to turn them into mindless killers.

Kenobi spoke up, softly: “I spoke to Satine today.” Jango looked up at him, frowning. He didn’t sound pleased about it. “She wanted to come herself to tell you, but her buir wouldn’t allow it. She heard from Bo-Katan after the attacks last week.”

Jango’s frown turned into a glower. Bo-Katan was a stain upon their House. For all of House and Clan Kryze’s loyalty and honor, she had spat in their faces at the end of the Clan Wars, when Adonai Kryze had had to make concessions to both the other Houses and the New Mandalorians to maintain his power and the uneasy peace they’d attained. Jango understood why he’d done it, but Bo-Katan had taken some of the demilitarization measures the New Mandalorians demanded in the larger cities as an insult to their heritage. She had renounced her buir and the rest of her aliit , giving up her right to her Clan name in the process, and joined Kyr’tsad , fighting to eliminate the New Mandalorians, and the Clans who would put down their arms.

“Apparently, when Bo-Katan heard that you were returning, she had a change of heart about Kyr’tsad ,” Kenobi continued. “Bo-Katan found the trackers, but left them in place, and called Satine instead of alerting the others. She wants to leave, but has nowhere to go, no guarantee that she wouldn’t be hunted and killed by both sides, if she did.” Even more softly, Kenobi added, “I imagine that there are others who are in her predicament--those who did not necessarily want to join Kyr’tsad , but saw no other option. Those who did not want to abandon the Old Ways, but saw that that was precisely what the New Mandalorians are trying to force them to do.”

And that… was difficult to hear. It hurt , because Jango knew if he had been there , if the Haat Mando’ade had just been there , then those who were desperate to hold onto their heritage would have had another option . An honorable option.

But Jango hadn’t been there. His aliit and his freedom had been taken from him on Galidraan. For a moment, he felt that old, familiar rage rise up again, looking at Kenobi, thinking about the Jetiise .

He forced himself to take a breath. No, it had been Kyr’tsad . It had always been Kyr’tsad . They had had it all planned out, a way to cut down the only force that could truly oppose them and a way to strike back at the ancient enemy of Mandalore. They had ensured their rise to power, and they had known that, through force or through a lack of other options, they would gain more followers.

“How would we even coordinate an offer of surrender?” Jango asked.

“With Bo-Katan, through Satine,” Kenobi answered immediately. “Decide what time we will begin the assault, and tell her to have everyone who wants to side with us to either begin attacking or hide underground with the ade .”

Jango bristled. “How do we know that this isn’t a trap?”

Kenobi’s smile was sad. “Bo-Katan was… young and idealistic when she joined Kyr’tsad . She was angry , and thought that anything was better than what her buir and the New Mandalorians were trying to do,” he said. “She didn’t sign up to kill the sick and wounded, or to kidnap children.”

Jango set the tiingilar down, staring intently at Kenobi, who looked back, his black buy’ce hiding any expression. “Do you trust her?”

Kenobi tilted his head. “Trust is a strong word. But I believe her.”

Slowly, Jango offered, “We’ll give her a false plan, but keep the timing about the same. That way, if this is a trap, Kyr’tsad won’t have all of the intel.”

Kenobi nodded, satisfied. “ Vor entye ,” he murmured, and Jango nodded back curtly. He still didn’t like it, but his conscience wouldn’t allow him to issue an order for no quarter, not if there was a chance she was telling the truth.

“You two found the apparent leaders of each group you spoke to?” Jango asked, and they both nodded. “Good. I want all of them here after dinner to help us plan.”

The next morning dawned, bright and early. Jango was pleased when he exited his ship at how many of the Mando’ade were already up and about; it seemed they had listened to his instructions, as none of them seemed hungover. He settled himself down on the ramp again, accepting the spicy noodles Maari offered with quiet thanks and a fond smile.

Kenobi emerged from the Prudii and made his way over.

“You spoke to Satine Kryze last night?” Jango asked, and Kenobi nodded.

“I told her only what we want Bo-Katan to know.”

Jango raised an eyebrow. “You don’t trust Satine to keep a secret?”

Kenobi hesitated before saying delicately, “I think that Satine wants very badly to believe Bo-Katan. She’s placing a great deal of faith in her sister because she cannot bear the thought that that faith may be misplaced.”

Jango sighed, but nodded. Kenobi leaned back against the ship, arms folded over his chest. He looked… intimidating. Like a real Mandalorian; he wore that beskar’gam like a second skin, and Jango almost wished he could swear to the Resol’nare .

