On Ebon Wings, Ere I Breathe: Hope

by Flamethrower

Title: On Ebon Wings, Ere I Breathe
Book 2 - Hope

Author: Flamethrower

Archive: MA & my Archive

Category: Q/O, AU, Crossover, hurt/comfort, angst, action/adventure, drama, quotations, romance, A/P

Rating: M

Warning: This is not your happy place.

Spoilers: Not unless you live under a big rock and have never heard of The Crow. (And if you haven't...!??!)

Summary: A month has passed since the events of Book 1. Ben Lars has been busy...

Notes: This is a long-term project of mine, begun in 2002, that's just now nearing completion. This fic has gone a long, long, long, LONG way without ever having been published in its entirety, and only my betas and artists have seen anything beyond the first book. I'm relieved and sad and horrified to see it done. There are seven books in all. I'll be publishing one book per month.

All artwork for the series can be found here.

And hey, I still need covers for books 2-7, and artwork for the inside. Please to be helping me, yes? :)

Feedback: Please? I'll try to be better about prompt replies...

Thanks: Merry Amelie, writestufflee, laura dittrich, cajolerisms, & rikarahl - the latter who are responsible for the kick-ass art.

Disclaimer: No money made, no profit intended, please don't sue I'm too poor...

The sorrow for the dead is the only sorrow

from which we refuse to be divorced.

-Washington Irving

Book Two - Hope

It was a full month before Qui-Gon Jinn saw Knight Ben Lars again.

Qui-Gon stepped into the dining hall, halting for an amused moment as a group of young Initiates scrambled through the open doorway around him, making their way to their classes. This time of morning, the dining hall was almost empty. Droids were roaming the tables, doing any necessary cleanup to prepare for the upcoming lunch rush.

He moved towards the serving line, attracted by the sweet scent of cooking fruit on the air, when he stopped, his attention caught by the distinctive copper hair of Ben Lars. The younger Knight was slouched in his chair, alone at a table but for Jeimor's presence. The crow was making short work of a bowl full of raw meat. Ben was picking at his food, his gaze vacant. His face was paler than Qui-Gon remembered, with a pinched, haunted expression that Qui-Gon was familiar with. There were so many times he'd awoken looking just the same way, and this morning had been no exception.

He made his way to Lars's table instead, no longer interested in food. "Might I join you?"

Ben flinched, lifting his head to look up at Qui-Gon, his eyes wide with surprise. "Er... certainly, as long as you don't mind my friend's choice of entrée."

Qui-Gon quirked an eyebrow at the crow as it paused to give him a curious amber stare. "Not at all. I've observed worse."

"I seem to recall hearing about the great Master Jinn and his many strays," Ben said, smiling and continuing to stir food around on his plate. He was bludgeoning a piece of fruit into a hapless pulp with no evident sign of intending to eat it. The crow gave this display a disgusted look and resumed eating.

"The Force is having its revenge on me, however." Qui-Gon reached out and stroked Jeimor's glossy black feathers. The crow murmured happily and pushed back against the caress. "My current Padawan brings home stray mechanicals. Some days our quarters look like a salute to artificial life."

The faint smile resurfaced, but Qui-Gon was almost certain it carried a measure of sadness with it. "I have heard from reliable sources that it is a Padawan's duty to confound the Master," Lars said, looking at him with pale gray eyes. Qui-Gon felt his heart constrict, the expression was so achingly familiar. If he didn't know better, he'd wonder if the Force had given his Padawan back to him. He'd prayed for such a thing often enough, after all, but he knew better. Obi-Wan was ash, nothing left of him now but particles drifting along on Naboo's winds.

The younger man arched an eyebrow at him. "I'm certain you didn't come to the dining hall to discuss Padawans and their habits with this lowly Knight, Master Jinn. Aren't you hungry? The breakfast cobbler is superb." He punctuated that statement by turning another piece of fruit into an unrecognizable glob.

Qui-Gon shook his head. "I had hoped the sight of food might evoke some interest, but I was wrong. And I don't seem to be the only one suffering from lack of appetite, Knight Lars."

"You can... please, call me Ben?" Lars murmured, ducking his head. "There are enough people in this Temple who call me Knight Lars."

Qui-Gon hesitated, feeling the pleading behind the request, the further echo of intense loneliness. "Very well, Ben."

Ben smiled, realizing the abused nature of his dish of food, and pushed it away before looking up. "What's your excuse, Master Jinn?"

"Please," Qui-Gon said, with a smile of his own. "If you're going to insist on informal relations, then you should be addressing me by my first name. Otherwise I might begin to panic and start thinking that Council members are coming to harass me."

The grin that lit up Ben's face was brilliant, and chased the shadows from his eyes. "Very well, Qui-Gon. I certainly have no wish to receive further treatments of the also-legendary Jinn Glare."

Qui-Gon felt his heart warm at the sound of his name on the man's lips. Force, he thought. What the hell is wrong with me? "Jinn Glare?"

Ben shrugged. "It's this little frown, when, combined with the furrowing of the eyebrows, turns your eyes to ice and sends chills running down the backs of others. Rather formidable."

He grimaced at the description. "I sound monstrous."

"Only to people who don't know you, I imagine," Ben pointed out. "What's your lack of appetite being caused by, Qui-Gon? I'll tell if you tell."

"Fair enough," Qui-Gon conceded. The crow chose that moment to emit a dainty burp before clambering up Ben's arm to perch on his shoulder. He watched the crow begin to groom Ben's hair, and caught himself wondering if those copper locks were as soft as they looked. He laced his fingers together and rested his hands in his lap, unsettled by the thought. "I had a nightmare."

"Jedi don't have nightmares," Ben replied, no censure in his voice. Nor was there a hint that he actually believed that silly mantra.

"This one does," Qui-Gon said with a rueful smile. "Don't tell anyone that I gave away our secret."

"Tell me about it?" Ben requested softly. There was genuine concern in his eyes, a desire to listen.

"You may already know what happened to my last Padawan. It's... common knowledge."

Ben closed his eyes for a brief moment. "Yes. The Naboo invasion."

"I've had nightmares about it ever since," Qui-Gon admitted. Strange how easy it was to hand that truth to Ben, when after a decade of such dreams, only Anakin, Yoda, and Mace Windu knew about them. "But last night was... different."

"How?" Ben asked, curious.

Qui-Gon sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "You likely also know that he was killed by a Sith." Ben nodded in confirmation, and Qui-Gon couldn't hold back a bitter smile. "The Temple rumor mill is efficient as ever, it seems."

"Perhaps more so," Ben mused, "as the new Knight Lars is currently the subject to gossip about. I like it when people who do not recognize me come along and inform me of the strange and lewd things I have apparently been up to."

Qui-Gon smiled at Ben's serious tone, seeing the flashes of humor in his eyes. His words made Qui-Gon feel a bit better, whereas unnecessary platitudes tended to just make him angry. "Forgive me."

Ben lifted one hand in the air and tipped it at him. "There is nothing to forgive. If I'm making you uncomfortable, I can leave--"

"No," Qui-Gon caught the other's man's hand in his own before he even realized what he was doing. "Please. I--I need to discuss this with someone." He released Ben's hand, embarrassed at his lack of control. "And you were here first," he said. "It would be wrong of me to ask you to leave."

Ben was staring down at his fingers, as if stunned by the contact. "Very well," Ben said at last, conceding the point. "Please, continue."

"Every nightmare is... his death," Qui-Gon said, trying to put his thoughts in order, to speak without choking on the overwhelming sense of loss and grief that always assailed him when he spoke of Obi-Wan. "It's always the same--the environment, the outcome, those involved. My memory of that day is ingrained in my mind, something I will never forget." There was a flash of... something in Ben's eyes. Pain? Sympathy? Qui-Gon couldn't tell. "Last night, however, was not the same at all. I have never laid eyes upon the surroundings we were in, and the... the method had changed as well." He released a breath, trying to release his anxiety with it. It had been welling up since that morning, when he had awoken to find his pants and sheets soaked through with sweat. "It was..."

"Terrifying?" Ben supplied.

Qui-Gon nodded, lifting his hands up and laying them on the table with slow, careful motions to keep them from trembling. "Terrifying," he agreed. The haunted expression had returned to Ben's face, making him seem even younger than the thirty Standard he appeared to be. "What about you?"

Ben leaned back in his seat, to Jeimor's displeasure. The crow hmphed and hopped onto the back of the chair for a more stable perch. "I don't sleep much," Ben said, focusing somewhere over Qui-Gon's left shoulder, his eyes distant. "I don't need to, really, which seems to be another effect of the bond I have with Jeimor. He sleeps enough for both of us," he said, smiling when the crow made a grumbling sound. "But after last night, it may be awhile before I have any desire to sleep again."

Qui-Gon studied the other man's posture and expression. "Nightmare?"

Ben smiled, grim-faced. "Oh, yes." He met Qui-Gon's eyes. "Tell me: Did your dreams involve a man in a dark cloak? A man whose face you could never see?"

Qui-Gon froze for a moment. He well remembered the human form, draped in darkness both physical and other, his face invisible under the depths of his hood. "Yes," he whispered. "How did you know?"

Ben's eyes lost their focus once more, and Qui-Gon wondered if he was reliving whatever it was he had dreamed last night. "I saw him as well. The situation was... unpleasant, at best." He took a deep, ragged breath. "He is the Sith."

It was like his blood had been replaced by ice water. "You're certain?" Qui-Gon asked--and in the next moment he didn't need Ben to answer. The Force murmured the accuracy of the identification to him. The Darkness that had shrouded the man had not been produced by his own demons, no matter that he had thought it so. Qui-Gon knew himself to be depressed, not malicious.

Ben was staring at him. "Tell me what he did to you."

Qui-Gon pulled himself together with an effort, forcing himself to relate the details of the dream with near-clinical detachment. "He did nothing to me. He tortured my Padawan, murdered him while I watched. I could do nothing." He lowered his head, forcing himself to breathe as if nothing was wrong. That part of the dream was consistent, as always. He could never save Obi-Wan, and had battled for years the crippling guilt that resurfaced every time he dreamed of his Padawan's death. His only measure of success was that he had yet to throw himself off of a Temple balcony.

"I'm sorry," Ben whispered. "I did not mean to cause you pain."

Qui-Gon uttered a short, miserable laugh, looking up at Ben. "Don't apologize. You are not the cause."

To his confusion, the younger man flinched. "Nevertheless, I have been prying. Forgive me."

Qui-Gon shook his head. "Forgiven," he said. "I..." He sighed again. "I miss him terribly."

"Do you?" Ben asked, his voice faint.

Qui-Gon smiled, and even to him it felt forced. "Every day. But... it doesn't matter. It's your turn, Ben. What did you dream of?"

