On Ebon Wings, Ere I Breathe: Clarity

by Flamethrower

Title: On Ebon Wings, Ere I Breathe
Book 7 - Clarity

Author: Flamethrower

Archive: MA, AO3, and my site

Category: Q/O, A/P, AU, crossover, angst, hurt/comfort, poetry

Rating: M

Warnings: Major character death

Book 7 Summary: When everything is over, when everyone else is gone, you still have to find a way to keep breathing.

Series Summary: On Naboo while battling a Sith, a man made a choice to die so that a horrible, uncertain future could be avoided. Things, however, are never that simple... A crossover based upon concept rather than converging universes.

Feedback: Yes'm!

Thanks: Merry and Lee beta'd to perfection, as usual. If anything is screwed up, it's probably my fault.

The end is all that's ever true.

-Robert Smith (the Cure)

Book Seven - Clarity

The borderlands were a place of nothing and everything, crossing the great veil from life into death. From here one could watch, or manifest to the living.

The trick was in knowing how to do either, something that only time, trial, and error could teach. He was just learning to begin to see, to catch glimpses, when he felt Her presence once more.

Hmm. Balance has been made, and yet I find you still here.

Obi-Wan smiled, not surprised that she had come to him while he stalked the Borderlands, pacing like a wild cat trapped in a cage. Hello.

Hello, Ben Lars, Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jedi Knight, she said, a smile in her voice. Why do you linger here?

I'm waiting for someone. And he would, this time.

Mm, she replied, noncommittal. They remained together like that for an indeterminable time, a friendship made of silence.

How did you know I was here? he asked at last, curiosity driving the words forth. I thought I was being rather sedate this time around. Trying to be polite, and not wake the dead.

Oh, Obi-Wan, she said, and there was the sense that he was being embraced, and the touch made him feel loved and cherished. My dear one: heartbreak makes a sound that the entire universe can hear.

A wave he had not even been aware of crested and broke. He sobbed in her arms, crushed by the weight of grief that not even a Jedi's serenity could combat. I know. I know that, now.

The best lessons are always the harshest to learn, she said, and it was as if phantom hands, real and yet not, petted his hair. You did well, and I'm so very proud of you, Obi-Wan. You truly are one of mine.

I don't understand.

She touched his face. You will, one day. In the meantime, young one, I am going to give you a gift. She told him, and he felt himself smile. One last thing to do, after all. All I ask is that you remember the lessons you have learned, she said. Remember the balance.

I will. There was a single question he had yet to ask. What are you?

Everything. Nothing. Whispers in the corner, a shadow on the sun. Thought and consciousness, will and desire. The Force, and everything it does not touch. Dust and death, life and breath. Gatekeeper, seeker. Stars and mist. The taste of sweet wine. Mead in the summer. Bonfire's ash. Winter wind. Balance. Chaos. Potential.

Obi-Wan grinned. You could have just stuck with "everything."

Sometimes, not everyone realizes that everything is far more than they typically conceive, just as not everyone realizes that forever is endless, and encompasses more than just a certain point in time onward. It is all time. Remember that when you pledge yourself, my love. If you speak of forever, the universe will hear.

I will remember, he said, feeling a strength and power to her words that had never been present before. Then he said something that surprised him, even though it was true. I love you.

As much as I love you. He felt the impression of soft lips on his left cheekbone, a benediction and farewell. Till we meet again, young one.

Frequency

He wakes up; he thinks he does. Everything is black, and underneath that darkness lurks pain. Not good, that. He shivers away from it and returns gladly to oblivious slumber.

He wakes up again and can barely fathom his own name.

He's only felt like this one or two times before. These must be some damn good painkillers.

"Nope, back to bed, you. You've got a bacta stint to sleep off," he hears someone say.

Well. That explains the smell, at least. He can't say what day it is or what is going on, but there is nothing wrong with his nose--

The stench of bacta is much diminished when he opens his eyes again. This time he feels all right, but there is a lingering, deep ache in his body, telling him that not long ago, he had not been all right at all.

"Is he gone?" Padmé asks.

Qui-Gon turns his head to find her sitting next to his bedside, the pseudo-privacy of drawn curtains shielding them from the rest of the Healers' Ward. The Senator's hair has freed itself from its usual braided confines, falling in frayed strands around her face. Her eyes are hollow, her face pinched and white.

Her lips twitch in a brief, unwilling smile, a greeting that she cannot help but offer. Then she asks him again, "Is he gone?"

He understands. "Yes," Qui-Gon says, surprised to find himself able to speak the word without difficulty. It should have been harder to say. It should not be possible to break someone's heart with a single word.

She looks away, nodding once, as tears stream from her eyes. "I knew, but I...I had to ask. There's no--" Padmé swallows. "There isn't a body."

"No," he says as he remembers. Eight deaths, but only four bodies. He wonders what Adi has told the others. He wonders if he cares.

Not even bacta can overcome the taste of ash in his mouth.

"Did Ani stop him?" Padmé asks, still not looking at Qui-Gon.

"Of course," Qui-Gon replies, and it's here that his voice begins to fail him, as weariness and convalescence take their toll. "It's what he was born to do."

She turns her head quickly; her eyes snap to his, full of pain and anger. "Is this what your damned prophecy was for? Is this what you wanted for us? For Anakin?"

Qui-Gon sighs. "No, Padmé. Never this." Not for you. Not for any of us.

The anger fades, but the pain does not. Padmé takes his hand in her cold fingers, and resumes her silent, tear-filled vigil.

They don't speak again, but words are unnecessary. They have both lost what they most loved in the universe. Qui-Gon Jinn and Padmé Amidala understand one another perfectly.

Gravity

He is allowed out of bed the next day. The deep ache is worse, in his bones, in his back.

Especially his back.

"You're lucky," the Healer on duty tells him. Qui-Gon has already forgotten his name. He doesn't recall if they were even introduced. "I know you were walking around after you broke four vertebrae, so it's a miracle you didn't damage the spinal cord. That would have meant a longer bacta stint, and a hell of a lot of therapy."

Qui-Gon suspects it has nothing to do with luck, and a lot more to do with the otherworldly energy Obi-Wan gave him. "Can I see Adi?" he asks.

The Healer nods. "Yes. In fact, I'd encourage it. She had a rougher time of it than you, and could use the company of someone who isn't badgering her into explaining what became of...of..." The Healer stops speaking and clamps a hand over his mouth, his eyes filling with a sheen of moisture. "Of everyone," he says at last.

Qui-Gon recognizes him, finally. "Bern. You were one of Ki-Adi Mundi's students."

Bern nods. "Yes. He wasn't impressed when I gave up an active Knight's lifestyle for Healer's scrubs, but he got over it. I'm just glad you killed Sidious, or else I'd have a..." Bern smiles, but it's an empty expression. "I'd have a suicidal need to go after the Sith, myself."

"I didn't kill Sidious," Qui-Gon says, to the Healer's confusion, and goes to find Adi Gallia.

Adi is sitting on the bed in her own medical room, wrapped in someone else's pale blue robe. Her usual headdress is gone, and her short hair is sticking up in gray tufts.

Qui-Gon is actually halted by that sight, and the realization it brings. It's hard to believe that the younger woman could have put enough years behind her to see that much gray in her hair. It's still so easy to think of her as the new young Master on the Council, and not the wise woman she has become.

Adi looks up to see him standing awkwardly in the doorway. "Oh, thank the Force it's you," she says, a smile of gratitude on her face.

He goes to her and sits down next to her, and thinks nothing at all of wrapping one arm around her shoulders and pulling her close. They were not dear friends before Sidious, but they always will be, now.

"If so many of the Masters had not felt his death, no one would believe Yoda is gone," Adi says, and he can sense the bitterness of it. "He was our Grand Master. If anyone is going to honor the old legends and discorporate, it's definitely the troll."

That surprises a laugh out of Qui-Gon. "He always said he never wanted a public funeral. He managed to avoid it, after all."

She sighs against him, grief and fondness thick in the air. "I've told them almost nothing, Qui-Gon. For gods' sake, what do we tell them? Without Obi-Wan, without Jeimor, what do we say?"

Qui-Gon hasn't thought about this at all, but he opens his mouth and finds he knows exactly what to say. "We tell them a story. We tell the Order, and the Republic, that we faked the funeral of a Padawan at the conclusion of his Trials. We tell them that when faced with the renewed threat of the Sith, we needed a Jedi who would be forgotten. We needed someone who would be free to ferret out the truths and the lies, who could find the Sith at the heart of all the deception.

"We tell them that a Jedi Knight, living under a name unknown to all, did the work to reveal the true nature of Palpatine's deep treachery against the Republic. We tell them of the sacrifices that were made on all sides.

"We show them our wounded heart, Adi, and they will believe it."