He waited until the others had all roused and eaten before standing up on the ramp and whistling again. Just as they had yesterday, they stopped what they were doing to turn toward him, fists over their hearts. The sound of beskar -on- beskar made Jango’s heart soar, today, and he was grateful for the lack of nostalgic sorrow that had plagued him the day before.

“Today is the day, vod’e ,” Jango began. A chorus of excited murmuring and a few cheers went up. “Now, you should all have your squad assignments. Anyone who doesn’t… please pay more attention.” He got a few chuckles out of that one. “Heavy Infantry is split into three squads. Squad 1 will go with me for a frontal assault, assuming these hu’tuun’e will meet us head-on.” Another round of laughter, this time jeering. “We’ll be supplemented by Squad 2, Light Infantry. Heavy Infantry Squad 3 will take the east side with Light Infantry Squad 4, and Heavy Infantry Squad 5 will take the west side with Light Infantry Squad 6.

“Stealth Squad--S-Squad for short: your job is to secure the ade . They’re being held in underground bunkers, but there are escape tunnels. You will secure the tunnel to ensure no Kyr’tsad escape that way, and breach the bunkers to reach the ade . You may have help from the inside; if it comes through, the secure hatch to the bunker will already be open. If it doesn’t, you’ll go fifteen feet away and blow the tunnel’s ceiling; that will lead you to an upper service corridor with access to the bunker.

“Their base is a retrofitted Protector training ground,” Jango continued, “so we have the basic schematics, supplemented by more recent intel. On both the east and west sides, there are secured grates for ventilation and emergency access. You’ll blow them and enter the compound, and our frontal assault will either enter after you, containing the fighting to the camp, or you’ll flush them out and pin them between the three of us.

“Everybody clear?” A chorus of affirmative cheers, and then Jango grinned viciously, baring his teeth. “Good hunting. Oya! ”

“ Oya! ”

They all piled in to a few of the larger ships, packed to the gills, and set down about half a klik from the camp itself. Kenobi opted to take the Prudii , flying solo to meet them. He joined Jango near one of the Tribe’s ships as he watched the squards form up and begin moving toward the camp.

“They’ll probably have reenforced blast doors at the main entrance,” Kenobi said casually. A little too casually, Jango thought, and he looked at him, narrowing his eyes beneath the buy’ce he’d finally donned. “Is now a good time to mention that I have a couple of rocket launchers?”

Jango stared at him, and then barked a startled laugh. “Where did you get them?”

If Jango could’ve seen his face, he suspected Kenobi would’ve been giving him that wolfish grin. “One of my un-affiliated friends is a semi-retired arms dealer. Now he runs a diner on Coruscant--the food is divine, and the basement has a delightful assortment of arms to choose from.”

He stared at the Jetii for a long moment. First Hondo, then a krayt dragon, and now an arms dealer ? Where did a Jetii make these sorts of friends?

“You’re full of surprises,” Jango sighed, shaking his head. “Yes, that was a perfect time to mention it.” Turning to Squad 1, he called out: “Who knows how to use a rocket launcher?” A few hands went up, and Jango pointed at the largest two. “We have two of them, courtesy of Ben here.”

“They’re Corellian make, easy enough to operate, but the kick-back isn’t to be underestimated,” Kenobi warned them. They nodded. Jango noted absently that one of them was from the Tribe, and the other from Tatooine.

As Kenobi went up into the Prudii ’s hold to grab the weapons, Jango turned to them. “What are your names?”

“Ekari Sunwalker,” the former slave said.

The other large man hesitated for a moment. The instant he gave his name, Jango understood why. “Patri Vizla.”

Ekari looked up sharply at him, and Jango nodded. “You joined the Tribe rather than allying with Death Watch?”

Patri nodded slowly. “I renounced Pre Vizla. Many say I should not have kept the name, but I refuse to acknowledge him as the leader of our House. Our House’s leader is my ori’vod , Petra Vizla, armorer to the Tribe.”

“Your reason for being here is more personal than the rest of us,” Jango noted softly. “You seek to restore honor to the name of your House, and I commend you for it.”

Patri’s shoulders relaxed, and he nodded gratefully. Ekari also nodded, relaxing some as Kenobi returned down the ramp, two large boxes on a hoversled. Both Mando’ade eagerly started forward, and Kenobi handed off a case to each of them.

“I tested them before bringing them here,” Kenobi said airily, and Jango snorted. “Both good units. There are six rockets in each case. I don’t recommend taking them out of the cases until we’re in position.”

