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CHAPTER SIXTEEN

There were no other guests in the ship docked against the Fortuna, and it took a very few minutes for the two Jedi to round up their prisoners. Those without fingers were remarkably cooperative, no doubt fearing what further confrontational efforts might cost them. The leaders, however, offered token resistance to being captives rather than captors, but a touch of the Force and Qui-Gon's considerable mental pressure was sufficient to make them stop snarling and march them, like obedient little lerrils, into their own, cramped shuttle. They settled quietly into their seats, with those sans hands having to be strapped in the Jedi with their leaders seated passively nearby.

With the last pirate secured, Obi-Wan slipped behind the controls. "Give me a few seconds, Master, and I'll have us underway."

Buckling himself in beside the younger man, Qui-Gon reached for his comlink to contact S'pex. Both Jedi winced at the stream of invectives issuing from the small instrument once the connection was made. Hastily, Qui-Gon turned down the volume.

"You're welcome for the rescue," Obi-Wan murmured. "Of course it was no trouble, thank you for asking," he assured the strange instrumentation before him.

A muffled cough caused Obi-Wan to glance at Qui-Gon, uncertain if the noise had been an aborted laugh or a reaction to the pungent scent of stale spice smoke that blew through the ventilation ducts, a scent as unwelcome as the stream of invectives cycling just as endlessly from the poor abused comlink. Sharing a look of long-suffering with Obi-Wan, Qui-Gon sighed and stared balefully at the Fortuna which still floated dead in space off their bow. When, after a few seconds, S'pex showed no signs of slowing, he bellowed.

"ENOUGH!"

Dead silence descended. Obi-Wan grinned.

"S'pex, we have removed the threat and your ship is free," the Master said softly, with a dangerous edge to his voice. "Obi-Wan and I are on our way to the Corellian, where we will secure our prisoners and the ship. Kindly do not get underway until you hear from us again. Do you understand?"

"Understand," came the sullen acknowledgment.

Qui-Gon switched off the link and secured the instrument in his belt.

"I half-expect the thrusters to fire and S'pex to leave us among the stars," Obi-Wan commented, half-amused.

"She wouldn't dare," Qui-Gon all but growled.

A few clicks later, they docked the shuttle inside the bigger ship's hangar and reached with Force-sense to ascertain that the ship was deserted before herding their captives out and setting foot on the deck. Turning to the Corellian captain, Qui-Gon gestured.

"You'll take us to your holding cells," he said in Corellian, "and lock yourselves in."

"I'll take you to our cells," the pirate repeated, "and we'll get locked in."

Stomping past Obi-Wan, he led himself and his comrades through the maze of corridors, deep into the bowels of the ship. In short order, he and the others were behind forcefields, sitting and staring dazedly at the walls as they awaited further orders from the Jedi.

"That will hold them until we reach Coruscant," Qui-Gon murmured. "Let's find the bridge, shall we?"

The bridge was a gleaming religious experience, engineered within an inch of its polished titanium life and featuring every piece of instrumentation and augmentation that Obi-Wan could imagine, as well as a few things that he could not.

/Anakin would love this,/ he reflected, smoothing a hand over one of the levers controlling the cloaking device. /Of course Anakin would also have it all in pieces within moments, and it would be days before it was reassembled, probably with extensive modifications./

"Can you pilot her?" asked Qui-Gon, waiting and watching as Obi-Wan completed his visual inspection.

Pilot her? As though bidding that such a power lady fly was a difficulty? He shot Qui-Gon a grin. "With pleasure, Master. Or would you like the honor?"

"No, thank you." Scowling, the Master glanced over his shoulder toward a problem not visible through the walls of the bridge. "I need to deal with a small disturbance in the Force." Wincing, he retrieved his comlink once more.

"She's still seething?"

"She'll take months to stop seething, Padawan. No need for us to wait for what isn't coming. Fire up the engines and make the necessary calculations while I attempt to soothe our erstwhile pilot's ruffled pride."

Qui-Gon's second conversation was much quieter with the Twi-lek, but Obi-Wan suspected that was because he had the volume turned down. Nevertheless, they were underway soon, with Obi-Wan guiding the big ship alongside the Fortuna, dwarfing the tiny transport with its sleek muscle. He gentled the power of the borrowed ship, coaxing it to hover motionless.

"Whenever you're ready, Master."

Qui-Gon grimaced, then lifted the comlink once more.

"We'll follow you in to Coruscant," he ordered S'pex swiftly, ignoring the niceties this time. "We don't wish to be fired upon, so kindly inform air control and the Temple that we're on our way in a borrowed pirate vessel." He closed the connection before the Twi'lek could begin her litany of complaints yet again. "Go, Obi-Wan. Let's finish this with all possible speed, shall we?" Qui-Gon sank into the co-pilot's seat, waving Obi-Wan toward the sea of stars before him. "Please, take us home."

Obi-Wan's hands danced over the instruments. "Ready for the jump to hyperspace whenever you give the word, Master."

"The word is given. Follow her in."

The proper sequence of commands was entered. Obi-Wan sent their ship hurtling after the Fortuna a moment after the smaller ship had winked off their viewscreen. It was a simple enough computation; Obi-Wan had done this innumerable times for his other Master, and he braced for the disorienting feeling as the stars stretched and streamed before them. But the big ship had its own way of traveling into hyperspace, and smoothly was not its preferred means: the Jedi were slammed back in their chairs, clung to the armrests and struggled to breathe. When Obi-Wan could open his eyes again, he was relieved to see a familiar starstream hurtling by.

"My apologies, Master," he managed once he could inhale again.

Qui-Gon panted. "You've never piloted such power?"

"Yes, but never without warning. They've made a few modifications, apparently. S'Pex could never have outrun them. I'm not sure any ship could." He ran an appreciative hand over the console as though caressing the powerful ship. "I just pointed her in the right direction. A pity the Council won't let us keep her; she's magnificent."

"She is, indeed." Reaching out, the Master laid a hand on Obi-Wan's shoulder and squeezed. "You've done well, and I need to send a message to Xanatos. If you'd like to check on our prisoners--"

"Of course, Master." Interpreting the older man's words as a request for privacy, Obi-Wan fumbled with the safety harness, rolled out of the chair, and all but bolted from the bridge. He missed the puzzled frown Qui-Gon gave him, didn't know that the Master stared after him long after he'd quit the bridge.

The prisoners were exactly as they'd left them - Force-drugged and dozing, peacefully awaiting whatever fate awaited them next day on Coruscant. Checking on them was a simple matter of staring at them through the restraining field. Obi-Wan looked at them, and they stared back at him with dull, disinterested eyes. They blinked, he shrugged, interview over. It was something that could easily have been accomplished from the command center of the ship where Qui-Gon was.

