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Chapter Text

“Master, wait!” Obi-Wan shouted, watching with growing horror as the red and black creature, the Sith, sneered, spinning his light staff in what could only be described as a taunting motion. Qui-Gon did not seem to hear him, focused only on the Sith that was separated from him by the same red ray shield currently keeping Obi-Wan from his Master’s side. Not for the first time, Obi-wan pounded on the training bond between them, but the mental shields his Master had raised remained rock solid and intact. The hurt and confusion that Obi-Wan had felt upon their discovery had long since been replaced with frustration, which was quickly turning into anger and fear. What was his Master thinking?! He knew Qui-Gon wanted to take the boy he had found (Anakin, his name was Anakin. Don’t deny him that, even if he’s-), and yes, they had argued, but to cut off the bond, to cut off Obi-Wan, at a time like this?!

Obi-wan snapped out of his thoughts as with a whirr of mechanics, the ray shield in front of him flickered and dropped and then he was in motion. He ignited his lightsaber as he ran, trying to close the distance between himself and his Master, but Qui-Gon was moving as well. Green met red as the Sith blocked strike after strike, and Qui-Gon returned the favor, backing the Sith further down the passage and into a larger chamber.

Almost there, he was almost there. The thought had barely formed in Obi-Wan’s mind when the shields snapped back into place, and he was forced to skid to a halt. Panting, he watched his Master face the Sith, head on and alone. Around him, he could feel the Force whispering, murmuring warnings. This was bad, something was wrong, but-

The world seemed to slow, every breath lasting a lifetime. One moment, Qui-Gon was holding his own, and then in the next the Sith feinted, smashing the grip of his staff into Qui-Gon’s forehead. Obi-Wan’s Master stumbled, taking a step backwards. The Sith lunged, blade stretched out.

/MASTER/

Obi-wan poured all his strength into the mental scream and Qui-Gon lurched, startled, the shields blocking their training bond crumbling.

/Obi-Wa-/

Still off balance Qui-Gon raised his blade in an attempt to block the Sith’s strike, and the force of the blow sent him careening backwards― over the edge of the melting pit.

It took Obi-Wan a moment to realize the scream ringing in his ears was his own. Desperately, he reached out through the link. It was just a pit, just a fall, his Master couldꟷ Qui-Gon couldꟷ

/Master! Master! MASTER!/

There was no response, no warmth, no subconscious touch, and then, suddenly, it was gone. It felt like the breath had been ripped from Obi-Wan’s chest. His end of the training bond hung ragged in his mind and his Master was gone. In front of him, the Sith had turned from the pit, a smug look on his red and black face. Rage boiled up in Obi-Wan, and he was moving before the ray shield had completely dropped.

Later, when prompted by the counsel to describe the events on Naboo, Obi-Wan would struggle for the right words to explain that last battle with the Sith apprentice. In that moment, his mind was the clearest it had ever been, all his focus, all his energy aimed on one thing; the Sith. His lightsaber sliced the creature in half, and then he was alone.

Obi-Wan’s whole body was heaving, shaking from exertion and repressed sobs. Qui-Gon’s lightsaber, snatched from the floor by the edge of the pit where it had been dropped, slipped from his fingers, hitting the durasteel floor with a clatter, his knees following close after. He curled in on himself, and let his grief break free.

                                                                                                                      

There was no body to burn at the pyre, but they had a fire never the less. It was silent that night, but for the crackle and snap of the flames. Queen Padmé Amidala cried silently, tears sliding down her cheeks, and there was something in Obi-Wan that wanted to do the same. The presence of Anakin standing next to him, and the figures of Masters Windu and Yoda across the fire were all that kept him from doing so, reminding him that he was a knight now. He could not cry, not now, not yet.

There was a sniffle, and Obi-Wan looked down to see Anakin viciously rubbing at his face with his sleeve. Without a word, Obi-Wan wrapped an arm around the boy’s shoulders, pulling him closer to his side. Anakin sniffed again, but did not look away from the flames. Obi-Wan could feel his grief and worry buzzing in the Force around him.

/What will happen to me now?/
/Will I be sent back?/
/I don’t want to be a slave again./

A spark of protectiveness flared in Obi-Wan’s chest, and in that moment he decided that he would do what Qui-Gon would have, he would make sure Anakin was trained. That was what Qui-Gon would have wanted. Obi-Wan only hoped he would be able to make his Master proud.

He still felt cold, and like his chest had been hollowed out, but Anakin was a pulse-point of warmth next to him. Letting out a shaky breath, Obi-Wan pulled himself up straighter.

He could do this.

                                                                                                             

                                                                                                  Eleven Years Later

“Master! Obi-Wan!” Obi-Wan gritted his teeth as Anakin’s voice came over his comm, crackly and full of static. He brought his lightsaber down in a sharp arc, bisecting a battle droid cleanly in two and blocked a blaster shot before he found the opportunity to respond.

“Anakin, this is really not a good time!”

“Where are you? Your shuttle never made the landing point!”

“Did it not? I hadn’t noticed.” Obi-Wan grunted, ducking a fresh volley of blasts and cursing as one grazed his shoulder. “As I said, we are a little busy!”

Off to his right there was a warning shout and Obi-Wan’s head snapped up as with a noise that shook his bones, one of the massive golden leafed trees that made up the dense forests that cover most of Trasundron’s surface pitched forwards. Flames roared in the branches, light dancing off the metallic leaves. It must have been hit by a canon blast. The Jedi cursed; in the shadow of the falling goliath, a clone stared up, frozen. He was on the ground, one leg bent at an unnatural angle, and it was clear he could not run even if he wanted to.

Reaching into the Force, Obi-Wan darted forwards, diving at the fallen man and rolling them both out of the way just as the burning tree would have crushed them. They skidded, coming to a stop against another tree. Footsteps pounded towards them and Obi-Wan pushed himself up, off the clone. “Are you alright, trooper?”

The man pulled off his helmet. He was pale and clearly in pain, but he nodded, giving Obi-wan a tight grin that was almost a grimace. “I’ll make it, sir. Leg’s only a little broken. Thank you for stopping that tree from turning me into paste.”

Obi-Wan nodded, helping the injured man up and taking his weight. “I need a medic over here!” he shouted, ignoring the soldier’s protests and handing him over to two other clones who had come running at his call. “Broken leg. Take him to the shuttle― yes, I know it’s lost all power, but a wreck is still more shelter than the front lines. Now go!”

They retreat without further protests, and Obi-Wan turned his attention back to the fight at hand.

Things weren’t going well. They had been caught off guard on route to rendez-vous with Anakin, Master Plo Koon, and their troops, and had been shot down. At least, Kenobi mused, igniting his lightsaber and sending a blaster bolt right back into the droid that had fired it, they had landed on the right planet, if on opposite side, in the middle of a giant forest.

A giant forest that the Separatist forces were in the middle of trying to burn to the ground, effectively destroying the eco-system and making the planet inhabitable for the natives. What was meant to be a three pronged surprise attack on the Separatist base of operations had become a full frontal attack without backup. Just another day then.

Obi-Wan hit his comm. “Anakin, Master Plo, we have engaged the enemy, but we are being forced back! We need reinforcements! Can you lock onto our signal?”

“Affirmative.” Plo Koon’s voice was steady, if slightly distorted by the comm. “We are on our way, Master Kenobi.”

“What happened to the plan?!” Anakin griped, and Obi-Wan rolled his eyes.

“As you are so fond of saying Anakin, the plan changed. Kenobi out.”

At some point during the conversation, Cody had made his way over to Obi-Wan’s side. He never stopped firing on the steadily approaching droids, and spoke without taking his eyes off the chaos. “General, we can’t keep this up for much longer.”

Obi-wan nodded, moving to stand back to back with the clone commander. “I know. I have contacted Anakin and Master Plo. They should be arriving soon.”

Cody grunted, “They’d better. These damn clankers just keep on coming!”

A blast went off somewhere behind them, and Obi-Wan spun, trying to locate the source of the explosion as yet another tree fell to the ground, burning fiercely.

“There! Charges in the trees!”

Cody cursed colourfully and another explosion shook the forest around them. Obi-Wan agreed whole-heartedly. If they had been struggling before, they were really in trouble now. They had no way of knowing how many charges there were, let alone which trees they were in, or even if they were confined to the trees. He swore and turned to Cody.

“Give the order. We have to fall back.”

Cody nodded sharply and they both took off in separate directions, bellowing the order to fall back and regroup.

It was chaos around them. Two more explosions had gone off, and the air was filled with a thick black smoke and pieces of burning leaves and branches. The order to retreat was spreading quickly as more clones joined the call. Obi-Wan kept his lightsaber up, deflecting and stabbing, trying to do as much damage as he could, even in retreat.

The forest grew denser the further they ran, the trees closer together, their trunks thicker and covered in a deep blue moss. It grew dimmer too, the thick foliage blocking the pale light of Trasundron’s sun from reaching the forest floor. Obi-Wan twisted his head, checking over his shoulder for any stragglers or wounded.

That was a mistake. The Force trilled a sudden warning, but it was too late. His foot caught on a thick tree root, and Obi-Wan pitched forwards cry of surprise, hands flying out in front of his body to catch himself. His hands connected with nothing but empty air, and he found himself falling through a large hole at the base of the tree as the ground gave way. With a noise of frustration, he twisted in the air and landed solidly on his feet, knees bent and arms out. A moment later his lightsaber, dropped during his initial fall, landed in his outstretched palm.

Clipping his weapon to his belt, Obi-Wan peered back up the way he had come and groaned. The fall had clearly been longer than it felt, because he could see only the smallest pinprick of light above him, and the sounds of the battle were whispers in his ears.

“Sith fucking hells. Just what I needed.” With a sigh, Obi-Wan looked around, taking in his surroundings. He was underground, in some sort of large cavern. Large crystal-like rocks sprouted from the walls, glowing softly and providing enough light that he could easily enough. The same blue moss he had seen on the trees was here too, growing on the walls and carpeting outcrops of rock. Here and there, tiny silver-white flowers grew from the moss. It was oddly peaceful, and Obi-Wan felt some of the tension in his shoulders inexplicably soften.

Not only that, the presence of the Force was incredibly strong. The plants and rocks were practically singing with it. It was amazing, and Obi-Wan walked slowly, trying to take in as much as he could. The Force moved in waves around the cavern, pooling and flowing. It whispered in his ears, calling to Obi-Wan to follow. Cautiously, Obi-Wan followed the pull, making his way down the passage way that lay before him.

It was all but silent here underground, and Obi-Wan’s footsteps echoed in his ears. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end, and he shivered slightly. Something felt strange, but he could not put his finger on what, let alone why.

The passage way grew smaller, and Obi-Wan found himself hunching over to keep from hitting his head as he walked. It was becoming harder to see as well, crystal outcroppings appearing less and less often.

“Where are you taking me?” He murmured, under his breath and directed at the Force, crouching lower, before the passageway suddenly widened, opening up into another cavern. This one was smaller than the space Obi-Wan had landed in, with the opening to another passage across from where the Jedi stood. Turning his head, Obi-Wan’s eyes widened in shock.

In the far corner of the cavern, thick, golden veined tree roots reached out from the earth and stone walls. They twisted and twined, forming a massive and hollow, twisted knot. Within the cage-like formation there was a humanoid, with long hair floating around their face, suspended in glowing amber-gold light. The whole thing had the Force practically shouting for Obi-Wan’s attention. He had never seen anything like it before, never heard of such a thing. It took his breath away.

He approached slowly, wondering if it could some sort of elaborate Separatist trap. Except there was no way someone like Dooku could create anything so…so purely Light. Reaching out, he placed a hand almost hesitantly on a root. The entire thing gave a shiver, vibrations that ran up Obi-Wan’s arm and down into his bones. Then the roots fell away, and he darted forwards to catch the man before he fell.

The man looked human, with tanned skin. He was heavy in Obi-Wan’s arms, and his robes – Jedi robes, Obi-Wan realized with a start, were worn and dusty. That was when he saw the man’s face, and promptly dropped him. Long, dark hair shot through with sliver, especially around the temples. Stormy blue eyes, lined and blinking in bleary confusion as consciousness returned, that were oh so familiar. Mind reeling, Obi-Wan gaped down at Qui-Gon Jinn.

Chapter Text

Obi-Wan stared in stunned silence at the man on the ground; at Qui-Gon. Except, that was impossible. Qui-Gon Jinn was dead! He had seen it himself, had felt the training bond that tied them together snap. There was no way this could be happening, it had to be trick. Obi-Wan’s hand went to his lightsaber, his body slipping in to a fighting stance. He ignored the tremors that shook his hands, the mad, panicked race of his heartbeat. This was impossible, impossible. The phrase became a mantra, running laps in his brain as he stared at the older man. It was impossible, this was not Qui-Gon. ‘Don’t get your hopes up. Not again.’

On the ground, Qui-Gon had pushed himself up onto his elbows and was blinking, looking about as bewildered as Obi-Wan felt.

“Where…?” His voice was horse, as if from disuse. Suddenly the fog seemed to clear and his eyes grew focused and sharp. He pushed himself to his feet, reaching to his belt for a lightsaber that was not there. “Where I am I? Where is the Sith?!”

Qui-Gon’s eyes fell on Obi-Wan and narrowed dangerously. “Who are you, and where have you taken me?!”

Obi-Wan blinked, startled. The Sith, he meant Maul, the Sith who..... His mind spun. They had never managed to find Qui-Gon’s body. What if the fall had not killed him? It should have, but hadn’t his master always said the Force would find a way, no matter how improbable it may seem? But that would mean…

His heart thudded in his chest as Obi-Wan relaxed out of his stance, hand falling away from the hilt of his blade. This was impossible, it should be impossible, but… A spark of traitorous, painful hope lit in his chest and he swallowed hard, trying to force it down.

“What has happened to Naboo?” Qui-Gon was still snarling, “What have you done to my Padawan?! If you have harmed him I swear-”

The spark caught and became a solid flame. Obi-Wan opened his mouth, closed it quickly, and opened it again. It was impossible.

“Master?” Obi-Wan could barely make his voice more than a whisper, and despite himself he took a small step backwards, away from the man standing before him, still half sure the whole thing must be some sort of deception.

Confusion filled Qui-Gon’s once expression again, before being replaced with shock and disbelief. “Obi-Wan?”

“Yes.” He did not know what else to say.

“That’s impossible, you cannot be him. You are-”

“Thirty six. Master, you…you have been believed dead for eleven years.” The shock on Qui-Gon’s face only increased.

“That’s…but how? What of the Sith? Naboo?”

Obi-Wan chuckled, and was shocked at just how bitter it sounded, even now. “Long dead Master. Naboo is safe, never fear.” Or at least, as safe as any planet could be.

Qui-Gon seemed to sway in place, and Obi-Wan moved forward, concerned. He placed a hand on the taller man’s arm. He was solid under Obi-Wan’s palm; solid and real. This was no trick of the Force that stood before him, and it was the last bit of proof he needed, at least for the moment. “Are you alright? You should sit down.”

Qui-Gon only nodded, allowing Obi-Wan to guide him to sit on a thick tree root protruding from one of the cavern walls.

“Eleven years.” He murmured, staring at his own hands before looking back up at Obi-Wan, studying his face. Obi-Wan fought a shiver at his old Master’s scrutiny. He had never forgotten how piercing Qui-Gon’s stormy gaze could be, but memory could not hold a torch to reality. “How is this possible? Last I can remember was fighting the Sith on Naboo. You were behind me, and then…I fell.”

Obi-Wan nodded, looking away from Qui-Gon’s face. “You did. I thought you were dead.”

“And the Sith?”

“I killed him.”

There was a stretch of silence, before Qui-Gon nodded, eyes moving to the side of Obi-Wan’s head. “I apologize for missing your Knighting.”

Obi-Wan mimicked the movement. When he spoke, they were not the words he had planned. “I took Anakin as my Padawan.”

Qui-Gon’s eyes lit up, and something in Obi-Wan ached, making him frown. What was wrong with him? He was a Jedi Knight, a Master. Anakin was his brother, his friend. So why, why did he suddenly feel like a Padawan on Courscant, listening to his Master proclaim that he would take the boy as his Padawan Learner, while Obi-Wan stood beside him and tried to hide his shock? The ghost of an old weight, one he had long thought gone and dealt with, settled in the pit of his stomach. His next words stuck in his throat, even as he said them.

“He has become a great Jedi Knight. Just as you said he would.”

“Then he is the Chosen One.”

It was both a statement and a question, one Obi-Wan chose not to answer. He rose, backing up a few paces before turning, beginning a circuit around the cavern, fingers starting up an absent drum against his saber hilt.

“I still don’t understand how this is possible.” He murmured, his words reverberating off the cavern walls. “You were dead. I saw you fall, I felt the training bond break. This should not be possible.”

“I wish I could help, but I am just as confused as you. I am still working to process that fact that in what feels like a minute, I missed eleven years of life.” Qui-Gon said. Obi-Wan turned, watching as the older man pushed himself up slowly from the root and looked around. “Are we still on Naboo?”

The sudden change of subject snapped Obi-Wan out of the past, reminding him of the very real conflict still going on, somewhere above their heads. He cursed under his breath, shaking away the fog of old memories and emotions. They were useless to him now, no point in letting himself get distracted. “Hells, no. No. We’re in the Outer Rim. It…well, it’s a long story, and now is not the best time for all the details. We need to find a way out.”

He glanced around, before striding towards the other passageway. “Come on, I have no idea how long I’ve been down here.” That had not been a pleasant realization, and now he was growing concerned for his troops.

Footsteps sounded behind him, echoing off the cavern walls. Then Qui-Gon was walking in stride with Obi-wan, a frown on his lips, confusion lining his face. “You are going to have to answer my questions eventually, Padawan. Where are we? What is going on? The Force feels…restless.”

Obi-Wan fidgeted with his comm. “As I said, it is a long story. Much has changed in the galaxy, Master Qui-Gon. We are at war.”

“What?”

Obi-Wan looked up. The question had been calm, but Qui-Gon was projecting such extreme shock and disbelief that the younger Jedi mentally berated himself. So much for his so-called silver tongue. There were many ways, better ways, to tell his…to tell Qui-Gon about the war.

A crack of static erupted from his comm, and then Cody’s voice could be heard. “General? General Kenobi, please respond!”

Obi-Wan turned away from Qui-Gon again. “I’m here Cody. What’s happening?”

“Generals Skywalker and Plo Koon, and Commander Tahno have arrived, and we’ve got the droid forces on the run. That said, your help is always welcomed, Sir.”

Qui-Gon was still frowning, his gaze flicking between Obi-wan and his comm. Which part of the conversation bothered him, Obi-Wan wasn’t sure.

“General?’

“I’m on my way Cody.”

“Affirmative, Sir.”

“Kenobi out.”

They walked in silence. After what Obi-Wan guessed could have been no more than half an hour, the path grew steep, and he knew they were almost out.

/OBI-WAN/

The mental shout was so unexpected and so strong that Obi-Wan stumbled, nearly falling back into Qui-Gon, who’s hands shot out to catch him.

“Obi-Wan! Are you alright?”

“Yes, yes, I’m fine, he just caught me off guard.” /Anakin?/

/Sith hells! It’s about time! Where are you?! You went quiet; it felt the pair bond was gone!/

/I fell down a hole./

/Master, be serious./

/I assure you, Anakin, I am being most serious. We are almost at the surface. I will explain more when I see you./

/We?/

/Later, Anakin./

The sounds of blaster fire was becoming audible. The two Jedi could see light up ahead. Obi-Wan turned to Qui-Gon, pulling his lightsaber from his belt as he spoke. “I need you to stay here until this is over.”

He shook his head when Qui-Gon began to protest. “You don’t have your lightsaber, and you are still disoriented. I will explain everything, I promise, but for now, you need to stay here.”

Qui-Gon scowled. “I am not a Padawan, Obi-Wan. I can take care of myself.”

An old, familiar irritation flared, and Obi-Wan resisted the urge to sigh. “I know that, Master, but you must realize that neither am I. You do not know enough about the current situation, and as I mentioned, you do not have your lightsaber.”

They stared at each other, both refusing to turn away. Finally, Qui-Gon sighed and nodded. “Alright. I shall submit to your better judgement, in this case.”

“Thank you,” Obi-Wan’s tone was wry, “I do appreciate you not getting yourself killed.” Again. If Qui-Gon reacted to his words, Obi-Wan did not see it, igniting his lightsaber and darting out into the light.

He emerged from a small cavern at the base of a cliff. Republic troops were gathered in the clearing in front of him, and blaster fire rained down from above their head. Obi-wan fell into the swing of the battle easily, blocking shots and taking out droids as he made his way to the main contingent of clones.

Anakin spotted him first and made his way over. “Well it’s about time.”

“My utmost apologizes. I shall try to avoid plummeting down holes in the near future,” Obi-Wan snapped. The droid army had begun making their way down the cliff, and he darted forwards at a cluster of battle droids, Anakin at his heels.

“You fell down a hole again?”

“What do you mean, again?”

“Come off it, Master, this always happens.”

“I do not always fall down holes!”

“Surrrrre.”

“Anakin.”

Anakin grinned, then raised an eyebrow at Obi-Wan, flicking his gaze between the older man towards an on-coming super battle droid. /Ready?/

/Just make sure you don’t miss./

/I never do./

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes. Then with two quick steps he sprung forwards, feet landing in Anakin’s waiting hands. The younger man launched Obi-Wan up into the air, where he spun, taking out the droid and two others as he landed, shoving the pieces away with the Force.

The battle went smoothly from then on. The three clone units and four Jedi made easy work of the droids. As they settled into the aftermath, the Jedi and their clone commanders gathered together.

“It is good to see you are well, Master Kenobi.” Plo Koon rumbled, as Obi-Wan approached.

“You as well, Master Plo.” Obi-Wan bowed slightly to the older Master, before turning to Cody. “How bad are our losses, Commander?”

The clone was holding his right arm awkwardly at his side, but besides from that seemed only a little worse for wear. Pulling off his helmet, he tucked it under his good arm before replying. “We took our worst losses in the initial attack sir. Our numbers are strong enough, but we are going to need reinforcements if we want to take the capital.”

Plo Koon crossed his arms, looking concerned. “We should contact the temple as soon as possible then. Getting more troops here will take time. Time we might not have.”

He was right. Republic forces were stretched thin enough as it was, and Trasundron was not a high priority as far as the Senate was concerned. Obi-Wan sighed, closing his eyes as he tried to keep his displeasure from showing on his face. They were nearing the end of the first year of war, and there were no signs that peace would be achieved any time soon.

A sharp intake of breath and the sound of blasters being primed made his eyes snap open. Anakin was openly gaping at something behind Obi-Wan, and Rex, Cody, and Wolfe all had their guns trained. Ahsoka was frowning, her confusion clear, but she had mimicked Plo, who had his hand on his lightsaber, ready to snap into action. Expecting danger, an approaching battalion or hostile natives perhaps, Obi-wan turned, his own hand moving towards his blade.

Oh.

Well.

That explained things. Dammit all.

“I thought I told you to stay where you were.” Obi-Wan said, stra\ightening out of his defensive posture and turning to the clones. “At ease, he’s a friendly.”

“Master, what are you saying?!” Anakin snapped, turning on the shorter man. “He must be a shapeshifter, or an illusion, or...or something!”

“I can assure you, Anakin, Master Jinn is about as far from a shapeshifter as one can possibly.” Obi-Wan said wryly. Anakin did not look convinced, and neither did Plo Koon.

“I agree with Skywalker.” The Kel Dorian Master’s face was hidden by his mask, but Obi-Wan could hear the frown in his words. “We do not know who this creature is, or how they came to choose...that form.”

Obi-Wan shook his head. Qui-Won walked closer, coming to a stop at Obi-Wan’s side. “You have not told them?”

Obi-Wan gave him a look of barely disguised irritation. “I have not had a chance. We were a little busy. Thank you ever so much for making this that much more difficult, Master.”

Qui-Gon’s only response was to raise an eyebrow, as Anakin snapped. “Tell us what?! Obi-Wan, what is going on? Master Qui-Gon is dead! You know that as well as I do.”

Obi-Wan winced, and Anakin looked immediately like he regretted his words.

“It really is him Anakin.” Obi-Wan murmured, before raising his voice. “Listen to the Force, all of you,” he looked from his student to Plo. “I have not been deceived. I found him underground, in some sort of,” he paused, searching for the right word, “cage of tree roots. They were glowing. The Force was stronger there than anywhere else I have been in a long time.”

Silence stretched. Obi-Wan could sense Anakin and Plo Koon reaching out into the Force, searching. The clones shifted, matching Ahsoka’s expression of confusion.

When Anakin opened his eyes, they were wide, and his gaze immediately locked onto Qui-Gon. His hand still rested on the hilt of his lightsaber, but he made no move to light it. “Master Qui-Gon…?”

At Anakin’s side, Ahsoka was looking back and forth between her Master and the new Jedi. She was still tense, holding her stance and ready to fight. “Master? What’s going on?”

“I don’t know Snips.” Anakin murmured, but he gave her a look and the Togruta girl nodded, relaxing.

Plo was the first to approach Qui-Gon. Stopping in front of the tall human, the Kel Dorian Jedi looked Qui-Gon up and down before catching his gaze. When he finally spoke, there was a smile in his voice. “It is good to see you again, my old friend.”

Qui-Gon smiled. “You as well, though I cannot say it has been a long time.”

