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The Murder of Obi-Wan Kenobi: The Man Who Came in from the Rain

by cajolerisms

TITLE: The Murder of Obi-Wan Kenobi: The Man Who Came in from the Rain
AUTHOR: cajolerisms
ARCHIVE: master_apprentice, my site
CATEGORY: AU, drama, angst, pov, series
RATING: PG-13
WARNINGS: Some references to physical abuse
SPOILERS: For book #3 of Jedi Apprentice
SUMMARY: The first arc of The Murder of Obi-Wan Kenobi. A year after the onset of the Clone Wars, a man walks into the Jedi Temple and collapses. Council member Qui-Gon Jinn and his padawan Anakin Skywalker subsequently make some surprising discoveries.

FEEDBACK: Is awesome!
DISCLAIMER: Star Wars and Jedi Apprentice belong to George Lucas. What follows is a work of fanfiction, and no money has been made in the process.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: A huge thanks to everyone on M_A and LJ for the feedback and encouragement. You guys rock!

/telepathy/

===
1. Anakin
===

A frigid wind blows in, making our robes billow around our bodies. I shrink further into my corner, wishing not for the first time that Council would give in and let us wear our cold weather gear during official business. Since, however, Jedi are supposed to be above these kinds of minor discomforts, I use the Force to adjust my metabolism to compensate.

Barriss gives me a sideways glance. I give her a slow, appraising look, making sure she knows I'm taking in her rolled-up sleeves and bare arms. "Some of us grew up with two suns, Offee," I tell her, keeping my voice low to minimize the echo.

Her dark tattooed lips widen into a bright smile as she whispers, "And some of us aren't pussies, Skywalker."

The great doors finally close behind the retreating figure of our last guest, some self-important businessman who needs a good lawyer more than intervention from the Jedi. I relax slightly as the wind abates. For once the Main Hall is empty on Hall Day, no doubt thanks to the weather.

"The Council will be glad to know they don't have many requests to go through this time," Barriss says.

"They'd reject all of them anyway," I reply. "We can't afford to send Jedi out on these sorts of missions anymore unless they're dire."

"Are you getting that straight from the top?"

I roll my eyes at her. "Look around, Barriss. The Temple is practically deserted these days. We're lucky to have any down time at all."

She pauses for a moment. Like me, I know she can feel the emptiness around us, and I regret bringing it up. "It's like the whole galaxy has gone mad."

Before I can respond, the doors swing open again, and in shuffles a man who looks neither young nor old, big nor small. In fact, the only remarkable about him is that he appears to be wearing only a single layer of clothes which hangs wetly off his hunched shoulders like moss from a cave wall.

We hurry over. I put my cloak over him as I sense Barriss checking him over with the Force. I focus on leading him to a bench and getting his information. By the color of his lips and his violent shivering, he must have been outside for quite some time. He holds his arm against his chest as if injured.

"What's your name, friend?" I ask him. "We'll get you to the healers to warm up and take care of that arm," I say briskly before making the order on my comm unit. I nod slightly to Barriss, who only now joins us across the carpet, to stabilize him.

The man turns as if he notices me for the first time, his green eyes shockingly vibrant against the pallor of his skin and the dirty, matted wet mess that is his hair and beard. I reach for him in the Force, and instantly recoil in shock.

Barriss stares at me. "Anakin--"

Suddenly, the Force surges in warning a moment before the man's eyes rolls in his head and he pitches forward. I catch him as he falls, easing him onto the floor. Barriss is down on her knees with his head in her hands, pulling healing energy from the Force with more delicacy than I've ever been able to manage. Thankfully, the medical team arrives at that moment and rushes him away to the medical ward.

We once again find ourselves alone in the Main Hall, sitting on the lush blue carpet with my damp cloak over my knees.

Barriss grips my arm tightly, the tiniest bit of panic flowing between us. "Anakin, did you feel that?" she hisses.

I nod, pulling her to her feet. "We have to get to the Council before something happens."

"I'll go to the healers. You get your master."

We set off as quickly as we can without attracting any unwanted attention from Temple security. Barriss can't seem to unlatch herself, so I slow her down to free my arm from her trembling fingers. "No one should be able to shield like that, Anakin!" she whispers. "You fought Dooku on Geonosis, so you know what that sort of thing feels like. Do you think it's--"

She barely stifles a cry when I grab her. I will her desperately to be calm, though I'm feeling very little of it myself. "Do not say that word out loud, Barriss! Don't say anything to the healers until I get my master."

After a moment of deep breathing, we regain enough control to part ways. She walks briskly toward the civilian wing of the medical ward, but I am already flying with enhanced speed to the central tower.

===
2. Qui-Gon.
===

The universe is falling apart. As I sit in my council seat in the Central Spire, watching the frozen rain beating down on Coruscant, listening to Adi Gallia and Plo Koon discussing troop movements under Jedi command, I can't help but think that I'm dreaming. If only.

Coleman, you old bastard, I think, trying to keep my expression, if not my thoughts, on the discussion. You knew this was going to happen and you left me to mop it up. If ghosts exist, Coleman Trebor is laughing his crested head off, I'm sure of it. If all I had to do to get Qui-Gon Jinn on the Council is to get shot in the chest by a Mandalorian bounty hunter, he'd say with his loud, honking laugh, I still wouldn't do it!

Force, I miss him. I miss too many people these days. Damn this war.

Mace notices my daydreaming despite my shielding, because he gives me one of his looks from across the circle of Councilors. I purposely ignore him. He may have finally gotten me on the Council, but he can't make me like it.

I sigh. The Force feels as muddled today as the weather. I bring my attention back to the present.

The conversation has devolved yet again to a discussion about Core politics, the senate and the Chancellor. They want more Jedi leading more troops. Of course they do. Troops, troops, troops. Why grow millions of clones if they aren't out in battle getting shot? Why not use Jedi as field commanders? There's no peace for them to keep anymore as it is.

Then my belt chimes. The other Council members turn to look. I see Yoda's ears prick up and Mace raise an eyebrow. They know that I keep my comm off except for emergency messages and only one person outside those already in this room has my emergency frequency.

Suddenly, the comm panel in Yoda's chair pings. The light indicating a direct message from the padawan liaison in the Council antechamber blinked insistently.

"Answer it, you should," Yoda says calmly, nodding at the comm I already have in hand.

I don't bother apologizing. "Anakin, what is it?"

"Sorry to bother you, Master, but it's an emergency."

"I gathered that from the frequency. What's wrong?"

There was a pause. "I'm not sure I can say in front of everyone."

I see several of my fellow Councilors exchange glances. "Where exactly are you, Padawan?"

"Uh. On the other side of the door. The liaison won't let me in."

I look up to see Yoda and Mace bent over the holo display, wrapping up a conversation with the exasperated looking girl at the desk.

The door slides open to reveal the true life form of the girl, the usually serene padawan of one of our best Consulars, scowling darkly at my own apprentice who is standing impatiently in the doorway. She steps barely a breath into the Council Chamber and bows low.

"Forgive the interruption, Masters," she says. "Padawan Skywalker does not understand that this is a closed session."

"I told you it's an emergency, Xam!"

Yoda silences them with a raised claw. "Done no harm, padawans. Approach, young Skywalker."

The liaison spares one last icy glare at Anakin before bowing again and retreating into the antechamber. Anakin strides purposefully into the center of the Chamber, bowing to the Masters and waiting to be addressed despite the nervous bounce in his heels.

"What is the emergency, Padawan Skywalker?" Ki-Adi-Mundi asks.

"As I said, Master, I'm not sure I can say in front of everyone."

Before anyone can voice their disapproval, the comm panel sounds again.

"Very popular, we are today!" Yoda exclaims, waving his gimer stick toward the door. "Talk to your padawan, you will, Master Jinn, while answer this comm, we will."

With a bow, Anakin and I leave the Chamber. We pass the surprised looking Xam Brigs and find a secluded spot out in the hall.

Before I have a chance to ask, Anakin dives into his story. I listen as calmly as I can, but my trepidation matches the urgency my padawan can barely contain. Knowing Dooku's connection to both the Sith and the Separatists, an invasion of the Temple could take this war beyond anything we're equipped to fight.

"You were right to contact me, Anakin," I say, gripping his shoulder out of habit. Sometimes it still surprises me that he's my height now. His grim nod demonstrates that he no longer needs my reassurance.

There is no time to feel old now, though. Anakin and I round the corner to the lift. Mace comes up from the direction of the Chamber.

"Civilian medical ward," he says simply, meeting Anakin's eyes in silent acknowledgment. "Padawan Offee is with Healer Jeera, who just commed. I may need you with me."

The three of us board the lift, which takes us quickly down toward the main level. Mace fills us in on the way. The man is awake, agitated, and as Anakin said, completely unreadable in the Force. Neither the main level nor the medical ward is on lockdown--yet.

The doors open and the Force whips erratically at us like a sudden gust of wind. Thankfully this area of the Temple is empty but for the medical staff, though perhaps some reinforcements wouldn't be a bad idea. Even tightly shielded, I can sense the presence of the healers and Anakin's friend as we close in. Their energy seems focused on nothing, swirling in tight formation around a void. I take my lightsaber in hand, steeling myself for whomever or whatever is waiting for us inside.

===
3. Qui-Gon
===

Master Healer Granchio meets us on the other side of the door. Security is usually high around the civilian medical ward, but today the blast doors also seal off the wing. I appreciate the caution, all things considering, but the extra two seconds the doors take to open do nothing for my peace of mind.

Mace sees the grip on my lightsaber and the slight bend in my knees. He shakes his head as if tell me to stand down. I set my jaw. Second in command to Master Yoda he may be, but Mace Windu has never fought a Sith.

Granchio watches our silent exchange, drumming his eight legs impatiently on the floor tiles.

"Thank you for coming quickly, Councilors," he interjects with his usual bark, already walking toward the shielded area.

Granchio scuttles down one corridor which lies behind yet another set of blast doors, leading to the most secure holding area available in the medical wing. We follow, Anakin a pace behind me and similarly humming with tension. At the end stand Healer Jeera with Barriss Offee, the latter of whom is leaning against the wall and bouncing on her heel-- a nervous habit I suspect she picked up from my padawan.

"Jeera," Granchio says without preamble.

She nods to us, and reaches out a long purple arm to engage the security feed.

A large, blue-tinged image appears before us. It's the single hospital room in this section, separated because of its Force-shielding and potentially dangerous occupants. I can see a bed, a glut of medical equipment, a lone medical droid, and wedged in one corner, a mound of blankets.

"Is that him?" Mace asks, peering at the feed.

The mound moves a little. I make out a bare human foot peeking out from beneath the blanket. The droid moves to and fro, seemingly unsure of how to approach its patient. Every time it goes near, the mound recoils and a faint sound comes through the feed until the droid retreats again.

"Turn up the audio," I order.

Jeera does so. The hall fills with a near-constant whine that crescendos with a pitched cry with each attempted approach from the droid. A male voice, rough and panicked, cries out, "No, no, please no!"

"What's happening?" I ask.

Granchio turns the audio back down. "We can't get near him. As soon as he warmed up, he started fighting us. Given the nature of the situation, I evacuated most of the medical staff and sent in the droid."

The ridges of my lightsaber hilt bite into my palm. "How did he attack you?"

Granchio and Jeera both shake their heads, but it's Jeera who speaks in her soft lilt, "You misunderstand, Councilor. He didn't attack us. He just wouldn't let us touch him and started screaming every time we tried."

"That doesn't mean he won't attack you."

"I think the droid is making it worse," Anakin points out. "Look."

True enough, the med droid is closer than ever, sending the man scrabbling lamely across the room like a panicked animal. I catch a glimpse of boney limbs and matted hair before seeing him disappear beneath the bed, blanket abandoned in the corner. I don't need the audio to know that he's screaming.

"Back it up," Mace commands.

With a word spoken into the security comm, Granchio pulls the med droid back until it's parked in the corner farthest from the bed. We watch in silence for long minutes, but like any injured animal, the man doesn't come out from his hiding place.

"Who is he?" I ask at last.

"We don't know. None of the missing Force Sensitives on record match his description, and obviously he has no identification on him," Jeera answers.

"We'll widen the search criteria," Granchio adds. "We also want to take genetic samples to see if anything comes up."

After a moment of watching the feed with enough intensity to melt metal, Mace says, "Let me be direct, Healer Granchio, is he a danger?"

"So far, only to himself. Look at him. You don't need the Force to see that he's half-dead as it is and scared witless."

"That doesn't mean he isn't capable of something, either on his own or as a conduit for darker forces," I growl. "There's no telling what's happening behind that shielding."

Mace gives me a hard look. "We can't jump to conclusions. Sedate him. Perform the scans and take the samples you need, just find out who he is."

Granchio nods, making orders on his datapad. "And the shield?"

"Do not attempt to breech it until we know more. Make his security a priority. Get a Force collar with a tracker on him. I'll get you clearance."