Ben gave him a tight, brittle smile. "The Sith Lord took great delight in breaking every bone in my body with the Force. It might not have been so bad if he hadn't been uttering this horrible little laugh while he did it. There... might have been more, but I woke myself up screaming before the dream could progress any further. I wasn't in the mood to stick around."

Qui-Gon swallowed at the blunt recital, and felt himself pale. "That sounds...painful." And familiar.

"That's putting it mildly," Ben drawled. He studied Qui-Gon with intense gray eyes, and at the same moment, the crow turned his amber gaze on Qui-Gon as well. He resisted the urge to shift under those two gazes. There was power and intensity there where almost none had been present before, and it was like being judged.

Ben must have come to a decision, because he stood, picking up his tray while Jeimor scrambled to regain his shoulder perch. "Do you have a spare moment, Qui-Gon?" he asked.

Qui-Gon stood up as well, curiosity warring with caution, coupled with the desire to spend more time in the mysterious Knight's company. "I have several," he replied. "What can I do for you, Ben?"

"I'd like to introduce you to a personal project of mine," Ben said cryptically. "I would appreciate your input."

Qui-Gon was intrigued. He knew Ben never left Coruscant, but whatever task the Council had assigned him was being kept quiet. "I would be delighted to help, though I don't yet know what you're up to."

Ben frowned. "You'll see, though when you find out, you may well change your mind." He walked over to the waste receptacle to dump the contents of his tray, handing the empty item to an ill-tempered cleaning droid. Qui-Gon waited, watching, trying to rein in his emotions.

The Sith took great delight in breaking every bone in my body with the Force.

Qui-Gon closed his eyes. He could still see Obi-Wan, held in the air by an invisible hand, eyes wide with pain and shock. His short red hair was plastered to his scalp with sweat, and behind him the Sith was laughing, the sound emerging like poisonous vapors from beneath the dark cowl. Then Obi-Wan was screaming in agony once more, the sound of bones snapping under invisible pressure stark and horrible to hear.

There was a touch on his arm, and he opened his eyes to find Ben regarding him with solemn eyes. "Ready?"

He nodded, pulling Jedi serenity around himself like a second cloak as he followed the younger man from the dining hall. It wasn't just physical; there was a connection between Ben Lars and Obi-Wan Kenobi, tying their fates together. Hell, for all he knew, the dream was a warning about Ben Lars's future, and his sleeping mind had substituted Obi-Wan based on their similar appearance. Either way, on each side of the equation, a Sith awaited.

Attrition

Qui-Gon was surprised to discover that Ben Lars had quarters only two levels down from his own. As far as the tower layout went, they were practically neighbors. "So close, and I never realized," he murmured.

Ben raised an eyebrow. "That depends entirely on your point of view. For much of the past month, you and your Padawan have been off-planet, dealing with the Separatist border disputes."

Qui-Gon smiled. "True. So, what is--what the hell?" he blurted out the moment Ben opened the door to his quarters.

Ben led him inside, a hint of a smirk on his face. "Just watch where you step."

Qui-Gon let the door shut behind him and came to a halt, trying to take in what he was seeing. Ben's walls were covered with flimplast sheets of various colors, and all of them were full of printed information that was sometimes marked by a dark-colored scrawl that must have been Ben's handwriting. There were stacks of papers and flimplast all over the floor, along with several boxes that were brimming over with data disks. There were paths to wade around the organized mess; otherwise, the floor was impassable. Ben, after shucking his robe, was navigating his way through the room with easy steps. The only space that seemed to be untouched was the kitchen. Qui-Gon could see stacks of flimplast even in the single bedroom.

He turned to Ben, who had stopped by the far wall and was leaning against it with his arms crossed. "Did you paper the 'fresher as well?"

Ben smiled. "Of course not. The 'plast would curl from the steam."

"What is this?" Qui-Gon asked, taking a step forward, relieved when none of the stacks came down. He took off his robe, hanging it on a peg next to the dark gray one Ben wore.

Ben only lifted his arm in invitation. "Take a look," he said. "You can ignore what's on the floor, though. I've already sorted through what I need. The important things are on the walls. Start..." Ben thought for a moment before pointing to a pink sheet of 'plast on the wall a few feet away from Qui-Gon. "There."

Qui-Gon shrugged and did so, curiosity winning out over confusion. Before he knew it he was absorbed, moving slowly from one piece of flimplast to the next, tracing facts and figures, money trails and names. The Trade Federation had a starring role, as did some of his former Master's dealings. The Techno Union popped up, unsurprisingly, as well as the Corporate Alliance, but the Commerce Guild was new--he hadn't seen a representative from that body at Dooku's meeting on Geonosis.

The more Qui-Gon read, the more involved it got, and the more the black scrawl of notes appeared in the sparse margins, pointing out connections that Qui-Gon might otherwise have missed. By the time he'd made it halfway around the room, he was in shock; by the time he had read over every document on Ben's walls, his mind was numb at the implications.

Ben appeared as if summoned, holding out a cup of steaming tea. "You look as if you could use this."

He nodded his thanks. "Very much so." He followed the younger man into a kitchen that was neat and orderly, a nice change from the controlled chaos of the living area. Ben pulled out one of the two chairs, waiting for Qui-Gon to take a seat before joining him.

Ben sipped his own tea, made a face, and then put it aside. "What did you see?"

Qui-Gon drained half of his tea and then wrapped his hands around the warm mug. "Funny. Usually I'm the one asking that question."

Ben gave him another one of those dazzling grins. "Turnabout is fair play, Master Jinn," he said. "What did you see?"

"I see a trail of corruption that stretches back for at least fifteen years," Qui-Gon said, frowning. "It involves most of the outlying corporate superpowers, as well as a few Inner Rim corporations. There is a long chain of money and favors changing hands, several dozen assassinations, coups, and claiming of territory. In short, I see the formation of the Confederacy."

Ben nodded in agreement. "What else?"

Qui-Gon put his mug down, staring into clear gray eyes that seemed to burn with their own fire, so intense was the man's gaze. "They're meant to lose. The war that the Confederacy has been convinced to start will create the end of every corporation involved in its founding."

Ben raised his mug at him in pseudo-salute. "Very good."

Qui-Gon exhaled and leaned back in his chair. "I thought... I hoped I was wrong. Force! Why the hell hasn't anyone else seen this?! The implications are--"

"Frightening," Ben supplied for him once more, when Qui-Gon couldn't figure out what he wanted to say. "There are only two reasons to fabricate a war that I can think of that fits this situation. The first would be for profit, and considering the money that would have to be poured into both fronts..." Ben shook his head. "The Confederacy will not profit from a war against the Republic, not with those cloned troops now available. Without their presence, the Separatists could have waged a successful war for secession, setting their own rules for trade, but no longer."

"And the Republic will not profit, either, because now there is a brand-new war machine to fuel, and the cost will be exorbitant," Qui-Gon agreed. "You could buy entire systems with the amount of money we're talking about."

"The other reason I can think of to start a war is based upon fear. Stir up enough terror, and you carve the path towards controlling that populace. A people that crave safety can be convinced to give up damned near anything."

"I would argue against that, but considering how long our Chancellor has been in office due to a series of emergencies..." Qui-Gon shook his head. "And now he has emergency powers, martial law has been declared, and we're on the cusp of a major war with the Confederacy."

"Mm. All seems to be coming together rather well, doesn't it?" Ben said, picking up his mug once more. He glared down at the tea inside, as if it were not quite what he wanted. "What else did you notice?"

Back to that again. Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow. "Will I be graded on this test, Knight Lars?"

Ben bit his lip, lowering his eyes as he blushed. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to push."

"It's all right," Qui-Gon assured him, feeling a touch of guilt. Ben Lars had seemed more open, more playful, and with the wrong choice of words he'd shut the man down. "Given the seriousness of the situation, that was rather callous of me."

"Don't worry about it," Ben said, though his expression remained pensive. "I'll tell you what the last thing is, what I noticed in that pattern of transactions. It's all being manipulated by one person, one who has access to a great deal of money, power, and influence. Not only do I believe that this is the work of the Sith Lord, I believe he's right here on Coruscant."

"Which is where your trail ends." Qui-Gon drank more of his cooling tea, contemplating the matter. The Order had long theorized that the Separatist crisis was being used by the Sith, or perhaps was a result of a Sith's manipulations, but Ben had taken those theories and provided evidence for them. Knowing the Sith was on Coruscant was both useful and frustrating, for if that was true, why couldn't they sense the bastard?

"Unfortunately," said Ben, finally putting his mug down in disgust.

"Unless you've found something else?" Qui-Gon asked, studying Ben and feeling eddies of the Force swirl around them.

"I can't trace the patterns any farther than that." Ben hesitated. "But yes, there is something else. Any time I consider where to look for the Sith..." He raised his hand, pointing. "That way. Always that way," he whispered. "No matter where I am on this planet."

There was no window in the direction that Ben pointed, but Qui-Gon didn't need one. "The Senate District," he said, trying to ignore the chill he felt. There was something primal about Ben in that moment, something that went beyond Qui-Gon's experience with the Force.

Ben dropped his hand, and the sensation vanished. "Yes, which doesn't exactly narrow it down. There are very few residents of that district that aren't possessed of power, money, and opportunity. He's good, whoever he is," Ben mused, staring down at the tabletop in thought. "That particular set of patterns was hard enough to find. The Force could only do so much through a data screen, so I printed it all out. I'm psychometric," he said, looking at Qui-Gon and holding up his hands. "It was easier to find the pattern using touch than it was with my eyes."

"Hence having enough paper and flimplast in your quarters to constitute a fire hazard," Qui-Gon smiled. Then he frowned, putting his tea mug down as realization struck him. He'd grabbed Ben's hand in the dining hall. Being psychometric meant that Ben read memories through his fingers, like Quinlan Vos, and Qui-Gon's thoughts had definitely been focused on painful subjects. "Oh, Force--Ben, I'm so sorry."

Ben gave him a lopsided smile. "It's all right. I mean, it only took every single bit of my willpower not to run screaming from the hall, but that seems to be a normal occurrence lately. Don't let it bother you."

"You could wear gloves," Qui-Gon said, feeling utterly foolish, unsure how to make up for invading the man's privacy in such a way. "Vos says that it helps."

Ben grimaced. "I tried. It doesn't work. I see what I see, whether I like it or not."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Qui-Gon said gently. "I'll try to refrain from touching you by accident."

"Sort of puts a damper on thoughts of intimacy, doesn't it?" Ben said, and then his eyes widened as he blushed fiery red. "I am so sorry, I did not mean to say that out loud and shut up, Jeimor!" Ben yelled.