Obi-Wan felt a flush of embarrassment that his Ma--... That Qui-Gon had to make such a transparent request to get rid of him. He should have known. Should have anticipated that the Jedi needed to have a private conversation.

He began wandering back toward the bridge, but not too quickly. The Master needed his privacy; Force knew that he'd not had one moment alone since Obi-Wan had been dropped into his life. He and Xanatos probably had much to discuss. Yes, much to discuss, not the least of which was what to do with the strange knight that had wandered in and stayed.

Letting his booted feet wander where they would, Obi-Wan took a few corridors not travelled and passed through rooms furnished with instruments of torture, smelling of blood and fairly vibrating with the memory of pain... Past more personal chambers furnished in early garish, filled with the treasures and trophies acquired over a career of piracy, and armored cargo doors beyond which he had no desire to explore. There was no life behind those doors; beyond that, the Jedi didn't care what they held.

He continued his explorations, but after finding the common area had been fitted with Bantha Horn chairs upholstered in smelly Bantha hair that hung in sagging, shaggy folds down to droop over a Bantha footstool, Obi-Wan was honestly afraid to explore any more. Even a Jedi Knight could only take so many ugly surprises in one day.

Climbing from the cargo bays and holding cells up to the upper levels, Obi-Wan headed instinctively for the stars. Eventually, he made his way to a narrow viewing deck at the top of the ship. Stepping onto the deck, he was momentarily startled when it shimmered and seemed to dissolve beneath his feet. The wall before him did the same, seeming to leave nothing between him and the universe.

/It's an illusion deck,/ he realized.

Turning in place, he saw that the final wall was mirrored, which allowed a star reflection to complete the illusion.

/Different kind of spacewalking,/ he thought, wandering further down the deck. /Warmer. Less cumbersome without the pressure suit./ Standing still, he watched the stars stream past while he stood alone in the darkness of space.

The last of his adrenalin bled away, then. With it went the superficial bond he and Qui-Gon had established before the battle; he felt it thin, grow fuzzy, and finally dissolve completely. Now that the need had ended, so had the bond's usefulness. He was left inside of himself again, alone and lonely and already missing his Master, or missing his Master still. Obi-Wan wasn't quite certain which it was.

The bond had carried him through the battle at Qui-Gon's side, had allowed him to act as half of a whole, to respond instantly and automatically as he'd been trained to do. Now that the crisis was past, everything faded as though it had never been. The quiet, companionable presence that had been this Qui-Gon at the back of Obi-Wan's mind was gone, every bit as completely as his own Master's presence. Obi-Wan found himself wishing deeply that it wasn't so.

The aloneness was even worse now. Now he missed two masters... who were the same master... but different....

Sighing, he sank down to sit crosslegged on the transparent deck. He tried to gather enough focus to meditate, to find peace despite the turbulence that seemed to have taken up residence in his soul since Naboo. He tried to settle his heart as he'd been taught to do from the creche, to find his center and simply 'be' until he could think rationally and dispassionately about the events of the last few hours. But tranquility slipped through his mind like sand through a sieve, long out of reach and overwhelmed with a familiar anguish.

And again, he was alone.

The conversation with Xanatos was been brief, lasting just long enough assure Qui-Gon that all was well back on Coruscant, and that they would be allowed to dock the Corellian ship at the spacepad for the Temple. Obi-Wan should have been able to see to the prisoners in an equally brief period of time, and so Qui-Gon leaned back in the surprisingly comfortable chair, awaiting the younger man's return. But Obi-Wan did not return.

Qui-Gon reached for him through the Force and found only sorrow where a bright presence should be.

/The boy is a riddle, no doubt about it,/ thought Qui-Gon, shaking his head. /What has set him off like that? Or what has he found in this floating spice den that affected him so badly?/

Sparing the controls a quick glance, the Master confirmed that the ship was quite capable of flying without his supervision. He then set off through the ship, seeking his errant... what? Knight? Padawan? Houseguest?

More questions. But the first one to be answered should be where the riddle himself had gone.

He found Obi-Wan sitting in the the darkness in the middle of an empy deck, with his elbow propped on his thigh and his chin propped in the palm of his hand while he stared out into space. Obi-Wan's shoulders were rounded, and the expression Qui-Gon could see in the reflected light of the starstream looked dismal at best.

"Obi-Wan?" The name carried many questions behind it. Qui-Gon let Obi-Wan choose which one he wished to acknowledge.

Obi-Wan chose to answer none of them. The young man merely turned his head when the big man stepped onto the deck. He stared with shadowed green eyes up at Qui-Gon for a moment, then returned to staring out into the sea of darkness.

Qui-Gon stepped onto the illusion deck, only to freeze in place and stare down at the invisible flooring beneath his feet.

/Oh gods./ He shuddered. /This is not a comfortable thing to see./

Never a fan of high places, much less places without a firm floor to walk upon, the Master repeated a serenity mantra to focus his mind and forced himself to move across the empty nothingness of space to reach the young man. He then forced his knees to bend and his stomach to stop doing the Ardellian flops before he managed to settle beside Obi-Wan.

"You didn't come back," said Qui-Gon. "I was wondering where you'd gotten off to."

Obi-Wan remained silent, staring out at the stars.

Qui-Gon looked around. "Well. This is very impressive, isn't it?"

Obi-Wan nodded, then sighed. "I have to go home, Master."

The words and the misery carried on them sent a chill through Qui-Gon. /Something has gone seriously wrong in the past few minutes./ "We're on our way home now, Obi-Wan."

"No... Not to your world. I have to go back to my own world. I understand now, I can't stay here."

"Why not?"

"Because... I can't stay, Master. I have a few credits. As soon as we return to Coruscant, I'll book passage back to Pesca."

Qui-Gon slipped his hand across the younger man's shoulders and began rubbing gently. "Obi-Wan, I thought you had decided to stay with us? The Council is very pleased to have welcomed you into our Temple. I was rather pleased by your decision to stay with me as well."

"No, they shouldn't have. This isn't my world. It's peaceful here, while I'm trained in violence and conflict and death. I need to go back where I belong, before.... Where I belong, Master."

"Before what?" Qui-Gon pressed mildly.

"Before... I cause any harm here. You'll be safe then."

"Safe from what?" he pursued patiently, like a krella nudging its young back into the nest.

Obi-Wan's fingers folded into fists. Wrapping his arms around himself, he shook his head and leaned away from Qui-Gon's touch for the first time since they'd met. "It doesn't matter, Master. I'm sorry."

"And just what are you apologizing for, this time?"

The question elicited the breath of a laugh. "Many things, Master. The list is long and getting longer by the moment."

"Then why don't we start at the beginning of your list, because I don't seem to share your interpretation of events."

Swallowing hard, Obi-Wan began. "I upset you badly last night and probably made you very angry, asking about your Obi-Wan. This morning, I disobeyed your orders."