The Master Healer takes a moment to complete the order and waited for Mace to enter his personal security code. "Do I have your permission to administer medical treatment?" Granchio asked dryly.

"Of course," Mace says.

"Keep him alive," I specify.

"Showing him kindness may make him more willing to talk," adds Mace pointedly, shooting me a glare that anyone else would take as a clear sign to shut up. I know him better than that though.

"Test results will be ready in a few hours."

"Padawan Skywalker, Padawan Offee, update me the instant there's a status change. I want to know if he hiccups."

"Yes Master Windu."

"I need to bring Yoda up to speed. Qui-Gon, I appreciate your position, but we can't condemn a man without all the facts!"

"I'm not condemning anyone! When you lose both a master and a padawan to the Dark Side, then I'll consider your position of complacency toward an unknown Force entity in the Temple!"

"Until proven otherwise, that man is a private citizen afforded all the rights and protection of the Republic."

"He is not just any citizen," I snap. "He's a blind spot in the Force! His mind is completely concealed beyond any shielding technique the Jedi teach, and he just happens to walk into the Temple?"

"He was nearly dead coming in and he's barely functional now. What do you expect him to do?"

"Forgive me if that doesn't lay my mind to rest. We have no idea what's going on behind that shield, or if he's even in control of his own mind."

"He's in a shielded room." Mace's voice lowers a little. In my experience, by the time he's showing any physical signs of annoyance, his impressive mental control has long been exhausted.

While I usually admit to some satisfaction in depleting his mental stores, I'm in no mood today. The Force pulls me doggedly in a direction I can't quite see, but that slick, dense emptiness I sense in the medical room gives me focus. "He could be a carrier for an explosive, or a biological weapon. How many people has he been in contact with?"

"Which is why he is being sedated and scanned," Mace grounds out. "Look...you're agitated--"

"You're damn right I am!"

"--go to your quarters and meditate. I'll stop by tonight with an update."

I feel it coming, the son of a Hutt is going to actually pull rank.

"That is a direct order, Master Jinn."

And there it is. Far be it for me to question the chain of command during wartime, especially in front of witnesses. Anakin has seen me in much bigger clashes with the council, and has in fact fought alongside me in the Council Chamber. Padawan Offee, I have no doubt, has heard about as many of Anakin's run-ins as she's had herself. The healers, however, are a different story. We can't have members of the order see petty division in the council over matters like this. It satisfies everyone's honor for Qui-Gon Jinn's dissenting voice to get told off.

So Mace and my eyes meet with this unspoken understanding. The flicker of alarm I see in them tells me that he'll order a forensics sweep of the Great Hall before the hour has passed, and probably a medical scan of anyone who has made physical contact, as well as the entire council just to be sure.

It's a small comfort, but one that I'll have to accept until tonight.

===
4. Anakin
===

I return to our quarters that evening in a foul mood, wound tight from an afternoon frustratingly devoid of answers. I dislike waiting in general and waiting for pertinent information in particular. Most would call it pride to feel such entitlement, a most unbecoming trait for a Jedi. I prefer to think of it as being proactive. Still--some meditation on patience may help settle me until Master Windu arrives with news.

The smell of something cooking greets me. My stomach rumbles in response, reminding me that increasing my metabolism to combat the chill does have some side effects. A pot of stew steams on the cooktop, but the usual detritus of dirty dishes and vegetable bits is nowhere in sight. Similarly, as I set my cloak and gear aside, I notice a subtle sheen to everything. Since my master and I returned from field command last week, our living space, while kept orderly out of habit, has been slowly succumbing to the inevitable entropy of two tired men who suddenly have space and time to put our feet up. I can't, however, find any sign of habitation. Everything is spotless.

Sure enough, the telltale scent of cleaner lingering in the air tells me that my restless master may have returned to the quarters as per Master Windu's order, but meditation falls under the list of things no one can make Qui-Gon Jinn do against his will.

A noise from the balcony grabs my attention. The door slides open, momentarily disrupting the pristine quiet with a blast of cold, wet air and the wail of the city-planet. It's subtly different: a little less traffic, a little more of the faint, regular pulse of troop movers. We haven't been on Coruscant long enough lately to acclimate to the change, but I must admit it isn't much more jarring than before the war.

My master steps in, cloak and cowl wrapped around him, with several of his large planters floating obediently behind him.

"Ah, Anakin," he says, pushing back his cowl. "Any news?"

"Nothing. Master Windu had Barriss and me scanned and then sent us off to oversee the forensic sweep in the Great Hall. Both came back clean."

He sighs, not looking up from his plants, which he carefully arranges around his sunlamps along the wall. "I expected as much from Mace. That's a relief at least."

"Looks like you didn't pay much credit to Master Windu's orders to meditate."

"On the contrary, my distrustful apprentice, I find cleaning, gardening, and cooking all extremely calming and meditative."

"Any new insight?"

"Yes. This winter weather is destroying my leafy greens. I doubt even the lamps can save them at this point," he says with a shrug.

He seems strangely jovial considering the circumstances, even about his plants. "You're not more upset about what happened in the medical ward?"

"Anger leads to hate, Padawan."

"How piquant, Master," I reply, my own sour temper slipping a little.

His lip twitches in a familiar, but rare, lopsided smile. "And sarcasm leads to dish duty."

He's in far better spirits than I expect, given what happened with Master Windu this afternoon. It's a relief at least to see that he isn't brooding. Since Geonosis, his mood has been rather unpredictable, which is understandable given his relationship with Dooku. I take it as a good sign that he's joking a bit despite the touch of malaise in our training bond.

We settle down to eat. Somewhere in the middle of my third bowl of stew and fifth slice of bread, I feel a spark of amusement in our bond. I look up to see my master smirking at me. "What are you, sixteen again? I think the Temple stores have only just recovered from the first time."

"If they'd turn the heat up, I wouldn't need to eat so much to maintain my body temperature," I grouse.

"We all need to sacrifice some nonessential resources during wartime, Padawan," he chides gently. "Besides, it's not that cold."

As always, my baser needs get in the way of my manners. I immediately feel abashed for my selfishness, especially considering the circumstances of the day. "Sorry, Master."

He opens his mouth as if to continue, but chuckles softly instead. "I'm never going to make a diplomat out of you."

"Never," I agree, accepting the familiar jibe with some relief. "I'm too cold to be polite."

He looks like he wants to say something, but doesn't. A jumbled emotion I can't place flashes through the bond. Before I can fully sense it though, it's gone, a bird's wing flittering out of the corner of my eye.

At that moment, the door chimes. My master smiles at me again. "Go answer it, you good for nothing pilot," calling after me, "And tell Mace he better have a damn good reason for taking so long."

Having known Master Windu since coming to the Temple over ten years ago, I have had ample opportunity to learn his subtle shifts in mood. For the most of today, excepting his exchange with my master when his demeanor elevated to long-suffering annoyance, he was his usual stoic self; another day, another crisis. Granted, when he finally dismissed me from his company earlier, he had yet to speak again with the healers.

The way he looks now, I'm surprised he didn't simply melt the door and let himself in.

"Anakin," he says by way of greeting. "Qui-Gon, you need to come with me."

My master stands, immediately returning to battle mode. His calm and joviality disappear behind a hawkish gleam as if it had never existed. "What is it?"

Master Windu shakes his head. "We need to be at the healers."

Our cloaks and lightsabers fly through the air and we stand ready in the span of a heartbeat. Master Windu looks at me, and then to my master disapprovingly. Evidently "we" did not include the apprentice.

My master takes none of it. "My padawan comes with me."

They lock eyes, but for once, no argument comes. Master Windu nods and sweeps down the hall, my master and I following closely behind.

===
5. Anakin
===

Events start off much in the same way when we arrive at the secured medical wing. Master Healer Granchio and Healer Jeera stand with Master Yoda. Granchio indulges in his habit of drumming his eight legs on the floor impatiently like a giant claw. I can relate. Master Yoda, in contrast, looks perfectly calm. Then again, he always looks calm.

"Thank you for coming quickly, Councilors," Granchio nods briskly to my master and Master Windu, turning into a side room. "Padawan Skywalker, if you'll excuse us--"

Before I or my master can protest, Master Yoda raises a hand.

"Three living Jedi, battled the Sith have," he says. "Myself, Master Jinn, and Padawan Skywalker. Insight, he may provide."

"My apologies, Grand Master," Granchio stammers, bowing first to the Councilors and then, to my surprise, me.

The six of us file into a small room dominated by a viewing window that looks into the shielded room where the strange man lays in his narrow bed, his back to us. I can see the metal collar around his neck that cuts off his connection to the Force. It also blocks my ability to sense him, or rather, my ability to sense the lack of him.

Instead of the gaping vacuum that was startlingly magnetic in its absence, his muted presences now feels more like a blast shadow cast by something obliterated by the force of an explosion. If not directly focusing on him, I can very easily not even notice him.

Granchio and Jeera position themselves at the control console of a large holoprojector. Master Yoda levitates easily into a chair providing the best view of both, which leaves barely enough room along the back wall for Master Windu, my master, and me to stand nearly shoulder to shoulder.

"Master Jinn," Jeera begins softly. "You are the last of the Council Members in need of a medical scan. So far everything has come back negative, but we still--"

"Then it can wait until after this briefing," my master responds curtly.

Jeera's long neck sweeps down in a graceful bow before turning to Granchio.

"We were able to confirm the strange nature of the patient's shielding, as described by Padawans Skywalker and Offee. It appears to be impenetrable from the outside, so we cannot speak to the state of his mind. However, Jeera was able to talk with him briefly after he was sedated and calmed."

"He doesn't appear to remember anything prior to walking into the Temple today," she adds, turning briefly to the viewing window. "He doesn't even know his own name."

The Master Healer switches on the holoprojector. The room fills with a soft blue glow as the standard image of a human male appears, rotating slowly and displaying its unthreatening, clinical ordinariness. Beside it fades in the scanned data from the man. Other than the average height and skeletal build, everything about him is as unsettling as the comparative model is unremarkable.

"Physically, he is in serious condition," Granchio continues, somewhat unnecessarily. "He shows signs of long term malnutrition and physical abuse. He has a severe respiratory infection that looks like it's been worsening for weeks, and being out in this weather certainly has not helped, so we're monitoring him to make sure it doesn't spread to the bloodstream."

The corresponding anatomical layers emerge, highlighting areas of injury and illness in red everywhere. First the bruised and scarred skin stretches like primitive vellum over bones. Then it peels back to reveal wasted muscle, and then again to show inflamed lungs that rise and fall irregularly, struggling for air. I recall all of my field medicine and anatomy classes, and far too many encounters with prisoners and refugees. I've seen people in worse condition than this man, but not by much.

"Our scans also show at least a dozen old healed fractures. He currently has fresh bruising over much of his torso and legs, as well three broken ribs and both bones in the right forearm."

The imagine disappears, immediately replaced by a single arm—the man's arm, twisted and broken.

"His arm is some concern to us because it was never set properly after the break, which looks to be about a month old. You can see from its current angle and spiraling pattern of the fracture that this was not the result of a blow or a fall. Something or someone twisted his arm until the bones splintered. We will need to re-break it and surgically set it, though it's too early to tell if it will regain full function."

Granchio pauses a moment, letting us consider the information and study the medical scan. Our silence is broken only by the rhythmic clickclick of Yoda's clawed finger tapping thoughtfully on his gimer stick.

The image changes again, this time to a flood of data surrounding the double helixes of human DNA.

"When we were unable to determine his identify with a mental probe, we ran a tissue sample, looking for the usual markers to compare with Temple and Republic records. He has a significant midichlorian count, enough to be a powerful Force user, which does not come as a surprise given the shielding. There is, however, an issue."

Granchio pauses. I catch his eyes darting to Jeera with something like apprehension and back to the projection.

"We've run the samples ten times and then took new samples and tested them on different equipment, but the results are always the same. This man is Obi-Wan Kenobi."

"Impossible!" my master shouts. His voice reverberates in the tiny room. He pushes past Master Windu and me until he stands between Granchio and the window. "Obi-Wan Kenobi is--"

"Dead. Yes, Healer Jeera performed the autopsy herself twelve years ago."

A flood of emotion washed around him, though even now my master has the inherent control to keep it from overwhelming our bond. Pain and confusion swirl around him as his focus snaps back and forth from the window and Granchio.

"Is this some sort of sick joke?" he demands, voice rough. Granchio doesn't respond, letting him absorb the shock. I can see his focus return to his surroundings, that we are all watching in careful silence. He seems to recollect himself and asks more quietly, "You are absolutely sure about this?"

"You can see the test results for yourself."

Indeed, everything about the data looks perfectly in order. As the shock of the news and my master's passionate outburst settles, our confusion rises back to the forefront. I don't know much about my master's previous padawan, but I have no reason to doubt that he died when everyone says he died.

"Is it a clone?" I ask.

Master Windu shakes his head thoughtfully. "Who would clone Padawan Kenobi, and to what purpose?"

