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Rating: R

Archive: Yes, and at my site, www.wyomingnot.com/rita/rita.html

Summary: The war is getting to Obi-Wan. Bail offers him a way out, but he isn't quite ready to take it.

Angst-o-meter: War is hell, people. What do you expect?

Category: Obi/Bail, angst

Timeline: about two years after Ep 2

Feedback: Why should the Clone War be any different than any other horrific mission a Jedi might be sent on? I think the main difference is the role the Jedi play in it, and that's why Obi-Wan is falling apart. Do you agree or disagree with my interpretation?

Requisite prostration: Master George, you own all! Thank you for giving us a universe that invites us to explore all the important questions of life.

Thank yous: to Helens and Emma Grant for the beta, and to the LJ gang for all the thought-provoking comments.

Glossary: CIS stands for the Confederation of Independent Systems, which is the formal name of the Separatists.

Story order:
Perhaps
Maybe
Falling
Back for Seconds - Obi-Wan and Bail
Bailing Bail
Padawan Games
Greener Pastures
Forgiven
Reality Check
Better Than Destiny
A Cross-Cultural Affair
Deconstruction
Reconstruction
Rewoven
Night Visitor
Father Figure
A Model Padawan
Not All Dreams Are Visions
You Don't Bring Me Flowers
Dangerous Fame
Labyrinth
Private Lessons (off-site link)
Owner's Mark
Epicenter
Duty
Penumbra <--You are here
Nightfall
Batter My Heart

"Your attention, please. We are making our final descent toward Coruscant. Passengers please prepare to disembark."

At the sound of the mild voice, Obi-Wan shook himself back into awareness. He had been staring blankly at the back of the seat in front of him ever since he had transferred to the shuttle. It was as close to meditation as he got these days.

He reached under his seat for his travel pack. Glancing down, he saw his hand pass into shadow, turning dark. He gasped in shock and jerked back, his hand illumined once more by the cabin lights. His heart pounding frantically, he stared in wonder at his skin, so pale -- clean and innocent. No traces of caked dust or sweat. He inspected his fingernails -- no dirt beneath them. No grime packed into the whorls of his fingerprints.

No blood.

How had his hands gotten so clean? Obi-Wan drew in a shaky breath, running those clean hands through his hair, feeling his fingers slide easily through the silken strands, devoid of knots and tangles. He closed his eyes and leaned back in his seat, employing calming techniques to soothe his alarm. He did not move when the shuttle docked, did not open his eyes again until everyone else had disembarked: officers, tech crews, medical personnel, all from the front, all returned on leave.

Obi-Wan rose from his seat, shouldering his travel pack, and followed the stragglers out onto the landing platform. The platform was already emptying as the other passengers were met by friends or family. Only a few vehicles waited at the taxi dock, the rest having been engaged already. Obi-Wan approached the front of the line, and the Gotal cabbie glanced up at him. "Welcome home, General."

Obi-Wan blinked in surprise, then glanced down at his uniform. "Yes, yes," he said absently, sliding his hand over the synthwool.

The Gotal blinked at him, nictating membranes sliding over her eyes. "You wanna go somewhere, yah?"

"Yes, please."

The cabbie opened the door for him, and Obi-Wan slid inside. The cab was warm and smelled of sweat and smoke. He swallowed convulsively, feeling a sheen of perspiration break out on his forehead. Fighting back nausea, he fumbled at the door, pushing on the button to lower the window, but nothing happened.

"Sorry," the Gotal said from the front seat. "Windows are broke."

"It's so hot in here," Obi-Wan gasped.

The Gotal leaned forward and switched on the circulator, sending a blast of stale air from the vents. It wasn't much of an improvement, but at least Obi-Wan could breathe.

"So where's home?" the Gotal asked.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Where ya wanna go? Ya got some place to go, yah?"

"Yes, yes," Obi-Wan nodded faintly. Even with the circulator blowing, the air in the cab was stifling. He unfastened the collar button of his uniform, exposing his throat to the flowing air.

"Well?" the Gotal prompted.

Obi-Wan remained silent, staring out the window at the passing traffic. Everyone rushing about, as if they had somewhere to go. But where should he go? He did not need to report to the Temple until the next day, but neither could he bring himself to give the cabbie Bail's address. Whenever he returned from the front, he seemed incapable of making the simplest of decisions. Frustrated with himself, he lowered his eyes from the window, his gaze fastening onto his hand resting on his knee. A dark smudge had appeared on his fingertips. His hand had gotten dirty from the filth on the door.

It looked right for his hand to be tainted that way. The dirt looked natural. He raised his hand before his face and stared at the outline of his fingerprints, brought into relief by the greasy smear. The lines spiraled around and around, like a maze from which it was impossible to escape. This filth belonged on his hands. But how could he touch Bail with them? Bail held firm to his pacifist beliefs, even in the midst of this war. He would see the blood on Obi-Wan's hands and recoil in shock. He would be horrified, even as Obi-Wan was. But Bail did not know yet. He had no idea what crimes Obi-Wan had committed in the service of this war. Obi-Wan was a Jedi; he knew and understood the costs, however much it sickened him, but Bail did not know. He did not need to be tainted by this.

"Base to General; base to General."

The voice sliced through his thoughts like a vibroblade, and Obi-Wan was thrown back onto the battlefield, his heart pounding, the stench of smoke and sweat filling his nostrils. "Commander! Orders!" he barked.

"Hey, hold on, pal. I was kidding, yah."

Obi-Wan blinked and saw the Gotal looking at him in concern.

"Listen, friend, you can sit here in my cab all night if ya want, but I charge by the hour, yah."