Both men nodded, Tang opening his case to peer inside, nodding in satisfaction and allowing Ekari to lean over to peer at it before closing it up again. Nodding deeply to Jango, both of them moved off to rejoin the squad.

“You tested them?” Jango asked, voice laden with wry amusement. Kenobi shrugged. Jango just shook his head.

Kenobi turned fully towards him again, tilting his head. “Is now a good time to tell you that I also have one Gungan shield generator?”

Kyr’tsad had heavily modified the old Protector training ground that they now inhabited. The walls had been reenforced and made higher, and Kenobi had been right--the doors were secure blast shields. It would take a few hits with the rocket launchers before they could punch through to blow them.

The Light Infantry, with Kenobi at its head, had advanced first, and deployed the shield generator. It wouldn’t do anything to keep bodies out, Kenobi had warned him, but that just meant that the Heavy Infantry could form up in the gaps left by Squad 2 for them. Jango strode forward through the ranks to stand just in front of Kenobi, who had a blaster in one hand and his other resting on a still-sheathed vibroblade. It occurred to Jango, then, that he hadn’t seen the Jetii use either of those weapons. He’d just have to hope he was as capable with them as he was his Jetii’kad .

A single mortar flew out from the camp, and everyone tensed; Jango could feel the electric charge of anticipation as it flew towards them. It dispersed harmlessly against their shield.

“Ekari, Patri,” Jango called, and the two moved into position, just inside of the shields, with the muzzles of the rocket launchers pushing just outside the shield. Almost at once, both fired off shots, hitting their targets easily. The doors shuddered and dented, creaking ominously, but did not break. “Again.”

They drew the rocket launchers back, and as they reloaded, several more mortars broke uselessly against the shield. Jango had only heard of the Gungan people of Naboo before in passing; they were fairly reclusive, and not even the human Naboo they shared the planet with had met many of them. But in recent years, since the invasion, they had become somewhat more social; he wondered if they would be open to exporting certain pieces of their technology. If this was what one of their shield generators could do, he could only imagine what their weapons were like.

After the second round of shots, their comms crackled to life. “ East team is in position, ready to breach as soon as those doors are blown. ”

Another call echoed them only a few moments later: “ West team is in position, waiting for the signal . ”

“Again,” Jango called. The third strike of the rocket launchers caused the doors to cave in, creating an opening. “Once more.”

With the final blast, the doors weren’t destroyed, but they were blown off their hinges, falling into the camp itself. Jango turned to Kenobi slightly. “Does the shield have to remain in place? Or can it move with us?”

Kenobi nodded. “It can move with us.”

Switching over to comms, Jango instructed, “ Advance! Move the shield in time with us. ”

“ East team is setting the charge in ten… nine… ”

“ West team is also setting the charge in ten… nine… ”

Slowly, the sound of almost one hundred pairs of beskar -clad feet hitting the ground started up, and they all moved steadily forward. At the entrance to the camp--which, properly, should be called a stronghold, Jango mused--he could see lines of Kyr’tsad forming up. A moment later, the distant sounds of the charges on either side of the walls sounded, and Jango saw several of the Kyr’tsad peel off toward either side.

“ Remember, everyone: we know that bodies can pass in and out of this shield. They don’t ,” Kenobi said into the comm.

“ Once we get close enough, Squad 1, send your front two lines out of the shield with me. The rest of you, follow two lines at a time; Squad 2, repeat. Ben, you’re with me. ”

As they approached, Jango felt himself relaxing. It was almost funny, the way that he was so much more riled waiting for a fight than when he was actually in one. Keeping his guard up, looking for signs of danger, he felt his pulse quicken, and his body tense; entering a fight, a sort of calm and peace fell over him, and he sank gladly into the rhythm of battle.

They were within a few meters of the entrance when the shield stopped, Squad 2 behind them standing still as Squad 1 formed up behind Jango and Kenobi.

Kenobi glanced at him, tilting his head. “ Ib’tuur jatne tuur ash’ad kyr’amur. ”

Jango barked a laugh, and it was echoed by others on the comms. Again, someone yelled, “ Oya! ” and the cry rippled through them. With that, Jango and Kenobi started forward, slowly pushing through the shield and bringing their blasters up.

Kyr’tsad started firing, mostly directed at him. Jango crouched as he walked, darting back and forth as needed, or making sure that shots glanced off his beskar’gam when he could, rather than dodging and risk them hitting someone behind him. He glanced to the side, watching Kenobi moving fluidly, as if sensing where the bolts would be before they were even fired. Jango frowned and turned back to the task at hand.