From the bedroom, Qui-Gon could hear an incessant, laughing caw that made him grin. "Teasing you, is he?"

"He's a fucking bastard, is what he is!" Ben shouted, and then he buried his face in his hands. "Oh, gods, I'm sorry. I've been staring at 'plast for so long that I think I've lost my mind."

"Then I shall merely admit to my relief at not being the only one harboring thoughts of intimacy," Qui-Gon said, and the flush on Ben's face spread far enough to color his ears bright pink.

"Please don't tease me," the man muttered into his hands. "It's not fair. My life is weird enough."

"I promise I won't tease you that way unless you ask me to," Qui-Gon replied. "In the meantime, perhaps, we shall walk slowly down this path, and see where it leads us."

Ben raised his head, staring at Qui-Gon, his lips parted in surprise. "Can... can we?" he asked, his voice hesitant. "Can we really?"

Qui-Gon listened, hearing promising whispers from the Force telling him that this was, indeed, a good idea. He wanted to know Ben Lars, wanted to finally overcome that horrible sense of loss that had mired his heart for over a decade. "I think so."

Ben smiled. "I'd like that."

"To hold a pen is to be at war."

-Voltaire

"I am a fucking idiot, I am a moron, why the fuck did I do that!" Obi-Wan yelled thirteen hours later.

Jeimor paused in the midst of eating his snack, a giant beetle he'd found trundling along the rooftop. -Because you're a fucking idiot?- the crow suggested.

"I already said that. Pick something else," Obi-Wan said, sitting down on the edge of the roof, letting his legs swing over the side before he hunched over, pressed his chin into his palm, and thought seriously about sulking.

-Relax, Kid- Jeimor said, joining Obi-Wan in several short hops. -There's nothing wrong with dating a Jedi Master. Besides, you like him, he likes you.-

"He likes Ben Lars," Obi-Wan said, feeling miserable and heartsick. By the gods, he'd basked in the attraction Qui-Gon felt for him, revealed by the few seconds their hands had touched. For a few hours, he'd allowed that knowledge to overwhelm all of his common sense. Once Qui-Gon had left Obi-Wan's quarters, though, the reality of the situation had come crashing down on his head. He'd blundered, and blundered badly, by inviting Qui-Gon into his life once more.

-Well, since Ben Lars is you, you're in luck.-

"It's not... it's not the same," Obi-Wan said, standing up and pacing along the roof's edge. "Ben Lars is just a means to an end."

-Yeah, well, I've heard humans say that any method of getting to the sex is a means to an end, too- the crow said, spreading his wings in a stretch.

"That... really doesn't help," Obi-Wan said, smiling despite his foul mood.

-So, focus on something else for awhile- Jeimor suggested. -You're letting yourself get pent up again. Time for a run.-

Obi-Wan nodded. "Now that sounds like a good idea," he said, and Jeimor cawed in delight before hopping off of the roof, flapping his wings and soaring off into the dark.

Obi-Wan took a deep breath, turning to face the wind and the open air below. All of Coruscant lay before him, a multitude of glittering lights in the dark, stretching out from his vantage point on the tallest Temple spire.

-Hurry the hell up!- Jeimor called.

He grinned and spread his arms, letting gravity pull him over the brink, letting himself fall. The wind caught at his cloak, pulling and tugging at the cloth, at his hair, making his eyes stream as he fell. I hope no one's looking out a window, he thought giddily. He didn't want to frighten anyone into believing that someone had just committed suicide via rooftop.

Obi-Wan landed with a soft thud on the North tower, ran across the peak and then jumped again, laughing as he fell through the air, feeling unbound and free. These times with Jeimor were precious to him, exhilarating moments that allowed him to just exist, to just feel. Always, always he could feel the pull, the urge to do what must be done, but as the wind rushed past him, it was almost like silence.

-We going to kick the crap out of anyone tonight, golden boy?- the crow asked, as Obi-Wan used a touch of the Force to direct his fall, coming down on a rooftop at the edge of the Temple District.

"We weren't supposed to kick the crap out of anyone during any of these little trips," Obi-Wan retorted, straightening his cloak. "We're supposed to be looking for the Sith."

-Eh, you needed to blow off some stress anyway. Trust me, Kid, paperwork is not what my girl had in mind when she sent you back here. If you can't use that energy to fight the Sith, you've got to use it somehow, or you'll start burning up.-

"That doesn't sound good," Obi-Wan said, leaping off the edge of the building and landing in a crouch in the middle of the street. It was almost deserted at this time of night, though a denizen sheltering in a doorway squawked in surprise at his sudden appearance. "Hello!" Obi-Wan greeted her cheerfully as he stood up, walking on while Jeimor sailed down to join him.

"Hello," the woman replied, her voice a faint whisper. "By the gods, they've sent us a messenger," she mumbled reverently, and poured out the brandy from the bottle she'd been clutching.

"Are you talking literal fire, or metaphysical fire?" Obi-Wan asked, not hearing the woman's muttered comment over the sound of Jeimor's fluttering wings.

-Metaphysical, but it won't make much difference- Jeimor said, resuming his place on Obi-Wan's shoulder. -The energy you have will build up when not expended. The surest way to disperse that energy is to defeat the Sith, but then that also disperses you.-

"Because that energy is what keeps me breathing," Obi-Wan realized. "Can I expend all of that energy, disperse myself, without finishing the job?"

Jeimor clacked his beak, falling silent long enough that Obi-Wan glanced at him in concern. -I don't know- the crow said at last. -I don't think I'd try it, if I were you.-

"Anything that makes you nervous can't be good." He paused, swearing under his breath; without realizing it he'd turned his steps in the direction of the Senate District once more. Still, who knew? Maybe he'd get lucky and cross paths with the Sith.

-Oh, so you consider that lucky now, huh?- Jeimor teased.

"At this rate, I might as well," Obi-Wan grumbled, glancing around before dropping off the edge of the walkway, falling two levels before landing in the shadows of one of the more traversed paths for the nocturnal set. He watched as Senate aides rushed past, off on late night errands for Senators and Representatives. Also walking by were those heading towards the club district, ready to spend their night blowing through credits in an effort to relax. Unless I want to touch every single being in the Senate District, and that could take months.

-True- Jeimor acknowledged, ruffling his feathers and shifting his weight on Obi-Wan's shoulder. -This job is turning out to be a hell of a lot harder than I expected.-

Do you regret taking it? Obi-Wan asked, letting his eyes rove over the crowds as they passed, letting his senses direct his gaze.

Oh. Well, now. He followed the progress of the dark-haired man, taking note of his eyes, and the way he kept within the crowd, never apart from it, never alone.

-Not at all. I'm having fun!- said the crow, as Obi-Wan melted out of the shadows, drawing his hood up to mask his features as he began following the other man. -And so are you, I see. Who're we following today?-

Well, unless I'm mistaken, that's Bail Organa, Senator of Alderaan. He smiled. We were friends, once, though I didn't see much of him in the last two years before my death.

-And we're tailing him why?- Jeimor wanted to know, keeping himself hidden within the confines of Obi-Wan's hood.

He's nervous. Bail was hiding it well, but Obi-Wan had known him through the other's tenure as junior Representative, thanks to Qui-Gon's long association with the Organa household. Bail was keeping a sharp eye on his surroundings, trying to make it seem as if he was with the club crowds. He was doing a good job, too.

Obi-Wan was better. He followed Bail as he left the walkway, riding on top of the lift as the other man used it to travel four levels down. Obi-Wan kept his awareness spread out, battle ready, in case the followers Bail seemed concerned with pinged his awareness.

Bail met another being by a terminal, one who remained cloaked and joined him without saying a word. Curious.

By the time they'd picked up a third companion, this one sporting a mask popular at one of the downlevel clubs, Obi-Wan was dashing along a series of rooftops above them, keeping pace with silent footfalls. -My, oh my- Jeimor said. -Clandestine meetings in the dark. Naughty, naughty Senator Organa.-

The three of them disappeared into a section of building that might once have housed offices, but now had a large sign displayed on its upper level, announcing that the space was available to be leased. "Jeimor," Obi-Wan murmured, pushing back his hood.

The crow launched himself, his wings spread to catch the air. Obi-Wan waited, watching his companion's flight. -Here- Jeimor announced a few moments later. -Three levels up. Pretty decent crowd. Lucky for you, they chose a meeting place with a window.-

Obi-Wan nodded and leapt up, catching the outer facing of the building with his hands, scrambling up the wall. There was barely enough purchase for his fingernails, but he'd become adept at getting himself into places that would have been difficult, if not outright impossible, to accomplish when he was still alive. He settled onto a ledge three levels up, a decorative bit of duracrete that was barely wide enough to put a leg up on, and pressed his back against the cold mortar. The wind buffeted him, his position more exposed to the elements. He ignored it. Jeimor, let me see.

Shadowplay

His vision shifted; all color bled from his world, and his perspective became a mongrel trapezoid shape that moved around each time Jeimor turned his head. It was, to be honest, disorienting as hell, but he'd been growing used to it in the weeks since the crow had shown him the trick.

Obi-Wan was looking into the window that Jeimor had told him about. It was inset high above the floor, and he was peering down at a table with one eye, trying to ignore his awareness of the cityscape the other eye provided. Bail was at the table, seated next to a red-haired human woman that Obi-Wan didn't recognize. Next to her was Giddean Danu, whom he knew because of the man's connections to the Kuat shipyards. There was also a male Rodian, sitting on the opposite side of the table next to old Fang Zar, Senator for the Sern sector. And next to Zar...

"Well, well," he muttered to himself, as the crow tilted his head, his sight tilting with it. Senator Padmé Amidala was there as well, but she didn't look pleased about it. Obi-Wan leaned his head back against the wall, letting the crow's hearing become his own.

"-I just don't think that skulking around in the dark is the way to go about this," Amidala was saying, anger in her voice. "We are all Senators of the Galactic Republic, and if we raise our voices, they will be heard."

"Good luck with that," Danu said. "Since the Military Creation Act passed, it's hard for any member of the Loyalist Committee to gain access to the Chancellor's offices, let alone get a motion through Mas Amedda. You missed out on some changes during that assassination attempt on your life and the Geonosis skirmish. Your Gungan Representative gave away our voice with one garbled request."

Amidala narrowed her eyes. "Jar Jar Binks may have said the words, but I seem to recall it was a majority vote from the Senate that passed the Act, and your vote was in that majority, Senator."

"Enough, enough," Bail interrupted them before Danu could respond. "We didn't come here for that. Padmé, I understand what you're saying, so I will reiterate what I mentioned before. Anyone who does not wish to be a part of this, leave now, and it will not be held against you."

Amidala frowned. "Bail, do you really believe that this is the only way?"