"I -- I." Obi-Wan ground the heel of his hand against his eyes, fighting to reorient himself. "T-take me to a hotel, please."

"Any one in particular?"

"I don't care!" Obi-Wan spat. He forced himself to take a deep breath. "You pick one. Some place... unnoticeable."

With a final wary glance, the Gotal turned back to the cab controls. "As ordered, General."

The speeder dove down into the traffic, to the mid-level where it was already twilight. Obi-Wan stared out the grimy window into the forest of skyscrapers. Everything was gray, shrouded, just as it had been the evening he had led his strike team into the heart of Jarinta City.

They had sought to take advantage of the crepuscular light, when the sun was still fading from the sky and the street lamps had not yet been activated. Their target was an old school building that had been taken over by separatist forces and was now used as a command center. That was increasingly the strategy of the CIS, to hide military posts in civilian areas. The Republic Army had to risk civilian casualties in pursuit of their target. Special strike teams led by Jedi were believed to be the safest plan, most likely to achieve the objective with minimal harm to non-combatants.

But their intelligence had been wrong.

Obi-Wan shook his head, forcing the memory from his mind, keeping his gaze locked on the cityscape outside. Even now, here on Coruscant, thousands of light years away from CIS territory, he still scanned the activity outside for signs of enemy movement, nooks where snipers might be hiding, a concentration of power generators that could indicate a CIS command center. These days, every place looked like a military target to Obi-Wan.

The cab slowed down, and Obi-Wan tensed as if expecting an ambush. They came to rest on a landing pad, and the Gotal turned to face him. "Here ya are, General. Not the best, but not the worst, yah. Unnoticed, just as you ordered. Hope it'll do."

Obi-Wan released a slow breath. "It will be fine. Thank you." He paid the cabbie and exited the vehicle.

The hotel was plain but serviceable, the lobby decorated with a few utilitarian chairs, but not much else. It was the kind of place frequented by economy business people who needed respectable but inexpensive accommodations. Not high end, but as the Gotal had said, not rundown enough to be haunted by tramps and petty criminals. The hotel exuded an air of shabby respectability, not unlike the Jedi Temple these days.

Obi-Wan checked in and retreated to his room. He tossed his pack on the bed and moved to the window for a quick security check. Not necessary, he knew, but why should he try to break such a useful habit? He swept the room for bugs or cameras or any other surveillance, but it came up clean. When he had satisfied his need for security as much as he could, he looked at his hands.

They were dirty again. It looked natural to see them like that. Natural and horrifying, just like his life in the war.

Obi-Wan moved to the fresher and started the shower, stripping out of his uniform so he could try to scrub himself clean of the stain that would never go away.

He woke early the next morning. He didn't know where he was at first, but that was normal. He seldom slept in one place for very long anymore. Here at mid-level it was still dark outside, despite the fact that his chrono told him the sun had risen long ago. He showered immediately upon rising, this time to wash away the dreams, but it proved no more effective than his attempts to wash away the stain on his soul.

He couldn't call them nightmares, really, as they were too familiar and common. They were simply a reflection of the numb horror he dealt with every day. Whenever he closed his eyes he saw them: Jedi fallen on the sands of Geonosis; rows and rows of identical faces of clonetroopers; children, their mouths twisted in hateful grimaces, rushing at him with blasters firing. That one was a new addition to his collection.

And of course there was the one he dreamed every night, where he huddled behind a broken wall, screams in the streets outside, dust and sweat stinging his eyes. He didn't know where his troops were. Enemy soldiers surrounded him, hidden in the dark outside. He tried to activate his commlink, but it only hissed static at him. Tried to ignite his saber, but the casing cracked and fell apart in his hands. The pieces slipped through his awkward fingers and disappeared into the rubble at his feet. The wall he hid behind was crumbling, and he crouched lower, trying to remain concealed from the snipers outside. He stretched out on the ground, pressing his face into the dirt, and that's when he saw it. Something gleamed among the rubble, pale and small. He cautiously reached out to pick it up.

It was an eyeball.

Obi-Wan shivered and leaned further into the spray, cranking up the hot water, wanting it to scald him. Why did he have to keep remembering that fucking eyeball? He didn't even know who it belonged to. He might have kept it, could have wandered through the med tents, politely inquiring, "Pardon me, does this belong to you?" Put it in the lost and found, rather than flinging it away from him, whimpering like a child. That stupid eyeball. Why should he be afraid of it? He hadn't even bothered to note what color it was. Didn't really want to know. Blue meant it was Anakin's, brown meant it was Bail's. What if he'd looked and it had been gray? What would that mean?

Obi-Wan shut off the water, cursorily drying himself. He dropped the towel on the floor and moved to a clear space in the room where he could run through the morning kata. It was supposed to be a kind of meditation, a physical way to find one's center. It worked, in a way. As he moved through the positions, Obi-Wan could feel Qui-Gon standing behind him, just over his shoulder. He wasn't really there, of course. It was just a memory, calling to him over the decades from a time when Qui-Gon first taught him these moves. Raise your arms higher, Padawan. Let them float. Keep your fingers loose as if you're cupping a flower, not a smashball. Simple corrections for simple errors. Not too fast on the turn. Always so impatient. Let it flow. The morning kata was supposedly based on hand-to-hand combat moves, but the combat Obi-Wan experienced bore no resemblance to these graceful, gentle motions. Keep your fingers loose, as if you're holding an eyeball. Not too loose, though, or you'll let it roll away.