He caught two of their front line between the pauldron and the shoulder plate, and they both dropped, clutching at the wounds. Jango hit another three in the second line in the stomach, between the cuirass and the codpiece. He saw another few go down, more blaster bolts coming from behind him, flying between him and Kenobi from the Mando’ade behind them. He heard a few shouts behind him and gritted his teeth, knowing he didn’t have time to look back to see who was injured and how badly. He heard a few clipped barks of “ hit, falling back ” over the comms, which was a comfort. If they were well enough to speak clearly, without gasping, they would probably be alright, if they could get to cover without being hit again.

Jango caught a bolt to his cuirass and grunted; it hit hard before the beskar deflected it. He might’ve bruised a rib from that, and it was only going to get worse as they got closer.

As they approached the doors, Kenobi said, “ Let’s split up, take either side of the door and let the heavy gunners take a shot. ”

Jango nodded, trusting that Kenobi would see or sense his agreement, and split for the left wall as Kenobi darted toward the right. He put his back to the wall, holding his blaster out to the side, and darted from cover to hit them when they leaned out a bit too far. He saw glimpses of Kenobi on the other side doing the same. The Kyr’tsad were dropping, slowly but steadily, and there were few replacements; they should be able to push into the main compound soon.

“ I can jump the wall ,” Kenobi offered, and Jango hissed a breath, praying he had used the private channel. He heard nothing else, and relaxed.

“ You’re supposed to be playing regular soldier, remember? ” Jango growled, and Kenobi laughed.

“ My jetpack must have gotten lost at some point during the battle, ” Kenobi answered playfully, darting out to kick one of the Kyr’tsad before shooting him in the stomach and twirling back into cover. “ Nobody’s going to be paying enough attention to realize that I’m not using one. They won’t ask questions, and we have an easy answer if they do. ”

“ Fine ,” Jango sighed, knowing that Kenobi would probably do it anyway, even if he disagreed. Jango rolled forward, diving beneath the shots the Kyr’tsad were aiming at the squads behind him, unsheathing his vibroblade with his left hand and stepping back to stab one of the Kyr’tsad while firing a shot with the blaster in the other hand into another, catching him in the throat. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Kenobi leap and then flip, easily clearing the four meter wall.

As Jango used his blade to cut the back of one of the Kyr’tsad ’s knees, he saw Kenobi come around the other side of the now-ragged line of them guarding the main entry. Jango shot another, and stabbed one more; Kenobi took out his own vibroblade, having affixed his blaster back to his hip, and it looked like some sort of ‘saber form, but with a vibroblade instead of a Jetii’kad . It seemed… strange, but four fell to his blade until one of his blows glanced off beskar’gam , only for the man to be dropped by one of the shots from the squads. Kenobi nodded his thanks, and Jango stepped into the main compound.

There was a large, open area, with a few buildings at the far end. On the left and the right, he could see lines of Kyr’tsad falling out of formation, retreating back towards the buildings at the far end. Nodding to himself, Jango raised his blaster and resumed shooting. As the squads followed him and Kenobi farther into the open space, fanning out behind them, it seemed as though they had the Kyr’tsad well and truly cornered, and Jango grinned fiercely beneath his buy’ce .

Suddenly, Kenobi froze beside him, another trooper pushing him back to cover him as he went rigid.

“ What? ” Jango barked, not looking back as he refocused his attention on the Kyr’tsad . He knelt, making himself a smaller target as he picked them off--one, two, three, four fell. He gave the blaster a moment to rest, mindful not to let it overheat, and risked a glance at Kenobi. “ What is it? ”

“ I sense something ,” Kenobi answered, tilting his head back. “ Haar’chak! ” If Jango weren’t fighting the  growing anxiety pooling in his belly, he might have found it amusing, hearing Kenobi swear in Mando’a. A short beep told him when Kenobi switched back to the open comm channel. “ Everyone to the center of the field; pack in as tightly as you can. Light squads, get that shield up as fast as you can .”

Without question, they moved to obey, and Jango switched back over to their private channel.

“ What’s wrong? ”

“ We weren’t planning on them having any air support, ” Kenobi said grimly, and Jango frowned. They weren’t supposed to have any air support--Kryze’s intelligence had told them that there was no airfield or hangar at this compound, and they had destroyed most of their ships after the attacks on the hospital and orphanage.