The red-haired Senator spoke up. "He does, and I do, and if Garm would show up once in awhile, he would tell you so as well. The Senate's power is growing weaker by the day, Padmé. I don't yet know what we can do about such a thing, but I am not willing to simply stand by and watch it happen."

"First we must find our allies," the Rodian said. "We must find out who among us is loyal to the Chancellor, who is loyal only to themselves, and who is loyal to the Republic." He sighed. "If these border skirmishes are going to become a war, I would really like to know who to trust to guard my back."

"I feel the same way," Senator Zar said, crossing his arms. "And I think Onaconda has a good idea--find allies first, because for now we are only Loyalists within the Loyalist Committee and thus, we might as well be the enemy."

"You know that we could all be thrown in jail for treason if word of what we're speaking of gets out," Amidala said.

"Well, that is the--hey, what's that?" Bail asked. The image tilted again, and Obi-Wan found himself meeting Bail's eyes.

"That is one of the biggest damn birds I've ever seen on this planet," Zar said, grinning.

Obi-Wan flinched as Jeimor cawed, the sound loud enough to ring through his head. "Yeah, well, he needs to find a new place to hang out," Bail said, and the next thing Obi-Wan knew a datapad was sailing through the air, directly at his face.

-Fuck!- Jeimor squawked, leaping back from the device even as it bounced off the glass. -You asshole!-

Obi-Wan was looking through his own eyes again, hearing the wind blow past his own ears, and clutched at the wall in surprise before he could fall off. "Fuck!" he yelled.

-Uh oh. I think the grumpy Senator recognizes me- Jeimor said. -What do you want to do?-

Obi-Wan smiled. "Let's see how loyal they really are."

Padmé frowned, looking out the dark window. The bird reminded her far too much of the one that had stayed with the copper-haired Jedi, the one who had killed Dooku. Anakin had told her later that his name was Ben Lars, but she'd seen him after Master Yoda had wiped the dust from his face, and her first thought had been to wonder if Obi-Wan Kenobi had a twin brother.

"Anything?" Bail asked.

"No, it must have gone," Padmé said, bending down to retrieve his datapad. She straightened, turned, and gasped in surprise, her hand going for the blaster she wasn't carrying.

Bail whipped around, lightning fast, his own blaster retrieved and aimed in the blink of an eye. The other Senators turned; Fang Zar got to his feet, an angry scowl on his face. "Who the hell are you?"

A figure cloaked in gray was standing in front of the closed door to their meeting place, his features shadowed by his hood. The crow that had been outside was perched on his shoulder. "Just a curious bystander," the intruder murmured, his voice soft, "who happened to overhear something interesting. Tell me, do you really believe our democracy is dying?"

Mon Mothma frowned at Bail's blaster, and then turned a cool gaze at their uninvited guest. "I do believe that," she said, regarding the cloaked figure without the slightest trace of fear. It was one of the many reasons why Padmé adored the woman.

"Hmm. Interesting." The cloaked figure seemed to tilt his head. "I suppose I was just wondering how loyal to the Republic you truly are."

"What do you mean?" Onaconda hissed out.

"Well, I was thinking about wandering over to the Senate Dome, the better to let it slip that a group of Loyalist Senators were plotting treason--"

Bail's blaster cut him off mid-sentence when he fired, the bolt striking the cloaked figure square in the chest. Danu's shot struck him just below Bail's, and the man staggered back with a pained cry before falling to his knees.

"What the hell are you doing?" Mon Mothma roared, while Padmé stared, stunned by what she had just witnessed.

But that wasn't near as shocking as hearing the cloaked figure begin to laugh. "Well!" he said, climbing back to his feet. "Ask question, get answer!" he said, and laughed again. The crow, she noticed, hadn't moved at all.

"Nice armor," Bail said, lifting his blaster again. "Do I need to go for a headshot?"

"Nah, you were always miserable at those," the cloaked figure said, and pulled back his hood.

"Lars!" she said, in the exact same breath that Bail blurted out, "Obi-Wan!" She and Bail paused, startled, and stared at each other in puzzled amazement.

"You're both right!" Lars said, grinning and holding up his hand, wagging his finger at them. "You win a prize, and it's called please stop shooting me, I'm running out of shirts." The crow cawed its agreement, the sound echoing in the small, abandoned office.

"But--you... you can't be here," Padmé whispered, staring at the long copper hair and neatly trimmed beard. The dust was back on his face, gray and black, and the darkness around his eyes highlighted their blue-green color. She'd admired those eyes, admired the compact body and quiet, self-contained persona of the Jedi Padawan who'd helped free her people before dying under a Sith's blade. "I watched them burn your body!"

Bail let his blaster clatter to the tabletop, his eyes wide, his skin pale. "Is it--it is you, isn't it?"

"I'm going to rephrase my question," Fang Zar said, his confused anger like a stormcloud. "What the hell is going on here?!"

"Ah, let me answer that, while they sort themselves out," Lars--no, Obi-Wan, said, smiling. "Greetings to you, Senator Zar, Senator Onaconda... Far, correct?" The Rodian man nodded cautiously. "And to you, Senator Danu, and, well. Senator Amidala and I have already met. Yes, it's me, pick your mouth up off the floor, Bail," he added, stepping forward and putting two fingers underneath Bail's chin, closing his mouth with gentle pressure.

"You're supposed to be dead!" Bail gasped, and then pulled Obi-Wan into his arms. Obi-Wan hugged him, just before Bail pulled back, looking even more shocked than before. "You're not wearing body armor," Bail whispered.

"Nope!" Obi-Wan agreed, maintaining that same, cheerful smile.

"Then you really should be dead," Padmé said, realizing her own mouth was hanging open.

"Yes, especially after you all shot me," Obi-Wan retorted, rolling his eyes. "Now, back to your question, Senator Zar. I'm looking for a Sith Lord who happens to have created his power base somewhere in the Senate District. You lot, if I heard correctly, are trying to find out why the Republic seems to be on the verge of collapsing around your ears." He pulled out a chair, sat down at the table, and put his booted feet up on the tabletop in three swift movements that made Mon Mothma jump.

Mon Mothma swallowed and licked her lips before venturing to speak. "You are Ben Lars, the Jedi who killed Count Dooku, leader of the Confederacy." Obi-Wan nodded. "And you're also... Obi-Wan Kenobi, the Padawan who was killed by the Sith during the Battle of Theed."

He waved at her in agreement; Padmé felt all of the air leave her lungs in a rush and sat down hard in her chair.

"Then..." Bail reached out and poked Obi-Wan in the shoulder with one finger. "You're awfully solid for a Force ghost."

Mon Mothma pressed a hand to her chest, her fair skin even paler than usual. "By the gods. There are legends among my people about your kind, Jedi Kenobi. Avatars and their guides, seeking vengeance for the wrongs done to them during life."

Obi-Wan shrugged. "I've heard that before. Jedi do not seek revenge, though, Senator. I'm here for other reasons."

Giddean Danu cleared his throat, sitting back down in his chair, looking just as shocked as everyone else. "So I'm sharing a table with a dead man. Why not? You Jedi are weird, anyway, and I should be used to that by now," he said, and Obi-Wan laughed again, a clear, happy sound that was completely at odds with his otherworldly, impossible appearance.

Bail sat down as well, staring at Obi-Wan. "Gods." He ran his hands through his hair, breathing out a long sigh. "All right, I have to admit that this was not what I had in mind tonight, but... the hell with it. I'll go home and freak out later. What do you think we can do for each other, Obi-Wan?"

"We have the same goal," Obi-Wan said, gazing at each of them in turn. When Padmé met his eyes, it was like he was peering into her soul, but the sensation left her feeling warm, not frightened. Her earlier concerns about treasonous actions vanished. If the Force had sent them an avatar, as Mon Mothma had called him, then they were in much more desperate, dire trouble than she'd ever realized.

"You seek to make sure that the Republic still hears the voice of its people, I'm out to stop a Sith Lord. I believe that the Sith is the very reason our Republic is in such danger. In fact, I've even managed to prove it." Obi-Wan told them about the data patterns he'd traced, the information he'd uncovered, and the deception the Confederacy labored under. It was enough to have Fang Zar growling things under his breath, to see the scope of what the Sith had conceived.

"If this is true--and really, given what you've told us, I have little doubt that it is, Avatairee," Onaconda began, resting his hands on the table, "the one you are looking for would have to be a member of the Senate. If the Sith is indeed dwelling in the Senate district, only Senators have access to the things you have mentioned. Our sycophants, aides, and employees--none have that sort of money, that kind of access. Their lives are an open book; we Senators have certain privacies guaranteed us that others do not."

"I was afraid you were going to say that," Obi-Wan muttered.

Danu shook his head, looking frustrated. "That's all well and good, but even if you stop the Sith, the corruption he has started will not simply vanish."

"That's our job, Senator," Bail said, glaring at Danu. "If the Sith is removed, then at least we have a chance to persuade our colleagues to vote down the emergency powers of the Chancellor, and perhaps we'll the chance to regain our ability to do our jobs!"

"And I can't get you lot even that far if I can't find the bastard," Obi-Wan pointed out, glancing at the crow. "That's over six thousand people that I don't have access to."

"Well, you're...deceased." Danu sounded uncomfortable. "Can't you just--I don't know, go do what you need to do?"

Obi-Wan frowned. "Senator, no matter what name I go by, I was and am a Jedi. Any action I undertake that seems less than ethical will reflect badly on the Order. Considering what I've seen in the past month, that could be just as disastrous as allowing the Sith to continue to orchestrate the Republic's downfall."

"Agreed," Mon Mothma said, gazing at him with steel-gray eyes. "What if we can get you the access you need?"

"How?" Obi-Wan asked, dropping his feet back to the floor and leaning forward in his chair. Even the crow seemed interested, giving Mon Mothma his full attention.

"There is a Senatorial gala, two weeks from today. One of the Chancellor's affairs," she said with distaste. "Supposedly it is meant to create goodwill between our fellow representatives, but it is more like the opportunity for clusters of us to stand around and gossip. Perhaps we could invite you?"

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow. "It would look rather odd for one lone Jedi to show up to such a thing, wouldn't it?"

"So then we bully the rest of the Loyalist Committee into creating some sort of reason for your presence," Bail mused. "In fact, every member of the Committee can be tasked with inviting a Jedi to accompany them to this gala. That means there will be at least twenty Jedi present, more if they have apprentices. We can call it our attempt to show that the Senate and the Jedi still work in tandem, or some such nonsense. The publicity opportunities will make even Chancellor Palpatine drool in anticipation."

"I have reason to know of you, so I'll invite Ben Lars," Padmé said, and managed to smile at Obi-Wan when he looked at her. "For political expediency, of course."