"No, he's not a clone," Jeera replies, fiddling with the controls and bringing up a neighboring image. "Clone DNA has certain telltale markers. You can see here that there are alterations that clearly program for rapid growth and altered emotional response. If this was a clone of Padawan Kenobi, it would have these altered markers here or here, but there are none present in the patient. He is a perfect match to the information we have on Padawan Kenobi."

"Cell aging also matches," Granchio adds. "The patient is thirty-five years old, the same age Padawan Kenobi would be."

My master shakes his head vehemently. "This is not possible, Healer," he says. Though quieter now, the faint waver in his voice speaks volumes. "I was there when he died. I was the one who brought his body back to the Temple. I lit his funeral pyre. I saw his body reduced to ash."

"I know this must be difficult, Master Jinn," Granchio says gently. "There is no explanation, but it is a scientific fact. The man in that room is Obi-Wan Kenobi and he is alive."

He turns away from us, lost somewhere between the sight of the tortured man in the next room and the memory of his lost padawan. I have seen images of Obi-Wan Kenobi: a vibrant, handsome, smiling young man who was nothing like the haunted shell that collapsed in my arms today. Even if this man who walked into the Temple was the very picture of health, the fact remains that a dead man lives. Not merely a dead man, but a dead man whose body returned to its crudest form and whose mind remains locked away from even the skill of the Jedi healers.

I can only imagine what my master feels at this moment.

"I want to see him."

Granchio looks surprised, though I don't know why he would be. "I don't think that would be wise. He's sedated now."

"Is he conscious?"

"Yes, but hardly lucid."

"Does he pose a safety risk?"

"No," Granchio admits. "Even if he had enough presence of mind, he's restrained."

"Then I want to see him."

"Councilor Jinn--"

My master's voice drops dangerously low. I have heard it many times directed across negotiation tables and toward enemy combatants. "If that is Obi-Wan, then I have the right to see him. That is why you brought me down here, isn't it?"

"Done safely, it can be?"

We all turn. Master Yoda, who observed silently throughout, taps his stick in the Master Healer's direction.

"Yes, Master," Granchio replies immediately, if reluctantly. "But we don't know--"

"Then visit his old padawan, Master Jinn should. Discuss the rest, in the morning we will," Yoda then turns to my master. "Comply with the healers' directions, you will."

They both bow low. "Yes, Master. Thank you, Master."

Jeera clears her throat and gestures toward the door. "Master Jinn, if you'll come this way, I will perform the medical scan and brief you on the safety procedures.

He follows her without a word, though none of us miss the last, lingering look he gives to the thin, still man in the shielded room before they leave.

The rest of us stand in our spots dumbly, until Master Yoda breaks the stillness by hopping down from his seat.

"Official business, today is done. Early meeting, we will have."

Master Windu frowns. "Forgive me, Master, but Qui-Gon's meeting has yet to take place."

"Personal business between old master and padawan, our affair it is not," Yoda says firmly, though his ears wiggle slightly at Master Windu's expression. "Under medical supervision, they will be. No danger, I sense."

"Nor do I," Master Windu confesses.

"Meditate, we all will tonight."

With that, Master Yoda slowly progresses into the hallway. Master Windu and I follow suit, leaving Granchio to join Jeera with my master. The slow, easy pace of our return from the medical wing feels almost comical compared to earlier. We part from Master Yoda with a bow, and he surprises me yet again by requesting my report on the day in the morning.

"Informal, it will be," he assures me. "Look forward to hearing your feelings, I do."

Master Windu and I continue silently, me following two paces directly behind him has befitting our ranks. By unspoken consensus, though, we both enter my master and my quarters. I drop my gear by the door, rubbing my face with a loud groan. He removes his robe with far more dignity and less noise.

"Are you all right?" he asks when he settles down near the balcony, his favorite meditation spot when he visits.

I sigh as I join him. "It's been a full day."

He nods, and turns his attention to Temple garden directly outside and the streams of traffic beyond. They paint flickering lines across his face in the dim light. "How much do you know about Obi-Wan?" he asks eventually.

"Not much. When I first became Master Qui-Gon's padawan, I asked him about his previous padawans. He told that Obi-Wan had died, and he looked so sad that I didn't ask him again for years."

"And then?"

"It was when we got back from Etiro."

His ever-staid expression softens a little. "Where Padawan Meko died."

"I blamed myself for letting her take that shot. That's when my master took me aside and told me about Obi-Wan. I'm not sure why he decided to tell me then, if whether it was for me or for him, but it brought us closer. I don't think we would have made it through Geonosis if he hadn't opened himself to me then."

Master Windu nods. "What do you know?"

"That my master lost a padawan before Obi-Wan to the Dark Side, and that he credits Obi-Wan for restoring his faith in the Force."

"He says much the same about you, Anakin. After Obi-Wan died, we all feared we'd lose your master as well. He needs to teach apprentices as much as he needs to tend to his plants, though he won't admit it. You've done him a world of good by simply being at his side."

I can't help but smile a little, not so much at the complement, but at the many memories of Master Windu mentoring me through my master's standoffishness when I was too young to fully understand. "He's lost everyone. I can't understand why something like that could happen."

"It's not our place to question the will of the Force."

"And now with Obi-Wan, after everything…" I trail off. The last thing I want at the end of today is to hurt my master by revealing his private life.

Master Windu, however, is unperturbed. "Qui-Gon and I have been friends for many years. I assure you there are no secrets you need to hide from me."

"So you know—that they were lovers?"

"They were in love, Anakin, but not lovers."

I frown. "I don't understand. The way Master talked about him—I just assumed."

"It's complicated. Ask him about it sometime."

What isn't complicated? My master's relationship with his dead padawan seems the least complicated matter out of all the new developments emerging today. I sense my impatience taking hold again. Master Yoda and Master Windu are content enough to see what the morning brings, so whether I agree, I can do little but follow suit for the time being.

Master Windu is already entering a meditative trance. I faintly sense the path his mind takes, testing shatterpoints in the Force that only he can understand.

"What will happen now, Master Windu?" I ask, not really expecting him to reply.

But he does. "Answers will reveal themselves. We will be vigilant."

===
6. Qui-Gon
===

Obi-Wan. Everything I've ever lost pales in contrast to that terrible moment when I felt him draw his last breath. Even confronting my old master, reborn as a Sith Lord, was merely a brief stab compared to this constant, maddening, throbbing hurt in my chest.

My thoughts jumble and tangle as Jeera leads me out of the viewing room. I honestly don't remember much about getting scanned. It's an easy procedure, so I can't imagine anything remarkable happened. I do recall mechanically putting one foot in front of the other down the hall toward what must have been the scan room, but mostly just my mind spinning and blood pounding in my ears.

This can't be real. All of my powers of reason and knowledge of the Force tell me that this is impossible, and yet, my heart says it's true. That naked, ragged spot in my mind where our bond was ripped apart still aches for its other half, but the Force sends me no warnings. In fact, I feel faint warmth in the periphery of my Force sense, something that has been increasingly rare. This is the correct path to take.

Obi-Wan's death has always felt too abrupt, too wrong, to be merely the natural progression of his destiny. When I was able to release some of my sorrow at Tahl's passing, or even Xanatos', their deaths had felt right. It was their time, whether or not I wanted or accepted it. At first, I thought this sour, metallic tinge I felt at Obi-Wan's death was simply grief at losing not only my padawan and friend, but my heart. When the void his presence left in my mind did not fade, I thought I would go mad.

Without Anakin, I know I would have surely followed Obi-Wan out of this mortal plane. He was a bright, generous child who became my friend far more easily than I could become his master. I am thankful to his life before the Jedi, which taught him that love and attachment are not paths to darkness as some in the Order would argue, and to Fan-Shi who brought him into my life before falling to the Sith's blade.

I realize Granchio is speaking. "What?"

"The timing works out. The sedative will start wearing off soon, so he should be more responsive. Hopefully he'll remain calm so if we have to give him anything, it'll only be for the pain."

My heart clenches. "Obi-Wan is in pain?"

He pauses whatever he's doing to give a look that clearly says `Obviously.' "We need to operate on that arm soon. Jeera, see about increasing the anti-infectives and anti-inflammatories in his drip."

"Why not Force Heal the infection?"

"Whatever is going on with that shield is also preventing us from healing him with the Force. We're reduced to direct medical intervention only."

"This is what happened when I tried to heal his bruises," Jeera says, pulling up her sleeve. A burn mark stretches from the base of her palm up her wrist. "Nothing a little bacta and healing meditation won't fix," she assures me. "But certainly nothing we've encountered before."

I briefly consider asking if Yoda knows, but if Granchio has spent any amount of time with him today, I have no doubt that he already does. Everything is happening at once and my brain seems to be functioning at half-speed; with all the new information to process, I best keep my dumb questions to myself before Granchio decides to commit me for a psychological examination. It would only keep me from seeing Obi-Wan.

Jeera's burn looks worse than she lets on though. The deep pink mark branches up her delicate violet skin like a lightning burn.

"Why haven't you taken care of this yet?" I ask.

She smiles and shrugs. "No time."

"Do I have to give you a direct order?"

She smiles and pats my hand. "After your scan is complete and you've seen Obi-Wan, you can do whatever you like."

Jeera is a true healer, ever compassionate and thoughtful. She and Obi-Wan were crèche-mates and friends, I recall. "I'd like to apologize, by the way, for snapping at you earlier. I'm sorry. I don't know what's come over me lately."

She simply shakes her head, a slow, smooth motion like seaweed in the currents. She does everything with the same measured grace, which her patients all must find very soothing.

A machine chimes.

"All right, your scan is clear," Granchio announces. "No one's under any biological threat, at least. Now Councilor Jinn, follow all usual safety protocol for unknown entities. Ask him if he remembers basic thing: who you are, for instance, but don't press it. In this case, do not use any Force contact on his mind or person. Normal physical contact is fine, but keeps it to a minimum. "

When all I want it to gather him up in my arms! "Why?"

"Just in case he's planning to try something."

I sit up with a start. "Obi-Wan?"

Granchio gives me that look again. "You said yourself that we don't know if he's in control of his own mind. Knowing his identity doesn't change that."

He is right, of course. The Force does not work in happy accidents, and neither do the Sith, who have as many specialized forms of Force manipulations as we do. Now that the idea that the man is Obi-Wan has settled as much as it can in this short time, the very real possibility that the Sith have a hand in his presence resurfaces.

Oh Force, my Obi-Wan. What is happening? How could this have happened? My thoughts must read clearly on my face, because Jeera squeezes my hand tighter.

We're all silent. There's not use speculating at this moment, so we don't.

Finally, there is nothing left to do and nothing else to ponder.

Fantasy is one thing, reality another entirely. I dream of this moment every night, but not like this.

The door slides open and I step inside. There he is. I honestly don't know what I'm expecting. It's Obi-Wan, as I saw him through the window, but even then the barrier between us lent an air of illusion. This, however, is real. We're in the same room. I can hear the beep and hum of medical equipment and his own labored breathing. I can sense, if not his presence and mind, at least his living form. The heat of his body, the mitosis of his cells, whatever obscures his mind cannot hide in the Living Force. If anything, he is at least alive.

He's hooked up to every monitor imaginable, with each little sensor on his torso poking up from under his medical gown. The strange bulk makes him look even thinner by contrast. Jeera silently leads me to a chair by his bed. Up close, I can see the deep lines around his eyes and the fainter ones across his forehead. They are marks of a man who has lived his thirty-five years, not my padawan.

Apparently the healers cut his hair, because he's not as shaggy as when I first saw him in the security feed. It's choppy and uneven, a little longer than his padawan cut, but not by much. They shaved him, too. Through the breathing mask, I can see the lines of his mouth and contours in his jaw that youth previously hid. The beautiful, delicate curve of his lip is the same though, as is the cleft in his chin.

Jeera slowly leans in and touches his shoulder. "Hello, sunshine," she says gently. "Wake up. You have a visitor."

Obi-Wan jerks suddenly at the contact, and shrinks in on himself, his brow furrowed in pain. I watch helplessly as Jeera murmurs to him through his moans and the alarms from the monitors, slowly easing his hunch shoulders down enough to press a hypo to his neck. It hisses softly as it releases the painkiller into his bloodstream.

The medication takes hold quickly. After a moment, the tension subsides. His eyes open slowly. I can see awareness coming to him in increments, first registering his location and then the voice that woke him. He turns his head to her, and she smiles at him.

"Hello, love. Look, someone has come to see you."

He turns his head, following the direction her hand indicates, until he's facing me. I sit perfectly still, keeping my face calm and unthreatening. It takes a moment for his drug-laden mind to register me. When he does, I see a smile form beneath the mask and the corners of his eyes crinkle, and it's my Obi-Wan again.

"Hi," he says in a soft rasp. "What's your name?"

I try not to be disappointed. Jeera warned me several times that he had no memory of anything before entering the Great Hall. Still, a part of me had hoped that one miracle might follow the first.