Plo Koon’s amusement pulsed in the Force. It seemed his words were exactly what was needed at that moment, and the rest of the group relaxed. Anakin walked over, stopping next to Obi-Wan. “How is this possible?!”

Before Obi-Wan had a chance to answer, Qui-Gon took a step towards Anakin, his smile widening even though disbelief and confusion were still clearly visible in his eyes. “Anakin.” He reached out, dropping a hand onto Obi-Wan’s student’s shoulder. The pride in his eyes was undeniable, and Obi-Wan pointedly refused to think about the twinge in his chest that caused.

Anakin was staring at the taller man, eyes searching his face even as a smile was slowly growing on his lips. “Master Qui-Gon. It really is you.”

“You have grown, Young One. I knew the Jedi were in your future.”

Anakin was nodding, still grinning almost childishly. “I have a Padawan as well.”

At Qui-Gon’s raised eyebrow Anakin turned to catch Ahsoka’s eyes. The girl joined them and stood at her Master’s side, still eyeing the newest arrival with a touch of suspicion.

“My Padawan, Ahsoka Tano.” Anakin was practically bursting with pride, and it made Obi-Wan smile. “Snips, this is Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn.”

Ahsoka gave a small bow and Qui-Gon smiled, mimicking the movement. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Padawan Tano.”

“You as well Master Jinn.” Ahsoka shifted, frowning slightly. “No offense meant, Master, but in the crèche we were told you were dead.”

The question caught everyone’s attention, and Qui-Gon frowned, looking from Ahsoka to Anakin, to Plo, and finally settled on Obi-Wan, who arched an eyebrow and folded his arms over his chest, shrugging slightly. He was just as lost as everyone else in this matter.

“This is not the place for this discussion.” Plo spoke up. He met Obi-Wan’s eyes, and the younger Master nodded.

“Is your gunship is still in one piece, Master?”

“The council needs to be informed of this…development.” Plo Koon said, stroking his mask thoughtfully. It had grown late, and the Jedi were still in conversation. Obi-Wan had told them of his fall into the underground cavern and how he had stumbled upon a Jedi believed long dead. Qui-Gon had repeated what he had told Obi-wan; the last thing he remembered was the fight on Naboo, and the Sith.

Obi-Wan nodded his agreement. “Somehow, I doubt they would appreciate a simple comm message,” he murmured. From her seat beside Anakin, Ahsoka snickered softly.

“Can you imagine it, Master?” She asked Anakin, who raised an eyebrow skeptically, but Obi-Wan could see he was holding back a grin. The Padawan continued, unconcerned, “Hello Counselors. Things are well here on the planet, we beat the droids. No we didn’t get Grievous, but oh yeah, we found a dead Jedi Master and surprise he’s not actually dead but time traveled so he also hasn’t aged. Okay, that’s all. Bye.” She grinned, and Obi-Wan resisted the urge to do the same. He had to admit, it was a tempting prospect, if only to see the looks on the other Council members’ faces.

Plo shook his head. “I’m afraid, Little ‘Soka, this is matter that must be dealt with face to face. He looked to Obi-Wan. “Kenobi, you should accompany Master Qui-Gon back to the Temple.”

“What?!” The question slipped out before Obi-Wan could stop it, coloured vividly with surprise and confusion. Across the room he could see Qui-Gon frowned slightly at him. Plo and Anakin exchanged glances.

“It makes sense, Master.” Anakin said. “After all, you were the one who found Master Qui-Gon first. The Council will want to hear what you have to say.”

Blast it, Anakin had point. Obi-Wan frowned. “But the mission-“

“We will be fine without you.” Plo said, but the words were not harsh, “Your troops will remain here. It will not take much more to force the Separatist army from the planet entirely, especially after reinforcements arrive."

There was a long pause. Obi-Wan could feel three sets of eyes fixed on him. Then he sighed. “Alright. When do we leave?”

Chapter Text

Qui-Gon was on the verge of giving up on meditation. No matter how he tried to calm his mind and open himself up to the Force, he found his attention tugged away again and again. Opening his eyes, he stared at the grey wall in front of him, a low hum of frustration settling into the back of his mind. Rising to his feet, Qui-Gon stretched, wringing the stiffness born out of sitting in one position for too long from his muscles. Out of habit, he reached out towards the training bond he shared with his Padawan, curious as to where the younger man was. His mental touch was met with nothing but blank space; an empty spot where their bond should have been. He flinched, exhaling slowly as he released yet another onslaught of emotions out into the Force.

It was still so strange to him. So much around him was different. The ship they were on, the clones (all polite and respectful to Qui-Gon, but they called him “General” and they all looked the same, sounded the same and it made Qui-Gon uneasy), the war room he had passed as he was being shown to his bunk. Even worse were the little things; the chaotic state of the Force around him, the lack of a lightsaber at his hip, the unforgiving space at his side and his head where Obi-Wan should have been…

Obi-Wan. Qui-Gon’s frown deepened as he left the small sleeping quarters he had been granted a bunk in and made his way down the hall, following the Force’s prodding and hoping he was heading towards the bridge. His pada-…the other Jedi was a whole other problem that Qui-Gon simply did not know how to go about solving. Half way through the fourth day of the trip back to Coruscant and he had barely seen Obi-Wan. Qui-Gon did not know why his Padawan was avoiding him (‘or did he?' a traitorous part of his brain murmured), but he had promised Qui-Gon answers.

And even now, despite being eleven years older and changed both in appearance and in the Force, Obi-Wan was familiar. He was living, breathing proof that the galaxy was not quite so lost to Qui-Gon. It seemed that he was still weak enough to cling to his Padawan, like a scared child refusing to let go of an old toy.

The hiss of doors opening pulled Qui-Gon from his thoughts. The Force had been true in its guidance and he had made it to the bridge. A swell of sound reached his ears, the bridge practically buzzing with life. Clones manned a variety of stations, talking amongst themselves as they did and occasionally calling out status updates. Droids moved about, one particularly single-minded one nearly rolling over Qui-Gon’s foot in its haste to reach its destination.

Obi-Wan stood near the front of the helm, one arm behind his back, stroking his beard in absent thought with his other hand. As Qui-Gon approached, he broke off his conversation with a tall, stern looking man in a dark uniform whom Qui-Gon assumed was the ship’s captain.

“Master Qui-Gon. Is something wrong?”

Qui-Gon shook his head. “No, Obi-Wan, nothing is wrong. I apologize for interrupting you.” He turned to the other man, tipping his head slightly.

“No apology is necessary Master Jedi.” The captain said, nodding his head in return, “General Kenobi and I were just finishing.”

For a brief moment, Qui-Gon wondered if Obi-wan was about to object to the captain’s departure, but then the younger Jedi had schooled his expression and turned back to Qui-Gon.

“What can I do for you, Master?” Like his face, Obi-Wan voice held the false calm and serenity of a Jedi Master that Qui-Gon had long since learned to identify. Not for the first time, Qui-Gon wished the training bond that had once linked him to his Padawan remained between them, so he could, at least, have a better sense of what Obi-Wan was feeling, to know how to proceed.

“If you are not needed elsewhere, perhaps I might take some of your time?”

Obi-Wan hesitated, "I should contact the Council...We will be arriving on Coruscant soon and…."

"I only wish to ask you a few questions," Qui-Gon said. He did not want to push too hard, but Sith hells, he wanted answers! "I have no desire to appear before the Council, utterly ignorant of all that is going on around me."

The barest hint of a smile appeared on Obi-Wan’s lips at his words. “Of course, Master, we could not have that. Though I dare say you being truly ignorant of anything would be quite the anomaly.”

Qui-Gon arched an eyebrow. “Regardless, I would appreciate at least something like answers to a few of my questions.”

Obi-Wan nodded, the smile vanishing as quickly as it had appeared. “Of course. I shall do what can.”

They ended up in Obi-Wan's sleeping quarters. Away from the eyes of the rest of the ship's frankly massive crew, Obi-Wan seemed to relax, if only just, and Qui-Gon noticed for the first time just how tired Obi-Wan looked. For a man of thirty-six, there seemed to be far too many lines on his Padawan's face, too dark shadows under his eyes. It caused a sharp pang of worry in Qui-Gon’s chest, and he wonder just what could have happened to cause such things in his lively, mischievous Padawan.

Obi-Wan stood a few paces into the room, staring at the blank grey wall across from him for a few moments, before sighing and running a hand through his hair.

“What would you like to know, Master?”

Qui-Gon looked pointedly between Obi-Wan and the space on the bunk next to him. Obi-Wan followed the silent suggestion and crossed the room to sit a foot or so next to Qui-Gon.

Where to begin? “You trained Anakin?”

Obi-Wan nodded, "I did. It was what you would have wanted and you were right, he needed to be trained." A soft smile tugged at his lips. "He is a good man, and a good Jedi, if a bit of a handful at times. He annoys the Council to no end with his uncanny ability to find loopholes and twist the wording of orders. You would approve greatly, I think."

Qui-Gon chuckled. “Somehow, I am not surprised. And he has taken a Padawan? How long has he been Knighted?”

“He was knighted last year. Ahsoka joined us not too long after.” Obi-Wan admitted. “It was not his idea to take a Padawan, but the Council thought it would be good for both of them. And I suppose it has. Ahsoka is a good Padawan, if a bit reckless at times, and they work well together.”

Qui-Gon could hear the echoes of unspoken worries in Obi-Wan’s words, but decided not to push.

"A Jedi Master at thirty-six. That is impressive Obi-Wan, and not at all surprising." Qui-Gon smiled at the startled expression that appeared on Obi-Wan's face at his words.

“I…thank you, Master.”

Qui-Gon nodded, feeling a sudden pang of sadness as he realized just how much of his Padawan’s life he had missed. He had been, and still was, so proud of the young man he had been lucky enough to train and now he was staring at an Obi-Wan with a braid long cut and a Grand-Padawan.

“Master?”

Qui-Gon blinked, dragging his thoughts back to the present. Force he needed to meditate. “Ah, my apologies pada-…Obi-Wan. I was lost in thought. May I ask another question?”

The look Obi-Wan gave him was not entirely convinced, but he nodded. “Of course.”

“You said there is a war.”

Obi-Wan’s features darkened. “Yes.”

“Who are you fighting?”

There was a long pause. Obi-Wan seemed to be considering his words with extreme care. “Another political body, the Confederacy of Independent Systems. They are separatists, systems that chose to pull away from the Republic.”

Qui-Gon could sense there was more. There was look in Obi-Wan’s eyes that was setting him on edge; something concerned and almost hunted.

“What are you not telling me?”

The younger man sighed in something that was almost frustration. “I…I think it is best if the Council fills you in on the rest, Master.” He rose, straightening his tunics. "We will be arriving on Coruscant soon, and they have requested our presence before all else."

Qui-Gon rose as well, wanting to protest, but Obi-Wan was still moving. “I need to return to the bridge. If you will excuse me, Master?”

What could he say? ‘No, stay here?' ‘Tell me everything’? “Of course Obi-Wan. I will see you when we landed.”

Qui-Gon returned the quick bow Obi-Wan offered him and watched as the younger Master slipped from the room. Then he sighed, exiting the room as well and began the walk back to his assigned quarters, feeling, if anything, more confused than before.

Returning to the Temple was like releasing a breath Qui-Gon had not known he was holding, his mind ringing with the sense of good, familiar, and home that struck him as he approached the entrance, Obi-Wan at his side. He could feel the familiar thrum of temple life like a warm blanket in his mind, and a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips, despite himself.

There was a small figure standing at the top of the temple stairs. The sight of Yoda made Qui-Gon’s smile widen, even as he was struck by how much older the little Master looked, compared to when he had last seen him, and how tired. He could see it in his eyes, which widened as Qui-Gon drew closer, the only sign of surprise that Yoda allowed himself.

Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon bowed in sync as they came to a halt in front of the ancient Master. Even with his head bowed, Qui-Gon could feel Yoda’s gaze focused on him.

“Welcome home, Master Qui-Gon.” Qui-Gon looked up to see Yoda smiling at him, and the Force around them hummed with warmth.

“Lost to the Order, we believed you to be. One with the Force, it was thought you were. Good, it is, to see you again.”

“It is good to see you as well, Master.”

“Hrmm…” Yoda locked eyes with Qui-Gon for a few moments more, and Qui-Gon resisted the urge to break the contact and pull away from the intense gaze.

Whatever it was that Yoda saw, it seemed to be acceptable. "Yes, yes. Good it, that you are back, Padawan of my Padawan. Come; speak with you both, the Council wishes. Hear your story, they will." He turned walking slowly into the temple, the younger Masters following on either side. "Wanted to greet you myself, I did. See the truth with my own eyes, hrmm?"

The Temple halls thrummed with the Force and the many Jedi it housed. The familiarity of it all was doing wonders to combat the growing sense of detachment that had plagued Qui-Gon throughout the trip to Coruscant, and he found himself drinking it all in, like a man granted water after a lifetime in the desert. He reached out, brushing his fingers idly across one of the many stone pillars that lined the hall leading to the Council chamber, a slight frown gracing his lips. The more he focused of the Force, the more it nagged at him. There was something…off. The Temple felt oddly hollow, smaller in the Force than he remembered it to be.

Out of the corner of his eyes, he noticed Obi-Wan glancing at him with a frown of his own. The younger man looked away when Qui-Gon met his eyes, his gaze moving to the great double doors of the Jedi High Council chamber, which opened smoothly as Yoda approached, revealing the large, circular room and its ring of chairs.

There was a ripple in the Force as the three entered, and Qui-Gon could feel eyes on him, could sense the silent communication between Council members, and knew that in that moment, he was the focus of the room.

The Council chamber was largely unchanged from how it had been the last time Qui-Qon had stood within its walls, eleven years in the past (something he was still struggling to completely wrap his mind around). All but two of the chairs were filled as Yoda moved to take his seat between Mace Windu and Ki-Adi-Mundi, though many Masters were absent from the temple; their seats filled by projected holograms. Qui-Gon's frown deepened, and he wondered at the significance of those half absences. Obi-Wan had told him the Republic was at war, and that many Knights and Masters had taken up the title of General, leading clone troops throughout the galaxy, but for so many members of the Council to be away from the Temple at once… Qui-Gon pushed those thoughts away, drawing his attention back to the Council before him.

Despite the absences, the Council members, like the room itself, were largely the same as Qui-Gon remembered, though as he looked around the circle of Masters, he noticed a few new faces and some he had been expecting that were missing.

Two of the newcomers Qui-Gon recognized; a tall Togruta female with a calm gaze and almost regal bearing, visible even through the blue of the holo, and a male Nautolan who all but sang in the Force with bright energy, even as he sat in his chair, the perfect picture of a Jedi Master. Qui-Gon fumbled for their names. Shaak Ti and Kit Fisto. Yes, that was it. Last he remembered they had both been Knights. He could remember sparring with them both many times, and seeing them on the Council made him smile slightly.

Yarael Poof’s absence was not a surprise, for the old Quermian master had been near the end of his time on the Council the last time Qui-Gon had stood in that chamber. The Vurk master in his seat now was familiar, but Qui-Gon could not place how. Yaddle was gone as well, which struck Qui-gon as odd, as was Depa Billaba.

Pushing aside his thoughts yet again, Qui-Gon watched as Mace began to call the Council to order. Plo’s chair, on Mace’s left, stood empty. Likely the Kel Dorian did not feel the need to sit in on the meeting, not when he had already heard all that Qui-Gon had to say, and still had much to do on Trasundron. However… Qui-Gon frowned at the still empty seat to the right of Ki-Adi-Mundi and wondered why the missing member had not used a hologram as the others had. Last he remembered, the chair had belonged to Saesee Tiin, but the Iktotchi master was already present in the next seat over.

“Should we not wait for the last member?” Qui-Gon asked. He had not pitched his voice that loud, but his words caused a hush to descend upon the Council room. Next to him, Obi-Wan had straightened, and Yoda and Mace exchanged a glance.

"Already here, Master Kenobi is," Yoda remarked.

Qui-Gon allowed himself a moment to process this new information before turning on the man beside you. “You’re on the Council?”

Obi-Wan nodded, and he looked almost confused. “Yes, I am. Did I not tell you?”

Qui-Gon arched an eyebrow in response because no, Obi-Wan had not mentioned that. The barest hint of a smirk curled at the corner of Obi-Wan’s mouth, as if to say, 'Well, now you know.'

Mace cleared his throat. “If we could get back to the matter at hand, please?”

Both men straightened, turning their attention back to the circle of Masters around them. If Qui-Gon did not know better, he would have thought Yoda was smirking at them. He wondered what the little master was planning.

Silence fell over the Council chamber, and hung in the air, long enough that Qui-Gon had to resist the urge to shift in place. Eleven sets of eyes were on him, and he felt pinned in place and stripped bare under the weight of the combined gazes.

It was Mace who finally spoke, breaking the silence but keeping his eyes on Qui-Gon, his expression smooth and cold; the visage of the ideal Jedi Master.

“You claim you are Master Qui-Gon Jinn.” Qui-Gon opened his mouth to say that he claimed nothing, he was Qui-Gon Jinn, but the Korun Master was still speaking, “Masters Kenobi and Plo Koon both stand by your claim. Additionally, it is hard to argue with the presence of your Force signature.”

Mace looked around the circle, meeting the eyes of a few of the other Councillors. “And yet such a thing should not be possible.”

Many heads nodded, and the sense of detachment returned, striking Qui-Gon like a Force shove. This was not his time, and he was suddenly painfully aware that he was too young, and had to bite back a laugh, even as he felt like doing anything but. Too young; he had not thought of himself as such in decades and yet it was true. He had been in his sixth decade when he and Obi-wan had been sent to investigate the blockade of Naboo, and now, over a decade later, he was sixty still. This was not his time, and yet…

“-ui-gon?”

“Master Jinn, are you well?”

Qui-Gon blinked, pulling himself out of his spiraling thoughts. He was being stared at again. There was a frown on Obi-Wan's face, concern written across the younger man's skin, and a crease between Mace's eyebrows that spoke confusion and worry. For him. Qui-Gon exhaled slowly, releasing the panic that had caught him up in its whirlwind out into the Force and attempted to calm his suddenly racing heart.

“I am alright. My apologies, Master Windu.” He tried for a slight smile. “Please, continue.”

Obi-Wan’s frown deepened, and Mace looked anything but convinced, but neither man protested.

"Master Jinn," Adi Gallia leaned forwards in her seat. "Can you tell us what occurred on Naboo? Do you remember anything that could have caused such a…event?"

As Qui-Gon began to explain to the Council what he had told the Jedi on Trasundron, Obi-Wan allowed himself to slip into a light trance, only half listening as Qui-Gon spoke of his last memories from Naboo, of fighting the Sith and falling. After that, there was only darkness, and he remembered nothing else until he woke, dazed and disoriented and certain that he was still under attack.

Obi-Wan's mind was still reeling, and the voyage back to Coruscant had down little to help him come to terms with just what exactly was happening. Had happened. Would continue to happen, because yes, there was no doubt anymore that this was in fact happening.

Qui-Gon was alive, was still alive.

Obi-Wan really needed to meditate.

At the sound of Mace’s voice, Obi-Wan pulled his thoughts back to the present, ignoring the tiny voice in the back of his head whispering “Live in the moment, Obi-Wan” that sounded far too much like Qui-Gon for his comfort in that moment.

“While I still find myself at a loss for an explanation,” Mace was saying, a frown creasing the Head of the Order’s face, “I can also sense nothing to suggest you are not who you say.”

“Never before, heard of such a thing have I,” Yoda said, leaning forwards in his seat, eyes bright with curiosity, “But agree with Master Windu, I do.”

Qui-Gon let out a breath he had not been aware he was holding. Mace looked around the circle of gathered Masters, who nodded, silent communication weaving throughout the room.

"Then we are in agreement." Rising to his feet, Mace approached Qui-Gon, placing one hand on the other man's shoulder. A smile tugged at his lips as he spoke. "We welcome you back, Master Qui-Gon Jinn." /We have missed you, Old Friend./

With the official briefing over, Qui-Gon quickly found himself swept up in in a flurry of activity, as he greeted each member of the council and his friends among their ranks. It was odd, he knew, logically, that it had been over a decade since they had last seen him, and he them, but it still did not feel like it had truly been that long.

“I do believe you have grown sappy in your old age, Mace.” Qui-Gon teased, glancing over at the other man who still stood next to him, even as most of the other masters had begun to trickle out of the council room.

Windu arched an eyebrow. “You do not get to make age cracks Jinn. Not all of us can skip out on ten years of aging. And someone has to make sure you still remember how to bow, and whisper names in your ear when you forget.”

Qui-Gon laughed, and Mace smiled despite himself, his amusement ringing clearly in the Force though it was tinged with something that was almost sadness and made the lump in Qui-Gon's throat re-assert itself once again.

“I promise to try to avoid skipping out on you again, then.”

Mace squeezed Qui-Gon’s shoulder once again. “If you’ve forgotten the troll’s lectures on trying, we really do have a problem, my friend. And speaking of-“

Qui-Gon looked up to see Yoda making his way towards them from where he had been speaking with Obi-Wan, near the chamber doors.

"I'll leave you two to speak," Mace said. Qui-Gon nodded, watching the younger (or was he older now?) man pull away, moving swiftly and falling into step with Obi-Wan as the young Master turned leave. They were far enough away that Qui-Gon could not pick up what was being said, not with conscious effort, but he did see Obi-Wan turn to look back him. Their eyes met for the briefest of moments, and then the two men were gone. Qui-Gon closed his eyes, allowing a tiny sigh to slip free.

Pain flared in Qui-Gon’s legs as Yoda’s gimmer stick connected solidly with his shins. With a startled yelp, Qui-Gon looked down and found himself in the line of one of the ancient Master’s fiercest glares; the kind that could make even the hardest Council member quail in their boots.

“Master?”

“Foolish you were,” Yoda snapped, his voice harsher than Qui-Gon could remember hearing, even as an initiate. “Told us, Obi-Wan did, of the battle on Naboo. Showed me he did. Rash, you were. Ran ahead into a fight. Blocked yourself off from your Padawan. Acted like a bantha-headed youngling you did!" Yoda's ears were flat against his head, and for a moment, Qui-Gon could feel the emotions that radiated off his Grand-Master, before they vanished, released into the Force. Anger, loss, and a bone-deep sorrow that hit the maverick Jedi like a blow to the stomach.

Guilt flooded Qui-Gon's chest as Yoda's words took root. Force, as far as the rest of the world was concerned, he had died on Naboo. The memory of Obi-Wan's shell-shocked expression back in the cavern flashed in his mind. Qui-Gon swallowed at the lump that had formed in his throat and knelt before Yoda, bringing himself closer to eye-level with the Master. “I…I had not thought…”

Yoda was still glaring, but his expression had softened somewhat. “Foolish Youngling. Care for you, many do. Loved, you are. Forget that, you should not.” He poked Qui-Gon in the chest with his stick, accenting his words. “Felt your loss deeply, many did. Time to adjust to your presence, some may need.”

“Of course. Forgive me, Master. I have more amends to make than I realized.” Qui-Gon bowed his head. Force, he was a fool. That explained so much.

Yoda snorted, jabbing at Qui-Gon once more. "Wallowing in self-pity, not the Jedi way it is. Put you on crèche duty I will, if catch you in such a mood I do. Let the younglings teach younglings, hrm?" Mischief twinkled in Yoda's eyes, and Qui-Gon chuckled, rising to his feet.

“Of course Master. I will keep your threats in mind.”

Yoda huffed, turning and shuffling off down the hall. “Impertinent as always you are, Master Qui-Gon.”

Qui-Gon bowed at the retreating Master’s back. “I learned from the best, Master Yoda.”

Yoda did not reply, but as Qui-Gon turned, he could feel the tiny Master's fondness wash over him like a warm wind.

Chapter Text

Obi-Wan was waiting when Qui-Gon finally emerged from the council chamber with Yoda. The younger man was leaning against the wall opposite the great double doors, eyes half closed. He looked exhausted. Qui-Gon frowned; Obi-Wan looked as if he had not slept a full night cycle in weeks.

‘Maybe he hasn’t. He is a General at war, and Force only knows when he has time to relax or sleep.’

As they drew closer, Obi-Wan’s eyes snapped open, and he pulled himself up off the wall.

“Master Yoda, Master Qui-Gon.”

“You did not leave with Master Windu?” Qui-Gon asked, curious. Obi-Wan shook his head, falling into step next to Yoda, leaving the ancient Master bracketed between himself and Qui-gon.

“No. Master Windu simply had a few more questions he wished to ask me.” Obi-Wan sighed, sparing a moment to rub at the bridge of his nose. “Master Yoda, are you sure it is right for me to be away from the front lines? I do not mind the chance to breathe without worrying about being shot between breaths, but with Grievous still on the loose it does not feel right to leave Anakin and my men so suddenly.”

His men. Front lines. Yet again, Qui-Gon wondered how the galaxy could have changed so much in ten years. He made a mental note to ask about this Grievous person.

Between the two men, Yoda huffed. “Good, time away will do you, Master Kenobi. Too long without rest you have gone. Survive, the galaxy will, without you watching over it for a few days, hm?”

For a moment, it looked as if Obi-Wan might argue, but as Qui-Gon watched, the younger man’s shoulders slumped ever so slightly, and he sighed, resigned.
“As you wish Master Yoda. I shall trust in your judgement.”

Yoda nodded, looking pleased. “Good, good.”