"One thing," Obi-Wan said, holding up his hand. "Just as I will not betray any of you," he glanced around the table, his gaze serious, "you must not betray my identity. I am Ben Lars to you, to the Jedi, to the public eye. You cannot mention my involvement to anyone, not even to your husband, Senator Amidala," he said, looking squarely at Padmé.

Padmé jerked back in her chair like his gaze was scalding. "How do you know about that?!"

He smiled at her, and she saw that familiar, wry glint in his eyes. "You forgot to take your wedding ring off."

She looked down at her left hand, swore, and quickly yanked the silver ring off of her finger. The traditions of her homeworld that she was expected to uphold were strict; her marriage meant that she and Anakin were supposed to retire, the better to concentrate on the family they were expected to create together. "None of you heard a word of that!" she yelled, furious with herself for the lapse.

"Huh? What? I suddenly find myself struck deaf," Fang Zar said, winking at her.

Obi-Wan was on his feet in the next instant, his chin lifted, his eyes wide. "You all need to go. Right now."

"What is it?" Bail asked, but he was already getting up, retrieving his blaster.

Obi-Wan closed his eyes, his head turning from side to side, as if listening to something only he could hear. "One of you was followed," he murmured. "Your identities... are safe," he said, and opened his eyes. "But there is definitely suspicion that something untoward is going on here, and your danger is great. No!" he added, when Danu got up to palm open the door. "Not that way. The window."

Danu glanced at the window and looked back at Obi-Wan, disbelieving. "You have got to be fucking kidding me."

"I mean it," Obi-Wan growled, pulling a monofilament cable off of his belt and pressing it into Danu's hands. "You must all get out of here without being identified, or we're all fucked!" He raised his hand and flicked his fingers, and the window blew out like it had been shot. "There's a roof three levels down. Get down there, use the fire escape system, and split up. Get the hell out of here!"

Padmé walked over and took the cable from Danu before the stunned man could drop it. "I'll handle this," she said, and got up onto the table with help from Bail. She reached up and tied the cable to one of the ceiling supports with precise, strong knots before tossing the line out the window. "You first, Mon Mothma."

Mon Mothma took a deep breath and allowed Fang Zar to hoist her up into the window frame. "I hate heights," she whispered, before swinging her legs over and beginning to climb down.

"Just like old times, huh?" Bail said, helping Padmé down from the table.

Obi-Wan palmed open the door before offering them another broad grin. "I'm going to go...interfere a bit. It should give you all plenty of time to make your escape."

Padmé shook her head, fighting a bewildering urge to laugh. If she'd thought her life was strange before--waging a war to retake her capital, becoming a Senator, marrying a Jedi, fighting with cloned soldiers--it was nothing compared to how she felt now. "Don't get killed."

Obi-Wan looked amused. "Take your own advice, Highness."

Bail snorted. "You had better come and see me," he told Obi-Wan. "I don't care what the hell you are. You're still my friend."

Obi-Wan hesitated in the doorway. "I--I'll see you again, Bail," he said, and then he was gone.

Free Fall

-You are a busy little Jedi!- Jeimor said approvingly, as Obi-Wan dashed through the abandoned chain of offices. -Setting up alliances, rescuing Senators, fighting the bad guys--no wonder you schmucks have such short lifespans.-

"Not a good time!" Obi-Wan yelled at the crow as he reached the turbolift doors. He could sense that the first of their guests were already ascending with great speed from the bottom of the building. He growled and waved his hands, parting the doors with an agonized shriek of metal.

-Whatcha gonna do?- Jeimor asked, hopping up and down on Obi-Wan's shoulder in excitement.

"Slow them down," Obi-Wan said, waving his hand again as he called upon the Force. Two heavy metal desks, covered in dust and long abandoned, slid across the floor and toppled down the open shaft. A moment later there was a satisfying crash as the desks landed on top of the lift car. "Turbolift recognizes an obstruction and halts at the closest floor. Now they have to take the stairs."

-Excellent- said the crow. -Now do we kick some ass?-

Obi-Wan grinned. "Yes, Jeimor," he said, and the crow jumped off of his shoulder to fly ahead of him.

He ran to the far corner of the building, his senses guiding him unerringly to the stairwell, and he flew down the steps like he had his own set of wings. Within two flights he could hear them coming. One flight later and he was bodily slamming into three men wearing white armor. They all tumbled down the stairs together in a jumble of arms and legs and shouted curses. Obi-Wan allowed his body to go limp until he felt himself slide clear of them, ignoring the feel of hard edges pressing bruises into his flesh.

Wait, he thought, getting to his feet and flipping backwards, coming down on the landing two steps above his victims, hands raised to fend off whatever weapons they had. White?

One of the white-armored men was not moving, his head twisted at an unnatural angle, but the other two clambered to their feet, already pointing their rifles at him. "Halt!" one of them said menacingly. "Identify yourself!"

"I'm the janitor," Obi-Wan said, suddenly glad for the hood that still obscured his features. These were clone troops, marked with colored sigils that were not in any of the identification listings for the new Galactic military. "And you're getting dirt all over my nice clean stairs."

The second one laughed. "You're under arrest for assaulting a security officer," he said. "And if I'm not mistaken, murder of an officer as well. You can come quietly, or we can dispose of you now. Your choice."

"A security officer, huh?" Obi-Wan put his hands on his hips. "Security officer for what?"

The first trooper spoke again. "For protection of the Republic against treasonous acts and sedition from within. We were informed that there was a potential for such action here tonight."

"That's enough, Eighty-Six," the second soldier barked. "You don't need to tell him anything. This scum has no rights."

Obi-Wan narrowed his eyes. "Who informed you that there was potential treason being carried out in this building tonight?" he asked, pushing against the first clone soldier's mind with the Force.

"I am not at liberty to divulge that information," the trooper said.

"Dammit, Eighty-Six, will you shut up?"

Obi-Wan frowned and looked at the second soldier, the one who seemed to be in command. "Who told you to come here tonight?"

"I am not at liberty to divulge that information," the second trooper repeated, his voice empty of all emotion.

"Well, now that's interesting," Obi-Wan murmured. "You don't actually know, do you?"

-Time to go, Kid!- Jeimor warned him as he settled onto Obi-Wan's shoulder. -The others are free and clear, and there's a lot more of these idiots on the way.-

Thought you wanted to kick some ass, Obi-Wan said, smiling.

-Hey, you're the one who wants to protect your Order's reputation.-

The second trooper shook his head, raising his blaster rifle once more. "That's enough! You're under arres--urk!" His last word was lost to the crunch of his armor, which protected him from the fierce kick Obi-Wan gave him, but sent him head over heels down the stairwell.

"Hey!" the first soldier managed to yell, just before Obi-Wan shoved him down the stairs to join his commander.

"Bye-bye now," Obi-Wan called, waving before turning and darting back up the stairs. If he was right, they might indeed continue to suspect treason had been contemplated here tonight, but they would only be looking for one individual rogue, not a group.

He could hear pursuit, the clatter of rattling armor and the thud of many booted feet. Reinforcements had caught up, and there were many. He kept running, skipping the floor where Bail had held his meeting.

When he ran out of stairs, he pushed open a rusting emergency door, jumping down onto the roof a few feet below. The wind rushed passed him, and he ran headlong into it, jumping to the next roof with his cloak flying out behind him. The jump was an easy distance for anyone in good physical condition, and as he kept running he heard shouted curses before more thuds told him that the clones were still following. He couldn't risk using the Force again; no Jedi could be associated with what had taken place tonight. It was a good thing he didn't carry his lightsaber on these little jaunts, or they would have known what he was from the first breath.

I need to shake these guys.

-Then go somewhere that they can't follow.-

That might hurt, Obi-Wan replied, thinking about the long drops that were the norm almost everywhere in the mid and upper levels of Coruscant.

-Who gives a fuck?- Jeimor retorted.

Touché, Obi-Wan admitted. Sometimes he still felt so alive that the thought of injuring himself intentionally was anathema.

Either way, it was a moot point, for he'd just run out of roof on this level. He paused at the edge of the last building, breathing easily despite the span of his run. He stepped onto the decorative bricked ledge, waiting for his pursuers to catch up.

"Hands up!" a soldier barked. Obi-Wan turned; there were at least six of them already circling him, and eight more weren't far behind. "There's nowhere else for you to go!"

Obi-Wan raised his hands and pretended a fear he didn't feel, which was difficult considering he was filled with a mocking amusement that felt like Jeimor's. "What are you going to do to me?" he said, his voice wobbling. Too bad it was with suppressed laughter instead of anxiety, but they didn't seem to notice the difference.

"You're a traitor to the Republic," another soldier barked. "You'll be executed for treason."

"What? With what evidence?" Obi-Wan shot back, skipping the fear and moving right on along to outrage.

"We are the Office of Republic Security," a third trooper barked. "Under our mandate, we don't need evidence."

"Ah," Obi-Wan said, his mind was reeling. How the hell had such an Office been created by the Senate? Yes, they were a corrupt bunch of louts, but this Security nonsense was insane! "Would it look bad for your squad if you failed to capture me?"

The original six were laughing as the others finally caught up. "We're not going to fail, traitor scum," one of them said, resting his rifle on his shoulder. "Come on. We've got a nice cozy jail cell you can live out your final days in. And hey, if you tell us about any co-conspirators, you might even earn yourself a pardon!"

"Somehow I doubt that," Obi-Wan said, glancing down at the drop behind him. "There's...hmm. There's something that's appropriate to say in these sorts of situations, isn't there? Ah, yes," he said, and spread his arms. "I'd rather die than betray my Republic," he said, and rocked back on his heels, letting himself fall.

They were faster than he'd imagined--one of their rapid shots burned a hole in his right shoulder, and he hissed out a pained yelp that was lost to the wind as he fell. No slowing his descent this time. He had to hit where he hit, for they needed to believe him dead. He rolled over in the air and hoped that the energy that held his body together would be able to compensate.

The fall was not an easy one. Twice he bounced off of passing speeders as he plummeted through lanes of traffic, scaring the hell out of the drivers and causing at least half a dozen accidents. He wiped blood off of his face from the last impact and looked down, trying to figure out where he was going to land. Far below, approaching fast, was the shine of glass. Oh, fuck me, he swore, and closed his eyes. This was not going to be pleasant.

It is lamentable, that to be a good patriot one must become

the enemy of the rest of mankind.

-Voltaire

Dawn was his quiet time, the peaceful hour he could steal before his office was invaded, or the Council needed him, or the Senate requested his presence, or any number of myriad things that Mace Windu endured as Master of the Order. He'd once thought it a great honor, that Master Yoda would bestow the title upon him, until he'd discovered what he'd let himself in for. As it was, he was settled behind his desk, reviewing reports for that day's Council session, when his door slid open.