I find my own voice with difficulty. "I'm Qui-Gon Jinn."

"Nice to meet you. Do you know me?"

Yes, I want to shout. Yes, yes, and I love you. "Many years ago. It's nice to see you again."

"It's nice to see you, too," the little line between his brows appears as he frowns. "Or, I guess it is. I'm sorry, I don't remember."

"That's all right. Healer Jeera told me that you don't remember anything before you came here."

His frown eases. I don't know if it's the drugs or his old, natural affability, but I feel my chest tighten and I dig my nails hard into my palm to keep from touching him. He always did have the most wonderful smile. It lights up his entire face. Oh, Obi-Wan.

"I like Jeera. She's nice."

"She is," I agree.

"Some of the other people aren't as nice. They seem scared of me," he pauses a moment, then turns sharply towards me, which makes some of the monitor displays shift from green to yellow in warning. "Will you tell me something, Qui-Gon Jinn?"

"Just call me Qui-Gon."

"Am I in trouble, Qui-Gon?"

The question takes me by surprise. "I don't know, Obi-Wan. Why do you think you're in trouble?"

He scrunches up his face. "Jeera said my name was Obi-Wan Kenobi, but I think it sounds silly. I like Ben."

The name hits me like a freighter. Ah, Ben. It was his old milk name from the crèche, something one of the masters called him when his toddler tongue couldn't form his full name. We rediscovered it and took no small delight in making it my special name for him, one of the many little things we did in place of the physical relationship we both yearned for. He always flushed a little and a smile would barely tug at his lips when I called him that during a private sparring match or when we were alone in our quarters.

"I like Ben, too," I tell him, and we smile together. It feels wonderful, like I haven't really smiled in years. "Now why do you think you're in trouble? Have you done something wrong?"

"I don't think so, but everyone keeps looking at me like there's something really wrong with me and they won't tell me for some reason. I was thinking that maybe something happened that I don't remember. I'm not a criminal, am I? Did I hurt anyone?"

I fight the urge to reach out and comfort him, not when even Jeera's gentle touch elicited such a sharp and painful reaction from him. "No, Ben. Something did happen a long time ago, but it wasn't your fault."

"Oh," he says simply, laying back. The monitors return to green. "Is that why you're sad?"

"What?" The question is startling. I see genuine concern in his wide green eyes, which seem bigger than ever in his pale, thin face. It's a hint of Obi-Wan as the eager initiate he once was, before he learned to couch his earnestness with diplomacy and wry humor.

My response troubles him, and he lifts his free arm with some difficulty to the bed railing. My own fingers curl around the cold metal where I've stopped myself from touching his hair or cupping his face. With excruciating slowness, Obi-Wan's hand comes to rest on mine. "Sorry, was that rude of me? You just seem sad is all."

His hand feels dry and fragile as a dead leaf, but it is warm. I sense the faintest thrum of his heartbeat against my skin. Greater than the physical touch, though, is the swell of warmth I feel in the Force. I nearly gasp out loud, at the sensation pouring into me, like I did not realize I was freezing until this moment. "No, no that's quite all right," I manage. "Though I am a sad about what happened."

Either it's the drugs or the shield, but he doesn't appear to sense anything. "Why, what happened?"

I steal a quick glance at Jeera, who shakes her head. Too much too soon.

"May I ask you something?" Changing the subject to something more general may deliver us an answer, or at least afford me a second to collect myself. "Perhaps it will help you remember."

"Okay."

"Does the word Jedi mean anything to you?"

"No, sorry. What's Jedi?"

"The Jedi are guardians of peace and justice," I begin. Then I stop. The rote answer feels ashy and meaningless, so I try again. "I am a Jedi, and so are you. I was your teacher, you were my student. We were together every day for over ten years, learning from each other and travelling all over the galaxy trying to help others--"

There is certainly more to say, infinitely more. I am loath to say it with others present and the security system recording for the Council to review later. What I want to say is for Obi-Wan only, and I won't cheapen it by making it an issue of security.

Mostly, however, is the very real possibility that Obi-Wan himself doesn't remember. I can accept that and hope his memories of us return, but to hear him say it-- I don't think I could bear it.

He smiles at me, tightening his weak grip on my hand. "That sounds nice. Did we have a good time?"

I smile back. He's in there, somewhere, behind that barrier. With time to heal, I'm sure he'll fully come back to me.

He yawns and tugs a little on my hand. "Will you stay with me, Qui-Gon?"

"I don't know, Ben," I stammer. I turn to Jeera, hopeful. "May I?"

He does too. "Please? I feel safe with him here."

Jeera looks to Granchio through window, who signals something to her. "Yes, of course."

I could have kissed her, or even him. "Thank you."

I can see that he's fighting the effects of the drug, his meandering observations about Jeera's kindness and how much he likes holding my hand coming in increasingly indecipherable slurs. I ease myself from his grip, quieting his protests by rearranging his arm more comfortably on the bed and pulling my chair closer so I can still maintain contact. He may not remember my name or who he is, but he knows me. He feels safe with me. His eyes soon flutter shut. I hear nothing but the constant, faint beeps of the monitors, and Jeera's footsteps as she discreetly excuses herself.

My Obi-Wan, my Ben. I run my thumb over his bony wrist. Whatever has happened, for whatever reason--I will protect you. I settle in my chair to guard his sleep. Nothing will ever hurt you again.

===
7. Anakin
===

I stumble outside from the Archives thinking it's dawn, when in actuality, all the chronos inform me it's sunset. I then remember quite clearly why, while I devote my life and spirit to the Jedi and the Force, I can't stand academic study.

Thankfully, the rain seems to have passed and the walls around this particular garden block off most of the wind. I run an increasingly intimidating mental list of tasks I still need to perform, but happily move eating, washing, and not sitting in the Archives to the top. I transmitted my latest findings, or lack thereof, on Force resurrections existing anywhere in the old records to the Council not half an hour ago, so now I can look forward to having the night to myself.

I tilt my head back to take in a lungful of cold air, letting the distant traffic blur together into ribbons of light as I half-close my eyes. It feels surprisingly good to stand out in the cold after countless hours hunched over a dataset. I throw my arms over my head to work out the stiffness in my back and shoulders. That feels even better.

I stand facing skyward until the cold no longer feels refreshing. Impromptu meditation is often the best kind, as my master taught me: living in the Moment and giving myself over to the will of the Force. I feel much lighter by the time I return to our quarters.

My master's presence catches me by surprise, since he has been spending every available moment with Obi-Wan, coming to Council sessions and private meetings only when Master Yoda or Master Windu directly request his attendance. Our quarters are unchanged from the last time I was in them two, maybe three days ago. I can't tell if anything has been cleaned or dirtied, and the plants on their automatic water cycles have not moved-- a sure sign that my master hasn't been home long.

Chances are he hasn't eaten, showered, or slept since the last time I nagged him into doing so either. Actually, he was asleep, his head resting in his folded arms with the rest of him still in one of those ridiculously uncomfortable little chairs in the medical ward. I was reluctant to wake him, especially seeing the happy, tender way Obi-Wan stroked his hair. Nevertheless, I roused him before his neck could get any stiffer and dragged him out, promising my predecessor I'd return with his new friend fully restored and with proper introductions.

Master is right; I am a terrible diplomat.

This time I find him in his bedroom, sitting on his bed with a small storage box in his lap that I've never seen before and one boot lying on the rug. "Evening, Padawan," he sounds tired. "What day is it?"

I take his robe to hang up and help him out of his remain boot. How masters manage without padawans, I'll never know. "I'm not sure myself, actually, but I think it's Primeday. In any case, all the chronos say it's evening and I see no reason to doubt them."

"Do you, Apprentice? I do recall you remotely resetting all of them to Malastaar time when you were fourteen." The day he's too tired to tease me is the day I will truly worry.

"Yes, Master," I reply, rolling my eyes. "And I thank you once again for convincing my instructor that my project warranted top marks in my covert communications course."

"The alternative was to have him fail you and I don't think any of us would have survived your taking that class again, but listen to me ramble on like an insane old man," he chuckles a little apologetically, running his hand over the box. "I'm being very nostalgic today."

"Still trying to trigger his memory?"

He doesn't bother masking the disappointment in his voice. "And still no change, but the infection is finally clearing so he's more lucid today. I'm hoping I can find something tangible that will help. Obi-Wan and I travelled around even more than you and I do, so there wasn't much to go through."

Aside from the standard issue pieces of furniture, which don't actually belong to us, and my master's forest of plants, which are properly more like cohabitants than possessions, our quarters are indeed quite sparse. The only artifacts of occupancy are a few holo images of us--one on the day I became his padawan, and another when his birthday happen to coincide with a fertility festival on a remote planet that favored large, colorful hats-- some civilian clothes, a few mechanical odds and ends in my room, and a bare handful of knickknacks and keepsakes my master has acquired over the years.

When a Jedi passes into the Force, his lightsaber and his few personal possessions, if he has any, go to his legal custodians. Usually these are training partners or bondmates. On rare occasion, when culture or politics dictate, they will go to the Jedi's biological family, but then the lightsaber remains in the Temple. Everything else-- the uniform, the gear-- gets recycled.

"That means the few items you have would hold great meaning for him," I suggest hopefully, and for my master as well, obviously. He goes quiet, then slowly opens the box.

A bed of folded black fabric nestles the hilt of a lightsaber that looks strikingly similar to my master's, but of lighter, narrower construction for a smaller hand. Alongside it lays a small black stone, smooth and shiny against the soft fabric.

My master picks the stone up, turning it slowly in his hand. The light catches it to reveal lovely veins of red mineral running throughout.

"I gave this to him on his first birthday as my apprentice," he explains. "It's from a river on my homeworld."

"It's beautiful." He hands it to me. I hold it up carefully to see the light filter through it, turning the blackness into a subtle amber tone. It feels like warm honey in my mind. I wonder if Obi-Wan felt it also when he first held it, or if his attachment to it is what infused the Force into it. Holding it for more than a few moments feels like prying, so I hand it back.

He takes it from me, but instead on putting it back in the back, he sets it on the bed between us. Next he takes out the lightsaber. He turns it over a few times, feeling the contours and ridges in the same slow, thoughtful way he handled the stone, not to examine the weapon's construction or to test its crystal as I've seen him do countless times before. When he hands it to me, I can feel the perfect balance of it and the hum of the crystals within. It's a well-made, basic lightsaber, but does not have the same emotional resonance as the stone, which is interesting considering how much Obi-Wan would have used his saber.

I tuck that thought away for later and lay the saber down on the blanket next to the stone.

Finally, my master lifts out what I thought was simply a cloth to protect the other objects, but is instead a knit black shirt free of any adornments with long sleeves.

"This was… is my favorite shirt on him," my master murmurs. He trails his fingers over it, remembering. "It brought out his eyes."

I recall the holo my master keeps hidden away in his dresser drawer of Obi-Wan. He was a little older than I am in it, healthy and handsome, with a broad smile and reddish hair styled in the usual padawan cut. Unlike the images my master has of us, his image of Obi-Wan is not of the two of them posed together, but of just Obi-Wan. He's sitting on the couch that still dominates the living room in his bare feet and that same simple black shirt my master saved. True enough, the dark contrasts with his fair complexion in a way that makes his eyes shockingly bright.

The look in his bright eyes is joyful and a little teasing, and I have no doubt that the person he's looking at, the person capturing the image, is my master.

We sit side by side in silence. His shields are up, keeping his feelings from me as his fingers absently stroke the old shirt. It's just as well. I have known my master long enough that I don't need telepathy to know his thoughts. I can sympathize with him, but Obi-Wan's death has always been his private burden. I don't know what I can do now to help him lighten it.

===
7. Anakin
===

Master Windu stops by after dinner to discuss important matters with my master, so he says; I suspect his motives have as much to do with making sure the both of us are still alive as well as official business, judging from the way he eyes my master and me as if he's overseeing an initiate sparring match. He looks weary as well, though, and sighs through two cups of hot tea before any real discussion begins.

I busy myself in the kitchen with the dirty dishes, so I only catch bits and pieces of their conversation. A week ago I would have stopped at nothing to absorb every detail available, but I'm coming to accept that I will know what I need to know in due time, at least in regards to this whole Obi-Wan affair.

"--And then what?" my master asks, sounding mildly disgusted through his weariness. "He can't stay there forever."

"We will make arrangements to house him elsewhere."

My ears prick up. If my master and Master Windu are discussing what I think they're discussing, I must admit I've been curious myself.

"You mean a cell. You can't lock him away, Mace, he hasn't done anything wrong."

"A shielded room is not a cell."

My master snorts derisively. "It might as well be."

I stick my head out of the kitchen. "Why doesn't Obi-Wan stay with us?" I ask.

Master Windu opens his mouth and closes it again. He turns to my master with an accusatory glare. "Did you put him up to this?" he demands, his tone not quite light enough to be a joke.