He turned his gaze on Qui-Gon, who swallowed back a sudden spike of dread. A glance at Obi-Wan showed the mirth dancing in the other man’s eyes, and Qui-Gon realized that yes, he was most definitely in for it.

“Good for you as well, time will be.” Yoda said, and was that a smile Qui-Gon detected in his voice? Oh, that could not be good. “Time and rest, yes, yes. Re-adjust, you must. Changed, much has, in your absence.”

Qui-Gon bowed his head. “Of course Master, I-“

“Master Kenobi, make sure you do not get lost he will,” Yoda continued, the mischief still in his eyes, “Much to discuss the two of you have, hmm?” He cast a look at Obi-Wan that seemed to carry more weight than the conversation implied, and Obi-Wan hesitated for a second, before nodding his agreement.

“Of course Master Yoda.” He met Qui-Gon’s eyes, and Qui-Gon could not help but wonder at the trepidation he saw in the younger man’s gaze. “If you have no protests, Master?”

Qui-Gon shook his head. “Of course not.”

“Good, good.” Yoda hummed, stopping and beginning to turn around. “Leave you to it then, I will.”

Both men came to a stop, watching the tiny Master in confusion. “Master Yoda?”

“Enough questions, Master Kenobi,” Yoda grumbled, not looking behind him, “Old I am. Tired. Batter me with questions, you should not.”

Obi-Wan chuckled. “Master Yoda, you are not yet nine hundred.”

“Hrmph. Older than you, I am. Now go, go. Meditate in peace, let me.”

“You never change, Grand-Master mine,” Qui-Gon laughed softly.

Yoda’s soft, rasping laughing was the only response. “Perhaps. Perhaps.”

It was easy, Obi-Wan noted with some surprise, to fall back into something almost like their old rhythm. Sinking into their conversation and banter, he allowed his feet to move on autopilot. It felt good, talking with his master like this again, all easy words and teasing. Better even, because now, as a Master in his own right, Obi-Wan did not need to fear rebuke from the older man, like he had as a Padawan.

He shook his head with a snort. “Master Qui-Gon, I fear you have forgotten the true horrors of Senate gatherings. If anything, they have gotten worse over the past decade. I swear, if I am forced to mediate another debate between Senator Rycilus and Senator Al’tak over the supposed medicinal properties of Meiloorun fruit, I may just find myself forgoing my vows.”

Qui-Gon’s laugh rang through the hall, and Obi-Wan allowed himself a brief moment to close his eyes and let the sound wash over him, sinking into his bones. He supposed he ought not to be surprised anymore, at just how many things he had forgotten he had missed. It was as if, after a time, they had simply faded to the back of his mind; not gone, but an ache familiar enough to forget and ignore.

“I am sure it is not nearly as bad as all that, Obi-Wan.” Qui-Gon was smiling, wide and bright. Obi-Wan scoffed.

“So you say now, but just you wait, Master,” Obi-Wan crossed his arms over his chest, raising an eyebrow in challenge. “One of these days you will be forced to attend one of the blasted things, and you will be the one swamped by reporters and their holo-cams, and simpering senators who only stop touching your arm long enough to argue with someone else. Then you can tell me all about how it is not nearly as bad as I make it out to be.”

Qui-Gon crossed his arms over chest, still chuckling softly as they continued down the wide corridor. Unlike the main hall of the Temple, the hallway was nigh on deserted, and Qui-Gon appreciated the lack of shocked stares. Gazing around, he allowed his eyes to linger on the small, golden name-plates present on each door they passed, checking each name off his in memories, looking for changes. There were far more empty rooms than the last time he had walked those halls, and the master tried not to dwell on the silent meaning behind the absences.

“We shall see, Padawan. We shall see.”

If Obi-Wan could see Qui-Gon’s thoughts on his face, he made no mention. Turning a corner, he stopped at a doorway a few paces into the new hallway. Stopping next to him, Qui-Gon blinked, looking around and taking in his surrounds, surprise colouring his features as recognition struck.

“These…these are our old quarters.”

Obi-Wan nodded. “I…realized on our way, you were never given a formal quarter assignment. We could hunt down the Quartermaster, but,” he shrugged, turning back to the door and raising his finger to the bio-lock, “I for one need a shower and tea.” Lots of tea. “And it’s getting late. We can figure out something else tomorrow, if you are not opposed to sharing quarters with me once again, at least for tonight.”

When no response appeared forthcoming, Obi-Wan glanced over his shoulder, eyebrows furrowing. “Master?”

Qui-Gon was staring at the name-plate, his expression strange, and for the briefest moment he looked…lost. The expression was gone in a heartbeat, as Qui-Gon seemed to startle back to the present moment. Blinking, he met Obi-Wan’s eyes, a hint of a smile on his lips. “My apologies, I was just…surprised. That you kept these rooms.”

“It…it was attachment at first…” Obi-Wan admitted, the door sliding open with a soft hiss. He kept his back to Qui-Gon as he spoke, striding through the familiar door. “I did not want to leave, not so soon after…well. So Anakin took the Padawan suite, and I moved into your rooms.” He paused, thinking that over. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“Why would I mind? I was not here to claim them,” Qui-Gon followed Obi-Wan into the rooms that had been his home since he had reached his Knighthood, before stopping abruptly, a few paces in.

It felt like a punch to the gut. It should not have, Qui-Gon knew this ꟷ a Jedi did not place value in material items ꟷ and yet it still did.

“Qui-Gon?”

Obi-Wan’s voice sounded distant to his ears, but Qui-Gon did not respond, too busy taking in his surroundings. He had known, logically, that the quarters would not be the same as when he had left them, what still felt like only days ago. Eleven years had passed since then, these rooms becoming a home to a young boy who had left all he had known, and continued being home to the man who had been Qui-Gon’s Padawan, as he grew into his role as Knight and teacher.

Logically, he knew this.

And yet.

It was so different. The large couch and chair that sat in the main room had been left alone, but the coffee table between them had been replaced, and was covered in a wide array of metal and mechanical pieces, varying in sizes and shapes. The few holo-pics he had allowed himself had been removed from the walls, save for one, on the far wall, next to a set of shelves. Moving towards it, Qui-Gon realized that it was the hollo that had been taken of him and Obi-Wan on one of their…less eventful, diplomatic missions during Obi-Wan’s fifth year as Qui-Gon’s Padawan. The name of the planet escaped him, but Qui-Gon could distinctly remember how beautiful it had been, with its extensive forests of amber and bronze trees, covered in pale green leaves the turned almost gold when the evening sun filtered through them, and crystalline rocks that peppered the ground and reflected the moonlight. Obi-Wan had spent a good fraction of their first few hours there actively trying not to gape, and Qui-Gon had not blamed the eighteen year old. Indeed, it was only due to his years of mastering control over his body and emotions that kept him from the same struggle as his Padawan.

The hollo showed both Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon. It had been taken after a short session of sparring practice that they had found time for in a secluded section of the palace garden on their third day there, by one of the local senators who had been coming to find them. Obi-wan was laughing openly at something Qui-Gon had said, his head tossed back in mirth. He had abandoned his robe and over tunics, and his hair was matted with sweat, but his expression was bright and happy. Qui-Gon stood next him, his own hair pulled back into a loose tail, arms crossed over his chest. He was smiling too, the younger man’s joy and humor infectious as it added to Qui-Gon’s own.

Stepping back from the image, Qui-Gon pulled in a slow breath, catching the swelling of panic that threatened to wash over him and releasing it into the Force.

A hand fell onto his shoulder, and he jumped, head snapping around to meet worried, blue-grey eyes.

“Master? Are you alright?” Obi-Wan’s voice was low, and Qui-Gon could hear the concern in the younger man’s tone. “You seemed…dazed. Is something wrong? Should I call a healer?”

Qui-Gon shook his head, in part to clear away the remaining threads of fog, and stepped away from the hollo, and the other Master’s hand. “No, no need for that Obi-Wan. I am alright, I’m sorry for worrying you. It was just a lot to take in, all at once.”

Obi-Wan nodded, though he still looked concerned. “If you say so, Master. If you do not want to stay here, I can-“

“I’m fine, Obi-Wan.” Qui-Gon smiled to soften the bite of his words. “I just need to readjust. Seeing things so different startled me a little, that’s all.”

Obi-Wan did not look convinced, but he let the matter drop, choosing instead to move to the small kitchen his quarters boasted.

He set about making tea, taking a moment to enjoy being able to have real tea that had not come, ready-made from a machine, and tried very hard to avoid dwelling on the emotions the tall man in the other room stirred up in him.

He felt uncharacteristically anxious at the prospect of facing Qui-Gon again. Once, he would have given anything to see his Master again, much to his shame. But then life had happened, and time had continued flowing past him, like the sands of Tatooine caught up in the wind. He had trained Anakin, and a war had begun. He had become a Jedi Master in his own right, a member of the High Council, and a General. Somewhere, during all of that, he had carefully taken everything, all the old hurts and fears, all the emotions that would spin through his head if he let his guard down, that he had never managed to release into the Force (‘like a true Jedi would.’ A tiny voice in the back of his mind whispered), and locked them away, in solid, impenetrable boxes, far in the back of his mind, where they could not haunt or hinder him any longer.

Or at least, that was what he had thought. Now, Obi-Wan found that they were not as strong had he had believed. He felt…pulled taught, as if the slightest touch would cause him to shatter.

Force and Gods, he was scared! It was a sickening feeling, curling in the pit of his stomach and growing faster than he could control it. Tightening his grip in the edge of the countertop, Obi-Wan breathed slowly, tightening his mental shields to sheets of solid dura-steel. He would not allow Qui-Gon to learn of how deep Obi-Wan’s failings still ran.

Qui-Gon made a slow circuit of the main room, running his fingers gently over objects both new and old. More than once he would stop, pick up an ornament or trinket, and wonder at the story behind it, catching Anakin’s Force signature here, one that was unfamiliar to him there. Obi-Wan was everywhere, and it was that which kept the changes from being too overwhelming.

Qui-Gon’s fingers came to a stop on a small, ornamental knife. Surprised, he picked it up, turning the black stone blade over. He remember this, it had come back with him and Obi-Wan after a particularly trying mission, one which had resulted in the temporary loss of Obi-Wan’s lightsaber. The knife had been the first thing they could find for him to use, at least until a better short term replacement could be found. Bringing it back to Coruscant had been an accident, both Master and Padawan had been too tired to give it much thought until Obi-wan had remembered it, half way back to the temple, stuffed down his boot.

“You kept this?” Qui-Gon asked, the question absent-minded, and half to himself. When minutes passed, and no response came, he turned. “Obi-Wan?”

The younger Jedi was standing in the kitchen, shoulders hunched and hand locked around the corner of the counter. He seemed to be staring through the counter, and there was something unreadable about the man’s face that caught Qui-Gon’s attention and sent a spike of worry down his spine. Walking over, he laid a hand gently on the younger man’s shoulder, his voice soft when he spoke.

“Obi-Wan? Padawan, are you alright?”

The old title came out unintentionally, but it seemed to catch Obi-Wan’s attention. He straightened, blinking at Qui-Gon for a moment before his expression cleared. Qui-gon watched, as before his eyes, this man his Padawan had become pulled from his hand, distancing himself in both body and expression.

“My apologies. I was lost in thought. What did you want to know?” Obi-Wan’s voice was all but toneless, and it set Qui-Gon’s teeth on edge, a flash of irritation sparking in his mind, as Obi-Wan, yet again, pushed him away and blocked him out. Pushing it down, he stepped forwards, following Obi-Wan back into the main room.

“It was nothing important. Obi-Wan, are you alright? What was that?”

Obi-Wan shook his head, his back to Qui-Gon. “I’m fine. That was nothing. A lapse in concentration, that’s all. I am...tired.”

“Then why do you refuse to talk to me?!” Qui-Gon snapped, his emotions getting the better of him. He felt detached and adrift, everything that had once been a familiar comfort felt wrong and Force dammit, he just wanted his Padawan to look at him!

“I talk to you, Master.” Obi-Wan said, subdued. He had still not turned around, instead busying himself with gathering up the pieces of metal and wiring from the table.

“You speak, but it is like you are not here!” Qui-Gon’s breath hitched, and he reached into Force, pulling its eternal calm to him. “Or that you wish I weren’t.”

Obi-Wan froze, his entire body tensing. “That is not the case…” he breathed.

“Then what? Why do you pull away, tell me you are fine, when I can see that is not the case? I’m not blind, Obi-Wan.”

Something that, in another life, might have been a laugh slipped from Obi-Wan’s lips. “Ah, so you would lecture me even now, my Master? You need not, I am more than aware that such lapses are not the Jedi way.”

Qui-Gon stepped forwards, surprised and confused by the bitterness that was slowly seeping into Obi-Wan voice. Wanting to comfort and reassure the younger man, he reached out and placed his hand on his shoulder again, squeezing gently. “Obi-Wan, I will not rebuke you for this. That has never been my way, you know that. Have you truly forgotten me so much?”

The words slipped out, unbidden, and Qui-Gon realized his mistake when Obi-Wan tensed even more under his hand. The red-headed Jedi spun around, yanking himself from Qui-Gon’s grip. His eyes were stormy and filled with a myriad of emotions.

“One hopes I might be forgiven for that, Master,” he snapped. “As it was hardly my fault. You were the one who went and got yourself killed!”

Qui-Gon took a slight step back, shocked by the sudden rage from a man who, until that moment, had seemed the utter paradigm of Jedi calm. Later, he would reason that, having known Obi-Wan as a child, perhaps he should have expected this, eventually.

Even as he spoke, Obi-Wan too felt a brief flash of shock at his words, and the anger and hurt that propelled them forward from his lips. However he did not stop; those first words were all that were needed to open the flood-gates. Emotions he had believed himself to be long free of, long accepted and dealt with, came rushing to the surface and pouring out; the hurt, fear, and anger that had nearly consumed him that day on Naboo and that had haunted his footsteps nearly every moment of the following year.

“You shut me out, and ran ahead without me! I felt you die! You could have waited! You should have waited!” Obi-Wan clenched his fists to tightly he felt his nails bite into the flesh of his palms.

“We were a team, Master! A team! And then, after all we had been through, you shut me out! You blocked the training bond and refused to listen to me!” He sucked in a shaky breath, the Force swirling around him in agitated waves.

“You wanted to replace me!”

The shout was louder than the others, and Qui-Gon suddenly looked like he had been slapped in the face. Obi-Wan found that he did not care one whit. He was shaking, he realized absently, and he crossed his arms over his chest, though the end result looked more like was holding himself together than the show of defiance he had meant it to be. He stood there, silent for a few moment as he pulled in a shaky breath, his chest heaving.

“Was I not good enough?” Sith hells but he sound like a child! And Qui-Gon was still staring at him with that shocked and hurt expression. Obi-Wan dropped his eyes to the ground, staring pointedly at his boots.

“I know you didn’t want me at first, but you said you had changed your mind. I thought you…” Cared for me? Wanted me there? Obi-Wan looked up, meeting Qui-Gon’s eyes once again. “You wanted Anakin, and Force I can understand that; he’s so bright in the Force that sometimes it hurts, but…was I so much of burden? I know he needed to be trained, but you could have talked to me first! I just wanted to know why! And then you died, and I couldn’t save you, I failed you again, and I still didn’t know why! Why did you shut me out? What did I do?”

He swallowed hard, struggling to pull himself together, to regain control. “I…I wasn’t ready Master, not to be Knighted, not for a Padawan. Not like that.”

Obi-Wan swiped a hand over his face, the weight of all that he had said settling over him. He wanted to run, to be away from the look in Qui-Gon’s eyes. Some Jedi Master he was turning out to be. He was on the council, for Force’s sake, and here he was, throwing a tantrum like some untrained child!

“I’m sorry,” he stepped back from Qui-Gon, who still had not moved or said a word. “This is…I shouldn’t have…forgive me, Master, I should…” He turned, moving to flee from the room.

Qui-Gon stared, shocked and all but pinned in place as his former Padawan’s grief and anger hit like a wave, verbally and in the Force. For all his thirty so years, Obi-Wan suddenly looked like a lost child, and it hurt Qui-Gon’s heart to see. The place in his mind their training bond had been, only a few days ago for him, seemed to ache with phantom pain; a reminder his failure to realize how badly he had hurt his Padawan, without even realizing he was doing it. He wanted to move, to hold Obi-Wan like he had when his Padawan was still a child, and tell him that he was wrong, he had done nothing wrong, and none of this had been Qui-Gon’s intention. But he did not move; let the man before him rage, his horror growing with every word. This was his fault. He had done this to Obi-Wan, even if it had been unintentional.

'Obi-Wan, oh my Obi-Wan, how long has this been haunting you?'

Obi-Wan stopped, rubbing at his face as he took a step away, murmuring an apology. As he turned to go, Qui-Gon finally broke through his paralysis, jerking forwards to catch Obi-Wan’s wrist.

“Obi-Wan, wait.” It came out sounding almost desperate. Obi-Wan froze, but did not turn, would not look at Qui-Gon.

“Obi-Wan…” Qui-Gon tugged on the tense limb, and with a noise that sounded far too much like a sob for Qui-Gon’s liking, Obi-Wan went lax and allowed the older man to pull him into an embrace.

Obi-Wan pressed his face into Qui-Gon’s shoulder, his knees buckling.

“I’m sorry.” The words were muffled by fabric and skin and hair, but Qui-Gon could hear how they shook and felt the way Obi-Wan’s shoulders shuddered, and he held him all the tighter. “I should…”

“Shh, shh,” Qui-Gon murmured. With the younger man still clinging to him, he took a few steps back, sinking down onto the nearby sofa, pulling Obi-Wan down with him, all but on his lap. He ran a large hand through Obi-Wan’s auburn hair. “Do not apologize to me, Padawan. You have been through so much. Even Jedi are allowed to grieve.” Absently, he wondered if Obi-Wan had ever truly allowed himself the time to grieve, and to heal, since Qui-Gon’s apparent death.

Given the utter force of the younger man’s grief and anger during his outburst, Qui-Gon seriously doubted that he had.

“Besides, it is I who should be sorry.” Qui-Gon’s chest was still aching, and he knew his words were heavy with truth. “And I am. I am so, so sorry, Obi-Wan. I am sorry for blocking you out, for not explaining myself. I have wronged you, and caused you so much pain.”

Still curled in Qui-Gon’s embrace, Obi-Wan found he did not have the strength to look up. He closed his eyes, inhaling slowly as he tried to calm himself. He could hear the truth in Qui-Gon’s voice, the sorrow and no small amount of horror. A tiny, un-Jedi part of him felt something like satisfaction at the knowledge that his anger and pain had clearly affected the other Jedi, but he pushed that away.

“Please,” he whispered, hating himself for how small and childlike his voice sounded, cracking at the end of the word, “Explain it to me now, Qui-Gon. I just want to understand. I want to make my peace with this.” He still did not move away from the embrace. He could not, not yet. “But I need to know why.”

“My own foolishness, and perhaps willful blindness.” Qui-Gon murmured, closing his eyes against the pain still raw in Obi-Wan’s voice. Finding the right words to express his thoughts on Tatooine, and in the days that followed his discovery of the Chosen One was a struggle. “You said it yourself, Obi-Wan, he’s blindingly bright in the Force. It was overwhelming at first; and it was clear to me he needed to be trained. I-“ Did not know. Did not see. Did not notice how much pain I was causing you.

And that was it, wasn’t it? He had not noticed. Anakin had become Qui-Gon’s focus, this boy who was too old, too strong to be ignored, and so instead he had ignored his Padawan’s cries to be heard from the other side of the walls Qui-Gon could not even remember consciously raising around their bond. Something cold lodged in the pit of Qui-Gon’s stomach as he thought back to the look on Obi-Wan’s face as they had stood before the council that day, as Qui-Gon announced his intention to train Anakin.

“He is headstrong, and still has much to learn of the Living Force, but he is competent.”

Qui-Gon had not been looking at his apprentice as he said those words, but he had caught the movement out of the corner of his eye as Obi-Wan had dropped his head, turning his eyes to the floor. At the time he had not given it any thought, too focused on his goal…

…of making space for Anakin...by pushing Obi-Wan along…but he had been ready, Qui-Gon had been sure-

“I wasn’t ready, Master,”
“Was I so much of a burden?”
“What did I do?”

The cold in Qui-Gon’s stomach was spreading, icy coils of horrified realization. He had known that, in his younger years, Obi-Wan had struggled with his perception of his own self-worth, but he had not realized…

But then, he had never put much effort in trying to help, had he? He had been so determined, in those first years, that Obi-Wan would not be another Xanatos, and he had done all he could think of to ensure the young man would not grow to be arrogant or proud, and in doing so, he had unknowingly done more harm than good.

“Oh Force,” he whispered. In his arms, Obi-Wan went very still. Qui-Gon swallowed hard, sucking in a steadying breath. “Obi-Wan…I am so sorry…I never realized…I never meant to…”

Obi-Wan was very quiet, but after a long moment he sat up, slipping from Qui-Gon’s grasp and sitting up. His face was stony, and for one, terrifying moment, Qui-Gon thought he would leave, disappear from Qui-Gon’s grasp like smoke. The thought sent a sharp stab of panic through him.

“Obi-Wan-“

Obi-Wan shook his head, his eyes falling closed as he breathed slowly. Finally, his eyes flicked back open. He nodded, a tiny, sharp movement. “You didn’t notice. I…I know.”

Qui-Gon watched as Obi-Wan tried to smile. It looked painful, like he was afraid he would shatter if he made the expression too big.

“No. No, Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan, it was not you! It was never you!”

“I know, Qui-Gon, I get-“

“No! You don’t!” Qui-Gon’s voice rose with something like desperation. “You did nothing wrong!”

He reached out, catching the side of Obi-Wan’s jaw, holding his gaze. “I am at fault here, not you. Never you.”

Dropping his hand, Qui-Gon rose from the couch, dropping to his knees and bowing his head. “You have never failed me Obi-Wan, not once. I failed you, my Padawan, and I am so, so sorry.”

“Qui-Gon, Master, what are you-“ There was a rustling of fabric as Obi-Wan slid off the couch, kneeling next to the older man.

“Master?”

When Qui-Gon lifted his head, Obi-Wan was smiling. It was a tiny smile, and heartbreakingly sad, but it was truer than anything Qui-Gon had seen since he had found himself in this time.

“You’re back. You’re here,” Obi-Wan’s mouth moved silently for a second, “I…I think…I can forgive you, Qui-Gon. If not now, eventually.”

A wave of near palpable relief washed through Qui-Gon, and he let out a shaky laugh as Obi-Wan reached for him. They both clung to each other; something familiar, something long missed.

“I missed you so much.”

“I’m so sorry. Thank you.”

They stayed like that, sitting on the floor, backs against the couch, shoulders touching. They both stayed silent, but Qui-Gon could feel Obi-Wan slowly relaxing next to him, slipping into a light meditation.

It took Qui-Gon a few moment to notice that Obi-wan had fallen asleep. The younger Master’s head was resting on Qui-Gon’s shoulder, but he had barely moved other than that, somehow still tense even in sleep.

Qui-Gon sighed softly at the sight, shaking his head. Slowly, so as not to rouse the sleeping man, he slipped an arm under Obi-Wan’s knees. With mild amusement, he noted that if nothing else, Obi-Wan’s height remained the same as he remembered, and with the exception of additional muscle mass, carrying the younger man was as effortless as it had ever been. He smiled, chuckling softly as he moved through the familiar rooms as if he had never left them.

Qui-Gon would not deny it, seeing what he had always considered his room again was…odd. As with the rest of the tiny residence, it was different; decorative objects and tokens from missions were gone, some replaced by Obi-Wan’s things, some simply removed, leaving empty spaces in the fabric of the room at large. The bedframe was the same one Qui-Gon had used, but the desk in the corner of the room had been replaced. With only a quick glance around, Qui-Gon counted three different mugs, all he assumed, forgotten, and holding tea in some stage of stagnation.

It seemed Obi-Wan had retained some of the bad habits from his Padawan days after all, and that thought made Qui-Gon smile. As long as he had known him, Obi-Wan had traced his daily movements and patterns, outlining them with a trail of cooling mugs of tea that had been put down, only for their owner to be distracted by one thing or another, leaving them behind, forgotten for the moment, and most assuredly lost until after Obi-Wan had made himself a new cup. It had annoyed Qui-Gon to no end at first, but as time went on it, like so many other things, had melted into the background of their lives, becoming another marker of home in Qui-Gon’s mind.

Laying Obi-Wan down on the bed as gently as he could, Qui-Gon set about removing the other man’s boots before pulling the blankets over him. Satisfied, he allowed himself a moment of pause, taking in the sleeping form of the man his Padawan had become in his absence.

In sleep, some of the lines that creased Obi-Wan’s skin smoothed, the heavy blanket of barely-restrained exhaustion and grief falling away from his face, making him look younger and closer to his actual age. Auburn hair, shot through with the streaks of gold that always appeared in Obi-Wan’s hair after long exposure to heat and sun, fine features, a strong jaw-line hidden under a well-kept beard. Qui-Gon had always known his Padawan was handsome, had seen the many longing looks the boy received during missions, looks Obi-Wan always seemed to be oblivious too. That was another thing that had not changed; Obi-Wan was beautiful.

Qui-Gon’s musings were interrupted as he was hit with a jaw-cracking yawn, his body taking the opportunity to remind him just how tired he actually was. With one last look at the sleeping man, Qui-Gon slipped out of the bedroom, turning off the lights as he went.