“ You sense a ship coming? ” Jango asked. “ Any chance they’re friendly? ”

“ I very much doubt it, ” Kenobi answered grimly. Jango nodded, clenching his jaw. They would just have to hope that this Gungan contraption held up against a fighter. As if sensing his question-- Jetii , Jango reminded himself, so he probably had --Kenobi sighed. “ The shield will hold for a few minutes, at most. We’ll have to make sure it’s enough. ”

They gathered inside the shield, facing outward and pushing their blaster muzzles outside its range to cover the Mando’ade still running towards them. As they watched the last of the Kyr’tsad disappear into the buildings--aside from those of them already lying prone on the ground, and Jango noted with satisfaction that there were far more in Kyr’tsad armor lying dead in the muddy grass than Mando’ade --Jango had to remind himself to breathe, slow and even and deep, controlled breaths.

They felt the ground tremble beneath them, and Jango hoped that was the Stealth team--ordered to stay off of the comms, in case their channels were intercepted, unless there was a serious problem, leaving them to guess at their progress for now--until he heard the distinctive, familiar roar of a rocket.

He braced for impact even as that gave him an idea. As the rocket crashed into the shield, energy crackling around the spot where it had hit, Jango reached for his comm control to switch back to the general channel. He caught sight of the ship, a distinctive Federation fighter, painted in bold Kyr’tsad colors, and he growled low.

“ Ekari, Patri--how many rockets do we have left? ” he asked.

“ Six more between us ,” Patri answered promptly. Understanding what Jango was asking, he pushed his way through the tightly-packed Mando’ade , setting the case down and opening it, loading the launcher again and trying to line up a shot at the fighter, now coming around to make another pass. Some ways away, Ekari was doing the same.

A hail of shots hit the shield, causing that crackle of energy again, and Ekari fired. Jango watched the rocket just barely miss the wing. Patri fired, and it, too, missed as the ship spun in tight circles, though the shockwave from the explosion seemed to rattle its balance briefly.

“ Keep firing ,” Jango ordered as Kenobi turned to him. He switched back to their private channel. “ They’d better get a hit. ”

“ Give me your jetpack, ” Kenobi said, and Jango shook his head. “ I can stop it, but unless you want it to be extremely obvious what I really am, I need your jetpack. They will be watching me this time. ”

Jango hesitated for another moment, staring Kenobi down before holstering his blaster and reaching up to unclip the jetpack.

“ Have you ever used one of these before? ” Jango asked as he handed it over.

“ No, ” Kenobi admitted as he clipped it on. Jango felt a spike of dread . “ I’ll be fine. I can use the Force for the… finer control. We just need this to look like I’m only using the jetpack. ”

Jango still didn’t like it, but he simply nodded.

Kenobi nodded, tensing as he watched the ship, waiting for it to come back around again, bending his knees slightly as he powered the jetpack on. The Mando’ade closest to him stepped back, pressing even more firmly against their fellows.

“ Once I have the fighter distracted, head for the buildings. I doubt even Kyr’tsad will fire on their own; they can’t afford to lose that many troops. ”

“ Elek. K’oyacyi, ” Jango said, and Kenobi leapt up, the jetpack flaring to life as he flew upward; Jango flipped the comms again. “ Ekari, Patri, hold your fire. ”

The fighter caught sight of him and began firing, though he made for a small target, compared to a ship, and he didn’t make it easy on them, spinning and flying in a sort of zig-zag as he approached the ship.

“ Let’s get up there and help him! ” Jango heard someone shout, and the sound of jetpacks flaring to life surrounded him.

“ No! Jango, don’t let anyone come after me. I have a plan, but I’m going to have to use my ‘saber. ”

Fuck . Into the comms, Jango barked, “ Stand down! Everyone head for the buildings; we’re taking the fight to Kyr’tsad . The shield won’t hold much longer, and we need to clean house. Get moving! ”

The prospect of having more of the footsoldiers to chase was enough to make them follow his orders, and he turned to stare up at Kenobi as he rose above the fighter before abruptly killing the jetpack, falling down onto the ship and grabbing on. Jango hissed through his clenched teeth.

He was loathe to just leave Kenobi to it, and Jango blinked in surprise at himself. He’d had no problem leaving Kenobi alone in Jabba’s throne room on Tatooine. Although, to be fair, he hadn’t been a few hundred meters in the air , relying on a jetpack he didn’t know how to use and his ridiculous Jetii magic to keep him alive.

Jango forced himself to turn away, pressing toward the front of the group as they moved the shield with them towards the buildings on the far end.