Qui-Gon Jinn was never far from Obi-Wan's thoughts anymore, standing just outside his line of vision during the day, appearing in his dreams at night, scattered among the other images. He never said anything in the dreams, just looked at Obi-Wan, with a mildly stern expression that Obi-Wan could not interpret. What are you trying to tell me, Master? He didn't seem pleased with Obi-Wan's performance, yet he never offered any correction, never said a word. Instead, Obi-Wan would hear his own voice. "Qui-Gon Jinn would never join you." His words to Dooku on Geonosis had been almost reflexive, the automatic reaction of a devoted padawan to a perceived slur on his master's honor. Obi-Wan had reason to doubt his convictions in the first few weeks of the war, when the separatist cause had seemed just a step away from legitimate. But now, almost two years into the war, Obi-Wan knew Qui-Gon would not have sided with his old master. The trouble was, Obi-Wan didn't know if Qui-Gon would have sided with his old padawan, either. He couldn't imagine that Qui-Gon would take such orders from the Republic or the Council -- orders that Obi-Wan obeyed efficiently if reluctantly.

Qui-Gon Jinn would never join you.

Those words echoed over and over again in his skull, to the rhythm of the morning kata. It was his mantra, a new koan, unsolvable.

Qui-Gon Jinn would never join you.

Referring to Dooku or himself?

Never join you. Never join you. Never join you.

He was due back at the Temple to report to the Council. There were fewer council members present to hear them, but the reports could not be filed electronically. They had to be made in person. Less of a security threat. Obi-Wan could avoid Bail, but he couldn't put off the Council.

As he checked out of the hotel, he speculated that he ought to get something to eat. Had he even eaten the day before? He couldn't remember, but guessed that he had not. It was hard to remember to eat when he wasn't at base camp.

The first rule they learned as initiates was: always take care of your body, because you're nothing without it. True enough, Obi-Wan supposed, but when his body had been reduced to war materiel, it was hard to really care any more. He bought a piece of fruit from a vendor at the skybus station. It was overripe, but Obi-Wan hardly noticed. Everything tasted like ashes in his mouth.

He arrived at the Temple with minutes to spare. Not enough time to drop off his pack, but then, he didn't bunk at the Temple anymore. It felt strange to walk the corridors of the Temple without feeling the swirl of his robes around his legs. The carpet had grown dirty, belying the fact that Obi-Wan encountered almost no one in the halls. All able-bodied Jedi had been deployed in the war effort. Only a skeleton crew remained at the Temple, to take care of the initiates too young to be sent into the field, to patch up those knights on leave, and to coordinate the war effort.

So Obi-Wan was not surprised when he entered the council chamber to find only three masters present: Oppo Rancisis, Yoda, and a new council member that Obi-Wan did not recognize. Someone else must have died.

"Welcome back, Obi-Wan," Yoda greeted him.

Obi-Wan gave him a short bow. He could almost hate the little green master, sitting in safety in the Temple while he sent knight after knight out into the spiritual death that was the war. He could almost hate him, but couldn't quite bring himself to. Still, he often wondered what might have happened if Yoda had let him and Anakin die on Geonosis, and captured Dooku instead. It was not a very fair question, but Obi-Wan could not help asking it. By a twisted sort of logic, Yoda was personally responsible for the war, after all.

"What have you to report?" Yoda asked.

Without preamble, Obi-Wan launched into an account of the past several months: ground gained and lost, movement of enemy troops, secrets uncovered, tactics described, communications intercepted. The masters asked the occasional question, made the occasional note on their data pads, but otherwise listened in silence, receiving Obi-Wan's report with passive expressions. And Obi-Wan delivered his report without emotion. He did not talk about the clonetroopers' predatory relish in scoring kills, did not describe the morning after a battle, when the sky glowed red from the morning light hitting the plumes of smoke. He did not inform them that he kept notches on his saber for every life he took -- not as badges of pride but as stark reminders of the cost of war. He did not tell them that his saber casing was now covered with these marks of death. He did not mention the eyeball. He didn't know the color, anyway. Had it been amber, like Yoda's?

The master held up a clawed hand, signaling for Obi-Wan to stop. "Enough. Now wish we to hear of what happened in Jarinta City."

Obi-Wan nodded. He had been expecting this. He recounted the intelligence they had been given about the command center, reporting the reliability of the source. Described the plan: Obi-Wan leading a squadron of clonetroopers entering the city at dusk to sneak up on the schoolbuilding and seize control of the center.

"But the command center, abandoned it was?" Yoda asked.

"I'm not sure it was ever a command center."

Yoda's brow wrinkled. "Found you no evidence?"

"We did not have time to look, Master. We were ambushed as soon as we arrived."

"Separatist forces waited for you?"

"I don't know if there were any separatists there at all," Obi-Wan corrected. "We were ambushed by civilians."

Yoda's pointed ears rose in surprise. "Certain, are you? Perhaps separatists they were, in disguise."

"Possibly, but I doubt it, Master. They wore no uniforms, bore no standard weaponry, and did not attack us with discipline or order. It was a mob, not an army."

Yoda took a moment to absorb this. "Armed, they were?"

"Some had blasters. Also knives, garden tools, bats. Whatever they could find."

"Against such weapons, over such an undisciplined mob, you could not gain control?"

Obi-Wan's eyes briefly met Yoda's. "They hated us, Master. They wanted to destroy us," he said, his voice even and devoid of emotion

The three council members studied Obi-Wan in shocked silence. This was not something they had ever expected. The Council, removed from the frontlines, could scarcely understand how the Jedi had come to be so widely hated. But this was old news to Obi-Wan. By now, he'd seen it more times than he could count. The mob's hatred in Jacinta City, while extreme, was something he had grown used to encountering.