“This way, Ani,” Obi-Wan said, thumbing the control panel to the rooms he himself had spent his Padawan years in. Perhaps it was Attachment he was feeling, but when the Council had brought up the topic of lodgings for himself and Anakin, a wave of panic had washed through the young Knight. Perhaps Yoda had noticed this, and in a moment of pity, the tiny Master had proposed the new Master/Padawan pair remain in rooms with which Obi-Wan was familiar. Obi-Wan had never had been more thankful for the troll.

At least, until the doors to the once Jinn/Kenobi, now Kenobi/Skywalker residence slid open, and Obi-Wan took the first step into the rooms that had been his home for over eight years.

He stopped so suddenly that Anakin, following behind him with wide eyes as he took in all that surrounded him in his new home, nearly ran into his back.
“Obi-, er, Master? Is something wrong?”

Obi-Wan did not answer right away. He stood, rooted to the spot, as he was hit by wave of scent, memory, and Force impression. There, on the section of counter that divided the main room from the small kitchen, the deep blue and green tea mug Qui-Gon had given him on his seventeenth life day, still half full of now stone cold and probably off tea. He had been drinking from it while he stood, reading over the datapadd that held the information for their newest assignment ꟷ to investigate the Trade Federation blockade of Naboo ꟷ while Qui-Gon stood behind him, reading over Obi-Wan’s shoulder, his long hair still wet and plastered around his face from his shower. There, wilting slightly on the sill of the small window on the far kitchen wall, the most recent of Qui-Gon’s pitiful strays, an elegant, broad-leafed plant that he had saved from certain death in Dex’s diner. The air in the rooms, if a little stale, was heavy with all that scents that Obi-Wan instinctively associated with Home, Safe, and Qui-Gon, and every breath he pulled now almost hurt. Grief, and almost solid presence, slammed into him, as it struck him yet again that Qui-Gon was gone. Gone, dead, never again to water his plants, or tease Obi-Wan for forgetting his tea in what his Master considered to be the oddest places, or wake him up at some Force-forsaken hour to meditate. Dead and gone, because of Obi-Wan, because he had not been fast enough, not been strong enough, not―

“Master Obi-Wan?” /Master?/

Obi-Wan jolted back to the present moment when Anakin spoke again, both out loud, and tentatively through the fledgling training bond that stretched between them, already stronger than any Master or Healer had expected. Yet another miracle of the Chosen One.

Obi-Wan swallowed, shoving away the emotions that threatened to overwhelm him. He could not do this, not now. He had a Padawan now, he had to be responsible, had to take care of Anakin and train him, like Qui-Gon would have wanted.

Turning to look at the boy, Obi-Wan smiled, hoping it did not look as fake as it felt. “My apologies, Ani. I was lost in thought. I didn’t mean to worry you. Are you ready to see your new room?”

Anakin gave him a suspicious look, but nodded nevertheless, his excitement taking precedent. “I am!”

“Alright then. This way.”

Obi-Wan led Anakin the short way to the Padawan suite, pointedly not looking at anything but where he was going. If Anakin noticed, he said nothing.

The smaller bedroom was still filled with Obi-Wan’s things, sparse as it was. The bed had been hastily made, and a few mugs and datapads sat on the desk. Looking at it, Obi-Wan had to swallow back another wave of emotion he refused to ponder.

Anakin helped Obi-Wan gather up his things and move them to the hall outside of the door to the master bedroom, which Obi-Wan insisted was fine.

“Normally, we would not need to do this,” he explained, as he walked with Anakin back towards the smaller of the two bedrooms. “All Knights’ quarters have Padawan suites, even if the Knight does not yet have a Padawan. In any other situation, your room would empty, and my things would be in the Master room, instead of…” he trailed off.

Anakin nodded. “So you were in this room when you were my age, Master Obi-Wan?”

Obi-Wan shook his head. “No, I did not become a Padawan until I was thirteen. Until then, I lived in the crèche with the other Initiates.”

“Initiates?”

“Jedi younglings who are either too young to be taken as Padawan learners, or who have not yet been chosen by a Knight or Master.” Obi-Wan explained, helping Anakin carry some of their heavier purchases into his room. “Most of us are not chosen until we are twelve or thirteen, though some children leave the crèche at as early as nine.”

Anakin nodded slowly, pondering the information he had just been given. “So, it’s not weird that I’m your Padawan now?”

“No Ani,” Obi-Wan smiled down at the boy, “it is not weird.”

It was not quite a lie, Obi-Wan told himself, as Anakin told him that he could finish unpacking on his own, and Obi-Wan began the walk back to the other bedroom. Becoming a Padawan at ten was not unheard of, even if entering the temple at that age and immediately being apprenticed to a brand-new Knight was.

He stood outside the door to the master bedroom for a few, achingly long minutes, before Obi-Wan finally summoned up the strength to enter, most of his belongings in hand.

He regretted it almost immediately.

The room was so completely Qui-Gon, and taking it all in felt like being stabbed in the gut with a lightsaber. With a strangled sob, Obi-Wan’s knees gave in, and he slid down the door to the floor, curling in on himself and pulling his knees to his chest.

‘I can’t do this. I’m not ready to be a Knight, I can’t train a Padawan.’ Obi-Wan pulled his mental shields tight around the training bond, trying to muffle his sobs against his knees. The last thing he wanted was for Anakin to hear him falling apart, and come looking.

‘I can’t do this alone, Master Qui-Gon. I can’t do this without you.’

There was no answer from the torn link that had once been his bond with the Jedi Master. Because Qui-Gon was gone. Qui-Gon was dead and Obi-Wan was alone, all because he had failed.

‘I can’t do this.’

When Obi-Wan woke, silent tears were still streaming down his cheeks.

Qui-Gon woke feeling disoriented. His thoughts were sluggish, and he could not remember where he was. He was not in his bed, he knew that, but it was not the berth of a ship that he lay on. After a few moments, things began to come back to him, and he felt steady enough to open his eyes.

He had ended up falling asleep on the couch, covered in a blanket he had found in the Padawan suite. He had initially planned to sleep there, but one look into the smaller bedroom had shot down that idea. It was havoc in there, nigh on every available surface covered with some manner of mechanical parts, a few clothes, and datapads. It had honestly looked inhabitable and unlived in. Qui-Gon had made a tired mental note to ask Obi-Wan about it, grabbed the first blanket he had found that looked big enough to cover himself, and then beat a hasty retreat.

Now, blinking the sleep from his eyes, Qui-Gon sat up, stretching away the aches left behind from the night as the sounds of someone moving about in the kitchen reached his ears. Looking up, he found Obi-Wan walking towards him, a mug of tea in each hand. He held one out to Qui-Gon, a nervous expression flashing across his face as he met Qui-Gon’s eyes.

“Good morning,” he said softly.

“Good morning, Obi-Wan.” Qui-Gon replied, accepting the mug with a grateful smile.

“May I sit?” the younger man asked. When Qui-Gon nodded, he sank down into the space next to him, both hands wrapped around his own mug of tea.

Silence stretched between them for a long moment, with Obi-Wan staring pointedly into his tea.

“Last night-“

“Obi-Wan, I-“

They both stopped, turning to look at one another. A small smile flickered across Obi-Wan’s lips, before vanishing behind the rim of his mug, a silent nod for Qui-Gon to face continue.

Qui-Gon took a breath, ordering his words before speaking.

“Obi-Wan, I meant what I said last night. I am so sorry for causing you so much pain. That was never my intention.” He smiled at the man next to him, “You were a better apprentice than I ever could have hoped for, and my treatment of you was far from fair.”

“I am sorry too,” Obi-Wan said, lowering his mug from his lips, “I did not mean to lose control like that last night, to let my emotions get the better of me.”

Qui-Gon shook his head. “I can find no fault in your actions Obi-Wan. Jedi or no, we all have our breaking points.” He frowned down into his tea. “I am sorry I was yours.”

Obi-Wan sighed. “Qui-Gon, no. Please do not blame yourself. I can’t…well I can’t say you hold no fault, but going by your logic, it was a long time coming.”

Placing his tea on the low table before them, Obi-Wan steepled his fingers, staring at the far wall. “The war has been…hard, on all of us,” he murmured.

Looking up, Qui-Gon’s frown deepened. “That is something I still do not understand.” One of many things, “This war, how-“

His question was interrupted by the buzz of the door chime. Obi-Wan heaved another sigh, pushing himself up off the couch.

“I’m sorry.”

Qui-Gon shook his head, tamping down on his frustration even as he spoke. “It’s fine. However, eventually, I would like to know just what is going on.” And why it felt like even the Force itself was trying to keep him in the dark.

Obi-Wan nodded. Despite any reluctance he himself might feel, Qui-Gon deserved to know. Resolving to tell him everything, and quietly thrilling in the joy that, despite his failings, there had been no disgust, no disappointment in Qui-Gon’s eyes when he had look at Obi-Wan, he opened the door.

“Master Windu.”

“Master Kenobi.” Mace’s voice was calm, but there was a smile in his eyes for the younger Master. “May I come in?”

“Of course,” Gesturing, Obi-Wan retreated back into his quarters, Mace at his heels. “Tea?”

“Please.”

Qui-Gon eyed his friend, as the other man sat down in the chair opposite the table from the couch. “Long morning?”

The Councillor groaned softly, slipping his hands from his sleeves to rub his temples. “You have no idea.”

He glanced up, fixing Qui-Gon with a steadfast glare. “I hope you know, I blame you completely. Things may not have been simple lately, but at least we did not have….time travel!” He waved a hand at Qui-Gon, to emphasize his point.

Qui-Gon arched a brow, and chose to take a sip of his tea, rather than reply. Obi-Wan reappeared with another mug in hand, passing it to Mace, who accepted it with a grateful sigh.

Settling back down on the couch (though further away, Qui-Gon noticed) Obi-Wan pressed the tips of his fingers together, a slight frown on his lips.

“You know you are always welcome to stop by for tea, Mace,” he started, leaning forwards slightly, elbows propped on his knees, “But I sense that is not the reason behind this visit.”

Mace sighed again, his own frown returning, and he took a long drink of his tea, while Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan waited for him to speak.

After a few more moments, Mace put the mug down on the table with a soft noise before meeting Obi-Wan’s eyes. “How are you, Master Kenobi?”

Obi-Wan blinked, the only visible show of surprise he allowed himself. “Me? I am well. Why do you ask?”

Mace did not answer, just hummed softly under his breath, turning to Qui-Gon. “And you, Master Jinn?”

“I am as well as can be expected, Mace,” Qui-Gon replied, non-committal, “Although I still do not know what in the world has happen in my absence.”

Mace gave both men a long, searching look, before nodding sharply and straightening in his seat. “Oh course, of course. And you will have your answers soon enough, old friend.”

Qui-Gon scowled, “That sounds an awful lot like a dismissal, my friend. What are you all not telling me?”

Mace waved his hand. “All in due time, Qui-Gon.” He reached for his tea again, draining its remaining contents in one go. “The second Council session ran most of the night.” He said, in way of explanation.

Obi-Wan raised a brow. “Should we be concerned?”

Mace shook his head. “Not as far as I can tell.” He looked back at Qui-Gon, “We want to find you permanent rooms, and get you both,” back to Obi-Wan, “Back in the field as soon as possible.”

“Yoda said-“

“I know, I know.” Mace sighed, “You’ll have your adjustment period. But the war stops for none of us, and Kenobi is one of our best generals. We need him back on the front lines.”

As if sensing Qui-Gon was about to protest (which he was) Mace waved a hand, standing up.

“As for residence, your new rooms should be finalized within the day. Here,” he pulled a datapad from the inner pocket of his cloak, and handed it to Qui-Gon. “You’ll need this.”

Qui-Gon took the offered 'pad with a scowl, and Mace quirked a smile at him. “Welcome home.”

“Suck a ‘saber.”

Mace laughed. “Ah, how I missed your way with words.” He glanced over his shoulder as he walked towards the door. “You are both to report to the Healers within the next two hours.”

Obi-Wan did not pull a face, but Qui-Gon had the strong suspicion that he wanted to. “Mace, is that really necessary?”

“Absolutely. You were in the field for longer than we prefer in one go, and this one,” he jabbed a finger in Qui-Gon’s direction, “Needs the full works. The Council still has no idea how this situation came to pass, and we want to know everything possible.”

Qui-Gon bit back a grimace. Joy. He loved playing test subject for healers.

Obi-Wan sighed, nodding in agreeance. “Alright. We will be there.”

“You had better,” Mace warned, palming open the door, “You’re expected. You know they’ll hunt you down if you don’t show.” And then he was gone.

Obi-Wan sighed, draining his own tea, then rising to pick up Mace’s abandoned cup, taking them into the kitchen. “Such pleasant company Master Windu is.”

“He has his moments.” Qui-Gon murmured.

“Oh I know.” Obi-Wan huffed, leaning against the counter. “At least you will be getting permanent quarters.”

Ah yes. New rooms. Perhaps some of Qui-Gon’s reluctance at that idea showed on his face, because Obi-Wan frowned.

“I am sorry. I would offer you the main bedroom here, but Anakin was Field-Knighted, and we are rarely back at the temple for more than three days lately, so moving him to his own quarters has not quite…happened yet.”

Well, that would certainly explain the state of the second bedroom, Qui-Gon thought absently. “But he has a Padawan, doesn’t he? Where does she live? Or…sleep?”

Obi-Wan shrugged. “In the bedroom. Or on the couch. Or on the floor.” He frowned, thinking back. “Actually, I found her on the ‘fresher floor once, with over half of our blankets and pillows. She seemed quite comfortable.”

Noticing Qui-Gon’s deepening frown, he straightened, a tad defensive. “She’ll sometime share the bed with Anakin, or he’ll share with me. Honestly, it’s all very informal, and perhaps not the most professional set up but…” he trailed off. How did he explain to Qui-Gon that after some missions, having a warm, breathing body next to you was the best comfort possible, and sometimes only way to get any sleep? He shook his head.

“Anyway, I am going to shower. We don’t want to be late to the Healers.” He turned, making his way towards the ‘fresher room, and then stopped, looking over his shoulder at Qui-Gon, who was still sitting on the couch. “Mace was not kidding, when he said they would hunt us down.”

Jen-Ai looked up from their reading at the sound of approaching footsteps, two sets, one heavier than the other. Spinning around in their chair, they grinned, wide and toothy.

“Ah, Master Kenobi, Master Jinn, just the beings I wanted to see!”

Kenobi gave them a wry, unamused look. “Must you always do that? It’s hardly funny anymore.”

Their grinned widened, as Jinn looked between them and the other human in confusion.

“Except that it actually really is," they teased, dropping the heavy, Sriluur accent they adopted whenever Kenobi was around, and letting their lighter, Coruscanti accent, a result of life at the temple, return.

“I believe I am missing something here.” Jinn said, confusion still in his eyes, but a smile on his lips. Kenobi huffed.

“Qui-Gon, this is Master Healer Jen-Ai Ohnaka-Rai.” He gestured at Jen-Ai, who waved, before rising from their chair to give the newly-not-dead Master a perfunctory bow, which he returned in kind.

“It is a pleasure to meet you Master Ohnaka-rai,” Jinn said politely, “I do not believe our paths have ever crossed…before.”

Jen-Ai shook their head. “I believe you are correct Master Jinn. I am still relatively new to this position. I only became Master Healer five years ago, after Master Kathal retired.”

Jinn’s eyes widened fractionally. “So that old koot finally released her dura-steel grip on this place. I thought it felt calmer.” He blinked, as if only just realizing he had spoken aloud. Kenobi looked an amusing mix of appalled and agreeing, and Jen-Ai laughed.

Jinn coughed, clearly a little embarrassed at his slip. “Forgive me. I meant no disrespect. I was…well acquainted with Master Kathal’s….bedside manner.”

Jen-Ai chuckled, “Or lack thereof. Never fear, Master Jinn. I am all too familiar with my predecessor’s ways. Hopefully I will leave less of a…lasting impression than she did.”

Kenobi raised an eyebrow. “Indeed.”

Jen-Ai smirked back at him, “How is my cousin, Master Kenobi?”

Kenobi rolled his eyes. “I have not been…fortunate enough to have been graced with his presence since the last time we spoke, Master Ohnaka-Rai.”

“Pity. I do so enjoy hearing about what children’s trick he managed to trip you up with this time.”

Kenobi opened his mouth to respond, but was interrupted by Jinn, who looked confused again.

“Cousin?”

Kenobi’s sigh verged on long-suffering. “Jen-Ai’s cousin-“

“Younger cousin!”

Another sigh, “Is a rather…advantageous pirate by the name of Hondo Ohnaka. Anakin and I have had our fair share of run-ins with him, a fact that Jen-Ai never tires of reminding me of.”

Snickering, Jen-Ai picked up a datapad off their desk, scanning it briefly. “It is not my fault that you continue to let him trick you. Now, let’s see. Full physicals for the both of you. You,” they pointed at Jinn, “Come with you me. Kenobi, go with Raem.”

As if on cue, the Rodian padawan appeared in the door. She smiled at the older man. “If you’ll follow me, Master Kenobi?”

Kenobi nodded, only the slightest air of resignation in his movements. “Of course, Padawan. I shall submit myself to your tender mercies.”

Jinn chuckled a bit at that. “I see some things never change. You never did like physicals.”

Kenobi did not deign his old Master’s comment with a response, much to Jen-Ai’s amusement. As Master and Padawan disappeared from sight, they turned back to their remaining patient.

“Shall we begin?”

“As far as I can tell, your results show no anomalies, Master Jinn.” Jen-Ai said, a slight frown on their face as they stared down at the datapad in their hands. “Blood pressure, brain waves, midichlorian count, everything is as it should be.” They looked up, meeting Jinn’s eyes. “By all accounts, you are in nearly perfect health for a human variant of your age.”

Kenobi, leaning against the doorframe, frowned, walking further into the room. “So you have no idea how he survived? Or ended up so far from Naboo?”

Jen-Ai shook their head, rather bemused themself. “Whatever the cause, it is not medical, at least not that I can find.”

Jinn said nothing, sliding off the bio-bed and pulling on his tunic and robe. Kenobi glanced at him, and then sighed, shaking his head slightly. “Master Ohnaka-Rai, despite your results, we are both clear for active duty, yes?”

Jen-Ai nodded. “Yes, I’ll sign off on your forms when you leave.”

“Then if Master Qui-Gon is ready, we will get out of your hair.”

They nodded again. “Alright. Take care of yourself Kenobi. I don’t want to see you in here bleeding out again for at least another three months.”

Jinn’s head snapped up, and he looked from Kenobi, to Jen-Ai, and back again. Kenobi groaned. “Thank you ever so much for that, my dear.”

Jen-Ai smirked, even as Jinn began demanding explanations of his former Padawan. “Always a pleasure, darling.” They waved a hand in a shoo-ing motion. “Now off with you, the both of you.”

“Bleeding out?!” Qui-Gon demanded, turning to face Obi-Wan the moment the door to the Healer’s wing slid shut behind them.

“It was really not as bad as they like to make it sound.”

“How is bleeding out not as bad as it sounds?”

Obi-Wan’s response was cut off by a sharp, urgent beeping from his comm. Thumbing at it, Obi-Wan did not meet Qui-Gon’s eyes.

“Kenobi here.”

“Master Kenobi, you are needed in the communications hub.” Ki-Adi’s voice was sharp, demanding no questions. “We have located both Count Dooku and General Grievous.”

If Qui-Gon had been paying attention, he would have noticed how Obi-Wan’s face had slipped from something that had been almost relaxed, to the mask of a perfect Jedi Master, smooth and stony.

“Of course Master Mundi. I will-“ he turned as he spoke, and stopped as he caught sight of Qui-Gon’s face.

Oh. Oh dear.

“Master Kenobi?”

He cleared his throat, “Yes, on my way. Kenobi out.”

Ending the call, he took a step towards the older man. “Qui-Gon…”

“What did he mean, they have located Count Dooku?” Qui-Gon asked, his voice low, but there was frustration seeping into his tone. “Did he mean Master Dooku? And who is General Grievous?”

“Qui-Gon, this is not how I wanted to tell you-“

“What is going on, Obi-Wan?!” Qui-Gon snapped, his growing frustration at his situation and lack of knowledge about the changes to the galaxy around him coming to boil in one, almost shouted question.

Obi-Wan took a long moment to answer, but when he did, his words were slow, clear, and utterly serious.

“A few years after Naboo, Dooku left the Jedi order, and Fell, not long after that. He is a Sith.”

Chapter Text

One of the first things Obi-Wan had learned, in his apprenticeship under Qui-Gon Jinn, was that Qui-Gon could, and would, find a way around any rule and any line of the Code, all the while never actually breaking it. It was one of those things about Qui-Gon that had always managed to simultaneously impress and annoy Obi-Wan during his Padawan years.

As he followed a pace behind the taller Jedi, the thought sent a wave of humor running through Obi-Wan, but it was short lived under the weight of his concern. In front of him, Qui-Gon was radiating a dangerous mix of anger and confusion that swirled around him like a storm cloud. Running at his heels, Obi-Wan felt like a Padawan yet again, even as he tried to placate Qui-Gon with every breath.

“Qui-Gon! Qui-Gon, listen to me!”

Qui-Gon did not stop, did not even slow down, and his response was curt and trembled with tension that reminded Obi-Wan far too much of that last day before Naboo. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t know how!” Obi-Wan reached out, catching hold of Qui-Gon’s arm, fingers curling around the taller man’s bicep. “Qui-Gon, stop.”

Qui-Gon jerked against Obi-Wan’s arm and then spun around to face him. Obi-Wan held his ground, straightening his shoulders, and reminded himself that he was not a Padawan anymore. “Qui-Gon, neither of us have had a proper moment to breathe since we returned to Coruscant. You know that as well as I do. Now calm down and listen to me! I was going to tell you about Dooku, but I thought I would have more time! You saw the state I was in last night; when would I have brought it up?”

That seemed to be enough to get Qui-Gon’s full attention, and Obi-Wan resisted the urge to sigh when he felt the muscles under his hand relax and saw some of the tension leave Qui-Gon’s face. But only just.

“Then tell me now.”

“I would, but Master Mundi was very insistent.” He squeezed the other man’s arm lightly, a wry smile tugging at his lips. “But as soon as we reach the communications center, you can yell at the Council to your heart’s content. Once I am free from their clutches, I promise I will tell you anything you want to know.”

Qui-Gon gritted his teeth, but nodded, acquiescing to Obi-Wan’s deal. “Very well.” Then he raised an eyebrow, some of the ire fading from his face. “And you should know, Master Kenobi, that distinguished Jedi Masters do not yell. Even at the Council.”

“Is that so?” Obi-Wan asked, releasing Qui-Gon’s arm. Qui-Gon nodded as Obi-Wan moved to his side, the two men continuing down the passageway side by side at a slower pace. “My mistake. I appear to have been operating under a false assumption.”

The anger and confusion that had been radiating from Qui-Gon was not gone; Obi-Wan could still feel it in the Force around them, a low hum of tension and darker emotions. He frowned, and reached out into the Force, prodding a small strand of calm and reassurance in the older man’s direction. The tension in Qui-Gon’s shoulders eased fractionally, and he shot Obi-Wan a grateful smile.

They walked in silence for a time, passing one of the many Temple gardens, visible from the hallway by way of large, arched windows with wide ledges. Sunlight filtered through the invisa-steel, making the ledges an ideal place for reading, meditation, or simply enjoying the view.

It was not until they stepped into the relative privacy of the turbo-lift that Qui-Gon finally broke the silence, turning to look at Obi-Wan, a frown back on his face.

“Answer me this, Obi-Wan, before we get to the chamber.” Qui-Gon hesitated, not entirely sure he wanted to know the answer to what he was about to ask. Obi-Wan watched him, a little wary, but waited patiently for the question to come.

“This war…What does Dooku have to do with it?”

Obi-Wan was silent for a moment. What was he supposed to say to that? ‘He started it all, this whole kriffing mess,’ did not seem like the best option, but that was more or less it, wasn’t it?

“He,” Obi-Wan began cautiously, eyes locked on Qui-Gon’s face as he spoke, “he is the leader of the Separatist movement and of the Confederacy of Independent Systems. After he left the Order, he claimed his birthright as Count of Serenno.” He quirked a brow, “Quite frankly, if it weren’t for the fact that I have his droid army shooting at me more often than not these days, I would be almost impressed. Dooku has built himself an impressive political career in a relatively short time, considering.”

‘That he’s also a Sith,’ hung unspoken in the air between them. Qui-Gon’s frown deepened, and Obi-Wan sighed, rubbing his face.

“Apologies, Qui-Gon. That was…”

Qui-Gon shook his head. “It’s alright Obi-Wan. This is all just…a lot to take in.”

The turbo-lift doors hissed open, and the two men exited together.

“Mas-…Dooku was always rather critical of the Order, and even him leaving is not hugely surprising, but to Fall, to start a war?” Qui-Gon shook his head. “I never would have thought…”

“None of us did,” Obi-Wan said softly, laying a hand on the taller Master’s shoulder for a moment as the doors to the communication hub came into view. “Qui-Gon, you do not have to come with me, if you don’t want to.”

“And miss my chance to yell at the Council?” There was humor in Qui-Gon’s words, but Obi-Wan got the sense that his former Master was steeling himself, “Never. Please, lead the way, Master Kenobi.”