"I swear I didn't," my master replies, amused.

I seem to have inadvertently unburied an existing point of contention between my master and Master Windu, or rather, between my master and the rest of the Council. I wouldn't be at all surprised if my master has already made such a request, or that the collective wisdom of the Council decided against it.

Master Windu shoots my master another look before turning to me. "No, Anakin. It's too big of a risk."

"But," I protest. "He's wearing the Force inhibiting collar and he can barely walk from one end of the room to the other. What harm could he do?"

"What harm indeed," mutters my master dryly. Master Windu makes a show of ignoring the remark.

"Padawan, I don't need to spell out for you the affront to security protocol and general idiocy of exposing the entire Temple accommodation sector to potential attack. The issue is decided."

"Attack?" The word takes me by surprise. Master Windu is never one for exaggeration, especially with matters of security. "Master Windu, have you seen it in the Force? Is Obi-Wan going to attack someone?"

He doesn't answer immediately, instead sharing a glance with my master that suggests this point has also come up before in the Council Chamber.

"You have seen it," I prod.

My master shakes his head. "The future is always in motion." Perhaps because he's tired, his usual conviction doesn't come through. My own prescience only comes in bursts, and never by my choosing, so I cannot support or detract Master Windu's position.

"We can't afford the risk."

I decide to press a little harder. My master can be quite irascible when stressed and the members of the Council are long-immune to diplomatic tricks he can easily pull-off with the planetary representatives who don't know him well. However, Master Windu has a soft spot for me, and while I rarely exploit it out of respect for him, I have had some success in reintroducing my master's arguments in the past.

"We can't let our fears rule our decisions, Master Windu. Will the Council keep it in consideration, because we at least owe him the benefit of the doubt?"

If there is anything Master Windu loves more than the Jedi Order, it's civilization itself. Hopefully I can appeal to his sense of justice, which even he can forget when faced with unknown dangers.

He steeples his fingers, a sure sign he's thinking. I try not to fidget. My master is forever reminding me that bouncing on my heel does not make anyone come to a decision faster, but I can never seem to break myself of the habit. My patience needs work still. Master Windu seems lost in thought, probably testing the currents of the Force. At least he isn't asking me vague questions like Master Yoda. I don't know what's worse: waiting for Master Windu to stop thinking, or answering Master Yoda's questions. Eventually, Master Windu raises his gaze to me.

"You make a valid point, Anakin," he says at last. Then he glances at the wall chrono. "It's late, and we have a long day ahead of us. Good night, Anakin."

I look to my master, who nods in agreement. The padawan is always the last to know, but I can take satisfaction that I am not entirely defeated. He could have refused me outright. I take my dismissal as a chance to meditate and finally get to bed in any case. I should enjoy the Moment while I can since these unusual circumstances will undoubtedly become even more interesting soon enough.

===
8. Qui-Gon
===

In all fairness to Mace, he always does what he thinks is in the best interest of the Order. He calls another Council meeting first thing in the morning for the sole purpose of reexamining Obi-Wan's future. We butt heads often, but never have we come to blows or lost our respect for one another. I maintain that nothing worth having comes without risk, which Mace would call foolhardiness.

This is probably why he joined the Council relatively young and has been happily serving there ever since. My feelings about the Council are more and more ambivalent these days. All of this discussion and arguing over protocol feels more like a hindrance than not, but like the ridiculously muddled structure of the Senate, we tolerate it because the alternative would be unacceptable.

Today, however, I will keep my opinions to myself if it means a better chance for Obi-Wan.

Mace stands in the center of the circle, already sinking into a meditative state. We all follow suit. I let myself fall away from my conscious self until all I feel is the Force swirling around me. I sense the bright presence of the others around me, bobbing in the currents like water birds.

I find Mace's presence easily as we follow him through the winding streams of the Unifying Force. What he calls shatterpoints, I see as rivers and tributaries flowing into and away from each other, sometimes appearing to be calm and still, but always coursing with energy beneath the surface.

Like a rafting guide, Mace directs us to the churning mess of this particular shatterpoint and somehow pulls at the individual threads just enough so that for a moment, we can make out the stream's direction that leads to our future. Even so, it feels so thick and tangled with infinite converging lines of the Unifying Force that it's as difficult to navigate as white water rapids.

The visions that we see as we dive in come in flashes as they jumble together, some of events that have already been, and many of possible futures. I see the conversation I had with Mace and Anakin last night, and how Anakin's appeal to Mace shifts the current slightly in one direction. Then I see Obi-Wan screaming as blood soaks his Jedi tunics. Jedi of varying ages rush around him, but with the wave of raw emotion, I cannot tell where or when it happens. Medical personnel rush into the scene and I see myself lying unconscious on the floor and Anakin's face twisted in panic as he calls for help. We are both also covered in blood, though whose I cannot—

The vision throws me out with such violent energy that I wake up half-fallen out of my chair and gasping for breath as if I were knocked over by a physical wave. After a moment, my head stops pounding and I can pull myself upright. Around me, the other Councilors recover likewise. At the center of our circle, Mace has fallen to his knee. He waves off Depa Billaba's attempt to help him up, though when he does rise to his feet, he's panting and soaked in sweat.

Once he settles into his seat next to Yoda and collects himself, he says with a slow shake of his head, "The future is unclear."

"There is no telling what the circumstances of this vision are," Depa agrees. "We can't tell if he is attacking someone, or is the victim of an attack himself."

Across from me, Even Piell growls. "But we can't risk exposing so many Jedi to this. Whatever is happening must be contained."

"How long can we hold him?" Plo Koon asks. "He has his rights as a citizen."

"The Order has custodial authority over him since he is mentally incapacitated. We must afford him all the protection and dignity he is entitled to under the Republic Constitution, but we cannot allow him to interact with the Temple population while his capabilities are unclear."

I swear Oppo Rancisis should have been an attorney.

Adi shakes her head. "I maintain that keeping him in shielded containment here is both preemptive punishment and potentially harmful to his recovery."

"What if we secure him off-world?" Plo suggests.

"It would be incredibly unsafe to transport him now," Eeth Koth replies. "His health notwithstanding, I don't like the possibility of him falling into Separatist hands, or worse."

Saessee Tinn thumps his chair. "Well we can't keep him here."

Up until this point, I have remained silent, marveling at how my colleagues can discuss Obi-Wan with as much detachment as a shipment of weapons. I shake my head in disgust. "This is not a droid with an explosive implanted in it that we're discussing. This is Obi-wan Kenobi, and while he may not remember now, he was a Jedi and a compatriot to all of you. This Council cannot simply throw him away or hide him in a corner. We must help him by getting to the source of this mystery."

Saessee makes a noise that I take for disbelief or indignation. "And what of the hundreds of other Jedi in the Temple, not to mention the younglings in the crèche--"

"They will all be safer when we discover what has the knowledge and power to resurrect a dead soul, as well as what is going on behind that shield."

"That can be done someplace else. We have other questions that need our attention--"

"What needs our attention more than the question of life and death?"

"This one man is throwing the entire Order off-center when we need to focus on the war."

"This is a bigger issue than a war. People have always fought war, but never has this--"

"So we should forget about our knights and padawans in the field until the healers recover his memory?"

"Master Jinn, where are you going?"

I am at the door in a few strides, unable to speak with the monumental effort of maintaining my composure. "I will not be a part of this short-sighted cowardice," I ground out, turning. "I trust the collective wisdom of the Council knows my position and can proceed without me."

Without waiting for a response, I leave.

The lift opens, but I don't step in. Instead, I find myself pacing the length of the hallway, trying desperately to release my anger into the Force. Losing control frightens me. Losing Obi-Wan frightens me. I haven't meditated in days, and it shows.

"Qui-Gon."

I fall to my knees instinctively at the tone of Yoda's voice. "I'm sorry, Master," I whisper.

"Sorry for what, are you?" He asks, punctuating his question with a knock from his gimer stick.

"I lost my temper, Master," I say. "I let my anger get the better of me because I am afraid of losing Obi-Wan."

"Think you will lose him, you do?"

I can't conceal my bitterness, even now. "General consensus is to lock him away or ship him off-world."

"Even if remain in the Temple would he, remember you and the Jedi, he does not," he points out.

"I have hope that he will regain his memories, Master."

"Until then, your Obi-Wan he is not," Yoda says gently. "An idea, he simply is."

"Yes, Master." The truth of the statement cuts to the core of me. Obi-Wan could never return to me. Everything could still come to nothing.

"Correct they are," Yoda continues in my silence. "Fighting a war, our knights and padawans are. Forget them, we cannot."

"I never suggested-- OW!"

He waves his stick at me with a stern look. "Correct you are to ask for compassion and patience. Mystery that must be solved, is Obi-Wan."

The problem with Yoda is that he's been around forever. He's seen the ebb and flow of the universe on a scale that the rest of us can't fathom, so he's usually content to let the Force work things out for itself without what he often refers to as "micromanaging." It makes short-lived species like me go grey with frustration. For instance, today he seems more than pleased with letting the rest of us battle out the issue of what to do with Obi-Wan, and I get the distinct feeling that he knows more than he's letting on.

"Meditate, you should."

I sigh. That much I can agree with. "I will, I promise, but I need to see him first."

"Hm." I can't read his expression at all, damn troll, but he eventually nods and turns to make his way back to the Council Chamber. I take it as leave to continue down to the medical ward, if not more at peace, then at least a little less likely to punch someone in the face.

The walk to through the temple reignites my anxiety, however. Memories of rushing down from the Central Spire rise fresh in my mind. That day, I was prepared to kill whoever had come to threaten the Temple, the only home I have ever known. If the other Council members feel the same without the cushioning effects of love and regret for the battered man who would have been at the end of my saber, then I am running out of time indeed.

I find Jeera fiddling with her notes outside the shielded room. "Oh, good morning, Master Jinn," she says cheerfully. "I wasn't expecting you until later."

"Is Obi-Wan awake?"

"Yes, we're just about look at some holos," she pauses and studies me. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine."

She looks like she has more to say, but doesn't. My rank does have its benefits from time to time. Instead, she hands me the small projector and cycles through the images.

"I thought today we'd look at some general objects-- locations around Coruscant, common technology, just anything he might have come across."

I nod. The holos of familiar faces yielded no results, but perhaps even a recollection of how he arrived at the Temple could provide some answers. "Same procedure as usual, I assume?"

"Yes, but use your best judgment with him today. He's been in a bit of a mood."

"Oh?"

She shrugs lightheartedly. "You know how he can be. Good luck, I'll be watching from side room."

True enough, Obi-Wan has been handling medical treatment now as well as he ever did, which is poorly.

When he was seventeen, he somehow managed to discharge himself from the healers and drag himself back home while I was summoned to the Senate. I found him on the kitchen floor some time later with nearly all the fusings in the deep gashes in his thigh re-opened, and some half-assed excuse about how he was looking for a soap refill under the sink. Suffice to say I took him directly back to the medical ward.

I never cared for the healers myself-- I doubt any Jedi does-- but Obi-Wan's utter loathing of everything medical was so intense that it warranted mention in his personal files. In addition to the 'discharge, drag, and pass out in the kitchen' incident which prompted the healers to put an automatic administrative hold on his release for every subsequent visit he ever made to them, I truly do not remember a time when even a routine exam wasn't accompanied by sulking, swearing, or a superfluous loss of bodily fluid from his attempts to avoid or shorten necessary medical care.

True to form, Obi-Wan has already started asking about when he can leave. As the infection subsides and his body begins to respond to treatment, his awareness of his surroundings increases: the monitors, the tubes, the injections, and the constant poking and prodding are received with increasing ill grace as the days pass. Regardless of how gently Jeera administers every test and treatment, he started refuses all pain medication and asks about the impending surgery on his arm whenever he has the chance.

I nod to Jeera. Thinking of Obi-Wan's infuriating and endearing quirks softens the edge of my urgency a little, but bad mood or no, I need to see him.

He may not remember our past, but his face does light up when I enter the room, and it is a welcome balm on my spirit today. I settle next to him and touch his hair by way of greeting. He lifts his head toward me like a flower in the sun.

"Morning, Ben. How are you today?"

"Morning, Qui-Gon," he says softly. His voice is still rough from the cold and respiratory infection, but sounds more like himself. He stops and looks at me for a moment too long for comfort, before finally saying, "I never noticed you had blue eyes."

"Oh? That pain medication must have been quite strong."

He shifts uncomfortably. "You have no idea," he mutters. "I feel like I've been thrown against a wall."

I dare to hope. "How do you know what it feels like to be thrown against a wall?"

"I don't, but it seems like it would hurt."

So much for that. "It does, trust me," but I press on. "Can you focus through the pain today for a little while? Jeera has more holos for you to look at."

He nods, but doesn't look particularly pleased. I'm sure he's as frustrated as I am at the lack of progress in recovering his memory. He goes through the cycle of images, pausing to study each one intently. Slowly, a crease begins to form between his eyebrows as once again, he remembers nothing.