"You know, it's polite to knock," he began, annoyed, before he realized who had darkened his doorway. "Force, Ben," he whispered, rising and catching the man before he could fall to the floor. Mace shut the door, dragging Ben to one of the chairs in front of his desk and getting him settled into it.

"'lo, Master Windu," Ben slurred, a faint smile on his face. "Sorry 'bout the rug."

"Forget the damned rug," Mace snapped. The man looked awful, Avatar of the Force or not. He was bleeding heavily--Mace's tunic sleeves were soaked red just from a few moments' contact. Lines of blood were running down Ben's dust-coated face, and his cloak and tunics were shredded and soaked with it. "What happened?"

"Had to...pretend to suicide off a roof," Ben said, reaching up and grabbing hold of something on his arm. He gritted his teeth and pulled out a long sliver of blood-marred glass. "Went through someone's rooftop observatory."

"Damn," Mace hissed in sympathy, as Ben dropped the glass to the floor. "Ben, you need a Healer."

Ben shook his head. "N--no. Just...need help...getting the glass out. It'll heal. Just can't...get it out by m'self."

Mace frowned and nodded. "All right. It won't be pleasant, though."

Ben breathed out a laugh. "Can't be...any less pleasant...than how I got this way."

Mace spent a long time that morning focused on his task, using his fingers, the Force, and a pair of tiny metal tweezers to remove shards of glass from Ben's body. Each laceration healed as the glass was removed, which relieved him even as it unnerved him. Jedi could heal as fast, yes, but neither of them drew upon the Force to deal with Ben's wounds.

As he recovered, gaining strength as his body had a true chance to repair itself, Ben told him about what he'd learned during the night. Mace scowled when Ben refused to divulge the Senator's names, but at the same time, he understood the reasoning. If this Security force had made it past even the Council's notice, then they were all in grave danger. "Why do you always bring me bad news, Obi-Wan Kenobi?" he said, pulling the last piece of glass from Ben's back.

Ben slumped down in the chair, laying his head back, and sighed. "I don't intend for it to be a habit, believe me. But this is dire, Mace. How the hell has the Republic come to this in a mere ten years?"

Mace shook his head, pulling off his tabards and using one to wipe the blood from his hands. He tossed the other one to Ben, who took it with a grateful nod and began wiping the drying blood from his face. The red came off; the dust didn't. Mace stared and had to force himself to respond to the question Ben had asked. "I don't know. I've been here for the past decade, right in the thick of it, and I can't answer that question." He tossed the cloth aside and sent off a quick missive to Master Yoda with his datapad, letting the ancient Master know that he was going to be late. "Were you identified?"

"I don't think so," Ben said after a long moment. "I had my hood up through the entire encounter, but I may want to shave this beard off. If it'll stay gone," he mused. "I mean, I haven't tried to get rid of it yet. It might refuse to go."

"How inconvenient," Mace drawled. "Where's your friend? I notice his conspicuous absence by the fact that you're not yelling at him."

Ben grinned. "Up in the gardens, hunting for breakfast. Thank you, by the way. There aren't very many who know of me who can handle--who don't seem traumatized by what I'm like now. I was glad to be able to come to you."

Mace smiled. "You're welcome, Ben. Though, you could have gone to Master Yoda. He's not bothered by it."

Ben raised an eyebrow. "Yes, but Master Yoda would also make fun of me for not being able to find another solution. I can do that well enough on my own."

"True enough," Mace conceded, amused. "All right. I'll be on the lookout for those twenty invitations from the Loyalist Committee. That's going to be...fun," he said, and Ben smirked. It really was as if the man was becoming a more primal version of himself, Mace realized, thinking of the hesitant way Ben had presented himself before, and the almost careless, amused, steady presence Ben had now.

Then again, the man was dead. Who was he to judge? Despite the oddness inherent in the situation, Ben Lars still acted and thought like a Jedi, and that was all Mace Windu needed to be concerned with.

"Go get some rest. I'll let our Council of Six know what's going on," Mace said, referring to the original six members of the Council Ben had met with first, the only ones who knew of Knight Lars's true identity.

Ben nodded, rising and drawing his tattered cloak around himself once more. "I'll bet you there's a line of angry maintenance droids trying to deal with my blood trail," he murmured, smiling.

"Probably," Mace agreed. "And Obi-Wan?"

Ben half-turned, looking at Mace curiously.

"Thank you," Mace said, his voice solemn. "With your help, we may just save the Republic from itself."

Reverberation

He had to shave three times, and shout at Jeimor, before his face would believe him and stop re-growing the beard. Obi-Wan wiped his face with a towel when he was done, feeling rough threads against smooth skin for the first time in... He closed his eyes and rested his forehead against the steamed surface of the mirror for a moment, distressed, because he couldn't remember which time was the last time.

He drew back, using the towel to wipe the surface of the mirror dry. He'd had to shower, of course, to remove the blood, and managed to find two more shards of glass embedded in his inner left thigh in the process.

Obi-Wan looked in the mirror, taking in his wide gray eyes. He remembered his eyes being a funny blue-green, a color that shifted depending on his mood or surroundings. Despite the lack of beard, he still looked different from the face he used to gaze at every morning. Oh, the similarities were there, in his nose, his lips, his chin, the arch of his brows. After that, though... He peered closer and sighed. He looked tired, and yet he looked timeless. And his hair was a mess, hanging in mismatched locks after being sheared off by broken glass.

Obi-Wan spent a few amusing minutes convincing Jeimor to grow his hair out for him. If the crow could make his facial hair grow back, certainly he could do something about the hair on Obi-Wan's head. After some cajoling and a bribe of fresh, bleeding Nerf meat from the dining hall, Obi-Wan gritted his teeth and tried not to scratch his head as the sensation of speedy new growth made him feel like ants were crawling around on his scalp.

He trimmed it off so that it was all one length, and now it hung down to his shoulders, as if he'd spent a month or more growing it out past the chin length it had stubbornly remained at. He looked in the mirror; oh, yes. Even more different than before. Without thought he lifted his hands and began braiding the lock of hair that hung behind his left ear, his fingers deft and sure from long, long practice. "Huh," he said, gazing at his appearance once more. "There's a thought."

By the time a Padawan arrived to deliver the clothes he'd ordered from Stores, he had multiple braids like it spread throughout his hair at random intervals, and had even scrounged up several metal beads and ties to complete the look. Not Padawan braids, these, but something else, something that he couldn't define beyond it feeling right.

The Padawan, a girl of about thirteen Standard, grinned up at him. She was used to making random deliveries for him, considering he tended to destroy clothing at an appalling rate. "I like the new look, Knight Lars," Ahsoka Tano said.

He grinned back at the Togrutan girl. She reminded him very much of Shaak Ti at that age, though Shaak would never admit to it. "Thanks, Padawan Tano."

"Master Qui-Gon should like it also," she added, turning on her heels to go.

He halted in the midst of palming the door closed and leaned out into the hallway. "Tano!" he yelled.

"Yes?" she replied, glancing back over her shoulder with a cheeky smile.

"What are you talking about?"

She gave him an innocent look. "I'm merely saying that Master Jinn will like it."

He rolled his eyes. "Yes, but why, Tano? Why would he care?" And what the hell is the Temple rumor mill spewing out now? he wondered.

"Sorry, I'm going to be late for class," she said, and waved. "Bye, Knight Lars!"

"Tan--never mind," he grumbled, sighing. Great. Just when he'd decided that the best course of action would be to avoid Qui-Gon Jinn, the Temple Padawans had sniffed potential romance.

-Problems, golden boy?- Jeimor queried, looking far too smug for a damned crow.

"Not a thing, Jeimor," Obi-Wan replied, putting the crate of new clothing down on the floor next to the door with a harsh yawn. "Tired" never eased into being for him anymore so much as it just slammed him over the head with all the subtlety of a brick. He didn't need to sleep often, but bleeding from one end of Coruscant to the other was enough to tax even Jeimor's ability to help him recover, and exhausted them both. "I'm going to bed," he said, but Jeimor had already tucked his beak into his feathers and was emitting a faint snore.

Sleep lasted until his newly replaced commlink chimed a happy tone that announced an incoming call. Ben pried his eyes open and launched himself at the bedside table, grabbing the commlink but falling off the bed in the process. "Fwa," he managed to say after hitting the switch. Oh, he was not with it. What little rest he'd gotten wasn't enough to replace his or Jeimor's energy reserves yet. He could have cheated and tapped into that ethereal energy pool himself, but that tended to leave him twitchy and anxious and giggly and more than a little mad. It made his neighbors nervous.

"Ben?"

Adrenaline shooting through his system did what rest had not, the sound of Qui-Gon's voice calling his name like a joyful shot of pure caffeine. "Yeah," he said, sounding a bit more coherent than last time. "Sorry, you just caught me asleep. What is it?"

"My apologies," Qui-Gon replied. "I can call you another time--"

Obi-Wan cut him off. "Well, I'm awake now, so you might as well tell me. In fact, not only am I awake, but I'm lying on the floor and I'm pretty sure the sheet is in a knot around my leg."

Qui-Gon laughed, and it warmed Obi-Wan's heart to hear it. He hated to see that forlorn sadness in his former Master's eyes, hated even worse that his own death seemed to have caused it. In trying to save the galaxy, he'd damn near broken the being in it that he loved the most. It wasn't fucking fair.

-Will you shut the fuck up?- Jeimor told him in a sleepy grumble. -Some of us are fucking sleeping!- From the main room Obi-Wan heard the sound of the bird shifting around on his chosen perch.

"I was calling to invite you to dinner, though we seem to be on opposite schedules if you're already in bed for the evening. Anakin will be here as well. I issued the invitation before, but circumstances most certainly intervened in the meantime. Are you still interested?" Qui-Gon asked, a note of hesitation in his voice.

Say no. Say no, you dumbass, Obi-Wan told himself, and then said yes anyway. "What time?"

"In about half an hour or so, if that's not too soon." There was no mistaking the delight in the older man's voice.

"No, that's fine," Obi-Wan said, kicking the sheet off of his leg and pushing himself away from the bed, feeling carpet scrape against his bare back and relishing the sensation. He was such a damned hedonist now, wanting to touch and feel everything, cherishing it all, and thanks to the psychometry the stuff he touched spoke back. Annoying. "Shall I bring anything?"

"If I were cooking, I'd tell you to bring the entire meal with you, but Anakin convinced me to see sense. He's off retrieving the meal as we speak. Will Jeimor be accompanying you?" Qui-Gon asked.