Adi sits up so that she can look at him. It is only when her gentle fingers wipe his bristled cheeks that Qui-Gon realizes he is weeping. "You will take a seat on the Council, Qui-Gon. If that is a tale you can tell when I know your heart is broken, then we need you. I don't think the Order will survive without you."

Though it was once utter anathema to entertain the thought, Qui-Gon inclines his head in acceptance. "Then I will."

She sighs and rests her head against his shoulder once more. "Good. I wasn't looking forward to dealing with this alone."

Qui-Gon nods. The secret of the avatairee is safe, and the Council of Six has become a Council of Two.

It is almost six days after the Sith's defeat when Qui-Gon allows himself, at last, to stumble wearily down the long corridor to his quarters. For a moment he stands in front of his closed door, staring at the engraved metal plate that bears his and Anakin's names.

Then he rips it free, bloodying his fingernails in the process. He hadn't been able to save the tag that had borne his and Obi-Wan's names; it was replaced with this one before Qui-Gon returned from Naboo after Obi-Wan's funeral.

This one, he will keep. That, and the short blond braid Anakin tossed him with a delighted smile, just before the battle against Sidious. When she feels up to it, Padmé Amidala will also peruse the other items that Anakin owned, taking what she wishes to preserve her husband's memory.

The last thing that will remain in Qui-Gon's possession is Anakin's lightsaber, now a relic of the final duel with a Sith Lord. Years from now, Qui-Gon knows, he is going to be placing it into the hands of one of Anakin's children. Perhaps a blade will go to each child, for he still has Asa's curved-hilt lightsaber attached to his belt.

He enters his quarters, smells the mechanical, oily tang that has pervaded the living space since Anakin's first year, and slumps against the wall. His eyes burn, but he has no tears left. He has been grieving for too long--has been grieving for these many years, now. The weight of it is staggering.

He shrugs out of his long robe, leaving it on the floor in a heap to deal with tomorrow. The droids can make the decision of whether the bloodstains can be washed from its folds, or if it is to be replaced.

Qui-Gon walks into the kitchen, his eyes focused back on the nameplate in his hands. It reflects the city lights that shine in from the balcony. Red swirls now decorate it on all sides from handling it with still-bleeding fingers. How appropriate, he thinks.

-Sometimes you've got to shed some blood to keep the good stuff going.-

He lifts his head, his breath catching in surprise. A large black crow is perched on the back of one of his kitchen chairs. Jeimor, Qui-Gon thinks, but then realizes he is wrong. This crow is different--more ruffled in the neck, narrower in body.

Yet it speaks to him, much like Obi-Wan's companion had. "Hello."

The crow bobs its head in greeting. -I bring you a message. Jeimor likes to bitch and whine that it's not our thing, but it really is. I mean, shit, can you think of a bigger message than the dead walking around?-

"I suppose not," Qui-Gon says, and chooses to pull out another chair and sit, lest he fall down on his own floor. "You knew Jeimor?"

-We all know each other, after a fashion. Jeimor and I have been doing this shit longer than most. I'm Reimus.-

"Nice to meet you, Reimus." Qui-Gon inclines his head. "I am...sorry about your friend."

Reimus tilts his head, regarding him with an eye that is more crimson than amber. -Why? Dead happens just as much as living happens. He's fine. Fuck, he's already bragging that he guided a Jedi around. I don't see what the difference is, myself. One dead sod's the same as another dead sod.-

Qui-Gon raises an eyebrow. Crows, it seems, are not big on sympathy. Or perhaps it is just this crow. Jeimor had often been crude and sharp, but kindness lurked underneath. "You said you had a message for me?"

-Ah, right. Business.- The crow hops from the chair down onto the tabletop, walks over with his swaying bird-gait, and halts next to a white envelope that Qui-Gon can't remember seeing before.

-I'm quoting your dead Jedi, here, so don't think I came up with this nonsense all on my own- the crow says, and then opens his beak.

-Time is a funny thing. It can seem slow, like the pace of a glacier across a continent. Or it can be fast, and lifetimes can go by in the space of a blink.-

The crow looks at him and shuffles his feet. -Don't blink.-

Qui-Gon swallows. "Obi-Wan said that?"

-That's what I was told- Reimus replies, sounding testy. -This is yours, too. He said not to get rid of this one.- The crow taps the envelope with his beak. -Now open your balcony door and let me the hell out of here. I don't do emotional bullshit unless I'm on duty.-

Bemused, Qui-Gon gets up and opens the sliding glass door. Reimus takes his leave without another word, flapping his great wings and sailing out into the Coruscant night. Qui-Gon watches him go until the ebon form is lost to his sight.

He goes back to the table, picks up the envelope, and hefts its weight in his palm. Lightweight, the item slides around with the sharp sound of rounded metal against dry paper.

When he opens the envelope and turns it over, a long, copper-blond braid falls in a neat coil into his upturned hand. There are gunmetal-silver beads tied in it, and the end is stained in red.

Qui-Gon clenches the braid in his hand: he can feel the impression of rushing air, twinkling lights and headlong flight, a memory of himself and his avatairee as they ride the wind in the dark.

How much longer is this path? he once wondered, in the months before he met a young Jedi Knight named Ben Lars.

Don't blink.

"I won't," Qui-Gon promises, and kisses the reddened end of the long braid.

Perhaps the day may come when we shall

remember these sufferings with joy.

-Virgil

Sometimes forever is a long time in coming.

Qui-Gon Jinn reflects on that particular thought many times after Sidious's defeat. Forever is a long time; forever is all time.

The Galactic Republic doesn't have the strength left to bear the treachery of its last Chancellor. While the Senate still convenes, the roiling shock of the Sith's unmasking and defeat is the death knell of a governing body that is older than written memory. Planets and systems withdraw on a daily basis, and with each dawn that colors Coruscant's sky, the number of empty Senate pods grows.

Despite his concern for the fate of the government he has served, the Republic is now secondary to what Qui-Gon has charged himself with: seeing to the survival of the Jedi Order. Adi and Agen Kolar confirmed him as Mace Windu's replacement on the Council in a ceremony that he can scarcely remember. He is not Head of the Order; that is something that none of them can decide on. Without Mace, without Yoda or Saesee Tiin or Shaak Ti or Ki-Adi Mundi, none of them know who to name. He is not even certain that they should.

Anakin's field-Knighting is verified by the Council, uncontested. Once Qui-Gon and Adi told them of that final battle, the other six Masters affirm that Anakin Skywalker would have been dubbed a Knight even if Qui-Gon had not done so.

Where once he might have felt pride in his final student's accomplishment, Qui-Gon feels nothing stronger than lurking sadness. As he told Padmé, Anakin deserved better. They all did.

It didn't take Qui-Gon very long to discover that his fingertips could now read memory by touch, a talent that he never wanted. It isn't on par with Quinlan Vos's skills, nor is it the overwhelming psychometric responses that Obi-Wan suffered through. Just whispers and hints, the reflection of images, scents brought to mind...and emotions long gone, but evoked like kindled flame.

Even that is too much. Some days he wonders how Quinlan remains sane. Force knew Obi-Wan hadn't managed it very well.

The psychometry is another remnant of the energy Obi-Wan shared with him to save his life, a gift passed on, just like the ability to hear caustic Jeimor. Ultimately, it is what leads him to seek new quarters in the Temple.

"But Master Jinn, you've had that room assignment for forty years now!" the Quartermaster protests, shocked by both his appearance and request.

"That's true," Qui-Gon says, forcing the words out when his jaw wants to clench. "But I find them...too big, of late. I'll hole up in a closet, if space is your concern."

"No, no." The old Quermian shakes his head. "Plenty of space these days, Master Jinn. I have smaller rooms available, singles and the like. Do you wish to retain a Padawan suite?" After young Skywalker's fate? the man seems to be asking.

He doesn't mind. People are ever curious. "I knew before Anakin was Knighted that he would be my last Padawan, Errol," Qui-Gon explains, his voice soft. "The extra room won't be needed."

Errol nods, his gaze gentler than before. "Go see these three," he says, handing Qui-Gon a 'plast strip with three different Temple locations scribbled on it. "Tell me which one you like best, and I'll send a droid crew to help you move shop in the next few days. Or would you prefer to pack up yourself?"

Qui-Gon thinks about all of the intimate, personal items he owns, so many of them from friends and loved ones who are long gone from his life. The idea of feeling all of those impressions, no matter how faint, is nightmarish. He isn't ready to be so immersed in Anakin's memories, or Obi-Wan's, or anyone else's. "No, actually, I don't mind. In fact, my schedule is currently full enough that if the crew could handle the packing and transfer of all the items in my quarters, I would be grateful."

"And Skywalker's Padawan suite? Do you have a...a preference?"

It is hard not to sigh at the thought. "His friends have already chosen the things of his they wish to keep, as have I. If the rest could be packed for shipping, my Padawan has family on Tatooine who would be grateful to receive the rest."