I don't know what unsettles me more, that something can hurt Obi-Wan, a trained Jedi, to this extent, or that even if he physically recovers, he may never be the same person again. Not to mention that all of our efforts have revealed no insight at all into how he came to be sitting in a medical bed all these years after his own death.

The Force collar around his neck blocks any access he might have to the Force, but Obi-Wan hardly needs it to pick up on my disappointment. His shoulders droop as the latest round of images begins to repeat itself on the little projector in his lap. He exhales dejectedly, the fingers of his left hand fussing absently with the sling supporting his mangled and splinted right arm.

"I'm sorry," he says quietly. "I'm trying to remember, really."

"Don't blame yourself, Ben," I take his hand, smiling at him and mustering up my most convincing tone. "The important thing now is to get you well. The rest will follow."

He doesn't look convinced. He makes to pick up the projector for another attempt, but instead drops in head into his hand and rubs his face. I squeeze his neck and shoulders lightly to ease the tension, careful that too much pressure will only cause him more pain. He lets out a grateful sigh, leaning toward me slightly, and then lets out a sharp hiss.

I stop immediately. "Sorry."

"No, it's not you," he grumbles as he shifts back against his pillow. "Sometimes moving makes things hurt."

"I can call Jeera for you to give you small dose of painkiller."

He shakes his head vehemently as he looks up. "No, no. I hate that stuff. I can't focus."

Suddenly, he freezes. I turn to follow his gaze. The projector shows the image of a standard model surgical medical droid, slightly different from the general use med droid that literally scared him into hiding when he first arrived.

"Ben?" I ask gently. "Ben, what is it?"

He doesn't respond for a moment, instead keeping his eyes fixed to the image. His entire countenance changes and now he is as wide-eyed and terrified as he was when I first saw him.

"I don't like this," he whispers. "I want to stop."

"It's only a holo, it can't hurt you," I tell him, feeling my excitement build despite his discomfort. "Do remember this droid? Do you remember what happened?"

He shakes his head slightly, still unable to look away. The color drains from his already pale face that is now growing blotchy as silent tears spill down his cheeks. "I don't know, I don't know," he whimpers. "Please, I want to stop."

"Try to think, Ben," I urge. "Why does this droid scare you?"

"I don't know! I don't want to do this anymore. Stop, please!"

"Master Jinn," Jeera's voice cuts cleanly into the room. "That's enough. Turn it off."

Her voice, normally soft and soothing, jolts me into taking the projector from Obi-Wan's lap. I turn it off and set it on the floor out of sight. He remains staring at the space in front of him, his breath coming in regular gasps. Slowly he brings his trembling hand up to his side to cradle his ribs, and I realize how much his reaction must hurt him.

"Ben--" I murmur, reaching toward him

For once, he makes no move to lean toward me, or to even acknowledge my touch when my hand settles on his shoulder.

"I don't want to do this anymore," he says with difficulty.

"No more," I agree. "We're done with the holos today."

He shakes his head. "I mean I don't want to remember."

"But why?" My stomach drops. He can't give up now. "We're making progress. Ben, I know that this is difficult, but I swear to you that even this is a good sign."

"I don't want to know what hurt me. It's too much."

"If we find out what hurt you, we can protect you and put a stop to it," I am near to pleading, and what I hear next breaks my heart.

"What would anyone want with me anyway?"he demands, wiping roughly at his face. "I just want to get better. I know I can't be a Jedi anymore, but if your Council will let me, I'll work to pay you back for taking care of me."

"No, no, this is not about cost, Ben. We're happy to care for you. I'm happy to care for you--"

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why am I so important to you, Qui-Gon?"

You are my world. "You were my apprentice. I've always taken care of you."

He obviously doesn't believe me. "That's all?"

No, that's not all, my Ben, I want to say. Oh Force, I desperately want him to remember who I was to him, but now I've hurt him again and he sees that there is more to events than what I tell him. He's losing his trust in me, and I could lose him again even all this.

He looks at accusingly with his big, green eyes and thin, pale face, and all I can see is that same beautiful face slackening as the life drains out of him. I can't lose him again.

"Ben, I begin. "I'm so sorry. There are things I to tell you, that you deserve to know, that I can't tell you." I can see the 'why' emerging and continue past it. "Something unexplainable has happened that brought you here. Whatever hurt you may be blocking your memories and may still be able to hurt you through the Force."

He begins shaking again, too overwhelmed to maintain his anger and confusion. "I don't understand," he managed through his teeth.

Explaining the Force to non-users comes easily, but how to explain the shield surrounding his mind when we don't understand it either? I start somewhat blindly, "Think of your mind as a building with all of your memories and feelings stored in rooms inside. Normally, only you have access to this building at all, though a Jedi can catch a glimpse through a window or even enter into the building if you're weak-minded.

"Somehow, someone has built a barrier around your mind so that even you can't get in. We can't break through without damaging your walls, so we need you to find a crack or a door so that we can get to whoever built this wall."

"You mean someone is in my head?!" Obi-Wan looks petrified. I don't blame him.

"Possibly," I say calmly, which feels strange and wrong given the circumstances, but it will do no good to upset him anymore than he already is. "Or they created this shield to hide something. We can't be sure until we see inside."

"You said Jedi can get into other people's heads. One of you is in my head?"

"I hope not. That's not the Jedi way, but there are others who have the ability to do this."

"You mean the Sith?"

Now it's my turn to freeze. "What did you say?"

"I said `you mean the Sith?'"

A million emotions surge up at once, and I'm not sure how long I sit there gaping at him with my mouth flapping uselessly like a dying fish. Finally I manage to ask, "What do you know about the Sith, Ben?"

"I don't know. The word just sort of came out," he says slowly, frowning at my reaction. "Do the Sith have anything to do with those droids?"

"I don't know, Ben."

I see Jeera in the viewing area staring at Obi-Wan with her hand over her mouth, so I can surmise that I am at least not hearing things. Slowly she lowers her head to the control panel and, not taking her gaze from Obi-wan, makes a comm. I can't make out the conversation, but the postures of the tiny blue Yoda and Mace Windu match my own feelings.

The Sith. Fuck.

===
9. Qui-Gon
===

I walk slowly out of the Council Chamber, numb with disbelief. The emergency Council meeting called in light of Obi-Wan's memories went far worse than I could have imagined.

Mace comes up from behind and rests a heavy hand on my shoulder. I shake my head. "This can't be happening, Mace."

"I'm sorry, old friend."

"I can't let them do this to him."

"You know the decision is for the good of the Order."

I ground my teeth in determination. "I will do what I must for Obi-Wan regardless of what the Council thinks."

The hand on my shoulder suddenly morphs into a vice, and I am whirled to face Mace head-on. "For Force's sake, Qui-Gon, think! You have a padawan on the verge of knighthood. Don't do this to Anakin!"

I can't believe Mace would think that I would ask my faithful padawan to risk his career for my personal quest. "Anakin--"

"Anakin has been a far better apprentice to you than you have been a master, and the least you can do is to see him through to his Trials," Mace snaps. "If you deliberately disobey the Council's decision, you will be expelled from the Order, regardless of your service record. He loves you like a father, so don't you dare abandon him now."

I stop, ashamed. Will I never learn? "You're right, but Mace, you must understand my position on Obi-Wan."

"I understand perfectly," he says gently, but not without losing a hair of his conviction. "I'm not unsympathetic to your situation, but you cannot afford to be selfish. Obi-Wan might be lost, but Anakin is not. I know you well enough, Qui-Gon. Your heart will rule your head and your actions could destroy them both."

I shake my head again. "How could this happen?"

===
10. Anakin
===

"Anakin, you look awful."

"Thanks a lot, Barriss. I miss you too."

The image of her laughs. "If your best friend can't tell you, then who can?" Then she leans into the comm with a conspiratorial gleam. "So has it been exciting?"

"You know I can't tell you," I tell her with a sigh, though I wish I could."Especially not over an interplanetary comm."

She groans. "I don't like leaving things unfinished. I want to help!"

"Don't be too jealous. They've all but buried me in the archives doing research for them because no one else who knows what's going on is of low enough rank to boss around."

"Really? So if Master hadn't been shipped out on this emergency refugee situation on Marklar, I'd be..."

"Reading. And lots of it. "

Barriss likes academia about as much as I do. She makes a face briefly, but returns to her question with all due seriousness. "But that means you still don't know what's going on with, uh, you-know-what?"

"Not really," I lie.

"I know you can't tell me anything, and I shouldn't ask, but can you at least tell me if everyone is safe?"

"I promise you."

"Okay," she says, then turns away toward something I can't see. "I have to go. May the Force be with you."

"And you. Stay alive."

"You too."

I turn off the comm just as I hear the door softly hiss open and then closed. "Evening, Master."

"Is it, isn't it?"

The tone of his voice is concerning. I look up to see him standing in the middle of the room, looking lost for what to do next. "What's wrong, did the Council meeting not go well?"

"To say the least," he says blankly. "They've decided to force open the shield."

"What?" I can't believe my ears. "But couldn't that kill him or cause permanent damage?"

"They way they see it, he's permanently damaged already."

"This isn't right, Master. Can't they give him more time?"

"There's been a development that makes expedience necessary," he says in such a low, halted way that I am sure he's still trying to convince himself. "His memory is returning. So far, it's been vague and minute, but he did mention the Sith."

"Why in all the worlds would Obi-Wan remember the Sith?"

"That would the question. So now that the shield seems to be cracking enough to allow some of Obi-Wan's own mind to slip out, it means there must be a weak spot for the healers to break into. "

My master takes a slow step toward his bedroom, then another. The momentum propels him forward, and I follow behind, unable to mask my anger. "They're sacrificing him, aren't they? They don't care about him so long as they can get to the information in his head because he doesn't need to be cognizant or conscious now that there's a way to get through the shield. The shield is already weakening without forcing it, can't they just wait? "

"That's what I said, and Yoda, Mace, Adi, and Depa, but we were out-voted."

"Out-voted? Master Yoda was out-voted? They can't out-vote Master Yoda!"

"Padawan, I appreciate your sentiment, I do, but it's over," he brings his hand up to my shoulder in the familiar, comforting gesture. I've never seen my master defeated, not like this. "Thank you, Anakin, truly. Now I need you to go to Allocations and pick up an overnight pack in Obi-Wan's size."

"Why, Master?"

"They're letting him stay with us for one night before they… do it. So we get that at least."

===
11. Qui-Gon
===

Desperation seeps into my voice. "There must be a way you can postpone this."

Granchio's antennae droop sadly. "I cannot defy a direct order from the High Council, even for you, Councilor Jinn."

"I don't like this!" Jeera cries. "He's not strong enough yet for surgery. The complications could—"

"I don't think they're concerned about complications," I interrupt with a growl. "In fact, it would seem that they're relying on his physical weakness to keep him manageable in case something goes wrong. Why else would they order everything to happen so quickly?"

Jeera reads through the order again. "I would never release him that soon after this sort of procedure! He's too weak, he needs to be monitored."

"We will do the best we can," Granchio tells her firmly. She subsides without any sign of acceptance or calm.

"Take good care of him, that's all I ask," I reply as I head toward Obi-Wan's room. "How long can I have?"

"A few minutes. Then we need to start prepping him. Don't upset him-- we need him as stable as possible."

I nod to them in agreement before entering. Obi-Wan, at least, is happy. "Qui-Gon! I'm so glad you came!"

"Of course, Ben. I wouldn't leave you alone before your surgery," I say with as much levity as I can manage. Hopefully my tone comes across as even. I reach out to touch his hair as usual, lingering over its dense, shaggy texture. It was shorter than this when he was a padawan and was so thick that it stuck straight up and out, unlike Anakin's, which bends and ripples like a field of grain. I wonder if Obi-Wan would have grown out his hair like many young knights. The short hair suites him well, but longer would have been wonderful to touch. I'll probably never know.

A mad idea seizes me. I lean down and press a kiss to his forehead, at first barely brushing against his skin, but then sinking slowly into the Moment until my lips are flush against him and his hairline tickles my nose. The Council can't begrudge me this one tiny intimacy—the most I may ever have with him. It's more than I ever dreamed I would have.

When I reluctantly pull away, I find a pair of big green eyes looking up at me. "What was that for?"

"For good luck."

"Thanks. I am a little nervous," he takes my hand in his. "Will you come see me after I'm done?"

"Never doubt it. In fact, I have something to tell you." Granchio and Jeera are correct that there's no need to get him unnecessarily upset. I'll treat his visit to our quarters as a nice surprise, because this awful scheme might work out fine and everything will be all right, and if it doesn't, he should have his one week of life be more than a sparse hospital room.

"What is it?"

At that moment, Jeera enters and softly clears her throat. She nods to me and shoots a warm smile at Obi-Wan.

"Not until afterward," I say. "Think of it as incentive to do a good job."

He frowns. "No fair!"