"I think Jeimor might bite me if I asked," Obi-Wan said, grinning. "We both had a rough night and didn't get in until late this morning. I have no idea what time it was when we finally went to bed."

"I'm sorry to hear that. I'll see you in half an hour, then?"

"Absolutely," Obi-Wan replied, turned off the comm, and then considered flinging it across the room. "You," he told himself out loud, "are an idiot."

Find ecstasy in life; the mere sense of living is joy enough.

-Emily Dickinson

He arrived two minutes before the half-hour was up, and paced up and down the hall outside Qui-Gon Jinn and Anakin Skywalker's quarters. Now that he was this close, he was afraid to go in, afraid that his psychometry was going to go ballistic. He'd lived in those same quarters for years. Everything he touched was likely to have some imprint in it, a memory that could strike him unawares.

Or perhaps Qui-Gon had everything bulldozed and repainted after he'd died. He grimaced, for the thought was both reassuring and absolutely horrible.

"Are you coming in, or what?"

He turned around and found Anakin leaning out of the open door, giving him a curious stare. "I--Yes." Obi-Wan paused. "Maybe."

Anakin grinned and slipped out into the hall, palming the door closed behind him. "Look. Do you like my Master, Ben?"

Eurgh. Obi-Wan had forgotten how fast news and rumor could travel through the Temple. Still, in for a credit... "Yes."

Anakin crossed his arms and stared down at him. "Are you going to break his heart?"

Obi-Wan swallowed hard. "I really hope not," he whispered.

"Good enough for me," Anakin said, and grinned. "Come on in. I hope you like eating with sticks."

His eyes widened, his mouth watering as the implication struck him. "He had you fetch jept'p'tan?" Obi-Wan needed to eat about as much as he needed to sleep, but he sure was hell wasn't going to turn down the opportunity to eat good food.

"Oh, you know it?" Anakin asked, opening the door again and leading him inside. "I think it's weird stuff, myself, but I'm an uneducated kid from a backwater."

"I think it's just an acquired taste," Obi-Wan said, smiling, and the moment his feet crossed the threshold he was struck by memory, the impression so strong that he didn't even need to reach out with his hands.

"Welcome home, Padawan."

"Master, you can't welcome me to someplace you've only just arrived at yourself."

"Picky, picky," Qui-Gon said, smiling as the shrugged out of his robe. "You don't have to be so literal all the time, Padawan."

"Thirsty?" Anakin asked, digging around in the cold store. "Our host is in the 'fresher. Incident in the creche this afternoon," Anakin explained with a smile, when Obi-Wan gave him a curious look. "They were using green paint that seems to like human hair. He's been trying to get the color out all day. Before I went for the food he still had green tips."

"How's your homework coming, Obi-Wan?"

He looked down at his datapad and grinned. "Well, I've just crashed us into a sun."

"Whyever for?" Qui-Gon asked, lowering his own datapad to look at him.

"Forgot to compensate for the Maw," he said, erasing his calculations and starting over again. It was a good thing he liked math, or the frustration of this particular equation would have made his head explode long ago.

Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow at him. "You're not piloting the next time we go out, Padawan."

"Ah, there you are." He turned around after Anakin handed him a glass of something that bubbled too much but had an excellent flavor. Qui-Gon had emerged from the 'fresher, the ends of his hair still damp but no longer green. "Sorry about that, I..." Qui-Gon trailed off, staring at Obi-Wan. "Force, look at you."

"Force. I just--I don't have it in me, Obi-Wan. I can't face any more pyres this year," Qui-Gon said, his voice muffled by his sleeves. He was seated at the kitchen table, bent over with his head pillowed on his arms, hiding his face. "Too many of them have been friends."

He touched his Master's shoulder, feeling useless and childlike and stupid. Was it his imagination, or was there more silver in his Master's hair, now? "I'll go for both of us, then," he said, swallowing back his own nerves and grief. "That's what we're supposed to do, right? Act for each other as well as with each other?"

In answer Qui-Gon reached out, taking Obi-Wan's hand in a fierce, bone-grinding grip. He decided to take that as a yes.

"Uh..." Had it been a mistake to shave? Did he look ridiculous? "What?" Obi-Wan asked, feeling his cheeks heat under the intensity of his Qui-Gon's stare.

"I...you just-- You look incredible," Qui-Gon said, shaking his head, as if realizing that he'd stared too long.

Obi-Wan managed to keep his blush from growing, but it took effort. "Thank you," he said, proud when his voice didn't wobble. He hadn't changed his appearance to impress anyone, but Qui-Gon's reaction was gratifying. Tano had been correct, the little Togrutan imp.

Anakin laughed. "Master, that's the first time in years I've seen you lose your way with words. This should be a fun evening."

Obi-Wan turned his head to glare at Anakin, who blithely ignored him.

They let him wander around the main room, both of them retreating to the kitchen to transfer purchased food onto plates. Obi-Wan was grateful for the mild buzz the alcohol he'd been given was creating, because being in this place was both harder and easier than he'd ever imagined. The room hadn't been bulldozed, but nor was it exactly the same. Mechanical objects that felt like Anakin were stored here and there on the shelves. Other things were new; bits and pieces that spoke of both Qui-Gon and Anakin and their time together. What made Obi-Wan both glad and heartsick was seeing that Qui-Gon had removed nothing from the main room that they had acquired together. Those items were higher on the walls than the rest, as if being granted a place of honor, and were scattered among other things Qui-Gon regarded just as highly--items once gifted to him by the friends he'd lost.

Obi-Wan glanced in the open doorway of the second bedroom for a moment. It felt like he'd never existed in it, so completely had Anakin's presence overrode his own. He didn't feel grief for that, because Anakin deserved his own space. His room had been just a room, a place to sleep, nothing he'd been afraid to lose. It was the rest of his and Qui-Gon's quarters that had been more like his home. What struck Obi-Wan then, as he stood there contemplating Anakin's unique kind of clutter, was not any psychic impression, but memory.

He was tucking a blanket around Anakin, having given the boy his bedroom. He was planning to spend a restless, irritated night on the couch. Every time he tried to spend a night like that in his own room, he'd kick the wall, and that would wake up Qui-Gon, and then there might be another row. He didn't want another fight, not now. Not when things were already so close...

"You don't seem to like me very much," Anakin said, and looked awed when Obi-Wan used the Force to turn down the lamp to a soft, steady glow, the better to reassure the uprooted little boy. He looked nervous enough in his new environment. Light might help.

"It's not that I don't like you, Anakin," he said, settling back on his knees next to the bed. "It's--coming into the Order this way, it's going to be so much harder for you to learn the path of the Jedi." He had no doubt that training was what Anakin would receive. The Council might have swatted down his Master's voice, but that wouldn't last long. It never did. Qui-Gon Jinn was a headstrong bastard. "I know you wish to do it, and you have great confidence in your abilities, but I'd hate to see you progress so far only to fail." Or fall, he added silently.

Anakin frowned at him. "You have a very strange way of trying to be nice to people, sir."

"So I've been told," he said, and smiled.

And on the heels of that memory came another, one that would not be banished.

"Good morning, Obi-Wan."

He didn't bother opening his eyes, not quite done with his meditation. What he'd felt at odd moments before touching Naboo's surface was now a full-blown vision, and its implications frightened him. "Good morning," he said after a moment, pulling himself from what he could see with difficulty.

He didn't want Qui-Gon to die in his arms. Things were dire enough between them as it was. He didn't think he could handle that final farewell. Not now.

Not ever.

"Where's Anakin?" Qui-Gon asked.

"Sleeping in my bed." He opened his eyes, noticing that the darkness beyond the window was just touched by a hint of gray. Pre-dawn. Still early yet, then. "You should go back to bed, Master. There is no need for any of us to be up this early, and you have sacrificed enough sleep on this mission as it is."

When Qui-Gon didn't move, Obi-Wan turned his head to look at him. His Master (Former! his mind insisted) stood there, dressed only in a pair of loose, well-worn, dark blue sleep pants. His hair was unbound, and thick skeins of it were falling around his face, while individual strands had tangled themselves in his beard. Gods, but how Obi-Wan wanted to pull those strands free, to straighten that sleep-tossed hair, and his heart clenched. There was so little time left, and he would never have what he wanted with this man.

"What?" he asked, when Qui-Gon only looked at him without speaking.

"I daresay the same is true of you as well, Padawan," Qui-Gon said, and Obi-Wan had to repress a flare of anger; the title was no longer his, not after yesterday's Council session. "You should be resting as well."

"I made the attempt, but it seems as if the couch and I are in the midst of a disagreement. We're currently not speaking to each other," he said, keeping his voice light.

The ghost of a smile softened Qui-Gon's lips. "Come to bed, Obi-Wan," he said, holding out his hand in invitation. "It would not do for you to yawn before either the Council or the Queen. I will rest better knowing that you're not exhausting yourself."

He hesitated for a moment before deciding that yes, he wanted that closeness. Just one more time, Force, please. He got to his feet, following Qui-Gon into his bedroom, a place he had only ventured in the past few years to seek out clothing when he packed for their travels. "Wait," he said, when Qui-Gon would have gestured for him to climb across to the far side of the bed.

"What?" Qui-Gon asked, and then held very still while Obi-Wan pulled silvering threads of long hair loose from Qui-Gon's beard, pushing them back behind Qui-Gon's ears to join the other unruly strands.

"Better," he announced, and turned to scurry across the bed before he could look up into Qui-Gon's eyes and see something he did not want to know about.

He was glad when they called him over for dinner, grateful to focus on the living instead of his own ghost. They ate casually, sitting on the floor around the low, oval ebony table that had resided in front of the couch for longer than Obi-Wan had been alive.

His first bite of jept'p'tan, a sliver of a green, crisp vegetable dripping with sauce, was enough to make him moan in bliss. Whoever Qui-Gon had chosen to order from knew exactly what they were doing.

"Did I choose well, Ben?" Qui-Gon asked, a teasing glint in his eye.

"Mmph," Obi-Wan replied, trying not to drool with anticipation of the next bite. "What made you decide on this?"

"It's an old favorite, one I don't get to indulge in often," Qui-Gon said, and Obi-Wan tried desperately to pretend that he didn't already know that. "It felt like the right choice."

"I think there are people in porn who don't look as happy as you do right now," Anakin told him with a grin, and he had nowhere to duck when both Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon reached out to swat him.

They kept up a mundane conversation about Temple goings-on, while Obi-Wan savored every single flavor, using the pair of sticks to grab each piece. Anakin, meanwhile, did not seem to have mastered the skill. Obi-Wan managed to hold his tongue for five minutes of watching Anakin eat before he couldn't stand it any longer. "If I see you stab your food one more time instead of picking it up in the correct manner, I'm going to take those sticks and shove them up your nostrils," he said cheerfully.