It is a mere twenty-six hours before Qui-Gon is ensconced in the new quarters he chose, in a higher part of the East Tower. He kept the view of the city, as he now has trouble sleeping if the glow of the district lights isn't present.

Errol's efficient crews put up new shelves, and then proceed to place each item in as close to its original position as possible. The rest of the area is nearly a blank slate, it's gone so long without inhabitants. There are no strong impressions to find unless he reaches out to touch some old machined part of Anakin's, or run his fingers along one of Obi-Wan's favored geodes. The lack of other impressions in the new space is a relief. It is also a wrenching pain that leaves him sitting out on his new tiny balcony for a full night, tears running down his face as he tries not to regret being left behind.

The grand army of the Republic is the final straw, the nail in the coffin. The Security squads on Coruscant were bad, but what comes within days of Qui-Gon's Confirmation is almost worse.

The clones are dying.

"We've lost over half of the fleet," Admiral Yularen says. He arrived on Coruscant yesterday, to personally inform the Order and the Senate of the on-going decimation of the months-old military. "If this continues unabated, I expect a full loss of personnel in the next three months." Yularen says the words with clinical detachment, but there is frustration in his eyes.

"Gods," Adi says, watching the reports come in with one hand plastered to her cheek. "I don't care what problems we may have had with their existence. This is inhumane."

Qui-Gon nods. The Council's central holographic display is showing a running tally of the reported deaths, and the number is climbing with every minute that passes. "No cause of death can be determined?"

"None, Master," Knight Aayla Secura tells them. Her holographic image is shot through with bursts of static, but it isn't enough to disguise the young Twi'lek's weariness. "The medical droids cannot determine a cause of death, but Barriss--I'm sorry, Padawan Offee--she's got healing talent. As far as she can tell, their bodies are just...shutting down."

Like droids, Qui-Gon thinks, and restrains a shiver. The Council suspected that the Sith was behind the clones' creation, but without the final, fatal clue--Sidious's true identity--they had never been able to divine a purpose for their existence.

Without the Sith, the clones are no longer necessary, their purpose rendered obsolete. The Kaminoans must have programmed this fate into the clones' genetic makeup from the very beginning.

"We'll have to institute a draft order," Yularen says, his brow furrowing with concern. "The Republic is defenseless without a standing military."

Qui-Gon gives him a considering look, as he remembers that Yularen was appointed by Palpatine. "The Confederates have not initiated an attack against Republic space since Geonosis."

Yularen frowns at him. "That does not mean that they won't, Master Jinn. It is my duty to protect the Republic. I plan to go before the Senate this very afternoon to suggest the draft order. Our government needs the fleet, Master Jedi. That has not changed."

"There are plenty of volunteers," Aayla points out, trying to be helpful. "Maybe not all of the clones will die. That should be enough to keep a draft order from being necessary."

Yularen says nothing, but Qui-Gon suspects that neither possibility will change the Admiral's mind.

"Can the Kaminoans stop it?" Adi asks. "They're living beings. They deserve the right to survive as much as any of us."

"Master Vos went to Kamino to find out," Aayla replies, her expression hardening. "The Kaminoans say that they can't, and even if they could, they won't. They wouldn't even discuss the programming modules with us. Master Quin had to break into their database just to find out the extra modules existed in the first place!"

"Break in?" Adi repeats, a faint trace of amusement in her voice. "He didn't mention that."

Aayla winces. "Er. You didn't hear that."

Qui-Gon read Vos's report on Order 66. It gave him the nightmares Sidious himself failed to evoke. "Do what you can, Knight Secura. We'll send some more Healers out to the fleet."

Aayla nods in evident relief. "Thank you, Master Jinn. Flagship Dauntless out."

Radiate

A pain shared is not a pain halved, but at least it is understood. Qui-Gon and Padmé spend at least an evening a week in each other's company, even if most of that time is spent in silence. Padmé doesn't blame him for Anakin's fate, but he does, and it makes it harder to accept that the young Senator wants to be in his presence.

She calls him to the Senate on a day that Palpatine's trial is not the issue on the floor. From one of the shadowed alcoves, he listens as Padmé declares her marriage public, and names Anakin Skywalker, Jedi Knight, as the father of her children.

Twins, Qui-Gon realizes, feeling his eyes burn anew from grief. He is so caught in the churn of emotion that he almost misses hearing Padmé declare him her children's godfather.

He has to swipe a datapad from a Senate aide and look up what the term even means.

[Godfather: guardian of underage children, sometimes in a religious capacity; one who becomes caretaker; to become a familial relation; to be named as parental stand-in in cases of parent death of legally recognized offspring]

"Are you certain that's a wise idea?" Qui-Gon asks her the moment the Senate session is called to a close.

Padmé gives him a stern, narrow-eyed look.

"Right," he says, and manages a faint smile before wrapping his arms around her in a willing embrace. He can feel three bright pinpoints of life burning against him.

Padmé is five months pregnant, and yet, despite carrying two children in her womb, barely looks to be with child at all. "Runs in the family," she explains, when Qui-Gon gives her slight belly another curious glance. "Mom was nine months pregnant with my sister and looked as if she just had a bad case of indigestion."

In contrast, the two tiny lives in her womb glow in the Force like brilliant gems. They aren't muttering non-verbal babyspeak yet, but Qui-Gon guesses that in another month, their mother will have to contend with noisy dreams.

They travel to Tatooine together after Palpatine's post-mortem trial has concluded. Palpatine is not found guilty, exactly, but he is declared to be a Sith, and the Jedi are officially exonerated for their actions.

Qui-Gon thinks the declaration of innocence has less to do with the Jedi themselves, and far more to do with Vima's people. No one has forgotten the dust-faced crowds that gathered in the Senate District on the day that Sidious was defeated.

Shmi Skywalker-Lars welcomes them into the desert homestead with open arms and a sad smile. The sight of her is enough to make Qui-Gon want to turn and bolt back to the Nubian transport.

"Don't you dare, Qui-Gon Jinn," Shmi tells him in a fierce whisper, as he reluctantly returns her embrace. "I blame you for nothing."

"But I do," he says, staring down at her; brave woman, who once handed her only child over to a near stranger on the tiniest hope that the Jedi could give Anakin Skywalker a better life.

"I know," Shmi says, and turns to Padmé. "Welcome home, my daughter."

Padmé tries to smile and bursts into shocked, grieving tears instead. Shmi goes to her and holds her, shushing her and murmuring the kind words that Qui-Gon has trouble finding. It is fortunate that Padmé expects very few from him. They are companions in their grief, lost in the silver woods together.

Before dinner, he wanders the farm alone, content to let Padmé's in-laws croon over the unborn twins and mourn Anakin's loss as a family. Qui-Gon wants no part of that, and has no wish to be the awkward guest lurking in the background, too tall and too noticeable.

He has been back to Tatooine only once before this. Several years after Naboo, Qui-Gon returned to this vast desert to give Anakin a promised visit to his mother. It had gone well, though Watto glowered at him and muttered threats under his breath. Shmi had been grateful to see her son, free and doing well, and Anakin had been relieved to find his mother still safe in Watto's dubious care.

The Council had almost drummed Qui-Gon out of the Order for providing that little trip. The memory makes him smile, now, when it had always angered him before. All that fuss, and for what? A child's happiness, in a life where he had experienced little? How was Qui-Gon supposed to find fault with what had only brought healing?

Considering what it has all come down to, Qui-Gon wishes he had pushed for more. Anakin had deserved that consideration, had earned it, no matter how much Mace had fought against it.

Qui-Gon halts before a marker in the sand, bearing a date over thirty years old. The name is clearly visible, despite the sand-worn edges of the stone. Aika Lars, Obi-Wan's mother, who died just after bringing Owen Lars into the world.

"Damn, I miss you, you stubborn bastard," Qui-Gon whispers, speaking to the stone as if it's a sounding board to the ethereal. Why this one lone grave prompts the words, he has no idea. "I hated going to your funeral about as much as you would have hated going to mine. You should have outlived me, Mace. You and Adi should have given in years ago, and had beautiful Haruun-Kal Corellian temper tantrums together. Those children would have had the run of the cr?che, and would have made incredible Jedi, just like their parents."

"I do that, too," a voice at his side says. Qui-Gon glances down and finds that young Owen has joined him. The young man has soulful blue eyes, much like his father, but it is the shape of his face, his slight build, that is reminiscent of his brother. "'Course, when I'm out here talking to the dust, it's usually to speak to my mother."

Qui-Gon manages a half-smile, feeling as if he has intruded. "My apologies."

Owen waves it off, unconcerned. "Nah, don't worry about it. I never knew my mother, so it's good to come out here and talk, even if..."

Owen hesitates before he says, "You're a Jedi. You think the dead really listen to all of the nonsense we have to say?"