Obi-Wan graciously allowed the masters time to recover before he continued his account. "They burned their own homes in order to keep us from gaining cover. An unarmed band overturned every transport for blocks around so that we could not escape. They chased us through the streets. An old man attacked me with a pair of pruning shears. A gang of children kicked one of my men to death. We fired upon them, but they kept coming."

"We?" Rancisis broke in, gazing pointedly at Obi-Wan. "You fired upon children?"

Without flinching, Obi-Wan returned his gaze. "That is correct, Master," he said quietly.

Master Yoda's ears quivered as he picked up the faint tremor in Obi-Wan's voice. "How many troopers were killed before you could be rescued?" he asked, diverting Obi-Wan's macabre story.

Returning his attention to the master, Obi-Wan corrected, "Seven were left behind. I do not know if they were dead."

Another brief silence.

"And I understand two others died of their wounds upon your rescue?" Rancisis added.

"Yes, Master. Two more were severely injured but will survive. The remaining trooper and myself were --." Obi-Wan stopped, the words dying in his throat. He couldn't bring himself to say it. It just wasn't right. It was all wrong. Wrong wrong wrong.

Qui-Gon Jinn would never join you.

"Yes?" came Yoda's gentle prompt.

Obi-Wan swallowed convulsively, trying to get his voice to work again. At last he managed to croak, "The remaining trooper and I were...relatively unharmed."

There it was: the heart of the dilemma. He was enough of a Jedi to be able to protect himself, but not enough of a Jedi to protect the others. Obi-Wan closed his eyes as a wave of nausea washed over him. He shouldn't have eaten that fruit. Or perhaps he should have eaten more. He wished desperately that he could sit down. His head was spinning.

>From far away he heard Yoda's gravelly voice. "Have you anything more to report?"

Eyes still closed, Obi-Wan rasped, "No." His tongue swelled in his mouth. He could not speak anymore, could only wait. Wait for the masters to say he never had to return to the front. Wait for them to say he was needed here in the Temple from now on. Permanently relieved of active duty and retained here to sort through reports, to track enemy movements in the star map room, to wash the filthy carpet in the halls.

Do not send me back, Obi-Wan silently begged.

"Thank you for your report, Obi-Wan," Yoda said, his voice warm with compassion. "Report immediately to the healers. See them daily, you will, while you are on leave."

A black hole opened up in Obi-Wan's chest, sucking up all the dizziness, the shame, the horror, leaving him nothing but a hollow shell. He opened his eyes and met Yoda's sympathetic gaze without emotion. "Yes, Master."

Perhaps he could find it in his heart to hate Yoda after all.

He went straight from the council chamber to the healers as ordered. Healers, only barely plural. There were exactly two soul healers left in the Temple. They were both as familiar with Obi-Wan as he was with them. It wasn't really a healing, more of a patch-up job designed to get him back onto the battlefield as quickly as possible. True healing would require them to confront and deal with the larger issues behind the war, to acknowledge the spiritual and psychological toll that this kind of warfare was taking on the Jedi. Mace Windu had been right: for all their combat skills and ability to strategize, Jedi were not soldiers. How could they be keepers of the peace when there was no peace to be found? This war was changing them, and no one wanted to admit what they had lost -- and worse, what they were becoming.

So the healers employed guided meditation and calming techniques, not to heal Obi-Wan but to help him suppress the trauma so he could function again. You don't heal a weapon; you keep it clean and oiled so it can kill when you need it to.

Following his session with the healers, Obi-Wan made an appointment for the next day, then headed out of the healers' wing to wander the empty halls. He knew it was long past time for him to contact Bail. He pulled his commlink off his belt and flipped it on. The prince had left three messages for him, and no doubt had called ten times for each message he left. Obi-Wan considered the commlink, his thumb hovering over the activation button, but he still wasn't ready. With a weary sigh, Obi-Wan clipped the commlink back onto his belt.

He had no room here at the Temple anymore where he could lie down, so he headed instead to his padawan's quarters. Anakin shared a suite with five other padawans. Obi-Wan knew he would not be here now. How long had it been since they had last seen each other? Four months? Six? Obi-Wan missed Anakin, but not so much as his padawan. On those rare occasions when they did see each other these days, they were two soldiers, not master and apprentice. If the war ended -- Obi-Wan didn't bother to say when anymore -- he did not know how they could possibly return to their old training relationship. What would happen to all the padawans coming of age in these dark times? Many had lost their masters. Could they possibly become knights after all they had seen and done in this war? An entire generation of Jedi, lost.

But Obi-Wan couldn't bother himself about that. He could not see as far as the end of the war, did not know how it would all work out. The Council had gotten them into the situation. Let them deal with the mess. As for himself, he missed Anakin not as a padawan but as a friend, his constant companion for over a decade. He just missed him. But then, he missed a lot of things these days.

Qui-Gon Jinn would never join you.

Fuck you, Qui-Gon. You died anyway. Lucky bastard.

Obi-Wan rang the chime to Anakin's suite, not knowing if anyone was there to answer. But after a few seconds the door slid open to reveal a pale young man. The boy was thin, his cheeks hollow. He looked like he didn't eat any more than Obi-Wan did.

"Ah, Padawan...," Obi-Wan began. Titles were nice, circumventing the need for a name. Obi-Wan didn't know who this kid was, anyway.

"Anakin isn't here, Master Kenobi," the boy reported.