/I’ll be fine, Obi-Wan./

The words were soft, so soft they almost were not there, but Obi-Wan startled at the mental touch regardless, glancing at Qui-Gon in surprise. The older man did not seem to realize his thoughts had been heard, and he met Obi-Wan’s eyes, clearly confused at the younger man’s sudden stop.

“Are you alright?”

“I…yes. Yes.” Obi-Wan shook his head briefly, checking the remains of their old training bond even as he turned and began to move down the short passage-way. The old, broken bond was exactly as it always was; buried behind layers of heavy shielding, cold and inoperative. Forcing himself to release his confusion, Obi-Wan smoothed the frown from his face. “It was nothing.”

The soft hissing of the opening door felt strangely final. As they passed into the communications center, it was like watching a switch be flipped in Qui-Gon. Any calm he had regained since the initial revelation in the Healers’ Halls vanished in a heartbeat as the looming Master spun on Mace Windu.

“Why didn’t you tell me?!” he all but snarled, stalking down the stairs towards the Head of the Order, the Force around him sparking with agitated energy.

Mace had been leaning against the large holotable that filled the center of the chamber, but at the sound of the door and Qui-Gon’s furious words, he turned and moved towards the stairs. The other gathered Masters looked up at the sudden interruption, though none made to move towards the ensuing confrontation.

Obi-Wan followed his former Master by half a step and at a more subdued pace, resigned that yes, Qui-Gon would indeed to taking him up on the promise of being able to yell at the Council in full. Glancing around the room, he carefully side-stepped Qui-Gon and Mace as he approached, moving to the holotable. Yoda looked up him as he drew near, ears twitching at Qui-Gon’s yelling, a mild expression on his ancient face that did not fool Obi-Wan for one second. He quirked a brow at the tiny Master, silent communication that he was not getting into the middle of that. Mace would just have to handle Qui-Gon on his own.

“Qui-Gon—“

“He was my Master, Mace!”

Mace frowned up at the taller man, “I’m aware of that, Qui-Gon, but the situation—“

“I’m damn well aware of the situation!” Qui-Gon snapped. “I should be dead! I know! But I’m not!”

“You didn’t tell him right away?” asked a new voice. Turning, Obi-Wan met the eyes of Anakin’s blue, holo form. His former student gave him an unimpressed look. “Really, Master?”

Obi-Wan frowned, crossing his arms over his chest and rubbing a fold of the soft fabric of his tunic absently between his fingers. “You will have to forgive me, Padawan mine. I found myself rather distracted.”

Anakin met his scowl steadily, but a hint of worry flashed across his face. Obi-Wan raised his brows; ‘Talk later.’

Anakin gave a short nod in reply; ‘Message received.’

Turning away from the holotable, Obi-Wan returned his focus to the situation at hand. Mace and Qui-Gon were not yelling at each other, per se, but it was definitely a close thing. Finally, Yoda stepped forward.

“Enough.” The tiny Master’s voice was calm, but firm. “Acting like bickering younglings you are. Time for this we do not have. Act quickly we must, if capture Dooku we shall.”

“Master Yoda is right.” Heads turned to see Anakin in the hollo, crossing his arms. He had been joined by Ahsoka and Rex, the clone with his helmet off. At a nod from Yoda, the Knight continued, “We were able to intercept and track a transmission from Dooku to Ventress, but it was weak, and we don’t know how long we have until they are on the move. We need to move quickly, or we might lose our chance at nabbing the bast— er…sorry, Master Jinn.”

Qui-Gon nodded, but his face had settled into a familiar stony mask.

A quick glance at Obi-Wan, and Anakin continued. “As far as we can tell, they are headed for Sixyt VI. It’s a moon that orbits an uninhabited planet in the Stenness Nobe.”

“Do we know why he’s going there?” Adi Gallia asked. Anakin shook his head and Ahsoka spoke up.

“It’s just a hunk of rock, Masters. We can’t find any records of native life, sentient or otherwise, and it was never colonized. No natural resources.” She shrugged. “Just rock.”

“And yet,” Oppo Rancisis said, stroking his beard with one clawed hand, “If Dooku is willing not only to go there himself, but to pull Ventress from the front lines to accompany him, there must be a reason.”

“Who is this Ventress?” Qui-Gon asked, walking over to stand at Obi-Wan’s side.

“Dooku’s apprentice.”

“He took an apprentice?”

“Tool is more like it,” Anakin said, something that was very near hatred in his voice. Obi-Wan shot his former Padawan a warning look, which Anakin ignored. “She does Dooku’s dirty work, while he stays on Serenno and keeps his hands clean.”

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan said, another warning in his voice. Anakin snorted.

“It’s the truth. And don’t give me that look, Obi-Wan, you know what she’s done, especially after Rattatak―”

“Now,” Obi-Wan said quickly, cutting the younger man off with a sharp look, “Is not the time to be discussing Rattatak. We need to focus on the situation at hand.”

Again, Anakin looked about to argue, but there was something stony in Obi-Wan’s expression that he clearly saw as well as Qui-Gon did, and chose to say nothing. Glancing between the hologram and his own former apprentice, Qui-Gon quietly added ‘Rattatak’ to the end of the steadily growing list of things he needed Obi-Wan to explain.

“Master Jinn, Master Kenobi,” Mace looked between the two men. “The both of you are technically still on healer mandated leave. Go back to your quarters, meditate or spar. We will contact you once a decision has been made.”

“Master Windu, I must protest―”

“Go, Kenobi.” Mace’s voice was firm. “Ohnaka-Rai will have my skin if they find out you’re not resting, and I do want you on this mission. We can handle this without you.”

“Still much to discuss, the two of you have,” Yoda added, turning his piercing gaze from Qui-Gon to Obi-Wan and then back. “And rest you should.”

“They are right, Obi-Wan.” Qui-Gon murmured, laying a hand on Obi-Wan shoulder. He thought for a moment that he could feel the exhaustion that seemed to cling to the younger man, and it worried him. Even as a Padawan, it had been far too easy for Obi-Wan to fall into his responsibilities, both real and those that he believed should fall to him, and without someone to notice and pull him back he would simply go on ignoring his own health and needs until his body gave out on him. Admittedly, Qui-Gon was guilty of the same, but Obi-Wan seemed to have it down to a science.

It must have been his imagination, but as Obi-Wan turned his head to look at him, Qui-Gon would have sworn he felt a flash of irritation flicker through the broken training bond, accompanied by a whisper of, ‘can take care of myself.’

Wishful thinking, nothing more.

Obi-Wan met Qui-Gon’s eyes, frowning slightly, before turning back to Mace and offering him a short bow. “Of course, Master Windu. Forgive me.”

Mace nodded, a spark of sympathy in his eyes. “We will contact you soon,” he assured the younger Master.

“Thank you,” Obi-Wan murmured, straightening and looking back to Qui-Gon. “After you, Master Jinn.”

Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow, but acquiesced, bowing to the present Council members before he turned and made his way back to the stairs. “Masters.”

Obi-Wan said nothing, as they left the communications hub. The two men made their way back to the main passageways of the Temple in silence, but the sight of his former Padawan out of the corner of Qui-Gon’s eye and the steady sound of his footsteps was a comfort.

“I have something for you,” Obi-Wan said, breaking the quiet that stretched between them as the two men turned the last corner, headed back towards the rooms they had once shared.

Qui-Gon quirked an eyebrow, glancing over at the younger man. “Oh?”

Obi-Wan nodded. As they walked, the young Master drummed his fingers in an absent rhythm against the saber hanging at his hip. “Just another one of those things I ought to have thought of sooner, I’m afraid.” They reached the familiar door, and Obi-Wan punched in the code, moving into the quarters even before the door was fully opened. “Although I do believe this one will have a better reaction than my last lapse in memory.”

Qui-Gon frowned slightly, but there was a teasing lilt to Obi-Wan’s voice. “Should I be concerned?” he asked, moving to the small kitchen and beginning the search for the kettle, as Obi-Wan disappeared into his room. A few minutes of searching proved successful, and he straightened out of his crouch, kettle in hand, and moved to fill it. “This surprise won’t be biting me, will it?”

A scoff floated out of the open bedroom door, Obi-Wan’s words following close behind and slightly muffled. “If it does, then I am sure you deserve it, Master mine.”

A smile curled at the corner of Qui-Gon’s mouth. Setting the full kettle to heat, he began rummaging through the cupboards once again. After a bit of searching, he managed to find two clean mugs; one a shade of purple so dark it was almost black, the other a soft grey. The paint on the second cup was chipped in one spot, and when he held it up, frowning as recognition struck, the pale white lines that covered the ceramic became visible. Qui-Gon ran his thumb gently along the rim of the cup, searching, even as he allowed the memory to rise to the surface of his mind.

Qui-Gon did not look up as Obi-Wan quietly walked up behind him, maintaining his focus on the datapad that lay on the table in front of him. A strand of hair slid free from behind his ear, cutting into his line of sight. Qui-Gon bit back a curse, shoving the offending strand back behind his ear with enough force and visible irritation that the approaching footsteps stopped.

A heavy pause rang out, filling the space between Master and Padawan with a nearly tangible tension. Qui-Gon glared down at the datapad, suddenly more frustrated with himself than anything else. What was wrong with him?! This was hardly the way for a Jedi Master to behave, nor the example he should be setting for his Padawan. And yet, even as the anger and frustration burned, Qui-Gon found himself unable to summon up the energy to do anything about it. The concept of lifting his head, of saying something, anything, to the 16 year old Padawan he could feel staring at him was just out of reach, were he to try to make a grab for it. Obi-Wan’s worry for him was dim but ever-present hum in the back of Qui-Gon’s mind, despite the mental shields he had raised over the training bond. Absently, he knew the young man disliked the walls, for more reasons than just his desire to ensure his Master’s well-being, but Qui-Gon refused to lower them; not now. The strand of hair came loose once more, pulling others along with it.

There were sounds of movement behind him, and then the footsteps started up once again, drawing closer, even as Qui-Gon still did not look up from the words he was staring unseeingly at. Then there was the sound of ceramic connecting with the surface of the table, and the rich scent of sapir filled his nose. Qui-Gon inhaled slowly, filling his lungs with the familiar, comforting scent, and startled as he felt gentle hands in his hair. The hands paused briefly, but then his Padawan’s nimble fingers were darting into his vision, gathering up the wayward hair and gently pulling the entire mess (Force, when had he last brushed his hair? Or washed it?) back and away from Qui-Gon’s face. There was another pause, followed by a slight tug and a murmured apology, and Qui-Gon felt Obi-Wan gather his hair into a single tail and tie it off at the nape of his neck. After he finished, the soft fingers hesitated for a moment, hovering there, mere millimetres from Qui-Gon’s skin. Then, just as fast, they were gone, and Qui-Gon listened as the boy’s footsteps grew fainter, and there was the sound of the door to his Padawan’s bedroom sliding closed.

Without a word, Qui-Gon reached out for the tea, raising the mug to press it against his lips. He held it there, inhaling slowly. His hair hung like a heavy weight against his back.

The new flare of anger caught him off guard, his hands tightening around the pale, blue-grey mug. The scent of the tea was suddenly nauseating, reminding him too strongly of home. Of Tahl. He could still feel Obi-Wan’s fingers in his hair, could still feel his stare, his pity. Was that what he had become? Helpless to even take care of himself? Was Qui-Gon now no more than something to be pitied? Even by his own apprentice?!

The silence he had been sitting in and the cup in his hand shattered simultaneously, the noise of ceramic cracking and breaking as loud as a bomb to Qui-Gon’s ears. He looked down, staring blankly at the blood and hot tea that was dripping from his hand, down onto the pieces of the mug now lying on the table.

Obi-Wan came bolting out of his room. “Master, are you al―“

He stopped, staring in shock at the scene before him. Slowly, Qui-Gon lifted his head, meeting the boy’s wide, almost frightened eyes. There was no pity in that blue-green gaze, only―

‘He’s worried,’ Qui-Gon realized, distantly, ‘about me. He’s frightened…for me.’ He swallowed, a lump building in his throat.

“Padawan…I…”

Obi-Wan blinked, and then he was moving before Qui-Gon had a chance to figure out exactly what it was that he was trying to say. There was a measured calm in the boy’s movements as he hurried into the ‘fresher chamber, returning quickly with an emergency kit and two towels. Dragging a chair next to Qui-Gon’s, Obi-Wan sat down and swiftly gathered up the shattered mug off the table, putting the pieces on first towel. Then he laid the second one down and reached out, eyes locking with Qui-Gon’s, and gently took the Master’s hand, guiding him to rest it on the towel. A few shards of ceramic remained, sticking out of his hand in a way Qui-Gon supposed should be painful. No words were spoken between them, as Obi-Wan removed the shards and cleaned the cuts now decorating Qui-Gon’s palm, smoothing a thin layer of bacta over them before wrapping the older man’s hand in a bandage. Releasing Qui-Gon’s hand, Obi-Wan rose to his feet, gathering up the broken cup in the towel and disappearing with it.

Qui-Gon had not moved when Obi-Wan returned. His Padawan’s worry thrummed even more strongly over their bond, and there was a clear air of caution as he sat back down in his chair.

“Master?”

“I’m alright, Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon replied, slowly.

“You and I both know that isn’t true.” Obi-Wan’s voice was calm, but his words held the faint hint of a tremor. “Master, please. I know…I know you don’t want to talk to me, but please, talk to someone. A Soul Healer―“

“I don’t need a Soul Healer!” Qui-Gon snapped. His words slipped past his lips louder and harsher than he intended, and Obi-Wan flinched back, as if for a moment he expected to be struck. Then he squared his shoulders, a stubborn look sliding across his features.

“Master, you haven’t left these quarters in almost two months! I can only fend off the Council for so long, and we are all worried about you! I’m worried about you!” Hands curled in his lap, Obi-Wan began to fidget with his fingers. A hint of the earlier fear had returned to his words. “Please, Master. Just try,” he begged, “The healer might help…I don’t-“ He stopped, staring down at his hands.

/I don’t want to lose you to this too./

The words were faint, barely there across their blocked off bond, but they caught Qui-Gon’s attention like a physical blow. For a moment, he struggled to fend off the re-encroaching numbness, and truly looked at his Padawan for the first time in the two months since Balog and New Apsolon.

The sixteen year old’s skin was pale, and there were dark circles under his eyes. His hair was beginning to get too long for the standard Padawan cut he sported, and was sticking out at all angles. Guilt, fear, and grief hung about him like a cloud, but even more than that was a quiet, deadly determination.

‘He has been watching over me,’ Qui-Gon realized, ‘even at his own expense.’ When had Obi-Wan last slept a full cycle? Not recently, by the looks of things.

There was pleading, and no small amount of fear in his Padawan’s eyes. Qui-Gon felt sick.

“I have failed you, my Padawan,” he murmured, reaching out with his uninjured hand to gently run his fingers down the silky Padawan braid hanging behind Obi-Wan’s ear. “I should be caring for you, not the other way around.”

“No, Master,” Obi-Wan shook his head quickly in fierce denial. “You haven’t failed me! I’m fine! But I’m worried about you! I know you and Master Tahl…” he trailed off, voice dying away, eyes wary.

Qui-Gon breathed slowly, trying to purge the pain her name had sparked. “I…It’s alright, Obi-Wan. Thank you, for looking after me. I…” He paused, glancing down at his bandaged right hand. “You’re right. I will go see a Soul Healer.”

It was almost worth it, to see the relief wash over Obi-Wan’s face. Almost.

The following evening found Qui-Gon making his slow way back from the Healer’s Halls. The first meeting with Healer Naval had been…painful. More so than he had expected, and the thought of being laid bare like that again made the Master want to turn tail and run. Unfortunately, now that the Soul Healer had been made aware of Qui-Gon’s…situation, he knew there would be no getting out of it.

With a soft sigh, he reached his rooms, palming open the door and reaching out for Obi-Wan in the Force. It did not take him long to find the boy’s signature, meditating in his room. Turning, Qui-Gon began to make his way to the ‘fresher, when something caught his eye. Stopping, he turned, moving towards the table that occupied the space between the main room and the kitchen.

Cautiously, he reached out, picking up the mug with fingers that shook slightly, despite himself, raising it to eye-level and turning it around in his hands. It was whole and smooth under Qui-Gon’s calloused finger-tips, the previously unblemished grey glaze that coloured it now shot through with a shock of white lines, where the shattered pieces had been painstakingly put back together. Despite the lines, it was flawless in its entirety, except in one spot. Qui-Gon ran the pad his thumb around the rim of the cup, his finger catching on the small indent, where the broken piece had clearly been too small to find or salvage.

Somewhere along the line, silent tears had begun to slide down Qui-Gon’s cheeks, vanishing into his beard, and he ran his thumb around the rim once more before tracing one of the thicker white lines that ran around the side with the tip of his index finger.

Later, when Obi-Wan emerged from his meditation, he stepped out of his room, only to find himself swept into a tight, lingering embrace. They had stood there, Master and Padawan both clinging to each other, utterly silent as the first of the walls Qui-Gon had erected around their bond began to crumble.

/Thank you. Thank you./

Pulling himself back to the present, Qui-Gon stared at the mug he was still holding, a soft smile on his lips. It had taken time, patience, and many trips―some more willing than others―to the Soul Healer, but slowly, ever so slowly, his Padawan had begun to help Qui-Gon put himself back together, piece by shattered piece, taking the same unwavering care that he had used when reassembling the destroyed mug. Never once had Obi-Wan complained. He had been Qui-Gon’s rock, a steady, dependable presence at Qui-Gon’s shoulder for as long as Qui-Gon had needed, and then some.

‘I owe you so much, my Obi-Wan.’

Setting the mug down on the table with the other one, Qui-Gon turned his attention back to the cupboards, hunting around until he found a small box filled with neat rows of canisters, each with a label written in Obi-Wan’s steady hand, naming its contents.

“Red, Kopi, Jaru, Sapir…since when do you drink Rek?” Qui-Gon asked, glancing over his shoulder as Obi-Wan finally remerged, a box in his hands. Returning his gaze to the cupboard, Qui-Gon raised an incredulous eyebrow, eyes landing on the line of bottles behind the box of tea. “And why in the Force are you keeping Zeltron Spiced wine on hand?” he demanded, dubiously eyeing the bottle of what was known galaxy wide to be a strong aphrodisiac.

Obi-Wan sighed, placing the box down on the table and then dropping into one of the chairs. “I don’t drink Rek,” he began, nose wrinkling at the thought of the bitter Harun-Kel tea. “But Mace does, and he has taken to following me home after Council meetings, so it began to make sense to keep some on hand.”

Qui-Gon arched an eyebrow at statement, but said nothing as Obi-Wan continued, hints of both humor and irritation appearing in his voice, “As for the wine, well, let’s just say Garen thought he was being extremely funny when my thirtieth life day rolled around.”

“I see.” Selecting the canister labeled “RED”, Qui-Gon set about finishing making the tea, before joining the younger Master at the table. As he sat down, he handed Obi-Wan the grey mug, watching as recognition sparked in his eyes.

“Qui-Gon—“

Qui-Gon shook his head and glanced at the box Obi-Wan had left sitting between them. “Now then, what is it that you have for me?”

For a moment, Obi-Wan wanted to protest, but something in the older man’s gaze caught his eye and made him reconsider.

“Here.” He pushed the box across the table, towards Qui-Gon. “If you are going to be going back into the field, I think you’ll want this.”

Frowning in confusion, Qui-Gon accepted the box and slowly opened the lid, his eyes growing wide. “My lightsaber?”

Obi-Wan nodded.

Qui-Gon looked up, meeting his eyes, “You kept it? Even after all these years?”

Obi-Wan nodded again, his heart clenching when he looked down at the unassuming saber hilt, nestled in the soft fabric that was the box’s lining. “I…It felt important. To keep it, I mean. I killed the Sith on Naboo with it, after you fell. My blade got knocked down the same melting pit you did.”

He gave the man across from him a small smile. “I hope you don’t mind, I carried it for a while afterwards, until I built a replacement for the one I lost. Perhaps it was un-Jedi of me, but having it at my side…it made it feel as if you were still there, guiding me. I…I needed that, in the beginning.”

“Obi-Wan…” Qui-Gon’s voice was soft, and Obi-Wan blinked, his eyes prickling with sudden tears. He swiped a hand over his eyes.

“Force, dammit. I’m sorry, Qui-Gon, I don’t know what’s come over me lately. I’m not usually so…weepy.”

Strong arms wrapped around him, and Obi-Wan found himself in a warm embrace. He blinked, surprised at the sudden contact. “Qui-Gon?”

“You have nothing to apologize for, my Obi-Wan,” was the quiet reply, and perhaps it was just Obi-Wan’s imagination, but it sounded for a moment like the older man’s voice was shaking, “Nothing at all.”

There was a pause before Qui-Gon continued speaking, “I have not told you just how proud I am, of the man you have become. I have always been so proud of you, my Padawan, and that has not changed.” He pulled back, and Obi-Wan found himself caught in his former Master’s gaze, those piercing eyes shining with a myriad of emotions. His breath hitched, but for the life of him, Obi-Wan could not look away.

“You’ve barely been here a week,” he pointed out, his voice sounding distant, even to his own ears, “How do you know what kind of man I am?”

When Qui-Gon smiled, it was the sort of smile that Obi-Wan would have done absolutely anything to receive, during his early years as Qui-Gon’s Padawan. Later, as a young man, it was a smile that would haunt his dreams and leave him feeling like his knees had turned to liquid. Now, seeing that same, brilliant smile, the one that said a million different things all at once, made Obi-Wan’s heart stutter and an ache well up in his chest.

“Because I know you, Obi-Wan. I’ve seen how the rest of the Council treats you, and how Anakin looks up to you. I saw how you talked with the clones, how they responded to you. I have no doubts that you are a good man, a great man, and a great Jedi Master. I am so proud of you.”

Obi-Wan swallowed hard, leaning further into Qui-Gon’s embrace despite himself. He had been held more in the past forty-eight hours than he had been since Anakin had grown out of slipping into bed with him, after a nightmare or a bad day. His Padawan had been a touchy child, always wanting contact, and when they were in the shelter of their rooms, Obi-Wan had happily obliged. Eventually, however, as Anakin had grown older, the need for touch had faded, and their relationship had grown more distant, something that Obi-Wan had never been able to shake the slightest hint of worry over, no matter how much he buried it under his own reassurances that it was more than normal. Anakin was his own man, not a child anymore. He didn’t need Obi-Wan constantly hovering.

Now though, wrapped in Qui-Gon’s strong arms, Obi-Wan was struck by just how much he had missed this, this sense of security and belonging.

“I…thank you.”

They stayed like that, wrapped in each other’s arms, for a few more minutes before Obi-Wan finally forced himself to pull away, disguising the lump in his throat by taking a long sip of tea. He watched as Qui-Gon took his lightsaber out of the box, turning it over in his hands, inspecting it from every angle, and finally igniting it. The green blade came to life with a hum that sounded almost content to Obi-Wan’s ears, as if it, like Obi-Wan, was finally whole again, with Qui-Gon’s return.

Obi-Wan caught that thought and stared at it in his mind’s eye, barely managing not to blush like a teenager. What in the Force had brought that about? Maybe Jen-Ai was right, and he should be sleeping more.

Unaware of the other man’s thoughts, Qui-Gon moved his blade slowly through the air in front of him a few times. Satisfied with what he saw, he shut it down again and hooked it to his belt, releasing a sigh he hadn’t realized he was holding at the familiar, comforting weight.

“It’s still in remarkable condition. Thank you, Obi-Wan.” He smiled at the other man, who smiled back.

For a while, they simply enjoyed each other’s company, drinking their tea and talking. It felt good, and Obi-Wan found himself laughing more than he had in…longer than he could remember. Qui-Gon’s company seemed to strip away some of the weight that sat on his chest, and it made laughing easier. Hell, it made breathing easier. He found himself falling back into the old desire to make Qui-Gon smile as much as possible.

He had forgotten just what an amazing smile it was.

Eventually, topics turned more somber. Setting down his mug, Qui-Gon met Obi-Wan’s eyes firmly. “I still have questions.”

Obi-Wan nodded, turning his mug in his hands. “And I promised you answers. Ask.”

Qui-Gon was silent for a moment, turning over his thoughts and picking his words.

“How did this war start?”

Staring down into his mug, Obi-Wan took a moment, allowing himself the time to
organize his thoughts and order his words before allowing them to slip past his lips. It was a long story, and not an easy one to tell, but he owed Qui-Gon an explanation, and it was one that was already overdue.

“After Naboo,” he began, raising his eyes to meet Qui-Gon’s gaze, “Dooku began to publicly condemn the Senate. You know he was always rather…displeased with the Order, but he seemed to simply stop caring about maintaining appearances. He blamed the Senate and the Council for your death, and said that if it had not been just us two, you would not have…” Obi-Wan trailed off and shook his head, swallowing past the lump in his throat. Qui-Gon was not dead, he was alive and well across from him. Obi-Wan was being foolish.

Clearing his throat, Obi-Wan continued. “He left soon after, with barely a word. The Temple was in uproar. After that, Dooku seemed to vanish.”

Another pause hung in the air.

“But?” Qui-Gon prompted.

Obi-Wan tapped the pad of his thumb against his mug, tracing a broad white crack that ran almost all the way from top to bottom, parallel to the handle.

“Not long before Anakin was Knighted, we were assigned to protect a senator, Padme Amidala of Naboo.”