This time, Qui-Gon's smile is genuine. "I know they do."

He and Padmé take turns telling the Skywalker-Lars clan the tale of what happened in the months leading up to Sidious's downfall. Shmi deserves to know about the Jedi Anakin had grown to be, just as much as Cliegg Lars needs to hear about the Jedi Knight his elder son had been.

Qui-Gon almost slips, almost tells them all that the story of Obi-Wan's faked death on Naboo is a lie. He and Padmé gaze at each other across the big stone table. She says nothing, does not even shake her head, but he understands. These people, the family to their lost ones, need the comfort of the lie. The truth of the crow does not belong here.

They leave on promises to visit again, as Shmi and Cliegg both wish to have some part in the lives of their future grandchildren. Padmé agrees to return to Tatooine as often as possible.

Qui-Gon is still bewildered by the fact that Shmi wants him to return at all. He says that he will do his best; as a Jedi Master and Councilor to a struggling Order, his time is always going to be short.

"Do you think the Order will survive the Republic's fall?" Padmé asks him during the return flight. It is late in the ship's cycle, and Qui-Gon finds that insomnia has touched them both and refuses to let go. He suspects that her pregnancy is keeping her from restful slumber, but he has no such excuse.

"I don't know," he says, because it's true. There are still many Jedi in the Order who refuse to believe the Republic's death is at hand. It makes it harder to get things done, especially when he sits on a Council with several who hold that belief. "I wish I could say that it would, but right now, things are uncertain."

If Yoda had lived, he could have pushed the entire lot of us into place, and the question would become academic, Qui-Gon thinks, and has to shake his head at the bitterness he feels. Many Jedi still cannot believe that the grand-Master of the Order discorporated upon dying, like the ancient Masters of legend were known to do. No, instead it is easier to say that the old troll is missing. Kidnapped by Sidious's cronies. Hidden away by the Jedi Council for some secret plot. Integral part of a cloning scheme on Kamino.

Yoda would have cackled with delight at every single ridiculous theory.

Adi is worried that they are fast approaching a point of schism. Qui-Gon knows that it has happened already.

Perhaps sensing the nature of his thoughts, Padmé pats his hand before rising. "When the time comes, Master Qui-Gon, know that the Jedi are welcome on Naboo."

He nods and watches her retreat. Despite Padmé's slight figure, her gait is already swayed by the weight of pregnancy.

She has not been the first to offer Qui-Gon shelter for the Jedi. Mon Mothma made a similar offer; Garm bel Iblis confirmed that all Jedi are, as always, welcome in the Corellian system.

The Senators of the old Loyalist Committee still attend sessions of Congress, going to meetings under the guise of unity and still-futile attempts to elect a new Chancellor. Qui-Gon and Adi Gallia are two of the few who know their actions for the front that they are. Those who helped to reveal Palpatine's true, duplicitous nature are now working to secure the safety of the people they were elected to represent. Partnerships are being formed within the fledgling Alliance, securing trade routes for agricultural needs, merchandise, medicines, schooling.

"Forget a decade," Senator Alavar says at their next meeting, held in Bail Organa's private apartment. "The bureaucratic offices are starting to fumble now. Health and Safety's ability to keep up with public demand has fallen forty percent in the past month."

"Gods," Mon Mothma murmurs. "They provide services for billions. How are they losing so much of their office so quickly?"

"The money's getting re-routed," Onaconda Far grumbles. "I know you all have been using your Senate presence to create alliances under everyone's nose, but someone has to actually listen to their nonsense. A lot of Palpatine's old allies are making grabs for the money that ran the Republic, and ditching social services has been the fastest way to get to a lot of that credit."

"Greedy, soulless bastards," Padmé spits, her eyes sparking with anger. "They'll let millions die to line their own pockets."

"We knew this, Padmé," Bail says, resting his hand on her shoulder to soothe her. "We knew that they would sacrifice whoever they could to save themselves. That's why we're acting now, to secure the things our systems will need to continue once the old central government is gone."

Fang Zar laughs, a dry, harsh sound. Of them all, the old Senator has aged the most in the months since Sidious's defeat. "Can you imagine: Our systems all used to be self-sufficient. What the hell happened to us that we can't even come up with our own foodstuffs anymore?"

"Taxes," Garm retorts promptly, which draws a reluctant laugh from the small group.

"What have the Calamarians decided?" Mon Mothma asks.

"They haven't," Adi says, as she has been the last to speak with the Mon Calamarian Senator. "Dowmeia is all for it, but he cannot convince his co-Senator of the same. Senator Tills is leery of us, and still believes the Republic to be salvageable."

"And to think, not even a year ago we would have heard the reverse," Qui-Gon observed.

"Does anyone know what happened to Tikkes?" Bail asks, smiling at the reminder of the cantankerous former Senator.

"As far as our intelligence has it, Tikkes remains in the company of the Trade Federation," Adi says, consulting her datapad. "And we finally have a clear line on their new leadership: Senator Bonteri of Onderon was elected Head of State last month, ousting someone named Grievous, who was keen to continue the CIS's policy of aggression against the Republic."

Padmé sits up in surprise. "Mina? Really?"

Mon Mothma frowns. "Perhaps this is what is behind the lack of military action on the Separatist's part? Mina always said that she wasn't interested in the Separatist cause because of their army."

"They didn't have a reason to wage war in the first place," Alavar retorts. "And they did so, anyway."

"That was Dooku's impetus," Qui-Gon tells her sharply. "The Confederates had their own cause that the Sith took advantage of. If they're going to leave the Republic in peace while it crumbles to bits, all to the better."

"You know, I have a blasphemous notion," Terr Taneel speaks, looking hesitant. "Don't lynch me."

"Don't have rope. Spill it," Garm says. "What is it?"

"Why don't we approach the Confederacy to become part of the Alliance?"

The silence in the room feels oppressive until Fang Zar whistles. "Damn, girl. I should have thought of that."

"But they're Separatists!" Alavar hisses in outrage.

"And what are we?" Mon Mothma asks.

Alavar sputters for a moment. "Shit!" she says, and then sits back in her chair with a clear sulk on her face. "Dammit. I don't like being a traitor."

"Until you're actively betraying the faith of the people who voted for you to speak on their behalf, you're nothing of the sort," Adi tells her.

"There will be some who call us that, anyway," Bail cautions.

"I've been called worse," Garm says with a shrug. "Listen, I've got ties on at least three more systems who know that shit's about to go belly-up and don't want to be caught off-guard. You want me to approach them about the Alliance and see what their feelings are?"

"That would be a kindness," Bail says, rubbing his bearded chin with one hand. "Who wants to tackle the Confederate issue?"

Padmé looks around the room before her gaze settles on Qui-Gon. "I'll go. Mina is a friend."

Qui-Gon internally debates with himself about speaking in refusal; he is trying to take this godfather role seriously, after all. Still, he knows Padmé well enough to know what her answer would be to that kind of suggestion. "I cannot accompany you at the moment, but I can make certain that you travel well-protected."

"Can you loan me Quinlan Vos?" Padmé asks. "Senator Frell Cox won't commit to us because the Azurbani system has publicly announced that they are thinking about joining the Confederacy. If I have a Kiffar with me, it will seem like we're in a much more agreeable mood than we were after Geonosis."

"That's a good idea," Adi says, pleased.

Mon Mothma nods. "I agree. In fact, I was just thinking that we're going to have to start coming up with articles of confederation soon."

"Ah, more Confederates. They'll love us," Alavar mutters with a resigned sigh.

"A full quarter of the Republic's member systems have already seceded," Mon Mothma reminds them all. "What was relevant last year is relevant no longer."

Alavar waves her hand in acknowledgement, sinking into a quiet, despairing slump.

"We do have Senators Chuchi and Papanoida confirming their willingness to hear about the Alliance, at least," Onaconda says, attempting to lighten her mood.

"And Senator Malé-Dee," Alavar admits. "He is interested, but is uncertain whether the Uyter system is willing to go along with it."

"What about your people, Jamel?" Terr Taneel asks, giving the dust-faced shadow in the room a questioning look.

The old rogue who is responsible for the Security Office's destruction steps forward, inclining his head. "We be making do, Senators, Masters Jedi," he says. "We're well aware of what happens to Coruscant once the Senate finally gives in and lets go, and a lot of the families have turned Galactic City's abandoned buildings into greenhouses. We're starting t' farm now, while we still have the supplies to survive our screw-ups. Some of the families want t' leave, of course. Your big friend, Jettster," he nods at Qui-Gon, "is a help, and I think the first folk who want off this shitheap will be heading out within the week."

"Are you going to be leaving the shitheap, then?" Garm asks, amused.

Jamel shakes his head. "My family's been living in the mid-levels for a good three hundred years, Senator Iblis. Nah, we're stayin' put, lest we have no choice."