Anakin paused in what he was doing to give Obi-Wan a worried look. "Do you always threaten people with bodily harm over a bit of food?"

"Not always, but you're supposed to be my younger brother now, and I'm told that's how siblings operate," Obi-Wan replied, grinning.

"I don't think I want an older sibling anymore," Anakin said, scooting away from Obi-Wan while Qui-Gon chuckled.

"Too bad. No sibling of mine is going to eat jept'p'tan by stabbing. Just--Look. No, put one of the sticks down," Obi-Wan said, narrowing his eyes when Anakin stabbed it into a chunk of meat so the stick would remain upright. "Now hold the damned thing like this," he said, demonstrating with his thumb and middle finger. "See how it's not moving? This is your stable platform."

Anakin mimicked his grip, his tongue sticking out between his teeth as he fought with his fingers for control. "Okay. Now what the heck do I do?"

Getting Anakin to hold the second stick properly was an exercise in patience and swearing, while Qui-Gon watched, trying very hard not to laugh at his Padawan's cultural ineptitude. "What do I need to do, make it out of droid parts?" Obi-Wan asked.

"Well, at least then I'd understand it," Anakin muttered, frowning at the sticks as he worked on the pincer grip.

Obi-Wan smiled and took Anakin's plate away, replacing it with a single grain of brown rice. "Practice," he ordered, and Anakin looked at him in horror before giving his Master a beseeching look.

"You heard Ben," Qui-Gon said, using the sticks in a deft, quick motion to capture an entire lump of brown rice from his plate. "Practice."

Anakin did so, grumbling under his breath as he chased the single grain of rice back and forth across the table. "Man, I pity any Padawan who happens to wind up with you for a Master."

He managed not to flinch, but it was a close call. "We'll see," he chose to say, ignoring the stabbing pain in his heart. Damn, but he'd never even thought of that. He never would be a Master, never guide a Padawan along the path to Knighthood. He pushed those thoughts aside; when Anakin at last chased down the elusive rice, which was now a mangled bit of starch, Obi-Wan gave him his food back before both he and Qui-Gon applauded Anakin.

The rest of the meal was as wonderful as the start, made even more memorable by the company Obi-Wan found himself in. Anakin was just as friendly and outgoing as he had been as a child. The years had done nothing to diminish his enthusiasm for flight or tinkering.

Qui-Gon seemed to lose some of the lines of stress and age around his eyes as the evening progressed, and was smiling more often than not. Before Obi-Wan realized it, they were sitting side by side, their shoulders brushing, their knees just touching. He felt fire burn in his cheeks and a rush of heat to his groin, and Obi-Wan knew that they both were interested in each other, for the desire he felt in that moment was not just his own. He swallowed and told his body sternly that it was not to react, no matter how much it wanted to.

It was frustrating to realize that he couldn't stuff himself to the proverbial gills, but then he cocked his head, listening to a grumbled request. "I think Jeimor wants my leftovers. He's swearing at me and claims he can smell the food from my room."

"Hence I am reassured that nothing we fail to eat will go to waste," Qui-Gon said, looking pleased.

Obi-Wan helped them clean up, and was happy to be baffled by the new layout of the kitchen, for it meant he didn't have to fake unfamiliarity. Then came a repetitive tap on the glass door that led out onto Qui-Gon's balcony, and his pleasant evening came to an abrupt end.

He slid open the door, holding out his wrist for Jeimor, who settled onto it with an agitated caw. "What's wrong?" he asked, noticing that Anakin and Qui-Gon had both stopped in the midst of what they were doing to watch.

-Trouble- Jeimor said, gripping Obi-Wan's wrist tightly with his talons. -Listen.-

Obi-Wan raised his head, closed his eyes, and touched the Force. There: an echoing sense of danger. And underneath that, the energy from that primal pool, nudging him in the direction he needed to go: now now now hurry hurry hurry maintain Balance now

"Damn," he muttered, opening his eyes and bowing at Qui-Gon to show his regret. "I'm sorry, but I have to go, right now."

"Trouble?" Qui-Gon asked, dropping the small towel he held and striding forward. Anakin was right behind him, abandoning his own effort at cleanup. "We can go with you."

He bit his lip as he looked at them. Not a good idea. Terrible idea. He tended to be...different, when he got nudges like these. As much as Obi-Wan wanted to spend time with them, he wasn't sure he was ready to share that new aspect of his personality yet.

"That's kind of you, but this isn't going to be anything dire. I can handle it on my own. Besides," he added with a reassuring smile, after noticing the familiar, stubborn glint in Qui-Gon's eyes. "As you pointed out, we are on different schedules. The two of you are off to bed, and I just had breakfast."

Qui-Gon sighed, and Obi-Wan knew he'd won, even if Qui-Gon didn't like it. "Very well, Ben. You'll be careful, I hope?"

"Sure," he said, in perfect confidence. Of course, his definition of careful and Qui-Gon's most certainly did not match any longer, but there was no need to tell him that. "I'll probably return around dawn, in a foul mood and in need of another shirt."

He pushed the glass door open further and stepped out onto the balcony, taking a deep, joyful breath as the wind began toying with his hair. He was coming to adore the night, for this was his time, it was crow's time, when ebony shielded all of their eyes from the light of the sun.

Jeimor cawed once and launched himself from Obi-Wan's wrist, spreading his wings and catching an updraft. Obi-Wan hopped up on the thin rail, feeling his clothing flutter, and realized his cloak was still in his quarters. Damn. Hopefully he wouldn't run into those twits from the Security squad again.

"You're going that way?" Anakin asked, incredulous.

Obi-Wan glanced down to see that Qui-Gon and Anakin had followed him outside. "Yes," he said, grinning. "Jeimor hates transports, anyway. Qui-Gon..." he hesitated, unsure of what to say. "Thank you for dinner. It was as wonderful as the company."

"Breakfast," Qui-Gon corrected, amused.

"Whatever," Obi-Wan replied, smiling.

Qui-Gon crooked one finger at him, a clear signal that Obi-Wan obeyed out of still-ingrained habits. "What is it?" he asked, squatting down on the railing so that he and Qui-Gon were at eye level.

Of course, then he almost fell off the railing when his former Master leaned in close and kissed him. Warm lips, warm breath, tickling hairs from Qui-Gon's beard, motion and sensation--he catalogued it all, even as he grabbed hold of Qui-Gon's shoulder to keep from tumbling over backwards.

Qui-Gon stepped back, a smile on his face and a teasing glimmer in his blue eyes. "Just that," he said. "Be safe, Ben."

"Uh-huh," Obi-Wan replied, feeling like he'd just lost most of the brain cells in his head. "Sure. Whatever you just said."

Anakin was laughing at him. "I told you it would be a fun evening."

-Hurry up, wingless wonder- Jeimor yelled in his head.

"Right. Fun." Obi-Wan shook his head and grinned. "Yeah, you were right," he said, and jumped off of the railing just to give his fried brains the chance to recover.

"Hope" is the thing with feathers

That perches in the soul

And sings the tune without the words

And never stops at all.

-Emily Dickinson

Anakin and Qui-Gon rushed to the railing when Ben jumped, but the Knight was already landing on the roof of the South tower, using his momentum to fling himself even farther out, away from the Temple proper. If he managed to keep up that momentum, he'd be on the edge of the Temple District in no time.

"Huh," Anakin mused. "That looks like a nifty way to travel."

"No, Padawan," Qui-Gon said sternly, repressing a smile. It did look like fun, if he was at least a decade or two younger.

Then again, he hadn't felt this young in at least a decade, and it was because of the copper-haired Jedi they were watching fall through the air in the dark, a crow following behind him. He frowned; for a moment there was something tickling his memory, like a story he'd forgotten. Whatever it was slipped away the harder he tried to focus on it, and he gave up, deciding to meditate on the memory fragment later.

"You think he'll be all right?" Anakin asked, glancing over at Qui-Gon. His Padawan was frowning, his eyes filled with worry.

Qui-Gon looked back out at the Coruscant night, touched by a thread of unease as he remembered his nightmare. "I hope so, Padawan," he said, both of them watching until Ben was out of sight.

Anakin surprised him by snickering. "You are so whipped, Master."

Qui-Gon elbowed the young man in the ribs. "Pot, kettle, black, Padawan."

The most important things are the hardest things to say. They are the things you get ashamed of because words diminish your feelings - words shrink things that seem timeless when they are in your head to no more than living size when they are brought out.

-Stephen King

Bail Organa parked his speeder, climbed out, and stretched his arms over his head. It had been a long, trying, tiring day, and escaping his aides had been a difficult task. However, to make it back to his apartment and find himself alone would be worth the verbal drumming he would receive from Brax in the morning.

He walked inside and stopped short.

There was a great black crow perched on his desk, staring at him with beady amber eyes. It was the same bird that had been sitting on Obi-Wan's shoulder, and to be honest, the thing scared the hell out of him. No crow was that large, that intelligent, and its otherworldliness bothered him far more than his friend's apparent resurrection.

"Er...hello," he said cautiously, when the crow showed no sign of moving.

The crow opened his beak, cawed at him in a subdued tone, and then lowered his head, tapping at something on Bail's desk. Curious, Bail stepped closer, spying a data disk that he didn't recognize.

"Is that for me?"

The crow chuckled and then launched himself into the air, flying so close that the tips of his wings brushed Bail's shoulder.

"I guess it is," Bail muttered, brushing at his shoulder. He picked up the disk, studied it, and then inserted it into a data reader instead of the main terminal on his desk.

A file listing popped up on the directory screen, temporarily superseded by a flashing message. Destroy the disk when you're done. Backup available with LGT. Stay safe. OWK.

Bail smiled. "Naughty man," he said, remembering all of the times that Master Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan had referenced the LGT in his hearing, only to be mortified later once he realized they had been speaking of Master Yoda. Little Green Troll, indeed.

He closed the flashing message, only to find it had been replaced by another. Sorry, late addition. Assassin tried to off PA last night. She's fine. Aurra Sing still a pain in the ass. Need new shirt.

"Damn." He was glad to know that Padmé was all right, but it would have been nice if Obi-Wan had been able to speak of Sing in the past tense. Senator Amidala seemed to attract bounty hunters the way Palpatine attracted sycophants.

He snagged a bottle of brandy and a glass before settling onto his sofa with the datapad, opening a file. It was time to get a closer look at the evidence his long-lost friend had put together. Perhaps, between his little act of rebellion, Obi-Wan, and the LGT, they might have a chance at saving the Republic.

Disobedience, in the eyes of anyone who has read history, is man's original virtue. It is through disobedience that progress has been made,

through disobedience and through rebellion.

-Oscar Wilde

Book 3: Grief