“ East and West Squads, take the flanking buildings. The rest of us, we’re going for the larger one in the center. Be careful; there may be a few who wish to surrender, and the ade are in there somewhere. Anyone belowground, assume friendly until you’re shot at. ”

A chorus of acknowledgements came from the squad leaders, and they pressed forward. East and West squads broke off, and they deactivated the shield as they began streaming into the buildings

Jango did the honors, blowing open the door with a charge. He entered first, blaster at the ready, scanning the room for Kyr’tsad . He saw none, and moved as quietly as possible into another room, turning to give hand signals to the Mando’ade behind him, instructing them to fan out.

The empty room they’d entered in led to a long hallway; Jango slowly crept down the hall, checking each room he passed. They were bunks, mostly, and he could find no Kyr’tsad in them. As he reached the end of the hall, there was a heavy metal door, and he took out another charge.

“ Squad 2, split up. Half of you check upstairs, the other half with me ,” Jango instructed. “ Squad 1, secure the main level. Post up at the windows and shoot any Kyr’tsad who come near .”

Another round of agreement from the squad leaders, and Jango pressed the charge to the door, moving back toward the Mando’ade who had come up behind him. The door buckled and flew off of its hinges, the charge taking out part of the wall, and through the dust Jango could see a staircase leading down.

It was dark as he made his way down, the stairwell lit only by dim amber emergency lights. Finally, he reached the bottom, a small room leading to a long, similarly dark tunnel, made of thick, heavy stone bricks. Jango pushed on, wondering where the Kyr’tsad could be hiding. There was no one in the hallway, no one in the building at all, it seemed; they had to be deeper in the tunnels.

Finally, he came to another door, and he nodded to the Mando’ad closest to him.

“ I’m out of charges ,” he said, stepping back. The Mando’ad nodded back and placed one on the door, both of them turning away from the door. A moment later, the whole tunnel shook, dust flying up around them, and he turned back.

“ Oh, fuck, ” the Mando’ad beside him breathed.

The room in front of them was large, and properly lit; there was another staircase, leading up to another hallway, and Jango wondered if that was where they had all disappeared to. But there, in the center of the room, was a giant pile of explosives. Glancing at it, Jango estimated it would be enough to blow the entire building above them, if not the two beside it.

“ Squads upstairs: get out of the building now, ” Jango ordered tersely. “ We found explosives down here, and we don’t know what will set them off. Get clear. The rest of you already down here: half of you stay behind, try to figure out how to keep this from blowing us all to Manda. The rest of you, follow me. ”

“ These tunnels weren’t in the reports Kryze gave us, ” one of the Mando’ade coming up behind him said--Nogri Boross, he remembered after a moment. One of the squad leaders.

“ They must have expanded them; it’s easy to hide underground. Aerial surveillance couldn’t pick something like this up, ” Jango said. He switched over to the private comm channel connecting him to Kenobi as he started up the stairs. “ Ben, how’s it going up there? ”

It took a moment before he got a response; when he did, Kenobi sounded breathless. “ Never better, ” he quipped, and Jango grunted. He might have laughed, if he wasn’t still thinking about the explosives that could so easily send them all to their deaths in an instant.

“ Please tell me you’ve almost finished whatever your insane plan was. You heard the general channel? ”

“ I di--oh, fuck. Please, give me a moment. ” Jango almost wanted to laugh at the incongruity of his swearing with that overly-polite manner of his. He shook his head and refocused on the moment, looking at the door at the top of the stairs as he reached it. He would have to override the lock; he didn’t want to risk blowing the door, not in such close range to such a tinderbox. Through the still-open comm, he could hear Kenobi grunt and then hiss, and he thought he heard the hum of his Jetii’kad . “ Well, I have good news, and not-so-good news. ”

Jango frowned as he drew the override out of one of his belt pouches, plugging it into the door’s control pad. “ Good news first. We could use some of that right now. ”

“ The fighter has been dealt with, ” Kenobi said, and Jango could swear he heard the air whistling around him through the comm.

“ Bad news? ”

“It's going to crash, and we’re coming in hot. I’m trying to do what I can control it, but I think we’re headed for the central building. ”

“ ...fuck ,” Jango said. “ Fuck. ”

“ That was my sentiment also, ” Kenobi said, sounding perfectly jovial. Jango shook his head; the more people tried to kill him, the more chipper Kenobi seemed to get. Clearly being a Jetii didn’t help one’s sanity.