Qui-Gon glances around at each Senator before finally meeting Adi's eyes. With the Republic dying, the supply lines to the galactic capital will dry up. She nods once, in acknowledgement and in agreement.

We have to get the hell off of this planet.

Qui-Gon is still considering that same realization when he returns to his quarters after midnight. He tosses his cloak over the couch; the hooks by the door were the first things in the new quarters to start speaking to him. His own hands create impressions, leaving memories of the day's events on the things he touches, and getting a three to six layer memory pattern jolt of déj? vu got old fast.

His dishes are quiet, because they're new. He makes tea on autopilot and takes it outside to drink on the balcony, a space just large enough for two people to kneel in shared meditation.

Right now, he doesn't want to meditate. He sips tea and glares out at Coruscant's brilliant skyline, because it's been six months and he has no plan at all. Qui-Gon has long been a believer in allowing things to happen as they will, but lately the sense of losing time is eating at him. Alavar's news about Health and Safety has disquieted him further.

He hears no noise, and senses nothing, but something prompts him to look to his right, anyway. Obi-Wan is sitting on the narrow rail in a relaxed slouch, his long hair being stirred by the breeze. He's dressed in black, as before. There is still blood in his hair.

Qui-Gon should be surprised, and isn't. That is almost as disconcerting as Health and Safety's swift downfall.

Obi-Wan smiles at him. "If I had ever sulked the way you are now..."

"I'm not sulking," Qui-Gon says in automatic rebuttal. He is completely bewildered by how normal this feels.

"Uh huh." Obi-Wan takes the tea from Qui-Gon's hands, pours the remaining liquid out over the balcony edge, and then gives the empty mug back to him. "Go to bed, Qui-Gon. Sleep. Things will be clearer in the morning."

He nods. "Good night," he says, and goes to do just that.

It's when he's settled under the covers, his room darkened, that Qui-Gon thinks: This must be what it feels like when you hallucinate.

The next morning, he's halfway to a training salle for an appointment with the physical therapist still dogging his footsteps, when Quinlan Vos melts out of an alcove to greet him. "Master Jinn."

"Quinlan," Qui-Gon says, frowning. "I do believe you're supposed to be departing Coruscant with Senator Amidala."

Quinlan nods. "In three hours, yes. I need to speak to you first."

He doesn't hesitate. "Better you than that damned Healer."

Quinlan grins and leads him to a quiet room. Privacy shielding comes on at a gesture from the Kiffar man, and they sit down together at a work table littered with what looks to be singed blaster parts. Someone needs an earful about cleaning up their messes.

Quinlan snickers and sweeps the blaster detritus off to one side. "I've been talking to Bail Organa."

"Oh?" Qui-Gon is a bit surprised by that; Quinlan Vos is not fond of the political sector. The politicians are not so fond of Vos, either.

"Well, wasn't really my idea. See, a man with a bird made the suggestion some months ago," Quinlan says, leaning back in his chair.

Obi-Wan. Suddenly, last night's hallucination makes a bit more sense. "Go on."

"Granted, he didn't know why, and neither did I," Quinlan explains. "At least, not until I went to see the good Senator. Bail told me that there is still an old Jedi Temple on Alderaan."

"I knew that," Qui-Gon says, puzzled. "As I understand, it's being used as an administration building for one of the royal households."

"Right." Quinlan nods. "Bail's wife, Breha Antilles-Organa--she's spent the last five months clearing the building out, relocating the offices. As far as Alderaan is concerned, the Temple's ours again."

Well. That explained Bail Organa's curious silence on the matter of the Jedi's continued Coruscant presence. He had been planning. Qui-Gon wonders if it was something that the young Senator came up with alone, or with the help of an avatairee.

When he returns his attention to Quinlan Vos, the other Master has a huge, delighted grin on his face. "There's a bit more to my news than that, Master Jinn," he says, and slides a 'plast sheet across the table.

There are seven planets listed upon it, including Alderaan. Qui-Gon reads each name and then looks up at Quinlan in disbelief. "All of them?"

Quinlan leaves to act as political ploy and bodyguard to Senator Amidala's delegation to the Confederacy of Independent Systems. Qui-Gon decides to skip the remainder of his physical therapy appointment and goes to sit on the Grand Stair, letting the new knowledge in his head churn about with the rest of his thoughts.

One of the young Padawans finds him there, and sits down next to him without asking for an invitation. Ahsoka Tano, Yoda's final pet project. "You look all thinky," she says.

"If I ever catch you using the term "thinky" in a diplomatic setting, I'll hang you upside down from a flagpole," Qui-Gon retorts, and she giggles. That sound, so innocent and carefree, makes the near-constant pain in his chest ease. "Can I help you with something, Padawan?"

"Yes, Master," she says, and suddenly Tano is all business. "Us Padawans and the older kids in the creche, we all know something's up, but no one will tell us anything. I don't know if it's because there is nothing to tell, or they think we're too young to worry about it."

"I don't think you're ever too young to worry," Qui-Gon says quietly. "I remember being your age, and worrying about everything. I don't think I've ever stopped."

"See? Then you get it." Tano smiles. "Tell me something. Tell me what to tell the other kids. We need to know, Master."

The 'plast list is still in his hands, albeit a bit crumpled from being gripped in his fist. He unfolds it carefully, smoothing it out so the molecules in the material re-align until it is pristine once more. "These are the names of seven planets. To this list, add Corellia, Dantooine, and Coruscant."

Tano reads the list, pursing her lips as she does so. "Er. Okay. Ten planets. Then what?"

"Make sure everyone in the creche who is old enough to read and meditate gets a copy of this list. Spread it among the orphaned Padawans as well. Tell everyone to meditate upon this list...and choose their home."

Tano's eyes grow huge. She stares at him, looks back at the list, and then looks at him again. She is stunned, but instead of asking questions, all she says is, "Okay," and goes.

The Jedi Council is not so accepting.

They have seen the list, and while some--Depa Billaba, Agen Kolar, and Tholme--are silent, seven other members of the Jedi Council are loud in their protests. Adi is snapping at them, tired and aching already from the wounds that did so much damage to her body. It won't be long before she's waving her cane at them all.

Qui-Gon is standing by the great windows, observing the clouds and rain that are obscuring the skyline, as he lets the rush of sound wash over him. He never told Adi that he would have stayed with the Order, even if he had not been asked to join the Council. He has been a Jedi all of his life; his two final Padawans sacrificed themselves not to protect a government, but the people who lived within it from the threat Sidious represented. He will never dishonor that sacrifice by leaving the Jedi to founder. Nor will he allow others to let it happen.

Once he decides that enough of the shock has been vocally purged, Qui-Gon turns away from his contemplation of the sky and says, "Enough."

The word is not loud, and he does not emphasize the command with the Force, but silence is attained, all the same. "I did not bring you this list for a debate. The schism you so fear began years ago, as wiser beings in our Order deduced the truth of the Republic's decline and made their own preparations."

No one says a word, but the shock is clear on many faces. Only Adi is unmoved; she was there when Yoda's brief confessional came as a pre-recorded message to Qui-Gon's comm. There are many Jedi on the rosters listed as missing, but who are in fact displaced of their own choice.

"Now is not the time for stubbornness, or willful blindness. The Republic is failing, and my friends, it fails fast."

For a long, tense moment, the silence continues, before one of the Councilors stands. Agen Kolar, who once earned an avatairee's ire with his blatant arrogance, no longer holds even a whisper of that old haughtiness. "The Republic has stood for ten thousand years. That is what I have heard, over and over again, as I watch the Senate dome empty of representation. I believe that statement to be nothing more than conceit, and conceit is something we can ill afford. Yes, the Republic has weathered many things.

"But hear my word: weathered. Whenever a great stone bears the force of the storm, it loses a bit of itself. The more storms it sees, the more it loses, until there is nothing left but the illusion of the strength it once held. That is our Republic, and as all things must pass in time, so must this." Kolar returns to his seat with a long sigh.

Ki-Adi Mundi's replacement to the Council, the Caamasi Knight Ylenic It'kla, stands next. His eyes are filled with great sorrow. "I did not think it would happen today--or, in truth, at all--but my belief has changed. My friends, hear Master Kolar's words, and know them to be true. My people witnessed the beginning of the Republic, and we are here now to witness its end. The Jedi, nurtured by the Caamasi, by the Core Worlds, by all of our allies and friends of old, have only ever been the sand that supported that great stone. In time, perhaps, we grains of sand will support another great stone, and we will witness new storms. But for now, there is only the sand, and the pebbles that surround us. We must spread our reach, to support what that great stone has left behind."

Depa Billaba speaks next, though she does not stand to do so. The Chalactan Master recovered from Sidious's mental assault, but that event, and the loss of Asajj Ventress, sandblasted away much of her serene manner. "At the thought of leaving Coruscant, of leaving the home of the Jedi, I feel great fear from many of you. Don't entertain such foolish thoughts. A Jedi's home is wherever a Jedi dwells, be it in a Temple, a station, a star cruiser, or a hole in the damned ground."