Obi-Wan wondered idly if this young man had lost his master as had so many others. Did he resent the fact that Anakin still had a master? Obi-Wan couldn't really bring himself to care. "I didn't expect him to be here. I just thought I might bunk here, since I have no quarters of my own. That is, if I won't be disturbing you."

The boy studied him a moment, then took a step back, letting Obi-Wan in. He pointed to one of the doors. "That's his room, bottom bunk. Though he doesn't have a roommate anymore, so I guess you can have either bed."

Obi-Wan nodded politely, entering the indicated room. He had almost shut the door when the meaning of the padawan's words finally seeped into his brain. He turned back, frowning. "You mean Tru is --"

The padawan yawned, scratching his buzz cut. "Yeah. Sometime ago. I forget when." Insouciant. Casual. To mask the hurt. Obi-Wan was quite familiar with the tactic.

He nodded again at the padawan, and closed the door. He glanced around the room, clothes draped across the chairs, spare parts stacked in a corner, study materials lying on the floor covered with a layer of dust. Both beds were unmade. No one had come to clean out Tru's personal belongings. You would never guess that one of these padawans was never coming back. He wondered if Anakin even knew that Tru was dead.

Obi-Wan's eyes stung a bit. Tru had been Anakin's first real friend at the Temple. He had been an irrepressibly good-natured boy. Obi-Wan wanted to let himself feel the pain of that loss, but he could not afford to.

Pressing his lips together, he threw his pack on the top bunk and shrugged out of his clothes, tossing them on top of the heap piled on the chair. He climbed into Anakin's bed, pulling the covers up tight around his neck, and stared up at the pictures Anakin had pasted on the overhead bunk. All scenes of Naboo, with the occasional picture of a speeder bike or star ship thrown in for good measure. Idyllic images of meadows and forests and waterfalls. Perhaps these images would invade Obi-Wan's sleep. Despite their beauty, they would not be an improvement. This was the irony of his relationship with Anakin, that Naboo was the center of all Anakin's hopes, and the beginning of all Obi-Wan's nightmares.

He lay on the bunk staring at the meadows, and when he fell asleep, he dreamed of waterfalls of blood.

By the end of the workday, Bail had still not been able to make contact with Obi-Wan. The Jedi's failure to appear the previous night had thrown Bail into a near panic. He had called in a favor with a friend who worked with Immigration and Customs and was able to confirm that Obi-Wan had indeed been on his scheduled shuttle and arrived on Coruscant. More calls today revealed that Obi-Wan had checked in at the Temple. But he could not account for that missing time, nor had he been able to get through to Obi-Wan himself.

Bail knew he had no reason to worry. Certainly Obi-Wan could take care of himself. If the Jedi had not come to him, not even called him yet, then he truly was not ready. Bail could trust that he would be safe at the Temple. Yet Bail couldn't help but worry. Obi-Wan grew more stressed each time he returned on leave, and he spoke less and less. On his last visit he had never left Bail's apartment except for his obligatory appointments at the Temple. He just sat on the couch and watched an endless loop of holovids.

Bail knew he should allow Obi-Wan his space, but he found he could not be quite so unselfish. It was agony whenever Obi-Wan returned to the front, months going by with no contact, Bail dreading every communication he received from the war department, fearing it was a notification of Obi-Wan's death. Of course, they were not legally bonded, so Bail would probably hear of Obi-Wan's death through other channels. When would he hear the terrible news? Who would it come from?

He couldn't bear the knowledge that Obi-Wan was on Coruscant but not with him. He should wait, give Obi-Wan space, but he could not. It took all of his will power not to chase Obi-Wan down at the Temple as soon as he learned Obi-Wan had arrived there. By the end of the workday, Bail's will power was quite gone. He had waited long enough.

He ordered his driver to take him straight to the Temple. The padawan stationed at the desk helped Bail check on Obi-Wan's whereabouts and found that he was still on the grounds but had not requisitioned a room. Bail thanked the padawan and went off in search of Obi-Wan, wandering through the Temple halls. He tracked down all the old haunts: the room of a thousand fountains, the refectory, the lounges, even checked out the quarters Obi-Wan had shared with Qui-Gon. But he was nowhere to be found, and he did not answer his commlink when Bail called.

At last Bail sought out Anakin's room. He doubted the padawan would be there, doubted further that Anakin would help him even if he was, but it couldn't hurt at least to check. He rang the door chime, bouncing nervously on the balls of his feet. The door opened and a young padawan stared suspiciously at him. "Who are you?" he asked, his tone curt.

"I'm looking for Obi-Wan Kenobi. Is he --?" Before Bail could finish the question, the padawan jerked his thumb at one of the doors.

Bail pressed a hand to his forehead, relief flooding him. He collected himself and crossed the room, knocking softly on the door. When there was no answer, he opened it and went in.

The room was dark, the shades drawn, but Bail could see enough to tell the place was a mess. He glanced over at the bed and saw a figure lying there in the shadow of the upper bunk. He Bail picked his way across the cluttered floor, trying to be as quiet as possible, when a voice spoke up. "It's all right. I'm awake."

Bail stopped, eyeing Obi-Wan, but the Jedi did not move. "I don't want to disturb you," he offered softly. "I know I should have waited, but I --"

"It's all right," Obi-Wan repeated. "I'm sorry I didn't answer your calls. You must have been worried."

Bail didn't answer. He couldn't exactly contradict. Toeing aside the rubbish on the floor, he made his way over to the bunk. Ducking his head, he sat on the edge of the mattress.