"How did you do that?"

"I ran ahead without you, just like my Master and your Padawan did. I wasn't fast enough on Naboo and got my Master killed. I wasn't fast enough today, either."

"You weren't fast enough? You seemed blindingly fast to me. And may I point out that I'm not dead?"

"Today I got lucky," Obi-Wan insisted. "You didn't die. But what kind of Jedi nearly gets his Master killed a second time?" He drew a shaky breath. "It's a scary responsibility to keep a Master alive, you know? I don't want to mess this up; the Force led me here and let us meet. I asked--"

He paused to draw a deep, shuddering breath and swipe the back of his hand across his eyes. "I asked for just another moment with my Master. The Force gave me that. Has given me days with you. But I can't stay here. It can't be forever, because I'll only get you killed, and the Force is probably running out of spare Master Qui-Gons. I can't hope to find another one. And I don't want YOU to die, even if there are more Master Qui-Gons out there. If I stick around, I'll just endanger you again somewhere, somehow. And I cannot bear to watch you die."

Qui-Gon let out a long, slow breath. /I've never known anyone to take on such guilt so willingly./ Sidling closer, he tightened his grip on Obi-Wan. "You didn't nearly get me killed. I was in no danger of dying today."

"Yes, you were," Obi-Wan insisted. "When I ran ahead and got stuck in the crossfire, and you couldn't deflect the blaster--"

"There are techniques of defense other than deflecting blaster-fire, Obi-Wan. Force-assisted techniques a bit more sophisticated than waiting for the bolts to come to you," the Master said quietly. "I had at least three possible means of defense at that particular moment, and there were probably at least three more if I thought about it for another moment. You did not endanger me. You did endanger yourself, and that was the source of my concern. YOU. Not ME. That is why I called you back."

Obi-Wan shook his head, instantly dismissing the threat to his own well-being as having been any sort of a problem.

"And may I present another point of view for your consideration?" Qui-Gon added, interrupting the younger man's misery yet again. "The crux of this crisis--if it is a crisis--is that you're seeing the day as a disaster, when there is no disaster. First of all, you are assigning emotions and reactions to me that simply do not exist. I am not upset or angry that you asked me about my Obi-Wan: if we discuss your old Master, it is only fair that we also discuss my old Padawan."

"But the memories brought you so much pain."

Qui-Gon began carding his fingers through Obi-Wan's hair, working from the front to the back, over and over again. "It hurt, yes. Of course it did. I loved the boy, and he died. But you aren't responsible for my grief, and you certainly aren't responsible for my Padawan's death, so how could this be your fault? Have you considered that even though the memories hurt, talking about them brings healing? Don't the mind-healers insist on talking out traumas on your world?"

"Well, yes, but--"

"It felt like the beginnings of healing for me to be able to finally talk about it. I don't...I haven't...been able to discuss Obi-Wan's death with anyone before. Last night, with you, I could. You helped me look at the memories and find truth along with the pain. I think that is something quite compassionate, not something worthy of condemnation. Rather than brood on the events of the day, you might consider exploring why I was comfortable enough with you to be able to talk about it. Secondly, there is the fact that we fulfilled our mission to save S'pex and have delivered her ship from the pirates."

"Yes, but--"

"But." Qui-Gon smiled. "You like that word, don't you? But. But, what? I think you did admirably, although I'd like to know who taught you to lop off the hands of your attackers. Was that one of your Master's techniques? It's very effective." Qui-Gon paused a moment, watching the stars slip past in a silent, hypnotic dance. "I've never known anyone to take disarming opponents quite so literally."

Obi-Wan blinked. "I... erm... My Master didn't teach me. It's just something I picked up along the way. I didn't want them hurting you, they needed to be stopped, and it seemed the most expedient way of accomplishing that goal in the moment."

Qui-Gon chuckled. "It was definitely expedient; they are indeed defanged, and will never wield a blaster again. In fact, they'll never even be able to pee again without assistance. So it was your own idea? It's not the standard modus operandi in your universe?"

"No, Master." Worried green eyes met his. "Should I have not done it?"

Qui-Gon enfolded him in a hug. "I'm not faulting you for it, it was most effective. Xanatos will be fascinated with your solution. I'll have to remember to put it into the report."

"Fascinated? Is that a good thing?"

Qui-Gon looked thoughtful. "I think so, though I also think that you might consider letting me teach you a few Force-assisted defenses that aren't quite so crippling."

"Those men can be repaired, Master. I know there are biomechanical implants that will allow them to live normal lives. I can somehow see that it's done--"

Qui-Gon rested his hand on the top of Obi-Wan's head, splaying his fingers out to nestle them between the strands of hair. Frowning, the younger man glanced up, as if trying to see the large, heavy hand that had taken up residence there. He also forgot to finish what he'd been saying, which had been Qui-Gon's hope all along.

"Padawan, it's all right. We'll take care of them. They will receive medical care they need and the justice they deserve. They'll harm no-one else, nor will they suffer unfairly. And I had the opportunity to see you fight. You are amazing with a saber. I was most impressed."

"How can you be impressed after I nearly got you killed?" Obi-Wan hissed.

"Back to that, are we?" Shaking his head, Qui-Gon ruffled Obi-Wan's hair before shifting on the hard, invisible decking in an attempt to find a more comfortable position. Once he'd satisfied himself, he deliberately leaned against the younger man, re-establishing physical contact. /If he refuses to allow my words to reassure him, perhaps my touch can help./

"All right, Padawan, tell me again when it was that you nearly got me killed, because I still don't remember it?"

"I ran ahead," he repeated. "I got caught between you and the intruders, without any regard for your orders. I didn't even know what your orders were. Didn't bother to find out before running Sith-bent down that corridor." ,

"Let's look at the things you did right, shall we? You yielded to merely a word from me--not once, but numerous times. You're also one of the most efficient Padawans I've ever seen--a fearless warrior, indefatigable in battle. I'm proud to have had you at my side today; you're smart and fast, and you think well on your feet. Your lightsaber technique is flawless; I daresay you could teach me a thing or two. You can be directed not only with a single word, but effortlessly through any conflict-initiated bond. Do you know what a rarity that is?"

"It's expected that the Padawan will be directed by his Master," Obi-Wan muttered, unimpressed.

"Expected, yes. Achieved? Not often."

"But, Master--"

"Quiet, Padawan, and LISTEN to me!" Qui-Gon growled, summoning all of his authority through those few words as though they were back at the Temple in the middle of a session inside the Master's wheel. "The problems you are seeing are problems of communication, the sort that are inevitable between two Jedi who have never worked together before. Those problems require a bit of discussion, fine-tuning, and future planning. Most will resolve themselves as we continue working together; they're certainly nothing you need beat yourself up over."