Qui-Gon’s brows rose at the familiar name. “You mean?”

Obi-Wan nodding, a tiny smile on his lips. “Padme’s term as Queen ended some time ago, and she became a senator not long after. She had come to Coruscant to vote on the Military Creation Act, as one of the more vocal opposing parties.”

“Hm. I imagine there were a few parties who did not approve?”

“A few.” Obi-Wan nodded. “Her ship was blown up, not long after she landed. Were it not for the Naboo tradition of body doubles, the attack would have succeeded.”

Qui-Gon’s eyes widened. “She was attacked on Coruscant?!”

“On the Senate dome landing platform.”

Qui-Gon blew out a breath, leaning back in his seat. “Force. Someone really wanted that act to pass.”

“So we thought, at the time.”

“That was not the case?”

“Well, yes and no, but I’m getting to that.” Obi-Wan set down his mug and folded his hands in his lap, and actively attempt to stop the fidgeting. “As I said, Anakin and I were assigned as her bodyguards.There was another attempt later that night. We pursued the bounty hunter responsible, but she was killed before we could learn anything, by a dart unlike anything I had seen before.”

Qui-Gon listened intently as Obi-Wan explained going to Dex for help (“I should pay him a visit.” “Yes, you should.”), the odd blanks in the Temple data banks, and the discovery of Kamino and the clones, as well as their progenitor, Jango Fett. When the tale turned towards Geonosis and arena, Qui-Gon closed his eyes.

Jard Dooku was not a warm man, this Qui-Gon knew well. However, he had been a good, if strict and at times distant, Master, and Qui-Gon cared for him. His former teacher had never been one to share himself with anyone, especially not his student, but that did not stop Qui-Gon from knowing him, however slightly. Jard Dooku was a man whose heart had been wrapped in layer upon layer of protective barriers tougher that durasteel. Qui-Gon could name only one person who had gotten fully past those walls, and perhaps was even wrong about that. But he also knew that Dooku could be patient, could be almost kind. He had vague, blurry memories from a childhood decades in the past, of his own days in the creche, and of a young, dark haired Knight Dooku guiding another youngling’s hand, showing her how to manipulate the Force to lift a feather so she could join the rest of them in their game. There had been infinite gentleness in his long fingers then, and it had entranced Qui-Gon. The Force had moved around him in a way unlike what he had seen around anyone else. Despite its age, this was a memory Qui-Gon cherished.

So to hear that Obi-Wan had been captured on Dooku’s orders, and then tortured by the man himself, was disquieting, to say the least. That he had then ordered the death of both his grand and great-grand Padawans, as well as a well known senator, as well as been responsible for the slaughter of hundreds of Jedi was…

Qui-Gon shook his head, recoiling from the thought, from Obi-Wan’s words.

“I can’t believe…” he murmured, and trailed off. That was not completely true, was it? Dooku had always found the Dark side fascinating, from a purely intellectual standpoint. But Qui-Gon knew his former Master had become more and more disillusioned with the Jedi and the Republic over the years. Perhaps it had been worse than Qui-Gon realized. Obi-Wan had said it all seemed to come to a head after Qui-Gon’s death. Guilt flared in Qui-Gon’s chest; he should have noticed, should have kept in better contact with Dooku, should have—

“Qui-Gon.”

Obi-Wan’s voice was kind, but firm, and he reached across the space between them to squeeze Qui-Gon’s knee. Qui-Gon focused on the touch, used it to ground himself, and met the younger man’s eyes.

“This is was not your fault.”

Qui-Gon blew out a breath and nodded. Obi-Wan was right, of course. Perhaps he could have made a difference if he had been there, but he hadn’t and there was nothing he could do about that now.

Silence filled the room, spreading through the space between the two men, tangling around them and seeping into every crack and corner. Qui-Gon closed his eyes, letting all that Obi-Wan had said, all that he had told him, wash over him and sink into his skin like water. Slowly, he went through the process of examining each piece of information. What did it mean for him? For the galaxy as he knew it? How did he feel about it? Once he had identified each emotion, Qui-Gon allowed himself to accept it, and then he gently let it go, releasing them one by one into the Force, where they vanished like clouded breath on a cold day.

When Qui-Gon finally opened his eyes, Obi-Wan was staring at him. There was something intense and cautious in the younger man’s gaze, like he was tensing, holding himself still in preparation for Qui-Gon’s reaction.

Qui-Gon let out a long, slow breath, and smiled.

“Thank you for telling me this, Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan blinked, and then ducked his head in an almost bow, his confusion vanishing as quickly as it appeared. “Of course, Qui-Gon. You deserved to know.”

“And I appreciate your honesty more than I can say.”

Qui-Gon rose from his seat, stretching slightly. They had sat, deep in conversation, for longer than either had planned, and he could feel the first twitches of restless energy building at the tips of his fingers. From the way Obi-Wan’s fingers had picked up a rhythm against the surface of the table, some half an hour earlier, and had yet to stop, Qui-Gon was not the only one feeling the effects of too long in the same position.

“But enough of such unpleasant things.” Qui-Gon could not resist a smirk, and Obi-Wan arched an eyebrow at his words. There was curiosity in those changeable eyes, and a fire that Qui-Gon had seen there right from the very beginning, burning ever strong. It relieved the older Master more than he had expected, to see it so unchanged, so many years and so much grief later. He held out a hand, and Obi-Wan took it without hesitation, allowing Qui-Gon to pull him to his feet.

Qui-Gon brushed his other hand against his lightsaber, and then bowed, low and formal, to Obi-Wan.

“My lightsaber has sat unused for far too long. Master Kenobi, would you do me the honour of sparring with me?”

The bright joy in Obi-Wan’s eyes when Qui-Gon straightened, was almost enough to make the entire mess of the past week worth it.

At that time of day, the training salles were bustling, full of Master-Padawan pairs and Initiate classes, as well as Knights and Masters on leave, sparring, running through katas, or simply sitting and talking or watching. Nevertheless, the two men were able to find themselves a quiet corner of the largest public salle. Dumping their cloaks on one of the benches that lined the walls, they fell into solo warm-ups.

Running through a few open-handed katas to begin with, Qui-Gon moved slowly, working to rid his body of any remaining stiffness from his extended period of inaction. When that was done, he moved to the first Ataru kata, igniting the blade Obi-Wan had returned to him.

His lightsaber hummed as the green blade came to life, and again, Qui-Gon would have sworn it felt like satisfaction. The tall man sighed, a smile curling his lips, and let his eyes fall closed as he began to move.

He moved through one kata after another, going slow until his muscle memory kicked back in. Once that was done, he even went through a few of the Makashi katas from his early apprenticeship, just for the hell of it, pointedly not thinking of his former Master as he did so.

Qui-Gon opened his eyes as he fell into the final position, ending the move with a flourish. Letting out his breath in a long, steady stream, he smiled. Already, he was feeling better than he had in days, even such a light amount of activity helping ease the uncomfortable tension that had been plaguing him. He turned to face Obi-Wan, meaning to indicate his readiness to spar in proper to the younger man, and froze, unable to keep from staring.

When Obi-Wan had first become Qui-Gon’s Padawan, he had stumbled through the katas with the inexperience of one still learning. Over the years, Qui-Gon had taken great joy in watching the boy grow and learn, watching his movements grow smoother and more confident, as Obi-Wan himself settled more into the Force and his own body. But now, watching the man before him, Qui-Gon felt his breath catch in his throat.

Obi-Wan’s eyes were closed, expression flat and calm, and he moved through the katas without even a breath of hesitation; every move shining with a familiarity born of years of practice. The Force spun and danced around him, moving and pulsing with each inhale and exhale of breath, adding to the grace and fluidity of the man’s movements.

It was beautiful.

Force. Qui-Gon had meant every word he had said, back in their…Obi-Wan’s rooms. His Padawan had become a great Jedi Master during Qui-Gon’s lost time, but this, this display, would have shattered any remaining doubts the older man might have fostered, consciously or not.

Obi-Wan had changed forms since his Padawan days, Qui-Gon noticed. He now moved with the calm, grounded focus required by Soresu. It was an odd change from the high leaps and spins of Ataru, but Qui-Gon could not deny that the change in style seemed to suit Obi-Wan—silent and steady, calm to a fault, with a core built on the protection of self and others.

“He’s good, isn’t he?”

Qui-Gon startled at Mace’s hushed words, having missed the other man’s approached entirely. When he glanced over, the Councillor was standing at his shoulder, watching Obi-Wan who still appear oblivious to the eyes on him. As the younger man moved effortlessly into the final Soresu kata, Qui-Gon found he could only nod in agreement.

“He’s the best we’ve got when it comes Soresu,” Mace continued, his voice never rising from its soft, almost reverent tone. “Not that he’ll ever admit it, but he is.” The younger Master fell silent once again, as Obi-Wan’s blade came down in a smooth arc, coming to a halt in the ending stance.

There was a beat of absolute stillness, and then blue-green eyes flicked open as Obi-Wan straightened out of his stance, extinguishing his lightsaber and hooking to his belt in one smooth movement.

“Master Windu, I did not realize you would be joining us,” he said, turning to face the two men standing a few feet away.

Mace shook his head. “No, I won’t be interrupting your spar, Master Kenobi. I’m only here to relay some news.” His expression shifted, a frown creasing his face, and he looked between Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon. “Your transport leaves at ninth hour tomorrow morning.” Meeting Obi-Wan’s gaze, he continued, “You will rendez-vous with Skywalker and the rest of the fleet around Sixyt VI. There is still no sign that Dooku has an army with him, but we want to be safe. We need you to find out what’s on that rock that is so important to Dooku.”

Obi-Wan frowned, one hand coming up to rest against his chin. “Yes, it is undeniably out of character for the dear Count.” He looked over at Qui-Gon. “Qui-Gon, you do not have to accompany me. If you would rather remain here and get yourself re-oriented, I would understand com―“

“No.” Qui-Gon shook his head, cutting his former student off, “No, I want to go. He is…was my Master. I would like to…see. For myself.” He was straying dangerously close “attachment”, especially considering he was addressing two Council members, but he supposed if anything good came from this whole mess, it was perhaps a bit of leniency for a man “out of his time”.

Obi-Wan nodded, but there was still some concern in his eyes. “Alright.” He looked back to Mace, who was waiting patiently.

“We will be ready. Thank you for informing us.”

Mace inclined his head. “I apologize again for the interruption. Best of luck, Obi-Wan.”

A wry grin pulled at the young Master’s lips. “There is no luck, Mace. Only the Force. I am shocked Master Yoda let you forget.”

Mace’s own lips quirked. “See, this is why we are always sending you to the front lines, Kenobi. You become insufferable at home,” he teased.

Not bothering to respond with more than a mischievous smile, Obi-Wan turned to Qui-Gon, who had been watching the exchange with a mix of amusement and disbelief at the comfortable banter.

“If you are ready, Qui-Gon, shall we begin?”

Sparing one more glance at Mace, who raised an eyebrow, Qui-Gon nodded.

“Of course, Obi-Wan.”

They settled into their opening stances, circling one another. Qui-Gon watched Obi-Wan’s eyes flick over him, assessing. Qui-Gon quirked a brow and watched as the beginnings of a smirk tugged at the corner of Obi-Wan’s lips as the younger man tipped his blade slightly—an invitation. Qui-Gon arched a brow, and the smirk grew.

One more round, and then Qui-Gon broke the stand-still, darting in and bring his blade down in a fierce arc. The blow was caught by Obi-Wan’s blade, and the younger man shoved it up and away, before spinning out of reach and bringing his blade around in a low sweeping motion.

The circling picked up again, Obi-Wan spinning his blade almost lazily, before they were coming together once again. Lightsabers clashed, and Qui-Gon realized he was matching Obi-Wan’s grin with one of his own.

It felt good to spar, and Obi-Wan seemed to think so too. The younger man seemed more relaxed, the hard line on his back and shoulders softening, even as he maintained a form that could hardly be called less than perfect. The sense of centered calm never wavered, but it was easy to see the tension leaving Obi-Wan’s eyes.

They had done this many times before, when Obi-Wan had still been a Padawan, still a young man with extra energy to burn. Often, Qui-Gon would find his wayward charge in a training salle the night before a test, running through kata after kata until he had burned through enough of the energy that danced under his skin to find his center. Then they would spar, Qui-Gon pushing his student until Obi-Wan was soaked with sweat and breathing hard, but grinning brightly.

They were good memories, but Qui-Gon’s distraction nearly proved to be his downfall, as the sapphire blade hissed past his ear. The older Master pulled his focus back the fight at hand, twisting his body to block the blade and retaliate, only for Obi-Wan to vault over Qui-Gon’s head, twisting in the air. He landed without a sound, and Qui-Gon very nearly missed blocking the strike that would have taken his right arm off at the shoulder, had their blades been at full power.

“Keep your mind in the Here and Now, isn’t that what you were always telling me?” Obi-Wan teased, as he met Qui-Gon’s flurry of strikes, one after another.

“You’ll have to forgive an old man,” Qui-Gon said, spinning away from another blow. Then he stuck out one foot, right as Obi-Wan moved to pursue. The younger Master went down with a curse, flailing for a moment before he caught himself with one hand and flipped back onto his feet. Qui-Gon smirked. “My mind’s not as good as it used to be.”

“But of course, Master. Shall I allow you a moment to catch your breath?” Obi-Wan darted forwards with Force enhanced speed, his blade locking with Qui-Gon’s. Their faces were mere inches apart, and Obi-Wan grinned, baring his teeth for a moment. They broke apart, Obi-Wan darting away to the edge of their space, falling into a waiting stance. He bounced on the balls of his feet, twirling his ‘saber. Qui-Gon gave a moment’s pause, and then launched forwards, their blades connecting once more.

The clash of ‘sabers was oddly soothing, and Obi-Wan found himself relaxing with every clash of blue on green. It had been a few months since he had the chance to properly spar, to cross blades with someone who was not actively trying to kill or maim him. The teasing was new; something thirteen year-old Padawan Kenobi never would have dared when it came to his Master, though it had been in development during the final years of his apprenticeship.

Qui-Gon’s movements and style were comfortable in their familiarity, and sense-memory of the blows left Obi-Wan feeling oddly young. He grinned, ducking and rolling out of the way of a slashing blow, diving and sliding between the taller man’s legs to come up behind him, touching the tip of his blade to the fabric of Qui-Gon’s tunics, just between his shoulders blades, lightly enough to just singe the tan fabric.

There was a moment’s pause, and the Qui-Gon chuckled, extinguishing his blade. “Solah. I yield.”

Obi-Wan grinned, shutting down his own blade and hooking it to his belt. Qui-Gon turned, gifting him with a wide smile. Both men were coated in sweat and breathing slightly harder than normal, but Obi-Wan felt lighter on his feet than he had in weeks.

“Your skills have improved immensely, Obi-Wan. I’m impressed.” Qui-Gon’s hand was a comfortable weight on Obi-Wan’s shoulder. “Blending the Ataru into the Soresu katas works well for you, though I must admit I am surprised by the change.”

Obi-Wan felt his smile falter for moment, and Qui-Gon frowned.

“Obi-Wan?”

Obi-Wan shook his head. “It’s nothing. I merely came to the realization that the Ataru style holds more flaws than I am willing to allow, especially in extended battle situations.”

Realization flash across Qui-Gon’s features. “After my-…After Naboo?”

Obi-Wan nodded, short and sharp. “I would rather not talk about it, if it’s all the same to you,” he said quietly. He turned and began to make his way from the salle, Qui-Gon following close behind. He could feel the tension radiating off Obi-Wan in waves, could see it in the harsh line of his shoulders, back with a vengeance. The calm brought on by their spar had been shattered. It left Qui-Gon with a sour taste in the back of his mouth. Things had been better between them today, Obi-Wan more open, more at ease, since the outburst the previous night, and Qui-Gon realized that he had allowed himself to sink into the hope, selfish as it may be, that it was all over, every would go back to normal. He and Obi-Wan would go back to how they had been before it all, before this war, before the Sith, before Naboo.

A foolish and impossible hope. There were some things that Qui-Gon knew no number of apologies could make up for. Time and change were relentless.

He wanted to reach out, to help ease the tension and old grief that hovered around Obi-Wan light a cloud. To apologize, again, for his absence, as if that would make it all better.

“Obi-Wan—”

Obi-Wan stopped but did not turn around, and Qui-Gon faltered, the words on his lips suddenly seeming far too trivial, in the face of everything he wanted to say.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly. Perhaps, he thought, it would have been better to say nothing at all.

For a moment, Obi-Wan did not move. Then, slowly, he nodded, and began to walk once more, slower this time, an invitation. Qui-Gon took it, his longer stride bringing him to Obi-Wan’s side in a few steps.

Neither spoke, as they made their way down the well-walked path, towards familiar rooms, and Obi-Wan did not look at him, but Qui-Gon could feel the warmth of him at his side, and for the moment, that was enough.

Chapter Text

Four figures awaited their arrival, as Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon entered the cruiser from their transport. Anakin was leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, his face lighting up in a grin when he saw them. His Padawan stood next to him, along with two clones Qui-Gon vaguely remembered from that first meeting on Trasundron. Both men carried their helmets under one arm, allowing Qui-Gon to see their faces. The one closest to Anakin had close cut blond hair, and blue accents on his armor. The other had slightly longer, but still military cut, dark hair, and an old scar curling around his left eye and trailing down his cheekbone, his armor was accented with yellow.

 Anakin pushed himself off the wall as they approached, strolling up and clapping a hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder. “It’s about time, Obi-Wan. We’re glad to have you back. You too, Master Jinn,” the young Knight continued, turning to meet Qui-Gon’s gaze. Despite himself, Qui-Gon could not hold back a smile for the young man.

Anything further Anakin might have been planning on saying was cut off as the dark-haired clone approached, Ahsoka and the other clone both a pace behind him. The clone offered Obi-Wan a sharp salute, but the corner of his mouth curled in the beginnings of a smile. “Good to have you back, Sir.”

Obi-Wan offered the man a half smile that was more in his eyes than on his lips. “Good to be back, Commander. Captain.” He nodded to the blond clone, and then turned to Qui-Gon. “Qui-Gon, these men are Commander Cody of the 212^th Attack Battalion,” the dark-haired clone nodded at him, “and Captain Rex of the 501^st Legion, Torrent Company. Two of our best men.”

He turned his gaze back to the clones, and gestured at Qui-Gon. “Gentlemen, this is Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn.”

“It’s an honour to meet you, General Jinn,” the one Obi-Wan had called Rex said, both men saluting. Qui-Gon twitched a little at the title, but inclined his head in greeting.

“How are things?” Obi-Wan asked, turning to Anakin. “Have there been any changes?”

“Not that we are aware of,” Anakin replied. The two men turned, moving almost as one as they began to make their way further into the ship, Ahsoka falling into step behind them. Qui-Gon paused, glancing at the soldiers. Both clones had pulled their helmets on, and appeared to be waiting for him. With a mental shrug, Qui-Gon followed after his former student, a double set of footsteps behind him.

“Dooku’s most likely already beat us down,” Anakin was saying, as Qui-Gon caught up. They were nearing the bridge, the noises already loud enough to herald their arrival.

“And we still have no idea what he’s doing there?” Obi-Wan asked. Anakin shook his head.

“No. Like Ahsoka said before, it’s a barren moon, no native life, pretty much solid rock, little to nothing in the way of natural resources. It doesn’t seem like Dooku’s typical hang out.”

Obi-Wan let out a soft huff of laughter. “No, it does not.” He sobered. “Whatever it is must be important though, especially if Ventress is there.”

Anakin shot his former Master a side-long glance that Qui-Gon didn’t understand. “What, are you not excited to see the lovely lady again, Obi-Wan?”

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes. “Believe me, Anakin, I could have gone much longer before being…graced with her presence again. I still have scars from our last major…entanglement.”

Anakin winced, and looked apologetic. “I’m sorry I brought that up. It was uncalled for.”

“It was,” Obi-Wan agreed, mildly. “But it’s alright, Anakin. Really, I don’t like Ventress any more than you do, but we can’t deny she is a serious threat in her own right. Even without Dooku, she is a skilled fighter, and smarter than I fear the Council gives her credit for.”

Coming up beside her Master, Ahsoka snorted, crossing her arms. “She’s not so tough.”

“Careful Snips,” Anakin said, his admonishment gentled by a pat to the girl’s shoulder.

“Don’t rush ahead of yourself. Ventress stills gives Obi-Wan and me trouble; there is no shame in defeat.”

From the look Obi-Wan was giving Anakin, a twisted mixture of pride and disbelief, like he couldn’t quite decide which emotion was more appropriate, Qui-Gon got the sense that perhaps the younger Knight did not necessarily practice the things he preached. By the time Anakin turned back to him however, the look was gone, replaced by smooth serenity.

“Excuse me, General Kenobi, General Skywalker?” They all looked up, as a clone in a dark grey uniform approached. “You’re wanted on the bridge.”

Anakin and Obi-Wan glanced at each other, and then both men nodded. “We’re on our way,” Anakin said, and glanced over his shoulder. “Rex?”

“Right behind you, Sir.”

Cody did not say a word, but he stepped forwards, settling himself a pace or two behind Obi-Wan’s left shoulder, where the Jedi could see him from the corner of his eye.

“Ahsoka, would you please familiarize Master Jinn with the layout of the ship?” Obi-Wan asked. Ahsoka’s eyes widened a touch in surprise, and she looked to Anakin.

“But, Master―”

“Go on, Ahsoka. I’ll see you later, alright? We can spar, and you can show me that new aerial you’ve been working on,” Anakin promised.

 Ahsoka sighed. “Alright.”

 Qui-Gon frowned, annoyed at having been left out completely of the sudden stream of decision making. As if sensing his renewed irritation, Obi-Wan turned to him.

 “Qui-Gon, you should go with Ahsoka. Learn the ship, let her introduce you to some of the men. They need to know who their new ally is, and this ship is big enough that getting lost on your way to the mess hall is rather inconvenient.” His voice was gentle, but firm, and his words held no room for argument. Qui-Gon decided to let it go.

 “You are right, Obi-Wan.” He nodded to both men, and then to the two clones. “I shall see you all later then. Obi-Wan, perhaps we could meditate together?”

 Obi-Wan blinked, surprise flitting through his gaze for a moment, before it cleared and he smiled, bowing his head. “I would like that. Until later, Qui-Gon.”

 Qui-Gon smiled back, and then turned to Ahsoka, who had moved to his side. “I defer to you, Young One. Lead the way.”

An awkward silence hung between the Master and the Padawan as they made their way through the hallways that threaded throughout the Star Destroyer. It was punctuated by the occasional break when Ahsoka would point out an area of interest, or answer one of Qui-Gon’s questions, but that continued to be the extent of the conversation, and it was stilted and uncomfortable.

 “Down here’s the mess hall,” Ahsoka said, pulling Qui-Gon from his thoughts as they turned yet another corner. She pointed to a set of white double door that looked like so many of the others she had pointed out. “It’s not the best food, but,” she shrugged, “it beats ration bars.”

 “I’ve weathered much in the way of…interesting cuisine,” Qui-Gon said, smiling at the girl. “I’m sure I will survive this too.”

 Ahsoka nodded, but did not smile back. Qui-Gon resisted the urge to sigh, as she turned and made to keep walking. Before they got far however, the doors slide open, revealing two clones in blue accented armour. One man had a blue handprint on his chest. The other’s paint had nothing particularly notable, at least to Qui-Gon’s eye, but as he turned, Qui-Gon noticed a tattooed number five on the man’s temple.

 When they saw Qui-Gon and Ahsoka, both clones saluted, and Qui-Gon tensed. The movement did not escape the Padawan’s notice, and he saw Ahsoka straighten, the line of her shoulders going tense.

 “Commander Tano. General Jinn,” the one with the tattoo said. There was a smile in his voice when he addressed Ahsoka, and a smile on the girl’s lips when she replied.

“Fives, Echo. How are you two doing?”

The two clones relaxed, the one with the tattoo, Fives, Qui-Gon assumed, grinned.

“Still kicking, Commander. The Seppies will have to try a little harder to put us out of commission.”

“Glad to hear it,” Ahsoka replied. She turned to Qui-Gon, and her smile faded. “Master Jinn, this is ARC trooper Fives and ARC trooper Echo.”

Qui-Gon bowed his head to the two men. “A pleasure to meet you both.”

“You too, Sir. It’s an honour,” Echo replied.

Unsure what to say next, Qui-Gon fell silent, folding his hands in his sleeves. After a moment, the clones exchanged quick glances, and Ahsoka frowned.

“Echo and Fives are two of our newest, and best ARC troopers,” she explained, when it became apparent that no one else was going to pick up the conversation. At her words, Echo blinked, looking momentarily lost, and the slightest hint of colour appeared, high on Fives’ cheeks.

“Thank you, Commander,” Echo managed. Ahsoka waved the thanks away.

“I’ve told you before, Echo, call me Ahsoka. You’re off duty, right?”

For a moment, Echo looked like he wanted to protest, but Fives dug an elbow into his ribs, and Echo coughed. “Sorry, Ahsoka.”

 The Padawan grinned at them, radiating smug contentment.

 Qui-Gon glanced between the three, frowning slightly. Even with the cosmetic differences, the sameness of the two soldiers was eerie, enough to set him on edge for reason he couldn’t understand. It was like something just on the edge of his vision, that he couldn’t fully see, but also couldn’t ignore, and all his instincts screamed protest at the idea of delving any deeper into the Living Force around them, of touching what he expected was more of that unnatural sameness.