Obi-Wan's face lay shrouded in shadow. Bail knew he was there, but could hardly see him. Was he pale? Did he have any new scars? What did his eyes look like? Bail shivered. Perhaps it was better that he couldn't see Obi-Wan well. "I'll leave you alone if you want. I just wanted to be certain you were...." All right wasn't quite the proper expression.

A hand snaked out from under the covers and reached up to tug on his shirt front, pulling him down to lie next to Obi-Wan on the bed. "I'm glad you found me," Obi-Wan whispered, his voice wavering as he nestled into Bail's arms. "I'm glad you came looking for me."

Bail held Obi-Wan tightly, hands digging into the Jedi's hair. "Of course I did. I couldn't help myself."

Obi-Wan buried his face into the hollow of the prince's neck. He kicked the covers aside so he could twine his legs with Bail's, wrapping himself up in his lover as if trying to melt into him. "Bail," he whispered, a note of pleading in his voice. His hands roamed feverishly over Bail's chest, moving lower. "Touch me."

Bail froze, squeezing his eyes shut. "Ben...."

"Please, I need it." Obi-Wan squirmed against him, desperate, almost frenzied. "Please."

Bail grasped the Jedi's head between his hands, trying to still him. "I know, Ben, but I don't think it's going to work."

"I don't care. It doesn't matter, I just need to feel you." Obi-Wan pulled Bail's hand down to his penis. "Please," he begged, and before Bail could protest again, Obi-Wan leaned up and stopped his mouth with his own, hasty and awkward like an adolescent first kiss.

Bail grasped Obi-Wan's penis, but it was limp in his hand. "Touch me," Obi-Wan begged, and Bail closed his eyes, stroking gently. "Harder," Obi-Wan instructed, and Bail complied, his grip tightening, but to no effect. This was the only part of the Jedi's returns that Bail hated, these desperate, futile attempts at lovemaking. Obi-Wan could not get an erection, and it always ended badly. He couldn't remember how long it had been since they had actually been able to make love.

Obi-Wan writhed against Bail, sloppy kisses, his trembling fingers fumbling at the fastenings of Bail's pants. "Harder," he said, "more." But Bail was in no mood for the charade. Obi-Wan's impotence seemed to have affected him, too. He rolled on top of Obi- Wan, letting his full weight press down on him, his legs pinning Obi- Wan's as he held the Jedi's head still. "Not this time, Ben," he said gently.

Obi-Wan's eyes stared up at him, wide, wild. "Please, Bail, I need it."

"I know, love. I do, too. But we both know it's not going to happen." Bail pressed a chaste kiss to Obi-Wan's lips. "Just let it go, Ben. It's all right."

"It's not all right," Obi-Wan protested, but he stopped struggling and lay still, and Bail knew he had won. "It's not all right," Obi-Wan repeated, his voice cracking as Bail shifted his weight to the side and gathered Obi-Wan in his arms. "I need to feel you. I need you to touch me."

"I know, Ben, I know," Bail soothed, stroking Obi-Wan's hair as the Jedi began to cry. "It doesn't mean I'm not here for you." Bail rocked Obi-Wan, petting and soothing him even as his own tears squeezed out of his eyes.

"I can't take it any more," Obi-Wan wept. "I just can't take it. If you knew, if you only knew...."

"If I knew what?" Bail softly asked.

Obi-Wan grew still, his hands fisting in Bail's shirt. He took several shaky breaths, as if trying to calm himself. "You would hate me," he whispered at last.

"Nonsense," Bail scoffed lightly, continuing to stroke Obi-Wan's hair. "I could never hate you."

Obi-Wan shook his head. "You have no idea the things I've done. If you knew -"

"I know what it does to you. How can I possibly hate you, when you suffer so deeply?"

Suddenly enraged, Obi-Wan cried, "I'm not kidding, Bail!" He pushed himself away from the prince, sitting up, grasping his hair with both hands as if he would tear it out of his scalp. "This war! This war, it's -" He stopped, unable to continue.

Bail stared up at him in alarm. Obi-Wan remained frozen, his face contorted in agony, as if he wanted to speak, but was afraid of what he might say. Slowly Bail raised himself into a sitting position. He reached up and placed his hands over Obi-Wan's, easing their grip on his hair, pulling his fingers free. He held Obi-Wan's hands firmly together in his own, raising them to his lips and pressing a kiss to them. He felt a tremor run through Obi-Wan's arms.

"Don't do that," Obi-Wan said. "My hands are filthy."

"No, they aren't," Bail contradicted. "It's all right, Obi-Wan. You're safe now."

But Obi-Wan only shook his head, leaning back against the wall. He tried to pull his hands free of Bail's, but the prince wouldn't release him.

Bail studied him, worried. He had never seen an outburst like this from Obi-Wan before. Things must be bad indeed if Obi-Wan was such a mess. He held onto Obi-Wan's hands, rubbing his thumbs lightly across the back of his hands, waiting for the tremors to ease. But they did not. At last Bail gently offered, "You don't have to go back, you know."

Obi-Wan shook his head, not meeting the prince's eyes. "They won't relieve me of duty."

"That's not what I'm saying. If you do not want to go back, you can choose to leave."

Obi-Wan's gaze slowly met Bail's, his expression impassive. Anxiously, Bail licked his lips. He knew Obi-Wan understood his meaning, understood what he was suggesting. He was not at all sure how Obi-Wan would react. He wouldn't turn Bail in, surely, but that was about all Bail could count on. Yet he had to make the offer anyway. "If you chose to leave, I could help you escape. You'd be safe."

Obi-Wan remained silent for a long moment. Then his brow wrinkled. "You can do that?"

Bail couldn't help boasting, "We've helped over five hundred people escape the authorities. I personally have helped eighty-six."