"I would prefer to avoid the hole, if I could," Tholme says with a tight smile.

Qui-Gon leaves that particular meeting knowing that half of the Council now sees the necessity of it. The others will simply have to be dragged along...or be the rearguard that remains to become caretakers of the Coruscant Temple. He's been running the numbers; the Temple gardens can maintain a much reduced number of residents without having to worry about importing food.

"The carnivores and omnivores will have to be warned against staying, as the Temple was never designed to cater to livestock of any sort," Qui-Gon says out loud, and his shadow giggles.

Tano darts out from behind the pillar she was using as a hiding spot, a grin on her face. "How'd you know?"

"Don't curse under your breath when you injure yourself while following someone," Qui-Gon advises. "How went your mission?"

The Togrutan girl frowns. "It...went okay, I guess. A lot of the older kids are scared."

"And the younger ones?"

She grins. "Oh, they think it's a grand adventure. Most of the littles had their fingers on their choices almost before I could finish telling them about it."

"They listen to the Force without their own fears getting in the way," Qui-Gon tells her. "It's a gift that we sometimes lose as we grow older."

Tano gives him a look that, for the life of him, he cannot quite interpret. "You don't let them. Your fears, I mean."

Qui-Gon halts his steps as he considers what the young Padawan has said. "I have lived to see all of my fears come to pass, and I'm still here." He expects to feel pain when he says the words, or bitter grief, the same burden he had carried for ten years after Obi-Wan's death. Instead, there is nothing more than the muted sadness he has felt since he awoke in the Ward with Padmé at his bedside.

"While I do not consider that to be a gift, it is a...clarifying state of being to find oneself in."

Tano does not say that she is sorry. Instead, she follows him as he resumes his journey. The lifts are a long way from the central spire. Not for the first time, he wonders at such a daft design.

At last, Tano says, "I liked him. He was a bit mad, but in a good way."

Qui-Gon nods. "That he was." Though saying Obi-Wan was a bit mad may be an understatement. He has too many memories of his Padawan smiling and walking straight into blasterfire--and that was before Obi-Wan died on Naboo.

Tano takes his hand. "He went through an awful lot of clothes, though."

He is surprised into laughing. It's the first time he can remember laughing in many lonely months.

Ahsoka Tano does not follow him home, though Qui-Gon suspects that she wants to. He is beginning to see the potential that Yoda recognized, and it's intriguing, but he cannot yet discern who her Master is to be. He doesn't think it should be himself.

He walks into the kitchen for tea and stops short, staring in bewilderment at the white, powdered mess on the countertop. The sweetener he keeps for guests has been spilled and spread out, and a message is scratched through the powder.

not for all time

There is a second line, messier, below that.

need more sweetener

Qui-Gon cleans up the mess with a smile on his face, dumping the powder back into its canister. The countertop is clean, anyway, and there is no sense wasting sweetener.

A small body of determined spirits, fired by an unquenchable faith in their mission, can alter the course of history.

-Mahatma Gandhi

It takes three months to arrange for the decentralization of the Jedi Order. When it's done, Qui-Gon can't remember if he slept more than an hour or two during the entire process. Their numbers are nothing like they were five hundred years ago, but there are still tens of thousands of Jedi. It's an administrative nightmare, and a cost expenditure that the Order was never prepared for.

"If we were going out to Temples that were already established, being bankrupt wouldn't matter a whit," Tholme says, rubbing at his unscarred eye. It is only Qui-Gon, Adi, Tholme, and Agen at this particular meeting. Qui-Gon thinks that if the others are wise, they are sleeping right now. "We need more funding."

"But from where?" Agen asks. "The Senate has already reduced the funding subsidies we get from the Republic down to an amount that's harsh even with most of us leaving."

"Piracy," Adi suggests, and Qui-Gon can tell from the look on her face that she's only half-joking. "Force, Agen, I don't know."

Qui-Gon shakes his head. "We're the only idiots still awake and shuffling 'plast. Let's sleep on it. Perhaps in the morning a solution will present itself."

"I doubt that, but I will not turn down the chance to rest. Why should the others have all the fun?" Tholme says, and rises from his seat with a tired groan. "Curse the lot of you for talking me into taking this job. I want to go back to hanging with the smugglers. It's less work."

Qui-Gon escorts Adi to the lifts. He knows that she is in a great deal of pain, more than she should be.

"I'm fine," she mutters at him, but her brows are drawn together until they are in the lift and descending. Adi sighs and leans against the wall. "It's stress and exhaustion, Qui-Gon. Nothing the Healers can do until I get the chance to slow down."

He eyes her. "So, in about twenty years, then."

Adi smiles. "Probably. Still, it will be good to go home."

He nods; it was a given that Adi would return to her homeworld to lead the Corellian Temple. Ylenic It'kla was asked to head the Caamasi Temple by the Caamasi Senator, before Caamas announced their official withdrawal from the Republic. Depa is taking charge of the Dantooine contingent, in hopes that the serene planet will restore her own flagging spirits. Yaddle came out of retirement to rejoin the Council months ago, but will soon be making her home on Alaris Prime. Kit Fisto, with Quinlan Vos's reluctant help, will share the running of the Alderaan Temple. Plo Koon has chosen Rhen Var; Agen Kolar has accepted responsibility for Reytha.

Tholme refused, at first, to be Temple-affiliated at all, until Onderon confirmed the opening of the old Temple in Confederate-aligned space. Tholme considers leading Jedi in that region to be a challenge on par with his less-than-savory skillset. He is still trying to convince T'ra Saa to join him.

Qui-Gon hadn't needed to say a word about Naboo to become its caretaker. The citizens of Naboo are vocal about adopting the old hero of the Battle of Theed.

Coleman Trebor and Even Piell plan to stay and maintain the Coruscant Temple. Neither Master wishes to leave; Trebor still believes that the depopulation of the Coruscant Temple is completely unnecessary. Fortunately, Even Piell is sensible, and will be a good counter for Trebor's stubbornness.

Qui-Gon escorts Adi to her quarters and leaves with a smile when she threatens to hit him with her cane. He is almost back to the central lift when he sees a flash of brown cloak out of the corner of his eye. He turns his head and sees Mace Windu standing a few meters away.

For a moment, he does nothing more than stare. Mace's ghost (what the hell else could it be?) stares back, his arms folded over his chest in his typical, unflappable repose. Qui-Gon walks forward, stops within touching distance, and says, "I'm not lying on the floor having a stroke or something, am I?"

Mace grins, and with a quick jerk of his head, motions for Qui-Gon to follow.

He does so, curious. The ghost of his friend leads him farther down a long, uninhabited corridor before stopping in front of a storage bay. It's unlabeled, nondescript, but there is a tamper-prevention seal on the door that breaks when Mace gestures for Qui-Gon to open it.

The room has only three locked crates, all taller than Qui-Gon, and each requires Council authorization to open. Qui-Gon glances at Mace, who gives him an impatient look.

The crates are full of mythra, orichalc, and durelium, respectively--precious metals whose value skyrocketed five years ago. "Fuck, Mace," he whispers, shocked. Each crate would bring enough money to run every aspect of the Coruscant Temple, at full capacity, for an entire year. "Where did you get this?"

The ghost smiles, winks, and disappears.

The metal is enough to get them the extra transports needed, to stock and fuel those ships both for their journeys and to supply the new Temples upon arrival. It gives the Council the chance to breathe, when otherwise the entire venture would have been overwhelming, and most likely a failure.

Qui-Gon coordinates not just the preparations for the Naboo Temple, but every new (or re-established) Temple. It's exhilarating. It's exhausting. His hands are shaking by the end of the second month.

He starts dreaming about an endless wall of white, of running beside it and screaming names at it because it will not bend; there are no cracks; he cannot get through and everything he wants lies on the other side.

Qui-Gon awakens one morning to the feel of hands stroking his hair. There is warmth against his shoulders and upper back, the heat of another living body. His eyes are still closed, protecting him from the light streaming in from a window he doesn't remember leaving uncovered.

"Take a rest day," Obi-Wan murmurs, his hands continuing their blissful slide through Qui-Gon's hair. "You're all going to do yourselves in at this pace. One day of peace will not bring about the Order's ruin."

He considers it before agreeing, snagging his commlink from the bedside table to call Adi.

"Oh, I hate you right now," she grumbles in greeting, sounding about as alert as Qui-Gon feels.

"Rest day," he slurs back. "Tell the others, woul'you?"

"Oh, thank the Force," Adi breathes. "Tellin' 'em. Going back to bed."

"Yes," he agrees, and ends the call before he drops the commlink on the floor. Tried to make it back to the table, didn't work, so sorry, carpet is soft anyway.