 “We should get going, Commander. Captain Rex asked up to check up on some of the shinies.”

 Qui-Gon blinked, drawing his thoughts back to the present in time to see Fives nodding his agreement to Echo’s words.

 "Yeah, some of the newer brothers need company after their first fight, if they can get it. All the training in the world, and it’s still never exactly the same as real combat.”

 “Brothers?” Qui-Gon asked, before he could think to stop himself. When the other three all turned similar, confused gazes on him, he added, “I was told you were created in a laboratory.”

 Silence greeted his words, and Qui-Gon suddenly realized he had made a mistake. Both clones’ faces went flat, and Ahsoka was staring at him, incredulous. Finally, Echo coughed.

 “Er, it’s just a…term of familiarity, sir,” he said slowly, discomfort clear in every word. “We’re clones, but it’s―”

 “You don’t have to explain yourself, Echo.” Ahsoka’s eyes never left Qui-Gon’s and the older man sudden found himself fighting the urge to squirm in his boots, which was utterly ridiculous. “You two get going. You don’t want to be late.”

 “Of course, sir.”

 “Thank you, Commander.”

 Ahsoka watched the two men beat a hasty retreat and then turned back to Qui-Gon, eyes blazing.

 “All due respect, Master Jinn,” she hissed, reminding Qui-Gon suddenly of Plo Koon when he truly lost his temper, “but whatever issues you have with the men, you need to let them go. Echo and Fives, and all their brothers, have been fighting for the Republic since day one, and every single one of them is willing to go above and beyond, willing to die for us. They’ve saved my life, and Master Skywalker and Master Kenobi’s lives more times than I can count. So I don’t know what your problem is, but do not talk to them like they are things!”

 Before Qui-Gon could even begin to form a response, the Padawan turned and spun on her heel, stalking off down the hallway. As she strode away, the shocked Master could have sworn he heard her mumble, “Besides, it’s not like they were given a choice.”

 Qui-Gon stared at her until she disappeared around a corner. Her reaction was startling, and more emotional than was considered proper, especially when addressing an older Master, but… Qui-Gon sighed and ran a hand over his beard. He needed to meditate.

Dooku’s signal lead them to a large structure, seemingly the only building on the entire planet.

“Phew,” Anakin blew a whistling breath out, as he stared up at the monstrous grey walls. “It’s huge.”

“How did our sensor not pick this up?” Ahsoka asked, brow furrowed as she crossed her arms, hugging her sides. Qui-Gon looked at her, and wondered if she was cold. She wore no robe and no armor, and he was suddenly struck by how vulnerable her clothing left her. An extra layer of cloth would not stop a stray blaster bolt, but it would protect against the elements, or toxins, or― Qui-Gon blinked, and then forced himself to stop the sudden swirl of protective concern that had sprung to life. Ahsoka was not his Padawan, and it was not his place. Feeling his stare, Ahsoka caught Qui-Gon’s eyes, a frown flickering across her face for a moment. It faded quickly, but there was a glint of challenge in her eyes, as if daring him to say something. It reminded Qui-Gon so much of a young Obi-Wan that he had to suppress a smile as he turned his attention back to the moment at hand.

 “How do we proceed, General?” Cody asked. There was an almost physical shift as all eyes were turned on Obi-Wan, and Qui-Gon watched as the younger man’s entire posture shifted under the unwavering attention, like he was bracing himself, even as his eyes never left the looming building.

 “We go in,” Obi-Wan said, after a moment of silent contemplation. “Quietly. We don’t know if it’s just Dooku and Ventress in there, or if they have backup. Stay on your guard and keep the noise down.”

 The clones responded without hesitation or complaint, and once again Qui-Gon found himself left with a lingering discomfort he could not fully explain.

 They encountered no resistance as they made their way down a twisting hallway that seemed to have no end. Visibility was low, the only light coming from the clones’ helmets, and Obi-Wan’s lightsaber, as he led the way. The blue blade cast odd, shivering shadows on the walls as they walked.

“I sense something…odd here, Masters,” Ahoska murmured. She shivered slightly. “The Force feels…odd. Almost like it’s rotting.”

Qui-Gon glanced at the Togruta Padawan, once again biting back the urge to offer her his robe, and frowned. “I sense it too.”

He glanced around the ruined hall. “The Living Force is…very faint here.”

Anakin snorted, the noise echoing faintly off the stone surrounding them. “It’s probably just Dooku’s foul stench you’re smelling, Snips. All that Dark can’t be good for the Count’s complexion.”

Obi-Wan shot his former Padawan a look. “Anakin that is enough.”

“Obi-Wan―“

“Enough.”

They walked in silence after that, but for the sounds of their breathing, and the echo of boots on stone.

Obi-Wan let his gaze linger on the walls as they walked. Script, broad and jagged characters, had been carved into the stone walls, forming long, sweeping streams of text that Obi-Wan could not read. Raising his saber for more light, he stopped and frowned, moving closer to the walls. After further inspection, he reached out, brushing gloved fingertips over the cool stone, only to let out a startled hiss of pain and yanked his hand away.

“General?” Cody was at his side in a heartbeat, but Obi-Wan shook his head.

“I’m alright Cody.” He glanced down at his hand, and rubbed his fingers together pensively. “Just startled. There is a lot of Dark energy here. Qui-Gon,” he glanced over his shoulder, back at the main group, “come look at this.”

Qui-Gon was at his shoulder a few seconds later, frowning as he peered over Obi-Wan at the wall. “What is it?”

“Do you feel that?” Obi-Wan asked, hushed. He gestured to the wall.

Qui-Gon reached out, mimicking what Obi-Wan had done. A few seconds later he recoiled, eyes widening slightly.

“Force,” he whispered, turning to stare at Obi-Wan.

The younger man nodded. “It’s very old, and very Dark.”

Qui-Gon nodded. “Ancient.”

Anakin appeared at Obi-Wan’s shoulder, reaching out to brush leather clad fingers over the carved stone. He hissed, eyes narrowing in discomfort, but did not pull away. Slowly, he traced a length of text. Something about the movements reminded Qui-Gon of watching Tahl read, after she had lost her sight.

“I feel like I’ve seen these before,” Anakin muttered, scowling at the wall as if it had personally offended him, “but I’m not sure where.”

Obi-Wan shot Anakin an alarmed look, before his expression smoothed over again. “When you remember, tell me. This is Sith writing, unless I am very much mistaken.”

Anakin’s eyes widened, and he snatched his hand away, wiping his fingers distractedly against his tunic.

Qui-Gon looked from the writing to the walls around them. “This must be some sort of old Temple,” he murmured.

Obi-Wan nodded his agreement, and turned to address the men at large. “Proceed with extreme caution,” he called. “If this is indeed a Sith temple, then there could be any number of unpleasant surprises left by the original occupants, no matter how long abandoned this place may be.”

They moved in silence after that, and Qui-Gon found himself impressed by the clones yet again. Despite the heavy armor they all wore, the men moved almost as quietly as Jedi.

The passageway they followed twisted are turned, the ceiling growing lower for a section, so much so that Obi-Wan was forced to extinguish his saber to avoid accidentally hurting anyone, and Qui-Gon nearly had to double over to kept from hitting it. To his relief, he was able to straighten up again, after they turned yet another corner and found themselves in small antechamber of some sort.

“General, I’m picking up voices from up ahead,” Cody said suddenly, breaking the tense silence that had fallen. Obi-Wan glanced at the commander at his elbow and slowed his pace.

“Dooku?”

Cody nodded. “Yes, Sir, and Ventress. But I’m picking up other vocal patterns as well.”

He paused, going silent for a moment as he turned his attention back to the devices in his helmet. When he spoke again, not half a minute later, his voice was urgent. “Sir, it’s General Grievous!”

Obi-Wan stopped dead in his tracks, hand snapping up, and the men behind him followed suit.  Beside him, Anakin was scowling.

“So that’s where that scum crawled off too, after Trasundron.”

Obi-Wan gave the younger man no reply, instead turning to catch Qui-Gon’s gaze.

The older Master almost startled. His former Padawan’s eyes were flat and cold, hard as durasteel and looked as solid grey as the stone they stood on. His expression was no different, utterly flat and serious. His entire body hummed with tension, muscles coiled tight, even as he stood straight and firm. Here again was the commanding presence Qui-Gon had first truly noticed aboard the Negotiator, magnified. Obi-Wan seemed to fill every crack and corner.

“You need to stay here, and shield well. The strongest you can manage.”

Qui-Gon blinked, surprise and confusion rapidly shifting to a flash of irritation at being so blatantly ordered about by the younger man. “I told you before. I’m—“

“Not a youngling, yes I know, Qui-Gon!” Obi-Wan snapped, his voice never rising above a low hiss. Around them, no one moved, but from the corner of his eye, Qui-Gon saw Anakin and Ahsoka exchange a glance.

Obi-Wan was still talking. “I am more than aware of your credentials, Master, but right now, you staying hidden grants us at least a small advantage. Dooku does not know about you, and I for one should like to keep it that way until it becomes completely necessary!”

Qui-Gon was still frowning at him, and Obi-Wan resisted the suddenly overwhelming urge to rub his forehead. He made a mental note to ask a healer or medic about some sort of headache medicine.

“I am not going to stand idly by, Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon said, and Obi-Wan could practically see his former Master digging in his metaphorical heels for the long haul. “I came on this mission for a reason.

“I know that,” Obi-Wan insisted, feeling his headache grow steadily worse. Why in the Force must Qui-Gon be so karking stubborn at times?! “But Dooku is not the same man you remember, and the two with him are more formidable opponents than you realize. I told you about Ventress already – she is trained and deadly to a fault, and Grievous,” Obi-Wan ignored the twinge of old grief, shoving it away, “is a serious concern for a reason. We have lost many good men and powerful Jedi to his blades. Right now, keeping you in the shadows is the best option!”

“He’s right,” Anakin spoke up, crossing his arms. Obi-Wan glanced over at him, eyebrow raised, and the younger man shrugged, turning his gaze back to Qui-Gon. “If you stay hidden, Dooku may think he’s got us outnumbered.” He gestured at Obi-Wan, Ahsoka, and the troops. “We go in, get their attention. You stay here with a small squad, and when they have their guard down, you come in a catch them by surprise.”

“We don’t have time to argue this,” Obi-Wan interjected. “We need to move now.”

Qui-Gon stared at him for a long moment, before finally, he sighed and nodded. “Alright. I don’t like it, but I will do it.”

“Thank you.” Obi-Wan finally gave into the urge and rubbed at his forehead for a moment, before turning to Cody. “Pick a small squad to stay here with Master Jinn, and then get ready.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Cody turned, hands flashing through a pattern of signs that Qui-Gon vaguely recognized. A ripple of what he could only assume was confirmation went through the rest of the men, and a group of ten men with gold on their armor split off from the rest, moving closer to Qui-Gon. With a nod of approval, Cody turned his attention back to Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan nodded back, lightsaber in hand before Qui-Gon even noticed him moving, and turned cool eyes on Qui-Gon. “Stay here. Wait for the signal.”

Before Qui-Gon could voice his irritation at being ordered about like a youngling, or even ask what exactly this signal he was waiting for was, Obi-Wan was moving, striding down the hall, fluid and deadly. Anakin was at his side, a firm grip on his saber and a grim expression on his face. Even Ahsoka was moving, looking just as confident in her steps as the older Jedi, if a little cockier as she spun one of her blades lazily between her fingers. Their men fell into their positions around the three Jedi as easy as breathing, and for a moment, Qui-Gon was caught by how picturesque it all was. Master, Knight, and Padawan, all solid and certain, radiating a stillness that made Qui-Gon think of the moment before a storm breaks into full, raging life.

He let out his breath in a rush and shook his head. Now was not the time for this. He needed to focus. Turning, he met the gaze of the clone closest to him. “What’s your name?”

“Waxer, sir.”

Qui-Gon nodded, and looked too the man beside Waxer, eyebrow raised in question.

“Boil, sir.”

Quickly, Qui-Gon went through the tiny company. Once he had learned their names, he straightened, drawing himself up to his full height and tightening his shields. That finished, he cast a careful web of Force illusion over the clones around him, and met Waxer’s gaze once again.

“Shall we go listen in?”

 From his new vantage point, Qui-Gon had an almost completely unencumbered view of the situation that had already begun to unfold below him. By the time he had been able to see what was happening, Obi-Wan, Anakin, and Ahsoka had already made themselves know to Dooku and his companions.

Qui-Gon let his eyes sweep over his former Master, as imposing a figure as always, as he stood, calm as could be, at the end of the large, open chamber, on a raised dais that sported and altar of some sort. Beside him stood a lithe woman with ashen grey skin, the colour broken in places by dark tattoos – the new apprentice, Qui-Gon assumed. And at the bottom of the dais…

The creature, the one Qui-Gon supposed must be Grievious, was unlike anything or anyone Qui-Gon had ever encountered before. The Living Force that coiled around him felt sick, vile and toxic, lashing out like a wounded animal. It felt like the screech of metal on duracrete, and left Qui-Gon feeling nauseous and wondering just what in the Force had happened to cause such turmoil.

On the other side of the room, Obi-Wan finished descending the stair that brought him into the room proper, Anakin, Ahsoka, and their men close on his heels. His face was utterly blank, lightsaber burning bright at his side.

“At last, the Jedi have arrived.” Dooku’s voice rang out, sudden and startling in the thick silence that had filled the hall. “I was beginning to wonder if you had gotten lost on your way down to the planet.”

A snarl twisted Anakin’s lips. “The only one lost is you, Dooku. What could you possibly want from this hunk of rock?”

Dooku’s gaze was as unforgiving as his voice. “As ever, Skywalker, you are as blind as you are foolish.” The Sith’s voice rang out, sharp and chilling, vibrating off the stone until Qui-Gon could feel it in his bones. “There is more here than you could possibly understand.”

Anakin’s snarl deepened, but a hand on his chest kept him from rushing forwards, as he so clearly wanted to.

“Now, now, Anakin.” Obi-Wan’s voice was low enough that Qui-Gon had to strain to hear what he said. Then Obi-Wan straightened, words growing louder, a challenge. “We must make allowances for the Count as our revered elder. After all, his perception really isn’t what it used to be.”

Dooku’s eyes darkened with anger, and the woman at his side took a threatening step forwards.

“Kenobi,” the woman snarled, a double set of lightsabers with oddly familiar hilts appearing in her hands in the blink of an eye.

“Ventress.” Obi-Wan offered her a clipped, mocking bow and Qui-Gon caught the hint of a smirk on the younger man’s lips. “It’s so lovely to see you again, my dear.”

“I do not have time for these games,” Dooku’s voice echoed of the stone walls, rich and imposing as ever. “Ventress, Grievous. End them.”

There was a blur of movement, and Obi-Wan caught Ventress’ blades with his own, as Anakin and Ahsoka turned on the cyborg. The clones did their best to lay cover fire, but in the small, enclosed space it did little good.

“Fall back!” Obi-Wan barked, when three of his men when down from a redirected blasts. “Fall back! We’ll handle this!”

“Sir―”

“Now, Cody!”

The commander scowled, but nodded. “Fall back!” He shot Obi-Wan a glare. “Don’t get stabbed again!”

“That,” Obi-Wan grunted, ducking a particularly vicious kick from Ventress, “was one time!”

“Three times and you still got stabbed, so I don’t think the number actually matters,” Anakin called.

“Not now, Anakin!”

“Whine, whine.”

Obi-Wan twisted, catching one of Ventress’ wrists, twisting and delivering an elbow to her solar plexus as he forced her to drop one saber, knocking the other away with the Force. She went down with a choked cry of rage, and Obi-Wan had just enough time to orient himself before he was spinning to block a new blade.

Dooku’s face was an emotionless mask as he bore down on Obi-Wan, but his eyes gleamed with a vicious pleasure that Qui-Gon did not like.

“Once again, Kenobi, I find you interfering with my business,” the former Jedi snarled. Their blades clashed as Obi-Wan disengaged and attacked, pushing Dooku closer to Qui-Gon’s hiding place.

“Yes, it does seem to be a common occurrence, doesn’t it?” Obi-Wan replied, grunting as the Count’s blade singed his cheek before he knocked it away. “We really must stop meeting like this.”

He ducked another blow, just barely, dancing out of Dooku’s reach, carefully leading him to where Obi-Wan wanted him.

Watching the two men cross blades, Qui-Gon was suddenly acutely aware of how much Obi-Wan had been holding back during their spar. Before, his skills had been unquestionable, but now, Qui-Gon could see just how even a year of war had shaped Obi-Wan’s style and skills. He was deadly, precise and controlled, the Force following and streamlining his movements. It sent a chill down Qui-Gon’s spine.

“Your usual pathetic disregard for the forms and traditions of lightsaber combat won’t save you this time, Kenobi.” Dooku’s crimson blade locked with Obi-Wan’s sapphire one.

The Jedi arched one eyebrow, an almost taunting smile curling the corners of his lips. “Resorting to petty insults, Count? I’m hurt. And here I was under the impression you thought so highly of me.” Disengaging, he spun and slashed low, only to have his blade caught and knocked aside.

“First impressions can be incredibly deceiving,” Dooku replied. He lunged, and Obi-Wan had to jump back to avoid losing a limb. He landed lightly on a large slab of broken stone that stretched out in front of the two massive columns standing sentry to the hall’s large door, ‘saber extended.

“Yes, well, being shot at by droids and then hung up in a suspension field can leave even the best of us a little rough around the edges.”

“That you fell into my hands so easily proves that your training was abysmal at best,” Dooku sneered.

“You know, if you have found so many faults with the training I received, you might wish to take it up with my Master.” There was an almost vicious humor shining in Obi-Wan’s eyes, one that would have concerned Qui-Gon in another situation. However, he was already quickly learning that the Code he had spent over half of his life believing in, at least to a degree, simply could not exist to its full extent. Not here, not now, as the galaxy burned with war and the Sith and their acolytes ran rampant.

Besides, that was his cue.

Igniting his emerald blade, Qui-Gon stepped out of the shadows, moving silently and stepping up onto the stone to stand next to Obi-Wan. His former Padawan did not turn, did not flinch; simply stared at Dooku, challenging the older man with his unwavering gaze.

Dooku, for his part gave almost no visible reaction, but this was the man Qui-Gon had spent more than a decade training with. He knew his old Master’s tells. Eyes widened slightly, his already impeccable posture went straighter, tenser, and then to Qui-Gon’s surprise, he saw a momentary flash of grief and…something else dance through Dooku’s eyes.

Whatever it was, it vanished as quickly as it appeared, and Dooku raised his ‘saber in an aggressive slash. There was very real anger in the man’s eyes, making them burn red. Not quite the same as the acidic gaze of the Sith on Naboo, but any remaining doubts Qui-Gon had to the legitimacy of Obi-Wan’s and the Council’s claims vanished. There was no more room for doubt. Dooku had Fallen. He was a Sith.

“Is an army of clones no longer enough for the Jedi Order?” Dooku snarled. He had yet to move, but both Jedi could see the faint movement of tensing muscles. In unison, they fell into ready stances―Soresu and Ataru, sapphire and emerald.

“You would disturb the resting dead too?”

Obi-Wan cocked an eyebrow. “If we did, it would only be in response to your war,” he replied coldly. Then he shook his head. “But no, some of us are not so inclined to pervert the will of the Force. Last I checked, that was your area of expertise.”

Dooku’s features curled in fury Qui-Gon could only recall having seen once before. “You have tested my patience before, Kenobi, but this time you go too far.” There is was the promise of violence and pain in the Sith’s words, and it sent a shiver up Qui-Gon’s spine. Sucking in a breath, he took a step forwards, ‘saber still at the ready.

“Obi-Wan speaks the truth, my old Master.” His voice echoed through the stone chamber. Out of the corner of his eyes, Qui-Gon saw the woman Obi-Wan had named as Ventress halt for the barest second, glancing over at the new voice and giving Ahsoka just the opening she needed to plant her foot against the acolyte’s chest, knocking her back against a half-dilapidated column.

As Qui-Gon watched, a myriad of emotions flashed across Dooku’s face; shock, grief, something that was almost joy, and then something Qui-Gon could not put a name too, before settling on a fixed blankness.

“Qui-Gon.”

“Dooku.”

“I will admit, I am surprised to see you. It seems your demise on Naboo was grossly exaggerated. No matter,” Dooku raised his blade, “I shall offer you the same choice I offered your student. Join me, my old Padawan.”

It was all Qui-Gon could do not to snort at the absurdity of the request.

“You are a Sith, my former Master, a tool of the Dark, of destruction and chaos. I have been told you started this war, and I have just heard of how you attacked my Padawan, which is clearly a regular occurrence. Why would I join you? You go against everything I stand for.” Qui-Gon paused, allowing himself a flicker of sadness for the older man. “Everything you ever taught me.”

But there seemed to be little of the man he remembered standing before him now. Dooku’s eyes flashed a harsh crimson, and he pulled himself up taller.

“You were always a fool, Qui-Gon; always too quick to blind yourself to the truth with your attachments. You have no idea what it is you are believing in. The Jedi are weak, puppets for a Senate of squabbling children.”

Dooku’s blade vanished with a snap and a hiss, and he took a step back, spinning on his heel. “Apprentice, General, leave them! We have what we came for.”

“Master―!”

“Now. You can toy with them on the battlefield. Now is not the time for such games.”

“Games?!” Anakin spluttered, even as Grievous let out a hacking cough that might have been a laugh and vaulted away from the Jedi.

“If you think we will let you leave, Count, I’m afraid you are mistaken,” Obi-Wan said, but his words were slow, calculating. Qui-Gon knew the other man’s thoughts were similar to his own. What was going on?

“No, Kenobi. I am not.” There was no concern in Dooku’s tone, nor in his eyes. He moved with the self-assurance of a man who controlled everything, as he tapped at a control on his wrist comm, not even looking back at the Jedi as he moved towards a crumbling, dilapidated section of the far wall of the Temple. Distantly, the rumble of an engine could be heard.

“I have offered you your chance, Qui-Gon,” Dooku said, voice rising above the growing noise. “It will not happen again.”

Qui-Gon took a step forwards, ‘saber faltering for a moment as he opened his mouth to reply, but as he did, the rumbling became a roar, and a ship came into view through the broken wall. Calm as could be, Dooku strode out onto the ramp, Grievious and Ventress on his heels. The latter was still glaring daggers at the Jedi, and a cruel smirk curled her lips as her eyes met Obi-Wan’s.

"Until next time, Kenobi. My Master will not be around to save you then.”

“Oh, but I am counting on that, my darling,” Obi-Wan purred, and it was only due to decades of training that Qui-Gon surprise did not show on his face at the positively feral edge to Obi-Wan’s tone. “After all, we still have so much to talk about.”

Ventress snarled, and then spun around, vanishing onto the ship as the hatched closed behind her. The hiss of hydraulics filled the air, and then with a roar, the ship was gone. Qui-Gon watched it go, tracking it with his eyes until it vanished from his sight. The ache that had taken root in his chest upon learning of his former teacher’s fate grow and spread, cold fingers of sorrow that snatched at the breath in his lungs.

“Farewell, my Master,” he murmured, hardly louder than a whisper, closing his eyes. “Force guide you.” A prayer, a hope, as futile as it might be, and then only grief would he allowed himself over Dooku’s fate. At least for now.

“Should we follow them, Sir?”

At Cody’s sudden words, Qui-Gon looked up to see all eyes turn to Obi-Wan. The Councillor sighed, ever so slightly, and raised a hand to run his fingers over his beard. It struck Qui-Gon that his former apprentice suddenly looked exhausted, and far older than he actually was, aged in a sudden and violent manner that left Qui-Gon feeling a little sick.

“No. Let them go,” Obi-Wan said, raising a hand as Anakin began to protest. “Cody, have your men sweep the camp. I don’t want to be caught off guard by any little surprises the honorable Count might have left us. Rex, have your men start setting camp.”

His words were met with a double affirmative from the two clones, both of whom began barking orders at their various troops. Obi-Wan watched them for a moment, the lines between his eyebrows deepening as he stroked a hand over his beard. It was an expression that Obi-Wan looked far too accustomed to wearing, and Qui-Gon took a step forwards, reaching out to lay a hand on the younger man’s shoulder. Before he could however, Obi-Wan’s expression smoothed. When he turned, he looked right passed Qui-Gon, to where Anakin and Ahsoka were approaching.

“I am going to help with the sweep.” Obi-Wan said, the perfect image of a Jedi Master. He was walking away before anyone found the words to reply.

Obi-Wan had been gone almost three hours, and Qui-Gon was restless. Ahsoka’s words on the flagship tugged at his brain, but he felt…awkward. His thoughts kept returning to what Obi-Wan had told him, about discovering the clones on Kamino.

A whole culture, created for the sole purpose of fighting. Fighting and obeying. Qui-Gon did not doubt their skills, one would have to be blind and senseless to not know that every single one of the clones was utterly deadly, but…

“Are you alright?”

Qui-Gon almost jumped at the sudden voice, close at his side.

“Obi-Wan.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.” Obi-Wan sounded almost sheepish, and Qui-Gon shook his head.

“Not your fault. I was lost in thought.”

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow, and settled himself beside Qui-Gon on the fallen pillar the older man had stationed himself on. “Is something wrong?”

Qui-Gon was quiet for a moment, turning his gaze back upon the clones moving about around him. “Just something Ahsoka said earlier.”