Obi-Wan bowed his head. "Master."

"I'm not your Qui-Gon, and you are not my Obi-Wan," the Master continued more gently. "We haven't had years together, and we will both make mistakes as we get to know each other."

Pausing, he leaned away from Obi-Wan slightly and stared out into the starfield for a long moment. The younger man felt the Master's withdrawal, as if Qui-Gon needed to separate himself momentarily from the flow of the Force between them.

/What have I done now?/ Obi-Wan wondered. /Am I disturbing his connection with the living Force? I've got to go home as swiftly as I can get away from him./

"I've hesitated to tell you what else I've observed," Qui-Gon said softly, "but the Force is insisting that you be told."

"Master?" Worried green eyes locked into clear blue.

"The bottom line is this, Obi-Wan: you're not ready to be on your own as a knight. You're uncertain of your abilities and your judgment. You need more time as a senior Padawan assigned to a Master. You need time to settle into what you've been taught -- time that your Council, for whatever reason, was not willing to grant you. You need the chance to find your feet, to gain some mileage and confidence, no matter how long that process might take. Decisiveness comes with experience, and you've had precious little of that. A little more time as a Padawan will provide all that you need to be a splendid knight."

"Time as a Pada..." Obi-Wan shook his head in confusion and looked almost panic-stricken. "Whose Padawan, Master?"

"Mine, of course." Qui-Gon thumped his chest and looked perturbed. "I thought that would be obvious, since our little skirmish back there showed me that you need offensive and defensive Force-training that obviously was not provided in your universe. I gather that advanced Force-combat techniques are not taught in your world, else you'd probably be embarrassingly brilliant at that as well. A little time together, and we'll have that up to speed."

"You're... You want..." Obi-Wan croaked, staring in shock at the older man.

"I'm asking you to put your knighthood on hold," Qui-Gon said carefully. "Would you become my Padawan for however long it takes for you to feel ready to be a knight?"

Obi-Wan didn't answer. He didn't appear to be able to answer, and Qui-Gon wasn't certain he'd even heard what had been said. The green eyes had gone dark and wide with doubt and distrust. Settling in a half-crouch, Obi-Wan stared up at the big man who'd obviously lost his mind or was playing a cruel joke on his companion.

"I've made you remember something.... you'd rather not, haven't I?" Qui-Gon realized. Raising a hand, he started to smooth back the hair that had fallen in Obi-Wan's eyes, only to have the knight flinch away, as though afraid he'd be struck. Past words surfaced in Qui-Gon's mind; remembered in Obi-Wan's clear, matter-of-fact voice: 'My Master rejected me five times.'

/Gods.../ thought Qui-Gon, /The boy had dreams that were smashed with those rejections. I'm going about this the wrong way entirely, unless I want him to bolt out of the nearest airlock./

Laying a hand against Obi-Wan's cheek, Qui-Gon pushed gently against the Jedi's fragile shields.

"I'm not him, and I won't hurt you. Please trust me?" he urged on a whisper. "Let me in just a little, Obi-Wan."

Closing his eyes on a sob, Obi-Wan resignedly did as he was asked. The Master nearly fell into Obi-Wan's mind, so quickly did those shields crumble under his mental touch. Pulling back, Qui-Gon whisper-touched his way inside, treading softly and sending waves of affection out before him. /Where did the pain begin, Obi-Wan? Please show me?/

Mindshadows shifted and parted before him to reveal an Initiate-level battle arena in a Temple that was/was not familiar to Qui-Gon. Walking through the shadows, he took his place beside a tall Master who looked much like him, but when Qui-Gon turned to look at the man, he simply faded away.

Lightsabers crackled and hissed. A cry rose up from the crowd surrounding the arena, drawing Qui-Gon's attention to the two opponents within. A slender boy with fiery hair fought another, taller, white-haired boy in that arena. The fire-child attacked with desperate fury, meeting the other boy's weapon with stinging power. Swinging with full power, the fire-child sent his opponent peddling backward until he fell, sprawling, on the mat. The pale one's lightsaber switched off as it flew from his hand and clattered noisily as it went skittering across the uneven floor.

The fire-child backed away, panting. Qui-Gon knew that he was there to watch this child, to evaluate and weigh his abilities. He knew that the boy knew it as well. Yet the child did not meet Qui-Gon's gaze, did not even acknowledge his presence before switching off his own saber and turning to the showers.

Giving the boy time to clean up and change clothes, Qui-Gon entered the dressing chamber just as the boy was tossing his stained tunic into the laundry container.

"Who taught you to fight like that?" the Master demanded, halting before the Initiate, so close that his cloak swirled about the boy's feet. "You've been taught to defend, to conserve your strength and wear down your opponent. Yet you fought like a very dangerous man today."

Green eyes challenged him, hope and anxiety dancing in their depths. "I wanted to impress you. I wanted to win."

Qui-Gon shook his head. "You're better than that, Obi-Wan. Consider your actions: you left yourself open to attack time and again, and relied upon your opponent to take the defensive stance. Your fighting style is risky, and very dangerous."

/It's still dangerous, all these years later,/ Qui-Gon realized. /How could it not be, acquired as it was in a universe where the danger never ends?/

The boy's eyes went wide and filled with a sick realization, and Qui-Gon realized too late that he'd heard the thought. Obi-Wan's shoulders rounded, he bowed his head. He knew all too well that Qui-Gon Jinn would not choose him.

"Yes, Master," he answered dutifully, voice dulled with knowledge of his failure.

Desperate to reassure the young man, Qui-Gon reached down and ruffled Obi-Wan's short-cropped hair.

"I was dangerous at your age, too, you know?" he said gently. "Perhaps all boys are. It took a long time, many bruises, and a broken nose for me to realize that I couldn't count on every opponent to be vanquished under my fury."

Obi-Wan's head came up. Hope glimmered in the gaze locked into Qui-Gon's. "How did you learn?"

Qui-Gon shared a crooked smile. "My Master showed me. It took a lot of patience and many years and experience, but I finally learned. Obi-Wan, do you have the time and the patience to let me show you? Are you willing to let me teach you how to fight and conquer with peace? Will you work with me to gain the experience that you need?"

"I... I think so, Master."

"Then come with me." Qui-Gon held out his hand, palm up. "Be my Padawan. I choose you, Obi-Wan Kenobi."

Hesitating only a moment, and looking as if in that moment the offer might be snatched away, Obi-Wan warily slid his fingers across Qui-Gon's palm. Closing his fingers, the older man swallowed the boy's hand, reached out through the Force and claimed him....