Obi-Wan is laughing, a quiet, gentle sound. "Rest, love."

He falls back into willing slumber. His hallucinations no longer seem so worrisome.

How it hurts me to know that I will never be able

to give you everything I have.

-Henry Rollins

The new Temple on Naboo is in the south, built on a hill surrounded by clean lakes. Their neighbors are the part-time residents of the lake houses, and a tribe of Gungans who keep fields in a nearby valley.

Qui-Gon discovers in short order that he is not just a Councilor, not just a Jedi Master--he is everyone's Master, now. Those dwelling in the Naboo Temple defer to him as they would to Grand Master Yoda, or to the Head of the Order. It makes him uncomfortable, being seen as a sole leader instead of part of a greater whole.

No more so is this evident than with Ahsoka Tano, who followed him to Naboo with an unconcerned, cheerful smile. She still has no Master, and isn't bothered at all by this.

"Aren't you worried your education will fall behind?" Qui-Gon asks her, while the other Knights and Masters herd the younglings that came to this Temple into the lake for swimming and sunlight. He has declared another rest day, now that the Temple is occupied and functional. He has no desire to revisit those dreams of screaming at that unending blank wall.

Tano shrugs. "Master Yoda named me a Padawan, even though I never had a Master, and usually you don't get to be one without the other."

Qui-Gon smiles. "Usually."

Tano nods. "Do you think my education is slipping, Master?"

He thinks about how the young Padawan has, rather forcefully, taken on the role of Councilor's Secretary, providing apt solutions for their long list of problems when Qui-Gon cannot. He thinks about how much time she spends with the children, acting as a guardian and a teacher for the younglings. He thinks about how she carries herself, and the maturity that shines in her eyes.

"No."

She grins. "Being Masterless isn't so bad. I learn a lot from everyone."

There are three Masterless Padawans in the Naboo Temple, actually. Then there are two, when one is accepted as the apprentice of a young Knight. Then there is only Tano again, when the other Padawan chooses not to continue her training and returns home to her family.

The week before Padmé's children are due, Qui-Gon names Ahsoka as his Padawan. It's a secret pleasure to see that she is gobsmacked by his declaration.

He is never going to tell her that he figured out why she has remained Masterless for so long. Her true Master died to stop a Sith Lord. The least Qui-Gon can do is to make sure Anakin's Padawan becomes a Jedi Knight.

The twins are born on Naboo the same day that the Alliance's existence as a new governing body is made public. Padmé has insisted he be present in the delivery room, a place much more like the Jedi birthing hall than the cold, antiseptic hospital wards on Coruscant. He shares the space with Padmé's sister, Sola, and two doulas, both of whom have gentle hands and large healing gifts. Padmé's mother and father were banished from the room, for fretting too much and making too many awful jokes, respectively.

The girl is born first, and she is angry about it. She doesn't stop complaining until Qui-Gon takes the squalling infant in his arms and gentles her with the Force.

"Please tell me you have managed names," Sola says, regarding her sweaty, exhausted sister with a grin. "You know Mom and Dad will be cross if we're calling them Baby One and Baby Two for a week."

Padmé scowls, but then turns her attention to the baby girl Qui-Gon is still holding. She isn't the first newborn he's ever cradled, but this is the first time anyone other than a Padawan has been declared his responsibility. It's a strange feeling.

Padmé smiles. "Ani said that he liked 'L' names. She is Leia." She turns her head to regard her son, whose birth was accomplished with far less angry wailing. "He is Luke."

Sola doesn't frown, but she does raise an eyebrow. "Those aren't Naboo names."

"They are Skywalkers, Sola. They are the legacy of a family I will not allow to be forgotten."

Potential

At the end of the first year, Qui-Gon and his fellow Temple Leaders (no one has called them Councilors since the second month away from Coruscant) communicate by holographic transmission, tentatively declaring themselves a success. No Temple has foundered, including the Coruscant remnant. No one is in danger of starvation, or plagues, or assaults from pirates or any standing military.

Granted, one of the Weequay pirate groups did try to assault the Rhen Var Temple. Plo Koon and his fellow pilots obliterated the invading fleet in a very short, efficient space battle. Since then, the word among the rogues and criminals is that it is wiser to leave the Jedi the hell alone, no matter how tempting a target the new Temples appear to be.

Qui-Gon still hallucinates, on occasion. Most of the time it's just his avatairee, soothing him with phantom touches when he is on the verge of sleep, or leaving messages scrawled in strange places. He's seen Mace, who was definitely inspecting the Naboo Temple when Qui-Gon caught sight of him. Yoda had been a welcome surprise. Qui-Gon witnessed the ancient Master standing in the grass near dusk, watching the older Initiates and Padawans play swim-and-seek games in the shallow lake water with a contented smile on his tiny face.

Padmé confides that she dreams of Anakin, almost every night. She asks him if it's real.

Qui-Gon smiles and takes her hand. "Of course it is."

Then there are the crows.

There are crows everywhere these days.

Not all of them speak in a way that Qui-Gon can understand, but the number of times he hears crow-speech is still higher than he believed possible. He points out a flock of the black birds one day while visiting Padmé in Theed at her parents' home, where she stays when she is not maintaining a private residence in the south.

"Oh, them," Padmé says, as she notices the birds wheel and turn in the sky, playing on the thermals like feathery children. "We didn't have crows when I was a child. They started turning up during my first tenure as Queen. We always suspected that a breeder lost a sale and just turned them loose."

Qui-Gon stoops down and picks up Leia before she can brain Luke on the head with a toy block. She is the curious one, poking at everything. Luke is an easy baby, in contrast, as he is content to chew on things and observe the world with his father's pale blue eyes.

"Hmm," Qui-Gon says, snatching the block away from Leia, and then distracting her by floating it in the air just beyond her reach. She grins in delight.

Luke drops his toy and stares at the block. "Pretty," he says.

"P'etty!" Leia agrees.

Qui-Gon studies Luke's face, and then deliberately releases his hold on the block. It falls, but slows down and wobbles in the air at his knees.

Luke gives him a stern look. "No fall," he says, and the block regains its previous height.

Padmé looks as if she wants to smile, or weep. Possibly both. "You bright boy!"

"Bright," Luke repeats in his serious little voice.

Qui-Gon smiles at the twins before he glances at Padmé. "Did the crows show up before the battle, or after?"

She blinks a few times, the realization striking her quickly. "After, actually. Do you think it's a coincidence?"

One of the crows lands on a tree limb in the courtyard. It caws once, and then says, -There are no coincidences. I mean, duh.-

"Manners," Qui-Gon chastises the bird, which urks at him and then takes off.

Padmé grimaces. "I don't even want to know, do I?"

Luminosity

By the time Ahsoka Tano is Knighted, the entire galaxy rumbles with the stirrings of war.

Qui-Gon is not the only one that finds it to be the height of irony that their enemy is the ragtag remains of the Galactic Republic. Only about ten percent of the cloned forces remained after that first year, so they were restocked with conscripts and convicts, non-violent offenders being granted a second chance to purge their records with military service.

There were rumors about indoctrination after the Alliance formed, rumors that they all disregarded. Now, though, Qui-Gon knows that they were not rumors at all. The Republic military machine calls them traitors, enemies to be conquered or destroyed.

He calls all the Jedi of the Naboo Temple together. They are five thousand strong, now, as the Force-sensitives of the Chommell sector gathered with them to learn Jedi ways.

"War is coming," Qui-Gon says, and there is a stir of unease. "Some of you are old enough to remember that we have seen this threat of galaxy-wide combat before. We held back that tide, then, and a single battle on Geonosis was the worst of it.

"Believe me when I say, this time there will be no stopping it. The Alliance is strong, as are our Confederate allies, and the Republic fears that. The Republic fears us."

"What about the Coruscant Temple?" Ahsoka asks. "Are they going to be involved?"

It's a good question; the Coruscant Temple Jedi are still, technically, members of the Republic. "As of our last communication with Master Swan, the Coruscant Jedi have announced their neutrality in the coming conflict. They have no wish to fight against other Jedi, or against friends in the Alliance," Qui-Gon says.

"Crap," Luke says, and then shrugs when his sister gives him a glare. "We're going to be fighting?" He doesn't sound happy about it.

"You're too young, kiddo," visiting Master Halcyon tells him. "But I think we're in for it. Right, Master Qui-Gon?"

"Unfortunately, yes," Qui-Gon admits, but he refuses to let the depth of his concern be known. "There will come a day, soon, when we will need to act. And this is what you must all remember," he says, and makes sure that he has the focus of all the Jedi in the hall.

"We are Jedi, and we act in defense. There will be battles, and we will spread out amongst the stars, fighting against a foundering government that has forgotten its way. We will defend ourselves, our homes, and all those who call the Jedi friends. But no more than that. We are teachers and peacekeepers, and above all, we are students of the Force. We will uphold the ideals of the Jedi Order, no matter what comes."