"How?"

"Never mind that," Bail cautioned. "Just know that if you decide to leave, I can get you to safety. Wherever you want to go. We have over a dozen sanctuaries." He paused, weighing how much he should say, then added, "Including one on Alderaan."

Obi-Wan looked away. His hands still trembled, but his breathing evened out. "What if I decided to go back after all? How could you respect that?"

"As long as you act according to your conscience, I will always respect you." Bail waited while Obi-Wan considered this. "If you did decide to leave, you couldn't tell the Jedi this." He didn't say the Council, though that's who he really meant. The Council knew some Jedi were beginning to desert. They had so far resisted calling the deserters traitors, but neither did they give the deserters their blessing. The dissident leaders had elected to give the council as little direct trouble as they could. All this was far more than Obi- Wan needed to know, but Bail knew Obi-Wan would have difficulty doing what amounted to leaving the Order.

Obi-Wan's silence stretched on, until it became apparent that he was not going to answer. Bail lay back on the bed, pulling Obi-Wan gently with him. They nestled together, Obi-Wan's tremors finally easing, one hand still clasped firmly in Bail's.

Bail glanced up at the bunk overhead, plastered with pictures of Naboo. "So this is Anakin's room?" It seemed like a room belonging to a boy, not the young man Anakin had become. Bail shifted awkwardly, trying to get into a more comfortable position next to Obi- Wan. "How can such a big boy fit into such a tiny bed?" he grumbled.

"I don't think he sleeps here very often," Obi-Wan suggested, adding, "not even when he's on Coruscant. But I imagine you know more about that than I do."

Bail pulled the thin blanket up over them, stalling for time. He didn't know how he was supposed to answer.

Fortunately Obi-Wan spared him the need to. "Does she love him?" he asked, his voice soft.

Bail was not as much Padmé's confidant as the Jedi seemed to think, but he could answer this. "Yes."

Obi-Wan released a long sigh. "I'm glad. If he's going to do this, at least she's not toying with him."

"Is that what you think she's doing?"

"How can I possibly know, Bail?" Bitterness laced his voice. "Anakin tells me nothing. She never showed any interest in him before, and now... it's hard for me to trust her."

Bail couldn't keep from smiling. "Qui-Gon wasn't always too thrilled to have me nosing around his padawan, either."

Obi-Wan glared at him. "That was completely different."

"I suppose you're right," Bail conceded. Different, indeed. Bail wasn't the one Obi-Wan had mooned over back then, nor had they been so quick to declare themselves in love. But the protective jealousy of the master was very similar. "Do you remember when you and I made love in a tiny bed like this? We had to be quiet, because your master was in the next room."

Obi-Wan made a sound vaguely resembling a laugh. "I remember how hard you tried not to be quiet. And do you remember breakfast the next morning?"

An embarrassed grimace. "Oh, yes. A stern Jedi Master is not something one wants to experience at the start of the day."

"You could be such an obnoxious bastard," Obi-Wan recalled, and Bail smiled. If Obi-Wan was verbally abusing him, it meant he was beginning to recover from his emotional outburst. The Jedi sighed. "I don't know why I put up with you."

"Because of the sex," Bail supplied, then winced for bringing up such a painful topic. Trying to cover up his gaffe, he dismissed, "I couldn't have put on a repeat performance here, anyway. I'm not as limber as I used to be."

Obi-Wan smirked. "You're getting old."

I am, Bail thought. Not even forty, he was hardly old yet, but he could see it coming someday. And in the current galactic climate, he felt old. The memory of his father's recent death still stung. He wished Obi-Wan could have attended the funeral, but he had been away at the war, and suddenly Bail was afraid, desperately afraid that he and Obi-Wan would never grow old together, that the next funeral he would attend would be Obi-Wan's, and all because of this horrible, pointless war. Even if they both survived, how much would they be changed? Panic rising in his throat, Bail wrapped his arms tightly around Obi-Wan, as if he could physically hold the Jedi here and keep him from leaving, from going away into that uncertain, terrifying future.

"Bail," Obi-Wan grunted, trying to pry the prince's fingers loose from his neck, "not so tight."

But Bail only pressed closer, his breath coming rapidly against Obi- Wan's neck. "I don't want you to go. I'm so afraid you won't come back."

"I have a duty-"

"Fuck that! Why do we have to be the responsible ones? Neither of us wanted this war, so let's get out. We're not going to win this one, and we could both die trying -"

"'We'?" Obi-Wan cut him short. "Bail, are you in danger?"

The prince mumbled, trying to put Obi-Wan off, but he could not master his distress. Alarmed, Obi-Wan sat up, seizing Bail by the shoulders. "Tell me what's going on," he ordered.

"Nothing! Nothing has happened. I've been very careful. The Security Forces have nothing against me. It's Padmé they're going after, but she's used to assassination attempts, after all. Her bodyguards are the best."

"Bodyguards? Assassination? Have you been threatened?"

"No, no! Not more than usual. Senator Bel Iblis is paranoid. He wants me to get bodyguards, too, but I keep telling him I can't. They would compromise my security."

Obi-Wan cursed. "How exactly would bodyguards compromise your security? They're supposed to protect you!"

"I can't have extra people following me everywhere, with all the secret meetings I go to. My work is very sensitive."

"Secret meetings? Like the one you took me to, where people plot to assassinate the Supreme Chancellor?"

"No one's plotting that! Well, not exactly."