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The claiming was warm and safe and welcome. Moving through him, Qui-Gon discovered and dissolved the myriad hurts and uncertain miseries of the boy's sad, shadowed youth. Shouldering past the spiked frustration and torments of his embarrassing battles with Bruck Chun, this Qui-Gon found the exhausting trials of Bandomeer. Cradling Obi-Wan's pain against his own heart, Qui-Gon bathed it with acceptance and light until the impace of the events dissolved, until Obi-Wan sighed and relaxed entirely for the first time since he'd met the original Qui-Gon Jinn.

Obi-Wan's younger, smaller Initiate's fingers entwined with Qui-Gon's, with a strange kind of energy dancing between the palms of his hands and the calloused pads of the Master's fingers. The energy jolted up Obi-Wan's arms, across his collarbones and into his mind, sparking insistent tendrils of Force that wound their way through his mind, joining him in ways he'd never dreamed of to this Qui-Gon Jinn. Slitting opening his eyes, Obi-Wan found that they'd left his childhood memories and were standing on a beach with white sand and rainbows of light dancing in the surf. The Master stood at his side, so solid and so alive that it almost broke Obi-Wan's heart.

/You're safe now,/ Qui-Gon's voice rumbled in his mind. /Safe with me./

Long fingers were still entwined with his. Qui-Gon turned him toward the surf and stood behind him, wrapped his arms tightly around him. The younger man leaned against his Master's long, lean body, laid his cheek against one of the arms encircling him, and closed his eyes. He purred into the touch, and a deep sigh answered him. He felt warm and safe and welcome within the circle of those arms, within the circle of the bond forming between them.

The bond hummed as well, strong and brilliant and never to be denied. Sinking joyfully into it and feeling back along its track, Obi-Wan realized with the jolt that it was foundationed in the jagged remnants of the training bond he'd shared with the other Qui-Gon Jinn.

/Do you mind?/ a worried voice rumbled across his thoughts. /If you do, we can establish another--/

/NO!/ Obi-Wan protested, reaching out with part of his mind and all of his heart to pull the new, shining thing closer. /I want this, Master. I need this, need to belong.... Please..../

/As do I,/ came the sighed acknowledgment. Long fingers tangled in the hair at the back of his neck, caressing. /My Obi-Wan./

He was hugged within an inch of his life, melded heart and mind to this Master now and basking in the strength and Light of the new bond they shared. Obi-Wan hugged back, hard....

...and felt his ribs squeezed until he grunted because now the Master was sitting behind him on the illusion deck and Obi-Wan was leaning back against that broad chest. Back against this Master... No, against his Master, his new Master -- and Qui-Gon's arms were wrapped tightly around him as though he'd never let go, and the new bond was singing and thrumming deep inside of them both.

Qui-Gon breathed in unison with his new Padawan, bracing his chin where Obi-Wan's neck met his shoulder. Starved for such affectionate touching, Obi-Wan settled happily into the bond. He wanted to weep for the joy of finally belonging, and wanted to laugh at the starstream streaking by because the great universe out there hadn't changed. Really, it hadn't. The only thing that had changed was the universe inside of Obi-Wan because he'd been chosen as he never had before, by the best and wisest and kindest man alive. Thank the Force, yes, but most especially thank the big man at Obi-Wan's back, who had entwined their minds and was holding on to him in multiple universes as if he'd never let go.

After years of trying and never succeeding in being the perfect Padawan, Obi-Wan felt as though his universe had finally righted itself. Perfection wasn't required, he was already accepted and thought special, wanted and needed. All of the wrongs hadn't been made right, but the rejected twelve-year-old was leaping up and down inside of Obi-Wan and shrieking, "I'm a PADAWAN!" and the knight-made-too-early was grinning from ear to ear and well-pleased that he'd been demoted back to apprentice.

/This is right,/ he thought across the bond. /This is proper and major fitting./

He felt the indulgent smile through the bond. /You approve then? You're pleased, my Padawan?/

/I do, and I am,/ he confirmed without hesitation. He sent Qui-Gon the image he'd had earlier - that of himself as a younger Padawan, leaping for joy at their joining. /Perhaps you'd like to join me in celebrating, Master?./

/You wish to see someone my size, hopping about? That would look silly,/ came the amused reply, accompanied by a light chuckle. /But yes, I might at that - as long a we don't do it in front of Xanatos and completely wreck my serene, non-emotional reputation./

Obi-Wan snorted. /I don't know Xanatos very well yet, but I can still imagine his reaction to your leaping about, Master./

/Such exuberance might help remind us that we're alive, so doesn't that make it worth the effort?/ Qui-Gon continued, ignoring his Padawan's skepticism.

/Later, perhaps./ Obi-Wan sighed and settled closer. /I'm too comfortable to move right now./

/As you wish, my Padawan./

Obi-Wan had never known such deep-down joy before; it hadn't seemed right or proper or fitting for Qui-Gon Jinn's apprentice to have ever exhibited, much less felt, such enthusiasm because, when it came right down to it, Padawan Kenobi he hadn't been chosen. Not really. Oh, he'd been accepted, finally. Assigned and entered into the Temple records and registered for classes and stamped with Master Jinn's beads and braid at the very last possible minute, practically, but chosen? In the way that Initiates lay awake nights dreaming of being chosen?

No. Never before.

/All of that has changed now,/ Qui-Gon reminded him, tightening his grip even more, until Obi-Wan thought he might never breathe again, but didn't care.

It had all changed with a touch and a hug and a quiet, "Trust me." Obi-Wan would trust this man for all of his days in ways that the Padawan had never dreamed he could trust. This was the way life was meant to be; this was why the Force had brought him to this universe. Dreams were allowed here, allowed to come true as well, it seemed. A new bond sang between him and his Master, tumbled joyously between their minds, ensorceling their souls. There it was, that bond, laughing at them both and welcoming Obi-Wan home like cool rainwater sluicing over his head on a hot day, soaking into all of the empty places inside and humming, "This is where you belong," in Qui-Gon's voice.

Obi-Wan wanted to be there, wanted to belong just there, curled up beside this Master's heart and soul, hearing that hum and song and beloved voice until the end of time. The Force said yes, it was possible, had been made real in this moment so that there was very little chance of turning back. They were bonded, Obi-Wan been chosen, and Qui-Gon was still purring his contentment through the bond, was removing Obi-Wan's hair from his mouth after it had tangled in his beard, was muttering that his new Padawan's hair needed a proper Padawan cut. Above all, the Master was waiting for the bond to settle completely and for he and his Padawan to begin their life together.

"There will be lessons, you know?" whispered Qui-Gon, his lips close to Obi-Wan's ear. "You must learn to manipulate the Force as completely as I can."

Closing his eyes, Obi-Wan sank into the moment and just listened. If the Force offered a heaven, surely his Master's voice at his ear and his Master's heartbeat at his back was it. "I would be honored to learn anything you might teach, Master."

"There will be missions and adventures as well. Adventures unseen and unimagined."