There is a quiet but dedicated murmur of assent. Qui-Gon looks out upon so many serene eyes and steady smiles, and he is so damn proud of them all. He is grateful to see it, glad to know that he somehow led them to this point, and didn't fuck up spectacularly along the way.

Qui-Gon goes to one of the interior Temple gardens when the meeting is over. There is a sand bed in the center, meant for meditative raking and placement of stone, and he is unsurprised to see that there is a message written into the sand.

soon

"I know," he says, and settles down to meditate.

When the first skirmish breaks out on the Alliance/Republic border, Qui-Gon brings Ahsoka into his office. He transfers full control of all Temple operations over to her.

"You want me to be in charge?" she blurts in shock, and then her eyes grow wide and indignant. "You can't do that! I want to go fight--"

Ahsoka sees the expression on his face, sighs, and sits down in a chair. "Shit. Okay. Right. I'm still bad at that."

"No worse than my last Padawan was," Qui-Gon says with a faint smile.

"You mean all of them," Ahsoka counters, shaking her head. "I'm supposed to be the least crazy of your students, and I still want to go out and wave my lightsaber at the Republic army."

"I daresay your lightsaber waving would be very impressive," Qui-Gon says, "but I need you here, Ahsoka. You've been running this Temple since the day we arrived on Naboo."

"I helped," Ahsoka corrects. "That's all."

"That's not how I remember it," Qui-Gon returns, grinning at her when she gives him a mutinous look. "I'm putting my faith and trust in you, Knight Tano. You're the one who knows how to make sure this Temple continues to function, no matter how long this war lasts."

She starts to look suspicious. "You're going out there, aren't you?"

He inclines his head. "Not yet. But I think I will be, before long. I have too many years' experience in coordinating defense to not use those skills on behalf of the Alliance."

Ahsoka mutters under her breath.

"I am not too old, foolish Padawan," Qui-Gon says, amused. "How old am I?"

"Eighty-four," Ahsoka says without hesitation.

"And how old was my Master, when he tried to start a war against the Republic?"

"...Ninety-three," she admits grudgingly.

"Hmm," Qui-Gon says, and sits on the edge of his desk. "If he can start a conflict at such an advanced age--" Ahsoka snickers, "--then I can do my best to try and end one. Is that not so?"

"You can't win with words all the time," Ahsoka grumbles with a smile.

"No," he agrees, feeling a touch of melancholy. "Not all the time." He feels the answering chime in the Force, and resists the urge to sigh.

That wasn't supposed to be a prophetic statement.

Leia and Luke came to the Temple when they were five, a transition Padmé agreed to only, Qui-Gon thinks, because she lives almost within walking distance. He did not give them their inheritance then, feeling that it was too soon, and that much of the explanation would be beyond them.

They are nine years old, now. He cannot put it off any longer. Qui-Gon understands that when he leaves the Temple, this time, he will not see Naboo again.

Luke and Leia Skywalker kneel before him. Leia is dark-haired and dark-eyed; she looks much more like her grandmother than her mother. Luke, on the other hand, is damn-near a genetic clone of his father. The twins are both strong in the Force, and thanks to a Naboo upbringing, fiercely intelligent. They are both eying the box he has, which is unadorned except for the symbol of the Order.

Qui-Gon cracks the hermetic seal and removes a bundle wrapped in soft cloth. Doubtless they are aware of what he holds the moment the box is opened, but they are well-trained Initiates, and keep silent, waiting and watching.

He places the cloth on the floor before the twins, pulling back the fabric to reveal two lightsabers. "This blade," he points to the straight silver hilt, "belonged to your father. It is the weapon he carried when he acted in defense of all beings, to stop a Sith Lord who wished only to destroy."

Luke swallows, hard. More than his sister, he has lived in the heroic shadow of his father, and is still struggling to come to terms with what might be expected of him.

"This one," Qui-Gon says, pointing to the darker, curved hilt, "has a history, as it was borne by many hands. It was once part of a set of two, built by Komari Vosa, Jedi Knight--my sister Padawan."

They both look up at him, identical expressions of sympathy in their eyes. All Initiates know the tale of Dooku, and his deep betrayal of his apprentices.

"When Komari was murdered, Dooku gave this blade to Asajj Ventress." That was another story known to them; the lost, Darkened Padawan, brought back to the Temple and the Light, only to die, victim of the Sith Lord's fury.

"Your uncle, Obi-Wan, took this blade with him when he set in motion the Jedi confrontation with Sidious." The twins know the public story of their uncle's part in that battle, but not the entire truth, not yet. Padmé will sit with them when they are older Padawans, and tell them of a legend. The twins will hear of the Avatairee: savior of Vima's People, protector of the Chosen One, scourge of the Sith, and guardian of the Jedi Order.

"They're for us?" Leia asks, her eyes filled with apprehension. This is the closest she and Luke have ever been to the truth of their childhood heroes.

Qui-Gon nods. "They are. These weapons are the legacy of your family. These lightsabers were always meant to go into your hands, and yours alone."

The twins turn their heads and stare at each other, conferring in the silence of mindspeech and their own personal, tiny facial quirks of twin-speak.

"You should," Leia says.

Luke relaxes. "Yeah," he agrees. He picks up lost Asajj's lightsaber, wrapping his fingers around the curved hilt.

Leia takes up her father's blade, and her eyes widen. "Wow," she says.

The twins ignite their new lightsabers in the same moment, filling the room with pale blue and pale green light.

If you are not too long, I will wait here for you all my life.

-Oscar Wilde

Qui-Gon gets about three seconds warning before his own death. He is a Jedi; three seconds is plenty of time to consider the matter. He can sense that it is unavoidable, that he will not be the only casualty of the massive weapons' discharge that is about to hit planetary soil, about three meters to the east. There isn't time to clear the blast radius.

With two seconds remaining, he engages the emergency evacuation code built into the commlink he carries. It won't save everyone, but it will be worth it even if it just saves a few. His will be the only Jedi death, as Adi's teams are fighting much farther to the south.

With one second remaining, Qui-Gon Jinn takes his last living breath, feeling the slow expansion of lungs, the rush of oxygen through his veins. The daylight grows impossibly bright, and he closes his eyes.

He doesn't actually feel anything. Instead, there is a peace that he remembers, from many years before.

When he opens his eyes, Qui-Gon is still where he had been a moment before, but instead of the churned signs of battle in a muddy field, he stands in a wasteland of rising smoke and ash.

He feels a moment of confusion (what the hell kind of weapon was that?) and then Qui-Gon sees him.

He's still wearing black tunics, but there is no sign of the crow's mark on his face. His hair is shoulder-length, clean, and free of braids or blood-marked, metallic beads.

It's the wide smile on his face, the complete, naked joy in Obi-Wan's eyes--that's what makes it real. "Oh," he says.

"Yep," says Obi-Wan, and the smile becomes a grin.

"Oh," Qui-Gon says again. He has been waiting for this moment for so long, and now that it's here, he has no idea what to say. "I--"

"I missed you, too," Obi-Wan says.

He finds his voice. "How could you miss me? You never went away!" Qui-Gon says with amused indignance.

Obi-Wan laughs. "Believe me, dumping sweetener everywhere is not the same."

Qui-Gon steps closer, and it seems even the dead have a sense of smell. He breathes in, and there is tea and tang and spice and warm male, and it shakes him, makes it feel like the floor is going to fall away from his feet. "Gods."

Obi-Wan watches him with a Jedi's serenity, not manic at all. "You get used to it."

Everything catches up to him in a rush. His godchildren still live. It feels like he is abandoning his responsibility to them. "The twins?"

"We can check in on them, if you like," Obi-Wan offers.

Qui-Gon's eyes widen. "That's possible?"

Obi-Wan's smile becomes mischievous. "Of course it is. Anything is possible."

He hesitates. "But--what you told us before--"

Obi-Wan shakes his head. "Very few people wind up in that little section of the borderlands, Qui-Gon," he says. For a brief, jarring moment, Obi-Wan's eyes turn that familiar sheen of crow's amber.

"Only those who will come back," Qui-Gon says, and his companion nods. "All right. Then...what now?"

Obi-Wan holds out his hand, palm up. His eyes are clear, a shining blue-green. "This is the way forward," he says in a soft voice. Qui-Gon has heard these words before, long ago, on a wind-swept Temple rooftop. "Come and live with me?"

"Will we?" Qui-Gon asks, bemused.

Obi-Wan shrugs; the more familiar, manic smile of the avatairee appears on his face. "Only one way to find out, love."

Qui-Gon takes Obi-Wan's hand. It is glorious connection, real and warm, the touch of familiar skin for the first time in so very long. He finally begins to smile.

He feels like he's come home.

Sometimes, a crow shows them the way; because

love is stronger than death.

-The Crow: City of Angels