I cup his face, letting my thumb linger over his eyebrow. It seems to sooth him as much as it does me, so I continue until Jeera's touch on my arm tells me my visit must end. I stand and eventually force my arm to fall away, and murmur, "May the Force be with you."

As soon as I find myself alone, the warmth in my chest quickly dissipates. I feel time slipping away. Every second moves us closer to the moment when something must happen. Either ripping open the shield will set his mind free, or it will reduce him to an invalid.

I cannot trust that I will have any time with him after, so now every heartbeat is precious. He must remember. He must become Obi-Wan again. The Council might be willing to shut away an empty shell of a man, but they wouldn't dare turn their backs on Obi-Wan Kenobi, one of their finest padawans and a man fully and legally capable of making his own decisions. I certainly won't let them, but first, Obi-Wan must remember. I can help him more easily away from the constant surveillance of this high-security area.

First, I return to our quarters, but find nothing to busy myself there. Anakin has already cleaned and prepared everything for Obi-Wan's overnight stay, and the reminder of what precisely that means sends a jolt of panic through me. I return to spend the hours near the medical ward in case something happens. The progression of numbers on the chrono means both that no complications have arisen, and that time is running out, so my nerves are jangled in nearly no time at all. I go to a refectory and force myself to eat a little. Then I find a quiet antechamber to meditate.

The trance comes easily out of decades of practice, but instead of the usual, preferred method of slow contemplation and reflection, I purge my negative emotions into the Force like so much vomit that it is. Days of fear and anger pour out of me into the rushing currents of the Unifying Force, the indomitable passage of time washing over me, leaving me spent and raw. I sit stock still for a long time after that, re-centering myself in the Moment.

When Granchio calls me, I am back in the secluded shielded hall in the civilian medical ward in mere moments, arriving in time to see Jeera tucking him back into his bed.

He wakes slowly. The surgery was a success, but Granchio reminds me that it's still too early yet to tell if he'll regain full use of his arm. It rests on a pillow, swathed in thick bacta bandages, which also serve to secure the bulky splint in place, immobilizing him from fingers to shoulder.

"Once the incisions heal and the swelling goes down, we'll put him in something more permanent. For now, when you take him home, just be mindful of not bumping it."

I could punch and hug Granchio for his choice of words. He seems far more optimistic than any of us have the right be, but Force, `when you take him home…' I don't think I've ever had an opportunity as sweet and wretchedly unfair as this.

"Qui-Gon?" Obi-Wan mumbles, his eyes still closed.

"Right here, Ben," I reply, laying a hand lightly on his forehead so he has a sense of my proximity. He probably won't remember any of this, but my being here for his post-op is as much to reassure myself as a fulfillment of my promise to him.

"Did okay?" he asks slowly.

"You did great. Everything went smoothly."

"Good. What were you going to tell me?"

I chuckle a bit, smoothing down a bit of hair jutting awkwardly off on one side. He's already drifting to sleep and won't wake for several hours yet. I will stay to make sure I'm here when he wakes again.

I when I do tell him the news, his face lights up with delight.

"I get to leave! And I get come see where you live!"

"You lived there too," I remind him. "And I brought something for you."

"Really?" his excitement is endearing. If he was able, I'm sure he'd be bouncing up and down. The enthusiasm, however, tempers when I place his gift in his hand. "It's a rock. It's very pretty, thank you."

He had almost the exact same reaction when I first gave it to him over twenty years ago: first anticipation, followed by disappointment, quickly masked in polite thanks.

I have no doubt he'll learn to love it again. Besides, today I'm more concerned with its function than its sentimental value. "It's yours, that is to say, if was yours before, and I'm just returning it to you."

"Oh," he looks at it again quizzically. "I must really like rocks then."

"Actually, it was a birthday gift. It was the first birthday gift I gave you, soon after you became my apprentice. It's from a river on my homeworld."

"Well that does make it special. Thank you very much," he says this time with genuine gratitude. It catches the light as he examines it this way and that, a faint smile growing on his face. Despite the hollows around his eyes and the lines at his mouth, I see the bright boy he once was, taking similar delight in new things.

"It actually helped you keep your memory once before," I continue.

That definitely catches his attention. "How?"

"I don't really know," I admit. "You told me that it helped you focus through your fear. The rock itself is only mildly reactive to the Force, so it all must have been something you did on your own."

"So there is something I can do to recover my memories?"

"I think so."

"Can you show me?"

I raise an eyebrow at him. "I thought you didn't want to remember."

"I'm not sure that I do, but I hate the idea of someone else hiding in my head. If remembering things will help get through this barrier, then I want to try. And I guess I'll just deal with the bad memories later. Can you show me how?"

"I will," I promise.

===
12. Qui-Gon
===

When the time comes to collect Obi-Wan, I can't help but think how wrong the circumstances are, how cruel it is to risk his health merely to throw me this table scrap. Still, I remind myself that he deserves one nice evening away from all the machines, to have a home cooked meal, and to look out a window. Make it nice for him, I think to myself over and over like a mantra. For him. Make it nice for him.

Mace arrives and I leave Anakin in our quarters to finish making what I hope is still Obi-Wan's favorite dinner while I return with not a little trepidation to the medical ward. By now, we are well-versed in passing through the various security points. We arrive at his room to find him dressed simply in easy-to-manage training clothes in place of his thin medical gown, glaring darkly at a hoverchair placed near his bed.

He scowls. "There's nothing wrong with my legs," he insists.

It's exactly what Obi-Wan would say, I think sadly.

Jeera is unimpressed. "It's a long way to the accommodation sector and the farthest you've walked is to and from the fresher. If you stumble and fall on your arm, you're going back to surgery and the healing will take much longer. So let's put it this way, Ben--either you go in the chair, or not at all."

His eyes widens slightly at the ultimatum. Jeera doesn't relent, and Granchio and I give him similarly unyielding expressions. The stubborn set of his jaw only subsides, however, when he faces Mace. Obi-Wan has only seen Mace a couple of times, and Master Windu's no-nonsense glare is enough to convince a wampa that it would actually very much enjoy an extended trip to the jungle moons of Stembaw V.

He swings his legs awkwardly over the side of the bed. I hold out a standard issue brown cloak for him. "Here, put this on."

He looks slightly confused as he examines the fabric. "A Jedi robe? What's this for?"

To conceal you in case someone sees, so you don't stand out. "The halls aren't heated in order to conserve energy, so it's quite cold."

He slides his free arm into the sleeve and lets me wrap the rest around him as he eases into the chair. Once settled, I steer the chair out the door.

Mace accompanies us through the halls, because apparently I can't be trusted to move Obi-Wan from one level to another without trying to secret him off somewhere. Truth be told, the thought has crossed my mind, and if Obi-Wan wasn't in such need of medical care, I might have considered it more thoroughly. In any case, I'm sure security has been alerted to not allow me out of the Temple tonight, much less with a sickly passenger in tow.

Despite the hour marking the beginning of meal time in the refectories, and by extension the time when most of us have our meals out of habit, we take a little-used winding route instead of the main halls to avoid encountering any other Jedi. I am glad for small favors, though, that Mace is the one to walk with us. He's sympathetic to me and perhaps to Obi-Wan, which some of my fellow Councilors are not.

Obi-Wan doesn't complain again about the hoverchair, which surprises me until I realize he's absorbed with seeing everything around him. Having spent nearly every moment he remembers in that shielded medical room, now he stares in awe at the long walkways with their arched ceilings and columns. We turn into the accommodation sector of the Temple, with its seemingly endless rows of corridors. He must find it all very overwhelming.

As I open the door, Mace hands me one of two tracking readers he has with him.

"In case something happens," he says needlessly. "I'll be by at midday tomorrow."

I nod absently as he leaves with a worried backward glance. Anakin already has the hoverchair in hand and takes Obi-Wan inside.

If the trip through the halls and walkways was impressive, the quarters, or rather, the view, have him in awe. "You live here?"

"Yes, when we aren't out on missions," Anakin says.

"I used to live here? I don't remember." He makes a clumsy and possibly dangerous attempt to alight, which immediately brings Anakin and me to his side to get him to his feet without tipping the chair. He touches everything, sometimes leaning on a piece of furniture for support, but mostly to feel the textures, until his hand meet the glass of the balcony door. "Can I go out?"

"Afraid not. I sense the rain coming in. If I let you get sick, Granchio will boil me alive."

"You must be hungry," Anakin grins. "Come, let's have dinner."

He nods eagerly. "It smells great!"

Anakin sets the table as I help Obi-Wan make his way slowly back across the room. Seeing his achingly slow shuffle, I wish he had something for the pain, but he still refuses to take anything. I use the Force to make scooting up to the table a smoother ordeal for him since the look on his face shows that all the moving around today makes his still-healing ribs as much a discomfort as his arm.

We eat quietly, Obi-Wan apparently besotted with the first proper food he has the memory of eating and Anakin and I regarding him carefully. Obi-Wan's left-handed grip on his fork is a little unwieldy but as luck would have it, none of his old favorites require much effort to eat-- the better for growing teenagers to shovel and inhale. This particular dish of grains, meat, vegetables, and sauce was a staple of Anakin's puberty as well. It grows good padawans.

I almost let myself forget the worries of the day, and pretend that everything already worked itself out. If the Force is with us, there will be many more evenings like this. If not, I will have to be content with this brief, warm, quiet moment to bolster me through however many cold nights the Force has in store for me.

Eventually, though, the meal winds down. We empty our plates and Obi-Wan gingerly leans back with a contented sigh.

"That was great," he says as Anakin reaches for his plate, which Obi-Wan obligingly pushes across the table. "Sorry I can't help you."

Anakin shakes his head with a smile. "No problem."

I am extremely glad that the friendliness Anakin and Obi-Wan have towards each other is genuine. At first, Anakin's attitude toward Obi-Wan was one of duty as a Jedi and my padawan, but he is a naturally kind and optimistic boy-- or young man, actually--and through their few, fleeting interactions, has found nothing about Obi-Wan to dampen his compassion

"Come, Ben," I say. "Let me show you how to properly meditate."

I have his attention immediately. He has the sense to wait for my help out of the chair rather and try to scoot back or stand on his own. I lead him to the couch, which is not the usual spot or position for meditation, but I can hardly expect him to kneel on the floor mat.

Anakin watches us with a careful eye as he clears the dishes. I feel a slight prod through our training bond.

/Meditate, Master?/ he asks, letting his trepidation waft through the thought. We rarely communicate telepathically except when separated on joint missions, so when he has something to say through the bond, I know to listen.

/Yes,/ I reply. /Meditate./

/Is that wise with the Force collar on?/

/He doesn't need the Force to engage in mental exercise./

Our bond hums with lightly shielded activity on his end as he ponders my plans. He knows what I'm up to, but doesn't appear concerned about the rightness of it, only for safety. /Promise me you won't try anything extreme on your own./

/You have my word./ And he does. I'm an old fool, but not foolish enough to try to break through the force collar's restrictive barrier in addition Obi-Wan's strange shield. I can't be of use to either of them dead or mad.

Anakin loads the dishes into the rarely used washer unit, tonight being a special occasion after all, and nods goodnight to us.

"I have some notes to review before bed, and my presence out here may be distracting," he explains. "Let me know if you need anything. Goodnight, master. Goodnight, Obi-Wan."

"Goodnight," we reply.

"Thank you for dinner," Obi-Wan adds. "It was the best I ever had."

When new initiates first learn to meditate, they have the benefit of the Force, and their crèche masters guiding them through their innate connection to it. For Obi-Wan, who remains trapped between the barrier created by the Force collar block both him and whatever may be inside him, and that strange, slippery shield keeping everyone out, the experience is a wholly different one.

I cannot guide him as I normally would. Instead, I place the stone in his hand, talking him through how to clear his mind of distraction by focusing only on my voice and the smoothness of the stone. Suggestion can be a power tool. His eyes close and his breathing evens.

After nearly an hour, I have him in a state as close to full meditation as I can get him. There is not much to work with, only the emotional response to surgical droids and the word 'Sith.' I decide to focus on the latter both because he has a stronger handle on the emotion, and because I promised Anakin I wouldn't try anything extreme, which might be the result of attacking the 'Sith' memory regardless of my intentions.

I talk him through the reaction we experienced together, asking questions for him to consider in order to better search his feelings. He sits leaning against the couch cushions, so still he might be asleep except for the slow, rhythmic circles his thumb makes over the stone.

We continue for another two hours. I am impressed by his endurance. His mind must remember the feeling of meditation, even if he does not consciously know how. When he finally rises out of his state, it's an unsettling feeling to see someone come out of meditation without sensing it in the Force. All I have to inform me are my eyes, which makes me feel half-dumb like I'm dreaming. First his eyes open, blank and unfocused. I suspect that this is the moment he is re-centering his perspective, either back down from examining the vastly huge expanses of space and time, or out again after zeroing in on the minutest of details within himself. Normally I would feel the shift in the Force, but not this time.

His awareness slowly returns to the present. His breathing and heart rate come back up as well.