/Unimaginable,/ Obi-Wan thought, /if past adventures with my Master are anything to go by./ That was fine with him.

"And there will be dancing with lightsabers?" Obi-Wan asked almost sleepily, intoxicated with the joy of belonging with someone rather than to someone for the first time.

"We will dance with life itself, Obi-Wan. With the Force."

They would. In a universe offering more hope and welcome and love than Obi-Wan had ever thought possible, much less known. Qui-Gon breathed at his back, his Force-signature resonated through the bond, was entirely tangled with Obi-Wan's. The younger man tightened his grip on the bond, only to feel Qui-Gon's arms tighten around him.

"The only thing missing is the Padawan braid," commented Qui-Gon regretfully. "I'm afraid we'll simply have to imagine it being there until you can manage to grow a bit of hair here." Qui-Gon's thumb caressed the woefully bare spot behind Obi-Wan's right ear.

"But I do have one," he murmured. Laughing softly, he twisted beneath Qui-Gon's arm to dig inside the rear-most pocket of his supply belt. The Master made a quizzical noise before making room for the digging, since bony, pointy elbows were coming his way while Obi-Wan rummaged. Qui-Gon laughed outright when Obi-Wan surfaced with his prize: a two-foot long Padawan braid.

"I didn't know what to do with it," Obi-Wan confessed softly. "Master Yoda cut it, and I know that I was supposed to offer it to my Master, but he was about to be immolated. The guests were already arriving for the ceremony and we had to hurry, so I just stuffed it in there. I forgot about it until now."

/Gods above and below, was there nothing of this Jedi's knighting that wasn't somehow tainted?/

"Will you give it to your master now?" Qui-Gon asked softly, holding out his hand.

Obi-Wan wound the braid into the large palm and watched as the slender length coiled up on itself, looking small and insubstantial as Qui-Gon's fingers closed over it. Taking the offering, the Master held it up by its severed end, smoothed its length and cleared away bits of belt-pouch fuzz before setting the thickest end against Obi-Wan's temple and summoning the Force.

A lightning jolt struck the side of Obi-Wan's head. He winced before raising his hand to probe and inspect the joining, while Qui-Gon's fingers busied themselves at the ends removing ties and beads. He held the late Qui-Gon Jinn's unique bead up to scrutinize it in the flickering starlight, then nodded in satisfaction.

"Close enough," he commented, dumping the beads and delicate ties into Obi-Wan's hands for temporary safekeeping. And then the Master was separating the braid into three sections, was pulling a few strands of hair from his own head to mingle with the sections, was entwining his own hair with Obi-Wan's.

Closing his eyes, the new-made Padawan smiled at the sensation, so beloved and cherished and missed. Qui-Gon drew breath to speak, his voice rumbling in Obi-Wan's chest as he intoned the age old phrases of a Jedi Master claiming an apprentice.

"Padawan, Master, Force," he christened the strands, weaving them as the bond had woven their souls together. "Bound threefold to you, my Padawan."

Obi-Wan subtly leaned against the hand at his cheek as the long fingers moving deftly to weave the braid, and answered the ancient ritual. "Bound to you, my Master."

"Bound within the Force and within the Light, to learn and teach and serve...."

"...with love and compassion and strength," Obi-Wan murmured. "Always together."

"Never apart, we are Master and apprentice."

They remained on deck for a long time while the bond settled between them. Qui-Gon leaned against the deck's wall with Obi-Wan lying back against his shoulder, just watching the stars streak by. Long fingers stroked through his hair and he relaxed into the touch, basking in the steady feeling of belonging, of finally having come home.

/I can't remember every having felt such contentment before,/ he thought, knowing Qui-Gon could hear him. /Thank you, Master./

/No, my Obi-Wan. Thank you./

Qui-Gon stirred long moments later. "Do you understand now that your former Master didn't die because of you," he ventured softly, "but because of the decisions he made, every moment of his life?"

Turning his head, Obi-Wan bumped his nose against Qui-Gon's chin. "Yes, Master."

"You were good enough," Qui-Gon continued, shifting slightly as his leg was going to sleep, and tightening the grip of his other arm to prevent Obi-Wan from moving away. "You were more than good enough. Qui-Gon simply made the mistake of not waiting for you during the battle on Naboo."

"He should have waited, and he didn't," Obi-Wan admitted slowly. The truth resonated through the Force, cracking him open. Tears tracked slowly down his cheeks, a gentler pain and mourning than he'd known before. "Why didn't he wait for me?"

"Two reasons, I think. First, he had the Sith on the run and didn't want to give him any time to breathe. Secondly, I believe he wanted to protect you, much as I wished to protect Obi-Wan in our last battle."

"I didn't need his protection. He should have waited. He should have."

"Yes," Qui-Gon agreed.

They sat in silence for another long moment, while Obi-Wan closed his eyes and sank closer to Qui-Gon within the bond. Almost desperately, he reached to touch his Master's calm, with Qui-Gon tenderly answering that need.

"I knew I wasn't ready when they knighted me," Obi-Wan admitted. "Before Qui-Gon cast me aside, he made it clear that I had another two or three years to go, to just practice what I knew at my leisure, at his side. But then came Anakin and the Sith, and Master Qui-Gon made me promise that I'd train the boy, and to do that I had to be--"

"A knight. And so the web was woven; your Master died, you killed the Sith, the Council had no choice but to consider the battle as your trials, and there you are."

Obi-Wan considered the scenario for a moment. "I suppose there was no way they could have justified to the Temple, or to another Master, that I still needed time as a Padawan after I'd killed a Sith."

"No."

"And so, my knighting was political more than actual?"

"Not necessarily, Obi-Wan. As I said before, you possess all of the technique and tools necessary to be a Jedi Knight. Perhaps they suspected that assigning you to another Master would prove impossible: the bond that you and Qui-Gon shared touched every part of your life. Given the depth of your mourning, I seriously doubt you could have established a bond with anyone else."

"Except you," Obi-Wan said quietly.

"Except me."

A tight hug was Obi-Wan's, and those long fingers were in his hair again. /It's almost as though he can't stop touching me... No, that's not right. It's almost as though he has to touch me to feel comfortable./

/I like touching you, Padawan./ Warm amusement danced down the bond. /And you seem to like it. I'll stop if you wish--/

"No!" A hand came up, clamped almost desperately on the Master's. He arched under the affectionate touch, desperate to reassure the older man. "It's... nice."

"Then I'll not stop."

"And you will always wait for me?"

A reassuring nod, with the beard rasping his cheek. "I will always wait for you, my Padawan."

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

The Fortuna touched down first, thrusters shaking the landing platform and making Xanatos pull the hood of his cloak protectively over his head in an effort to keep the dirt from his eyes. The heavy Corellian ship followed a moment later, with the unseen pilot deftly maneuvering the thrusters away from the waiting Jedi.