Obi-Wan ran trembling hands through his hair, fighting to calm down. He took several deep breaths, then said, "I think it's time you tell me what exactly you are plotting at these meetings of yours." When Bail hesitated, Obi-Wan protested, "Honestly, I won't betray you. At this point, whatever it is you're doing I'm in favor of. But I need to know what's going on."

So Bail told him about what the Loyalist Party had become in an age when the government they had been loyal to seemed to be vanishing before their eyes. They had decided not to directly oppose the Chancellor, but neither had they ruled out the possibility in the future. Primarily they met with various dissenting groups, passing on information and striving to build a coalition. They compiled their own database on the war effort, since it had been clear for some time that the government falsified information. They also passed along classified information about the war machine and the security measures that Palpatine was building, and they helped dissenters escape the growing power of the Security Forces.

In other words, Bail was about five centimeters short of outright treason.

Swallowing down his mounting fear, Obi-Wan asked, "And you go to these meetings alone?"

"I told you, if I walk around with guards all the time, I'll look suspicious."

"Force, Bail, what about your own safety?"

Bail set his jaw in stubborn defiance. "I've learned self-defense."

"Self-defense," Obi-Wan echoed in disbelief.

"From a Jedi, in fact. One of the defectors."

That gave Obi-Wan pause. Perhaps Bail was taking these risks seriously after all. "Do you carry a weapon?"

Bail's expression hardened, as if he'd had this conversation before. "No. When you carry a weapon, you become a target."

Obi-Wan didn't know whether to be relieved that Bail held firm to his beliefs, or afraid that Bail did not take every possible measure to protect himself.

"You may have a hard time believing it," Bail said quietly, "but I'm not completely defenseless. Don't the Jedi say that our greatest weapon is our mind?"

"Yes," Obi-Wan admitted.

"I've not only studied self-defense, but also evasion and stealth tactics, and interrogation resistance. And it's not theory only. I've had occasion to practice them."

"Those are basic security courses I took as a padawan," Obi-Wan said. "But interrogation resistance - that included resisting torture."

"I know. After all, I've been there before. Next time, I want to be prepared."

Obi-Wan rubbed a hand over his face, his stomach churning. "Force, Bail."

Bail's lip twitched in a near smile. "You keep saying that."

"What else am I supposed to say?"

"I don't know. I suppose it's as appropriate as anything else."

"You really are serious about all this."

Bail frowned. "A remark like that doesn't deserve comment."

"You're right, I just...it's a lot to take in." Obi-Wan remained silent, trying to absorb this news. The situation must be bad indeed if Bail was so involved. Perhaps the prince was right: the government was hopelessly corrupt, the war morally bankrupt. Where, then, did that put the Jedi, self-styled defenders of the Republic and generals in the army?

Qui-Gon Jinn would never join you.

Would never join the separatists, would never join the Grand Army of the Republic. Would never defend such a chancellor. Would never take such orders from the Council.

But he might have sided with Bail Organa and his Loyalist Party. Obi- Wan had to admit it sounded a lot like Qui-Gon, taking neither side but instead carving out his own moral high ground from which he could sympathize with everyone without compromising his own principles. It was a lonely, forlorn path that required firm convictions. Qui-Gon had possessed such conviction, but Obi-Wan had not trusted his own in decades.

Could he do it? Could he join Bail's cause, forsaking the Republic but also implicitly turning his back on the Jedi Order? He was so heartsick over the war, so troubled by what the Jedi were becoming, so frustrated with his own helplessness. The time was coming for him to make a stand. He couldn't look to outside sources to provide the authority in his life. He could no longer use the excuse that he was just following orders. The situation had gone beyond what a general or a Jedi should think. The question now was what Obi-Wan thought, what he believed, and what he was prepared to do about it. It was time to reclaim his own moral authority, to leave the Jedi Order if that's what it took.

But one thing held him back.

"Anakin," he whispered.

"What?" Bail asked.

Obi-Wan shook his head. "I can't leave the army. Anakin's still a part of it. Even though we don't see each other often, if I deserted he'd see it as a betrayal. I can't do that to him. At the very least I need to be able to speak with him first."

Bail's eyes narrowed. "Are you sure that's wise? He's very...dedicated to Palpatine."

"All the more reason why I can't just leave," Obi-Wan affirmed. "But I could still help your cause. You said you need military information."

"Yes," Bail slowly admitted. "We have other informants in the army, but none of them are Jedi."

"Then I'll be your source."

Bail closed his eyes, his expression pained. Obi-Wan's allegiance was a victory, but not the victory Bail wanted. "I suppose neither of us can escape our responsibility. But I swear in my next life I'm going to be a dentist. People need their teeth cleaned no matter who is Supreme Chancellor. You can be my partner. We'll have an office together."

"On Ithor, right?" Obi-Wan gave him a gentle smile. "It's a deal, as long as you handle all the root canals."

"Very well, Doctor." Bail released a sigh and glanced around the room, before returning his gaze to Obi-Wan. "I don't suppose I could convince you to come home with me now?"

"That's fine with me. Your bed is more comfortable anyway."

They slid out of the bunk, and while Obi-Wan got dressed, Bail couldn't resist straightening up some of the mess in the room. While the prince's back was turned, Obi-Wan quickly reached under the top bunk and pulled off one of the pictures of Naboo, folding it up and slipping it into his pocket. Naboo might not hold pleasant memories for him, but he wanted to hold onto Anakin's fondness for the planet and all it meant. It was, after all, the place where Anakin had become his padawan. For better and for worse, it was the place that defined Obi-Wan's adult life. But it didn't define everything.

Sliding his hand into Bail's, Obi-Wan smiled and said, "Come on. Let's go home."

-fin-