"How do you feel?" I ask him.

"Tired," he says, blinking. "But not tired. It's hard to explain."

"And do you remember anything about the droid?"

He frowns in concentration, still circling the stone with his thumb, then says slowly, "There was a surgical droid hurting me, and I couldn't get away. I was held down somehow. I remember seeing it above me, and that every part of me hurt."

His hand stops. His eyes close, not in peaceful meditation this time, but to shut the memory away. "What could I have done to make it to that to me?" he whispers to no one in particular.

I put my hand on his back, carefully guiding him until he's leaning against my chest. I kiss his hair and his forehead again because he needs it and nobody is here to say I can't. "I think that's enough tonight. Bedtime."

Obi-Wan agrees wordlessly. I help him to his feet and lead him to the fresher where Anakin has laid out a new toiletry set for him. While he's in the fresher, I stop by Anakin's room to let my padawan know we're going to bed, but he's already asleep, his datapad and several durasheets of notes scattered around him. I stack them silently on his desk and pull an extra blanket over him. Tonight feels particularly cold.

Obi-Wan manages to change into his sleep pants on his own. I help him ease his arm out his shirt, the sleeve of which Jeera thoughtfully cut off. The standard sleep shirt's short sleeves fit easily over it as well, but I worry that he'll get cold in our quarters which are not as well heated as the medical ward.

"Will you be all right?" I ask him. "Let me get you an extra blanket."

"I'll be fine as long as you stay with me."

"I shouldn't," I say with difficulty. "Your arm might get bumped."

"You can sleep on my left side here."

"I don't think that's a good idea, Ben."

"Please, Qui-Gon?"

For a brief flash, he sounds surprisingly small and scared. I realize that in addition to the unsettling bout of mediation, that he's never slept anywhere other than the secure, locked confines of his medical room. Despite its oppressive clinical closed space, it is the only thing he knows.

The last thing I want to do is frighten him ever again. "All right, Ben," I relent. "I'll stay with you until you fall asleep, but then I'm moving to the couch."

My bed is long to fit my height, though barely wide enough to accommodate two people unless they don't mind getting to know each other much better. Somehow, Obi-Wan ends up resting his head on my shoulder, trapping my arm down straight across the pillows.

"Goodnight, Qui-Gon," he yawn, and is asleep within minutes.

I lay there in the dark, marveling at what the Force has led me to. For the moment, I have everything I want, which is Obi-Wan, alive and safe in my bed. True, I wish he had not been half-starved and mutilated, and that he does not face having his mind ripped open in the morning, but those problems are issues of the past and future.

Actually, I wish he had not died at all! I must laugh at myself, being such a paltry bit of flotsam in the greater current of events that I can come to accept even the most unbelievable and impossible things. For now, in this Moment, I can say the Force answers my prayers and grants my wishes, though I know it does neither. I have Obi-Wan for this night, and so these few hours in this small room become the universe.

I try to stay awake as long as I can to savor these few precious hours, but the strains of the past week wear on me, and soon I follow Obi-Wan into sleep.

===
13. Qui-Gon
===

I wake up alone. Immediately, instinctively, I reach out for Obi-Wan, and find nothing. The space beside me is cold. Had I dreamed the whole thing?

No, the sheets and pillow hold the tell-tale indentations of another body. I throw my robe on and rush to find him. Force knows what's happened, if he's just using the fresher, or if he woke up confused and wandered off. I refuse to think anything worse can happen to him in the Temple, for my own shaky sense of calm, I refuse.

"Master, what is it?" Anakin joins me in the hall, mussed and still barefoot. He sees the empty bed through my open door as says nothing, simply falling in step behind me with his lightsaber in hand.

We check the fresher and the closets. Nothing. The living room and kitchen are empty as well. I start to feel real urgency now, not knowing where in the Temple Obi-Wan might have gone, and with no way to sense his wellbeing even if the tracker on his Force collar can pinpoint his location.

I grab the tracker's reader from the table and am about to head out when, suddenly, Anakin barks out a humorless laugh, and drops his stance. "For Force's sake!"

He points out to the balcony. In the darkness, I can see Obi-Wan's bare feet extending out from between my winter plants. Outside, of all places!

I fling open the door, heady with relief, and fall to my knees in front of him, shocked by the biting cold. His lips are blue and his clothes damp. He must have been out here for some time since, by the looks of things, it hasn't rained in hours. He sits against the metal railing, legs outstretched in front of him and unmoving, with a look of perfect calm on his face.

I cup his face in my hand and feel ice. Panic grips me for a moment that whatever possessed him to sit out here in the freezing rain has taken him from me, but then a faint puff of air slips between his lips. I want to sob with relief.

"Ben!" I shout, suppressing my natural instinct to shake him. "Ben!"

Slowly, he opens his eyes, recentering. He immediately sucks in a sharp breath and starts to shiver. I throw my robe over him and gather him up in my arms as carefully as I can, mindful that jostling him could cause a rush of blood through his rigid body and send him into cardiac arrest.

He weighs practically nothing as I carry him into the warmth of the living room. Anakin is ready at the couch with thermal blankets. I set him down and strip off his thin, wet sleep clothes. My body has been trained for survival and goes through the motions nearly automatically while my mind battles feverishly between maintaining a calm air and losing control completely. I pull my shirt over my head and easing him against me to share my body heat. His entire body feels as frigid as the balcony's metal railing. "What the hell were you doing out there?"

He curls into me like a newborn cub, arm tucked instinctively tight against his chest. He shivers against me for what feels like forever and several times I look up only to have Anakin assure me that merely a minute has passed and the medics are on their way. All I can do is wrap the blanket more securely around him, and ask again. This time I can make out his answer, faint as a whisper. "Meditating."

"Meditating?" I repeat. "It's freezing out there! You're going to get yourself killed!"

I swear I see him smile. "You won't let me."

No, I damn well won't, not again.

===
14. Qui-Gon
===

The scene is familiar, and I hate it for that. Obi-Wan lies in a hospital bed, hooked to monitors that at least beep and hum steadily. I'm grateful for their assurance on that part if nothing else.

When I fall into the chair beside him, the heart monitor speeds up a little. He's awake and he knows I'm here. I reach out to touch his cheek. His neck stretches into my touch and his whole body shifts closer. He lies under thick blankets, still cradling his arm out of habit, but breathing easily and apparently at peace.

My realization dawns that he is very naked. Before, stripping him out of his wet clothes was a matter of medical necessity. Now, all I see as I trail my hand to his scruffy jaw are his bare, pale shoulders jutting out from the blanket. He is so thin. I reach down, pulling the blanket up to fully cover him, letting my fingers linger. His skin is dry and taut under my touch, like parchment, but warm. Oh thank the Force.

I let my hand slide beneath the blanket and rest it against his back, feeling the bumps of his spine and curves of his ribs. Less pronounced, but equally present, are the scars that interrupt these natural, if bleak, contours.

He shifts a little, making a sound low in his throat that I can't decipher.

"Ben?" I ask. "How do you feel?"

"All right," he replies slowly. I watch carefully as his eyes open and focus bit by bit. He blinks a few times and looks around as if he's seeing the world for the first time. His gaze settles on me and a smile spreads across his face.

"Qui-Gon."

"Yes, Ben?"

The corners of his eyes crinkle as his smile widens. "I love it when you call that."

My heart stops. "Ben?"

He lifts up his good hand, which is clenched in a fist. Until now I hadn't noticed, thinking he had been cold. Now, he opened it to reveal the birthday stone he had been using to aid his meditation.

Everything stops. I don't dare ask, but the look on his face of delight, of recognition, is answer enough for me.

"You gave me this stone from the River of Light on my thirteenth birthday. It was the day we were sent to Gala. Then we ended up on Phindar and discovered the plot to take over the sector. When I was captured and the Syndicat came to wipe my memory, I took strength from the stone."

He turned it over in his hand, letting the light pick up the red veins running through it. He pressed it into my palm. It is warm. "It reminded me that my strength as a Jedi lied within. Nothing is lost where the Force dwells."

I briefly lose sight of Obi-Wan --Obi-Wan! -- as my vision blurs with tears. When I see him now, it really, truly is him. His gaze is clear and the grin on his face is of my Obi-Wan, my Ben, not the sweet, slightly vacant look he had before. He nudges the stone out of my trembling hand and replaces it with his own.

"When I was twenty-one I told you I loved you," he said. "We were making breakfast and it was the only time I've ever seen you drop anything."

I hear myself laugh, a pathetic, watery sound. "Good thing you were there to--"

"--to catch the plate. You walked out and I thought you were going to request a new master for me."

I shook my head, remembering the shock I felt then, how I had fled to pace and meditate before coming to my senses and returning back to our quarters that night.

"But you came back," Obi-Wan continued, tightening his grip. "You came back. You loved me too. You promised you wouldn't ruin my career, but that we couldn't be lovers while I was still a padawan. We pledged to wait. The temptation got too much and we closed our bond. We kept on training, we kept going on missions. We never touched, we never kissed, but I knew you loved me."

The tears come freely now, and I am nearly beyond words. Still, I clasp his hand to my lips and gasp, "Love you, love you," between kisses.

His voice is heavy now with emotion. "Two years, we waited. Then... Force, how long, Qui?"

It takes me a moment to realize what he's asking. "Twelve."

"Oh gods, Oh Force. Twelve years. Qui-Gon! "

I can't stand it any longer. I pull him into my arms, ignoring the protests of the monitors. He wraps his arm around me, clutching me tight as I sob out my joy. I hear him too, keening in pain and elation, and it very much feels the same in this moment.

"Kiss me, please," he moans.

I do. Eagerly, unerringly, I press my mouth over his, reveling in the way his lips yield to me. Everything falls away. There is no sight, no sound, only the feel of his mouth—hot, wet, and alive. I fill myself with him, because before I was freezing and parched, but now I am awash in utter joy. His fingers dig into my hair. I hold him closer still. I have my Obi-Wan, my Ben, living and ecstatic in my arms, and I am never letting go.

===
15. Obi-Wan
===

I remember.

I wish our bond was open so we can communicate more clearly, without the harsh, crude shout of words. Fortunately, we've performed this maneuver many times and I know that you will push your gain so I can fall back and swing around, forcing our target out of the lines of traffic and into the energy trap.

Traffic is heavy all around. There are few worse places to conduct a chase than the social levels of Coruscant. There are too many people, too many vehicles, too much noise, and too much light. With all these risk factors, an open bond would help us coordinate our chase.

Focus. This is the very reason we closed our link. I must focus. We approach another intersection, our quarry swerving dangerously to shake us and causing vehicles to pitch dangerously out of the way. We must catch him before anyone else dies. Focus, focus.

Your speederbike whines as you accelerate across the river of traffic. I follow suit, shouting my signal through the helmet's comm as I ease off the controls.

The next thing I know, I am looking up into the lights of the city, streaming and glowing and towering and spinning above me. Slowly the sounds of people screaming filter through the haze. My head hurts. My helmet must have been knocked off. I manage to sit up, and try to stand, only to have a wave of pain knock me down.

My master is in the chase without me. He needs me to secure the trap. Where is my helmet? I need to comm him so he can change tactics.

My head hurts. My body hurts. Where am I? What level did I land on? What hit me? Is anyone else hurt?

Suddenly, something huge and heavy hits me, filling my ears with a wild howl, pressing the air out of my lungs. Fire flares in my chest, again and again. It comes in bursts in my belly, my shoulders, and my arms.

The pain rips away what strength I have left.

Everything falls. I hit the ground, icy enough to burn even as the fire engulfs me from above. I have no strength left in me; none to fight, none to hold on. My shields crumble, flooding my mind with a rush of sensation so intense that it wrenches a cry from me even when the agony of my body does not.

Forgive me, but I need you. /Help me, Master!/

Everything changes. Where there was crushing pain, cold, and fire, there is suddenly air and warmth and light. I am buoyed in your arms, in the Force, in your love.

Oh Qui-Gon, how long I have waited to feel this.

Everything fades away. I am focused at last, my master, my heart. There are no more flashing lights, no more blurs of people rushing around. I see your face looking down at me, and it's beautiful. You are beautiful. Your eyes are bright. They quench me, cooling the fire. I am safe in your arms.

I can hear your heart beating. Everything else fades away and I only hear you, my love. No more traffic, no more shouting, not even the distracting sounds of my own body. Your presence thuds and throbs above me, around me, in me. You are my light. I want nothing more than to hold your warmth in my hands like a living thing, but I cannot move.

I feel no pain anymore, only your love. Your arms still the fire and drain it out of my limbs, slowly, slowly. I see nothing but our bond, reaching down toward me like sunlight through the clouds. I want to grab hold, but my wretched arms will not move. I hear nothing but your heart, and I want to cry out with joy, but my throat will not open.

I beg you never let me go. I want to be in your arms always, Qui-Gon. Never let me go.

Oh Force, I'm so cold.

===
To be continued.