/Such a small consideration, so deeply appreciated,/ The tall Jedi pondered. /Probably Obi-Wan's doing, certainly not my Master's./

Pushing back the hood once the ship was settled, he smoothed his robes, ran a hand through his black hair, and tucked his arms into his sleeves. Striding forward as the Corellian's gangway was lowered, Xanatos wondered why the Fortuna sat still and silent and locked up tight beside the other ship. He remembered the pilot as a gregarious, fast-talking, easy-walking Twi'lek, much favored by Qui-Gon as a pilot. By rights, she should have been out on the pad by now, babbling incoherently about the adventure just passed.

Qui-Gon was first to emerge from the Corellian vessel, ducking on his way out of the ship to avoid hitting his head. Behind his left shoulder and two paces back Obi-Wan Kenobi paced, his Padawan braid trailing almost to his waist while he looked more than a little weary and worn.

Xanatos cocked an eyebrow to see that braid and locked gazes with his former Master. Widening his eyes, he asked through their preserved training bond, /Did something happen on sabbatical that I should know about?/

/All in good time, Xan./ Coming to stand before the tall Jedi, Qui-Gon gave a formal bow which was echoed by Obi-Wan and Xanatos. The Councillor dropped all formality then to slide a companionable arm across Qui-Gon's shoulders and begin pacing slowly toward the exit lift with Obi-Wan in tow.

"Only you could encounter pirates on sabattical, Qui-Gon. I'm glad the two of you are home safely."

"Thank you, Councillor. It's good to be home."

Xanatos smirked. "And just look at the bounty you brought with you." He cast a look over his shoulder. "All for the Council, Qui-Gon? You shouldn't have."

The smooth amusement oiling its way through Xanatos's words made Obi-Wan stare at the man. All of the Councillors he'd ever known were ponderous in their seriousness, but seriousness seldom seemed to reach this one. All but Yoda, that is, and that diminuative Master seemed determined to remain young by keeping a strong hand - or claw - in teaching the Initiates from the time they entered the creche. Xanatos appeared to find amusement in every situation, while his cultured, smooth-talking tones were close enough to the villain of Qui-Gon's life that Obi-Wan had to remind himself repeatedly to leave the hilt of his lightsaber alone, and to release his suspicions into the Force.

Qui-Gon smiled crookedly. "We shouldn't have, Xan, but we did. I know that you are anxious to take responsibility for the health and well-being of the prisoners in the hold, not to mention open the Fortuna's cargo bay and see what treasures she's smuggling. Before that happens, I have a request."

"You usually do." Xanatos winked across at Obi-Wan, who had moved up beside Qui-Gon. "The Master and I have a tradition: I meet him each time he comes home to satisfy myself of his continued safety, and he makes demands and expects me to fulfill them immediately. It's very much like being a Padawan again."

"Xanatos has always needed the reassuring security of a well-worn routine," Qui-Gon inserted. "I'm only too happy to provide it."

His expression was so serene, Obi-Wan couldn't tell if his new Master was joking or not.

"Xan, you will find a certain furious Twi'lek trapped on the bridge of the Fortuna. A lightsaber or blasting torch will be required to extract her, and I suggest that the one who does so may want to be well out of range when she comes through the door. Additionally, be careful not to step on the few severed hands you'll find scattered at the entrance corridor."

That dark eyebrow ascended once more. "Hands, Qui-Gon?"

"Hands," he confirmed.

Xanatos wrinkled his nose. "How revolting."

"Actually, it was very efficient. Stopped the battle cold."

"I imagine so. Qui-Gon, whose hands are they, and how did they--"

"I'll include those details in my report to the Council. A third matter will require your attention once S'pex is extricated from her bridge."

"You see what trials he brings home for me?" Xanatos droned, appealing to Obi-Wan for sympathy.

The younger man shook his head; he was too busy absorbing the exchange to be of much help beyond just listening and trying to understand the subtleties of this strange relationship.

Qui-Gon continued. "We must repair Spex's ship as she will blame me for its damage. I'm sure the Council will fight me on expenses, but you and I can discuss that matter over a good glass of wine some night this week."

"We can also then discuss all of the details you'll leave out of your report," Xanatos said dryly. "And wait a moment, Master. You did say the pilot was S'pex. I thought as much, from the Fortuna's colors. Why are you still contracting transport with her when you know how difficult she can be over every little scratch and knick - even those aeons old. The Jedi Order is not replacing the hull of her ship."

"No, we're not," Qui-Gon agreed mildly. "Only a blast door and some paneling."

"Only...." Xan let his voice trail off, then sighed. "Let me guess. The blast door to which you refer is the one you and I personally installed just before I was knighted. The one that Triskarian acid couldn't eat through."

Qui-Gon nodded. "But a lightsaber will. A lightsaber like yours, Xan. And she likes you, if I recall correctly."

"Master, you're a bother."

"Am I? Obi-Wan and I also left our cloaks and equipment packs aboard the Fortuna. We'd appreciate your seeing them safely back to us. Thank you, Xanatos." Bowing again, Qui-Gon gathered Obi-Wan with a look and strode into the lift. "Come, Padawan. We've a report to prepare."

The last sight Obi-Wan had of Xanatos before the lift doors closed was the Councillor staring mournfully back at the Fortuna while he fingered the hilt of his lightsaber.

"I'm sure he's weighing the expense of Spex's rescue against the bounty of the Corellian ship," Qui-Gon murmured, amusement tingeing his voice. "He may be in rare form when we address the Council later today."

Poking gently at the bond, Obi-Wan was relieved to find that the proposition posed no great concern for his new Master. The lift doors opened and Obi-Wan automatically found his place, pacing serenly behind Qui-Gon as they traversed the Temple corridors. The bond thrummed with contentment, with Qui-Gon's shields at a minimum. This Master seemed much more at ease with Obi-Wan's constant presence in his mind and oh, how the gods knew Obi-Wan needed that presence. For such a big man, this Qui-Gon moved with an incredible lightness of being, grounded mentally as well as physically. Obi-Wan practically purred under the caress of pure Light constantly pulsing in his mind, filling his completely.

Reaching their shared quarters, Qui-Gon strode inside only to begin shedding his belt and outer tunic without missing a beat. "A quick meal, a shower and a bit of sleep will be ours before Council summons us."

Obi-Wan nodded understanding. "If you take the first shower, I'll have tea and something on the table by the time you're done."

"Very well, Padawan." He disappeared into the 'fresher as Obi-Wan headed off to prepare dinner.

Xanatos watched his Master and Obi-Wan depart with only a mild twinge of envy for the closeness the two had built in so short a time.