Silence hung between them, as Obi-Wan followed Qui-Gon’s gaze and did not push the conversation. Finally, Qui-Gon looked at his former student.

“Is it not…odd?” he asked slowly, pitching his voice low so only the other man could hear, “To work with thousands of alike beings?”

Obi-Wan blinked, surprise dancing with in his eyes, and then he raised a skeptical eyebrow.

“What do you mean?”

Qui-Gon chewed over his thoughts before replying. “Do they not feel…artificial?”

Obi-Wan’s eyes widened, and for a brief moment, Qui-Gon wondered if he would get a similar response to Ahsoka’s, but then he shook his head, a rueful smile on his lips.

“I’m surprised you haven’t noticed it yet. Qui-Gon, you are stronger in the Living Force than anyone I have ever met. Look deeper, really look at them all.”

With a frown, Qui-Gon did as he was told, closing his eyes and reaching out into the Living Force around them.

The Jedi Master sucked in a shocked breath. Every clone, every man, shone like a beacon in the Force, each unique, a full spectrum of colours and shades, and yet all alight with a similar, white-hot flame. It was unlike anything Qui-Gon had seen before, and it took his breath away.

He could feel Obi-Wan’s smile beside him. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” the younger Master said in a hushed, almost reverent voice. Qui-Gon could only nod.

“Are they all like this?”

Another nod. “Some more than others. It honestly depends on who their Jedi is, and what they’ve been through.” Obi-Wan’s voice took on a mournful edge. “War dims even the brightest of us, I’m afraid, and there are still some in the Order who simply refuse to see their troops for what they are; men, living, breathing, feeling, just like anyone of us.”

Qui-Gon opened his eyes, and Obi-Wan was staring at him again, something soft and warm in his blue-green gaze.

“Hardcase, one of Anakin’s men,” Obi-Wan said, his smile turning fond, “is an amazing artist. He does tattoo designs for his brothers, sometimes, and I’ve caught a glimpse of a few of his flimsi sketches. They are nothing short of breathtaking. Waxer and Boil,” he nodded towards two men a short ways off, helmets off, their armor decorated in 212^th gold, heads bent together as they spoke quietly, “were more or less adopted by a Twi’lek girl, when we were on Ryloth. I’ve been trying to get us leave time near there, so they can go visit her, but,” he sighed, a frown shadowing his features, “to no avail, I’m afraid.”

Obi-Wan sighed, leaning back on the piece of stone Qui-Gon thought might have once been part of a door, the light catching in in his hair and turning it to the colour of flames. “They all have their stories. They all feel so strongly. I’m almost jealous at times.”

Before Qui-Gon could figure out just what to say to that, another voice spoke up.

“Telling tales about us, General?”

Turning his head, Qui-Gon looked up to see Anakin’s captain, Rex, grinning at Qui-Gon’s former Padawan. His smile was warm and honest, and there was a spark of mischief in the clone’s dark eyes.

Obi-Wan tipped his head back so he could meet Rex’s gaze, raising one brow, the corners of his lips twitching. “Merely clearing up a few misconceptions, Captain. Besides,” his eyes were sparkling too, “they were all good stories, you have my word.”

Rex snorted. “Oh, I’m sure.” There was an air of camaraderie in his words, and for a moment, Qui-Gon found himself inexplicably jealous of the blond soldier.

Obi-Wan’s smile grew a little larger, and he patted the empty space on his other side. “Please, join us.” He looked to Qui-Gon, who tipped his head in agreeance.

There was a moment’s hesitation, and then Rex sat down, eyeing Obi-Wan in curious suspicion. “What are you up to, General?”

“Oh, nothing.” Qui-Gon had to restrain the urge to snort. When Obi-Wan got that tone, he was always up to something, and this clone clearly knew it, too, judging by the utterly disbelieving expression his face.

“I was just thinking,” Obi-Wan continued, smile slowly growing, “that perhaps you and your men might be interested in, ah…lightening the mood a little, shall we say?”

Rex blinked, and then his grin was back in full force, and he rose to his feet. “I’m sure we could manage something, Sir. Shall I tell General Skywalker, or—”

Obi-Wan waved a hand dismissively. “No need. I will deal with Anakin, should the need arise.” Rex nodded, and then turned, weaving through the mingling blue- and gold-armored soldiers, until he found Cody, catching the other man by his shoulder and murmuring something in his ear.

Qui-Gon eyed Obi-Wan suspiciously. “I find I must second the question. What are you up to, oh former Padawan of mine?”

Obi-Wan gave him a look. “Wait and see, my old Master.”

Qui-Gon opened his mouth, meaning to push the question further, when his attention was caught by a single, clear voice, rising up above the background chatter.

            “We’ll rant and we’ll roar, like true Mando’ warriors,

            We’ll rant and we’ll roar, from Alderaan on!”

Singing. Someone was singing. Turning, Qui-Gon followed Obi-Wan’s pointed gaze.

Rex and Cody had settled themselves on the large stone steps the lead up to what Qui-Gon assumed must have been an altar of some sort, at the far end of the chamber. They were singing together, voices twisting and echoing in high-roofed room.

            “Until we strike down the last of those clankers,

            Then straight back to Coruscant skylines we’ll go!”

Whoops and cheers went up from the gathered soldiers. Obi-Wan was grinning widely.

Rex stood up from his step, Cody’s voice fading away. Some of the other men had begun to stomp their feet against the stone floor, or pound their armor in time to the rhythm of a song they were clearly all familiar with. Rex’s voice carried well, strong and true.

            “I’m a clone trooper captain, I’m a fighter, a winner,

            I can spy, I can aim, I can lead a platoon.”

Rising, Cody slung an arm around his brother’s shoulders, his voice join Rex’s once again.

            “I can handle a blaster―“ that line drew a couple wolf-whistles, and Cody glared good-naturedly,

            “Finish the job faster.

            Whenever I’m marching, the clankers cry ‘doom’!”

As they picked up the chorus once again, more voice joined in. Soon, the whole room was filled with song, and the pound of a beat.

            “We’ll rant and we’ll roar, like true Mando’ warriors,

            We’ll rant and we’ll roar, from Alderaan on!

            Until we shoot down the last of them clankers,

            Then straight back to Coruscant skylines we’ll go!”

A new verse began, and two more clones, both in 501^st blue, joined Rex and Cody on the stairs, heralded by much cheering. One had a shaved head, tattooed with a large Republic cog. The other, bald as well, had intricate blue lines tattooed down one side of his face. Seeing them, Rex and Cody’s voiced faded into harmony, as the newcomers took up the verse, trading off on the lines.

            “Farewell and adieu to ye young maids of Ryloth,

            Corellia and Byss, Bestine and Etii!

            I’m bound for the front lines, with a Jedi at my side

            Don’t know if I’ll return, but please don’t cry for me!”

The chorus picked up again, as the voices that had gone quiet joined once again.

            “We’ll rant and we’ll roar like true Mando’ warriors,

            We’ll rant and we’ll roar, from Alderaan on!

            Until we shoot down the last of those clankers,

            Then straight back to Coruscant skylines we’ll go!”

They repeated the chorus once more, the pounding rhythm growing louder and the harmonies dying away, until all the men sang as once.

            “We’ll rant and we’ll roar like true Mando’ warriors,

            We’ll rant and we’ll roar, from Alderaan on!

            Until we shoot down the last of those clankers,

            Then straight back to Coruscant skylines we’ll go!”

The last note hung in the air, bouncing and echoing off the stone. There was beat of utter stillness, and then the room erupted into shouts and cheers. Laughing, Rex dropped his arms around the shoulders of the two other men from the 501^st, before punching the air with his fist and shouting, “And that is how it’s done in the Grand Army of the Republic!”

More cheers met his words, and glancing over, Qui-Gon saw Obi-Wan clapping loudly, honest delight shining in his eyes.

The sight sparked something warm in Qui-Gon’s chest.

“Did we meet expectations, General?” Qui-Gon looked up, to see Rex and the two other clones approaching, Cody close on their heels. All four joined the two Jedi, creating a loose circle around the heat-lamp.

Obi-Wan smiled widely at them. “I dare say you have, Hardcase. But,” he glanced at Qui-Gon, “what you do you think, Master Jinn? You are the newest of our number.”

Qui-Gon blinked, as the attention suddenly shifted to him. “I agree with Master Kenobi,” he said slowly, but he could feel the curl of his lips, even as he spoke. “You all sang wonderfully. I have never heard anything of its like.”

The one with the Republic cog tattooed across his scalp grinned, fire bright. “And I doubt you’ll hear that one the same again, Sir.” At Qui-Gon’s questioning look, he explained, “It changes, with every man who sings it. Has been since, well, as long as clones have been singing it.”

Cody, who had taken the empty space next to Obi-Wan, glanced at his General. “Alpha-17 was the one who taught the 501^st it first, wasn’t he?”

Obi-Wan nodded, his eyes going fond. “He was. Good man, Alpha. My first commander,” he explained, noticing Qui-Gon’s confused expression.

A heavy silence fell over the small group, before the clone with the cog tattoo, Jesse, jumped to his feet.

“Oi! Kix! Get your pretty ass over here!” he bellowed, ignoring the confused looks from Qui-Gon and Cody, and the snickering from his fellow members of the 501^st.

"My ass looks just like yours, mir’osik!” another clone shouted back, hardly missing a beat. Nevertheless, the man began making his way over. “What’s up?”

“First off, that does not change the fact that we both have very nice asses,” Jesse smirked, ignoring Rex’s snort. He wrapped an arm around the new man’s waist, tugging him close and nuzzling at the intricate patterns that had been shaved into the other clone’s hair. “Second off, it’s getting too kriffing serious.”

Kix snorted. “Oh, seas and stars forbid that happen.”

Jesse elbow him playfully. “And just for being rude, you get to play the maid.”

“You always make me sing for the girl,” Kix sighed, but there was a smile on his lips as the two turned and made their way towards the steps. Qui-Gon got the sense that this was an old argument, long since faded into good-natured teasing.

Grinning lazily, Hardcase rose from his seat, following after the two. He reached the stairs just as Kix began to sing, and adding his voice to the mix as he picked up the harmony.

            “Oh won’t you come along with me, Love,

            Come along with me! Come for one night and be my wife,

            Oh come along with me!”

It was a high spirited song, and just the first few lines had most of the 501^st laughing and clapping along in time. Jesse grinned, and Kix rolled his eyes, staying silent as the other two kept singing.

            “Well it is of a jolly pirate, as you might plainly see,

            As he roamed out one morning, in search of company.

            He went into a tavern, and a fair girl he did see,

            ‘Ah come for one night, and be my wife, oh come along with me!’ “

Jesse reached out, catching Kix by the waist again and tugging him close, a very exaggerated leer on his face as he dipped the medic backwards, before righting him again.

            “He called for liqueur of the best, and he made such fortune play,

            ‘Ah come have a drink, and it’ll make us think that it is our wedding day!”

Hardcase plucked a canteen from a nearby man’s hands and tossed it up to Jesse, who caught it and took a long swig of its contents, before offering it to Kix and wiggling his eyebrows. Kix took it, playing up his role with a coy smile, tilting his body away from the other clone, as the chorus picked up again.

            “Won’t you come along with me, Love,

            Come along with me! Come for one night and be my wife,

            Oh come along with me!”

Cheers echoed around as Jesse reached out, catching Kix by the wrist as the other man tossed the canteen back to its original owner. With a tug, Jesse led his “maid” up the steps to the altar, leaving Hardcase still on the steps.

            “Well he called for a lantern, to light their way to bed,

            And when he had her in the room, these words to her he said;

            ‘Ten credits I will give to you, for to embrace your charms’

            And all that night that fair young maid lied in the pirate’s arms.”

Qui-Gon couldn’t help the grin that slid across his face, as he watched the two men act out the song with a familiar, over-dramatic flare. Sitting down on the raised stone, Jesse plucked a piece of chipped off stone from the ground, offering it to Kix with a flourish. Accepting the mock credit, Kix inspected it for a moment, before tossing it over his shoulder with a smirk. When Jesse moved to push him back and down, Kix went on the offensive, shoving the man back and settling himself across his hips, pinning him in place to cheers and laughter, a wide, triumphant grin on his lips.

Hardcase took up the melody of the song, as the two “actors” gave a silly, exaggerated performance.

            “Ah come along with me, Love

            Come along with me! Come for one night and be my wife,

            Oh come along with me!”

As the chorus ended, Kix jumped up off the stone, Jesse following suit and offering a mock bow, once again adding his voice to the song.

            “Ah early the next morning, the pirate went his way,

            He looked unto that fair young maid, and unto her did say,”

Stopping a few steps down, Jesse turned back to Kix, and held out a hand.

            “Those credits that I gave to you, oh do not think me strange!

            But those credits that I gave to you,

            Would you give me back me change?!”

Eyes going wide, Qui-Gon let out a bark of surprised laughter. The men around him seemed similarly affected, even though he was certain most had heard this song before. On the stairs, the expression on Kix’s face was one of utter contempt, and he shoved the tattooed trooper’s hand away, forcing Jesse to stumble back a few steps, before spinning on his heel and stalking back up to sit on the raised stone altar and rejoin the main singing. The chorus picked up once again, and Qui-Gon glanced around, taking a moment to soak in the joy and warmth that was lighting up the Force around him.

Rex was leaning against Cody’s shoulder, propping himself upright as he laughed. Cody was grinning, and the tightly coiled tension Qui-Gon had noticed in his gaze at their first meeting had eased somewhat. At Qui-Gon’s side, the stiff line of Obi-Wan’s back and shoulders had softened, something almost peaceful in the way he watched the troopers sing. He could feel Anakin in the Force, bright as a supernova, moving towards them, and if he turned, Qui-Gon could just make out the tips of Ahsoka’s montrals a short ways away, where she was sitting with two troopers Qui-Gon had been introduced to as Fives and Echo.

 Jesse, Kix, and Hardcase were still singing, Obi-Wan was laughing softly, and in that moment, if Qui-Gon closed his eyes, he could just about imagine that everything was fine; could let the song and laughter wash over him and drown out the dull screaming in the Living Force that seemed to have no end, and allow himself to forget. For just a moment, there was no war, no Fallen Dooku, no time traveling mess. For that one moment, Qui-Gon Jinn allowed himself to be at peace.

It was always a relief to return home to the Temple, and its familiar light and warmth, especially after the bone penetrating cold of Illum and the endless dark of space.

Jedi Master Feemor Strahl sighed, smiling at one of the Temple guards on duty at the main door. The woman nodded her head, returning the greeting. Around him, Feemor’s gaggle of twelve younglings, all between ten and twelve, or the equivalents for their species, were chatting excitedly amongst themselves. The trip to Illum had gone well, and each Initiate was sporting a brand new lightsaber, resting in a place of honour on their tiny hips.

Feemor did not even try to suppress the bubble of pride that welled up in his chest as he looked over his charges, taking a quick count to make sure he had not lost any on the way from the landing platform. All present and accounted for, each child glowing with triumph the Force.

“Alright everyone,” Feemor called, gathering the young ones around him, “back to the crèche. Sarii, would you lead the way?”

The Nautolan girl grinned brightly at him, and stood up a little straighter. “Yes, Master Strahl!”

Feemor chuckled at her enthusiasm. “Alright then. Lead on.”

It was not a long walk to their destination, and it was one that they all knew well, so Feemor allowed his mind to wander slightly, though always keeping half of his attention on his charges while taking in the Temple around him.

It was a little colder, a little emptier than it had been during his childhood, as it had been since the Battle of Geonosis and the beginning of the war. It saddened him, to think that even this place had been touched by the war and growing Darkness in the galaxy.

There was a burst of laughter from the front of the group, and the sound brought a smile to Feemor’s face. He was so thankful for these younglings and their brilliant light, for they never failed to remind him that there was hope yet for the future.

Turning his thought back to lighter things, Feemor’s gaze passed over a couple of Knights walking in the opposite direction, talking amongst themselves. As they drew closer, snatches of speech drifted over to Feemor’s ears.

“―back on the front lines already.”

“Tch. Honestly, does the man never sleep? We may be Jedi, but there is only so much a body can take.”

“You know Kenobi. Works until he drops, and then some. Poor man’s got Council work too. Force, but I do not envy him.”

Feemor turned his attention back to his charges as they walked past the two knights, neither of whom could be much older than the subject of their conversation, and resisted the urge to sigh.

He had always regretted never being properly introduced to his brother Padawan, and all the more at times like this. He heard the tales and the gossip, watched the Hollo-Net. Kenobi and Skywalker were an unstoppable team, but every time Feemor saw the young Master on a vid screen or in passing in the Temple halls, the man had new lines on his face that he was still far too young to be bearing, and looked like he was struggling more and more to main the mask of Jedi calm he always wore.

He wished he could help, could offer a shoulder to bear some the weight that had been resting on Kenobi’s shoulders since their Master’s death, but―

“―and what with that business of Jinn being back.”

Feemor froze, mid-step. A few of the younglings noticed, glancing back at their teacher, confused by his sudden lack of movement, but Feemor was too busy trying to process what he heard next.

“Do you think it’s really him?”

“Apparently the healers confirmed it; he’s really Qui-Gon Jinn.”

The younger of the two Knights may have said something else, but Feemor did not hear it; his heart thundered in his ears and blocked out all other sound. He had not felt this off balance since…since the day he had received the news from Yoda that Qui-Gon was―

“Master Feemor?”

Yanking his attention back to the present, Feemor looked down to see Jarul staring up at him, concern on their small face.

“Are you alright?” they asked.

Feemor blinked, and then tugged a smile onto his lips. “Yes, I’m alright. Come on, Younglings, we’re almost back.”

As he lead the group of children the rest of the way back to the Creche, Feemor tried to shove what he had overheard to the back of his mind, to deal with once his attention was not needed elsewhere, with no success.

“Younglings! Welcome back! Were you all successful?”

Feemor looked up, and felt a smile cross his face, despite everything.

The voice belonged to a male Togruta who was sitting cross-legged on the floor in the middle of the room. He was absolutely covered in splatters of paint in every possible colour, and there was a haphazard crown of paper flowers hanging off one of his green and white montrals. There was a huge grin on his face, one that only grew larger as Feemor’s younglings all cried out in excitement and rushed towards him.

“Master Shar!”

Toren Shar grinned, opening his arms for the oncoming children, careful not to disturb the small Wookie child studiously painting a line of flowers down the side of his face.

“We found our crystals!”

“Look at our lightsabers!”

“Well done!” Toren praised, taking a moment to inspect each lightsaber that was shoved in his face, before handing them back with a word of praise for each. “All of you! These are wonderful ‘sabers, and will serve you all well.”

Ten bright grins were turned on him, and Feemor smiled, allowing his charges a few more moments to chatter away at the other Master before clapping his hands for attention.

“Alright Younglings, ‘sabers away. You lot have lessons with Master Senrij later today, so go get cleaned up and meet back here in an hour so Master Huretar can take you to the Commissary.”

His words were met with a chorus of protests, but Feemor Strahl had not been a Creche-Master for over five years without learning a few things. A pointed look, and the younglings were ambling off to their rooms, still talking excitedly amongst themselves as they went.

On the floor, Toren eyed Feemor in that narrow-eyed way of his that meant he knew there was something he wasn’t being told. He murmured a few words to the Wookie still in his lap, and the child howled softly and ran off. Standing up, Toren stretched, and groaned as his back popped. Then he walked over, dropping an arm over Feemor’s shoulders and tugging him into a half-embrace.

“How was Illum?”

“Cold. But good. Everyone found their crystals, without major incident.” Feemor smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Huyang sends his regards.”

Toren snorted. “No he doesn’t.”

“He does, and I quote, ‘That Togruta youngling better be treating his lightsaber properly, you tell him I said so.’ “

Feemor snickered as his friend tossed his hands up into the air. “One time! I shattered a casing one time while making my first ‘saber, over 30 years ago, and I’m still a troublesome youngling!”

“There, there.” Feemor patted Toren’s shoulder. “At least he doesn’t know about Lwhekk.”

“Feemor Strahl, we agreed to never talk about Lwhekk!”

 Feemor laughed, and Toren scowled at him for a minute, before he grinned and laughed as well.

Once the laughter had faded, the Togruta Master sobered.

 “Alright, Old Man, what’s wrong?”

“I am only two years older than you!” Feemor protested, receiving a look that made it clear that his feeble attempt at distraction was neither successful, nor appreciated. Feemor sighed.

“Come on, not here. Tea?”

“Please,” Toren replied, looping an arm comfortably around Feemor’s waist. The two men walked in silence, two moving fluidly as one until they reached Feemor’s quarters. As they entered, the blond man pulled away, moving to the kitchen on autopilot, going through the motions of making tea, eyes distant the whole time.

Toren frowned as he watched his friend. Finally, he had had enough. When Feemor passed by, an empty mug in each hand, the Togruta reached out, dropping a hand to the other man’s shoulder.

“Okay, enough of this. Out with it, Fee. What’s wrong?”

Feemor stopped, and was silent for a moment. Then he set the mugs down on the counter, and spoke without turning around, clearly trying to steady himself.

“I overheard some gossip, on the way to the crèche.”

Toren arched a brow. “Oh? What are they saying now? Who’s currently―”

“Is it true? Is he alive?”

Feemor’s voice was soft, hardly more than a whisper, but it might as well have been a shout. Toren froze. He didn’t need to ask who ‘he’ was.

Oh. Oh shit.

He squeezed Feemor’s shoulder, voice softening. “Yeah. It’s him.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. Jen did the exam themself. Everything matches up. It’s really him, Feemor.”

Toren’s friend swallowed hard and when he turned, his eyes were a mess of emotional havoc.

“Really?”

Toren nodded, and opened his arms. Feemor went willingly, hugging him tight and resting his forehead against the Togruta’s shoulder.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You were on Illum when they first got back. I didn’t want to tell you over the comm, not when the kids needed your focus. And it’s been almost…two? Three weeks now? I’m sorry, Fee, I―”

“It’s okay,” Feemor murmured, and then his grip on Toren tightened. “But he should have at least kriffing commed! I found out about his death through a message from Master Yoda! I know…I know we hadn’t spoken in…gods, in years, but I didn’t even get to go to his funeral, Tor’! I was his Padawan, even if he didn’t, doesn’t…” There was a pause, and Toren gritted his teeth, reminding himself that while satisfying, leaving buckets of paint where other Masters would step on them was not NOT the Jedi way.

“He owed me the courtesy of a Force-dammed comm message!” Feemor finally snapped.

“He does,” Toren agreed, fighting to keep bitterness from slipping into his voice. Qui-Gon Jinn’s denouncement of his first Padawan had come as a shock to the entire Temple. Feemor was easily a model Jedi; calm, collected, a skilled fighter and peace-keeper, and one of the best Jar’Kai duelists the Jedi had seen in over a century.

Toren knew that, around the time of his successor’s Fall, Feemor had been in the middle of training his first Padawan, Syna; a Twilek woman with a fiery spirit and keen mind. She and Feemor had made a strong team, and the young woman had been shaping up to follow her Master along the path of a Sentinel.

However, when Jinn had returned from Telos and renounced his training of Feemor, everything had fallen apart. Though the Council had been shocked, they had still felt it necessary to investigate Feemor, and in association, Syna, to try to learn Qui-Gon’s reasons for denouncing his former student. Toren had heard that Master Windu had protested to this, but their old crèche-mate had been out-voted, head of the Order or not. There had been whispers, people wondering; if one Padawan could Fall, what of the other? What of his student?

Toren, as well as his and Feemor’s other friends had done their best to shut down such rumors, but with little success. Though he would never admit it was the reason, Feemor had stopped taking field missions and, once the investigation had been concluded and Syna’s training completed, turned to the path of Creche-Master, something he had always considered but never really expected to pursue.

Syna had, as Toren predicted, become a first class Sentinel. She had, however, taken after her great-grand-Master, and these days rarely returned to Coruscant.

Though, given the events of the past few years, perhaps that was not the best comparison Toren could offer.

Toren shook himself out of his thoughts. Against his shoulder, Feemor sighed, and then straightened, surreptitiously wiping his eyes.

“Sorry. Thanks.”

Toren smiled and bumped his head against Feemor’s. “No need to apologize, old crèche-mate mine. This is an utterly kriffed up situation.”

Feemor chuckled, “That it is.”

Toren bumped their foreheads together again, and then patted Feemor’s shoulder. “Now, do you know what I think you should do?”

“Throwing paint is not the answer, Toren,” Feemor teased, but there was real curiosity in his eyes.

Toren laughed. “No, not that. I think you should go over there and show Qui-Gon Jinn exactly why the pirating world made a holiday out of the day you retired from active field work.”

Feemor’s grin at that was positively feral, and Toren smirked back, fangs flashing.

“That’s my boy.”

It had been decades since he had last darkened that particular doorway, but the way to Qui-Gon’s home was still a familiar path for Feemor, his feet carrying him through the halls without much conscious thought.

As he reached the right door, the Crèche-Master allowed himself a moment to trace his fingers over the name-plate.

            -KENOBI/SKYWALKER-

He chuckled softly. They still had not changed it.

Feemor sobered as he turned his attention back to the reason for his visit, and pressed the door chime.

There was a pause of a few minutes, and then the door slid open to reveal Obi-Wan Kenobi. Feemor smiled, folding his hands into the sleeves of his robes.

“Hello, Master Kenobi. Might I speak with our Master?”