/Ah well, I was Qui-Gon's Padawan first,/ Xanatos reminded himself. /I'm all grown up now, and I can share./

Turning his attention to the battered freighter, the councillor considered his next move. He'd been warned that an irate Twi'lek was imprisoned within. Undoubetedly, it would be S'pex, whose temper was uncertain at the best of times, and whose mood surely wouldn't improve with keeping.

/Perhaps it's best to let her out first,/ Xanatos contemplated, /then see to the other myriad small, unpleasant details that always arrive in my Master's wake./

Taking a deep breath, he smoothed his robes and pulled his best and most dignified Council Member aura to the fore before folding his arms and striding slowly, regally toward the Fortuna.

/What a grandiose name for a wreck,/ he thought, staring up at the battered ship. /Was she named for what she once was, or in hopes of improvement? Either way, her years with S'Pex have not benefitted her in any way./

The gangway was down, perhaps in hopes of luring in potential rescue from the obliging Jedi. If so, Xanatos slowly, reluctantly took the bait and climbed aboard. There were dings and scrapes on the hull, left in the wake of what had obviously been a forced docking, and the ship's interior was filled with the acrid tang of blaster scorching, ruined wiring, and melted plasteel. More than a few blaster scores streaked the walls as well.

/Undoubtedly the Jedi are to pay for this,/ Xanatos grumbled. /Master Qui-Gon Jinn, infamous rebel and easily the most expensive Jedi Knight working the field. I must bring this up during Council, if for no other reason than to harass him./ Xanatos smiled at the thought, nearly rubbed his hands together in glee. /Yes...it's all about his pet pilot and his sabbatical and his pirates, let's charge all expenses to him and let him continue with his responsi-- Whaaat?/

Xanatos looked down as he stepped on something that gave unpleasantly underfoot. It was soft, but not. Yielding, but firm.

A thumb stuck out from under his booted foot, and dirty fingers protruded out the other side. The Jedi managed not to yelp and found himself very proud of this fact. Settling for backing a step away, Xanatos then picked his way delicately toward the cabin and now paid much more attention to the floor than to the walls.

The cabin wasn't hard to locate: even if it hadn't been the furthest compartment forward, the muffled thumps from within would have beckoned Xanatos easily through the narrow passageways. The thick walls prevented him from actually communicating with the pilot within, but the ever-accelerated banging was sufficient to inform him that S'pex was growing impatient.

Pulling out his comlink, Xanatos thought for a moment and dredged up from memory the correct frequency for the ship's communication. Closing his eyes and already cringing, he opened a channel.

"Captain S'Pex, I am Counsellor Telos. We've met in the past, and perhaps you remember me as Master Jinn's earlier Padawan?"

The high-pitched screeching he received in reply really didn't indicate whether or not she remembered him. Xanatos did feel, however, that her response indicated some small desire to do him bodily harm, regardless whether they'd been introduced. /Probably due to my irritating association with Qui-Gon./

"Captain S'Pex, if I may interrupt--" Xanatos sighed, held the comlink further away, and waited for the screaming to slow. He took several deep breaths while waiting. And several more. "Captain, please. If you'll just allow me, I am trying to--"

The stream of invectives issuing from the comlink were in at least three different languages. One of them, Xanatos had thought extinct. Rubbing at his temples, he tried to ease the headache that was springing to life behind his eyes.

"QUIET!" he finally roared into the comlink in a passable imitation of his Master when Qui-Gon was thoroughly irritated. That Xanatos had raised his voice was, however, nothing he'd ever admit to his old Master.

The com was silent. Xanatos smiled.

"I am here to release you," he said, resuming his normal dulcet tones which he'd been told, on more than one occasion, were deliciously soothing. "Back away from the door and be silent for a moment. Please," he added as a not too gracious afterthought.

The ensuing silence was blissful, but Xanatos knew it was all too temporary. He bent closer to study the blast doors, as eager as the prisoner behind them to have this task completed and be fast away.

"Qui-Gon you never do anything by halves, do you," he muttered, partially annoyed and partially impressed by the Master's thoroughness.

The shields were thick and the wounds made by the lightsaber had struck deeply at the heart of the mechanism. It would never move again; the only way to open the chamber would be to carve it out.

Brushing at the dust on his robes, Xanatos ruefully accepted the unavoidable task of melting his way through the door. Reaching for the lightsaber at his belt, he ignited the weapon and plunged it into the scorched breech made by Qui-Gon's own weapon. Slowly the red blade moved through the metal which melted and dripped and fell, hissing, onto the floor. The heat was becoming intense on his fingers, but Xanatos dared not stop, else S'pex would surely begin shrieking again, and perhaps injure herself banging on the impossibly hot metal.

It took several minutes for the Jedi to burn a circle that was large enough to admit him. /Surely any hole as tall as I am is adequate enough for any technician who might come to work on this ship. It's certainly was enough for a Twi'lek to escape./

The glowing curve of the metal incision was nearly completed, and Xan relaxed his grip on the lightsaber, flexed his strained fingers before reaching for the comlink once more. "Stand away, please. I'm about to kick in the door. It's very hot, and I don't want it burning you."

He cut off her snarling reply without listening to any of it, eased his lightsaber over the last intact inch, and swiftly planted one heavy boot in the middle of the metallic circle to shove and send it clanging into the tiny chamber.

An irate Twi'lek rocketed out and Xanatos swiftly realized that the comlink connection had been a kindness, as the pilot unfortunately had no off-switch or volume control. She bore down on him in the small space, her expression murderous.

"I had nothing to do with it, madame," he protested, backing away with a slight bow. "All I did was let you out."

S'pex found his excuses unimportant. Following him into the open corridor, she spun in a quick revolution, head leku spinning with her and barely missing Xanatos's nose. That one spin gave her visual inventory enough to increase her grievances tenfold. Xanatos couldn't understand her, as she was shrieking in her own language, but her pointing fingers and accusatory glares were sufficient to get her point across. Blaster scores were pointed out. So were scuffs to the floor and holes in the corridor.

Then she bent to scoop up a hand. Grasping it by its index finger, she shook it angrily in the Jedi's face while continuing to voice her objections to the Jedi version of littering her hallways.

Xanatos backed away more swiftly down the corridor, but S'Pex had more to say. Shaking the hand harder at him, she pursued the Jedi down the hallway as he retreated step after faster step. The fingers waggled at him as though they had complaints of their own, which they well might have, severed from their owner as they had been. To his horror, Xanatos then saw S'pex lean back and launch the grisly thing at him. It hit the middle of his chest with a dull splat.

/That's it. That's absolutely enough. Qui-Gon, this is the last favor I will do for you in this lifetime./ Abandoning all hopes of communicating with the irate Twi'lek, Xanatos turned to stride briskly, but with an elegant dignity he hoped, toward the exit.

Another hand splatted against the wall as Xanatos rounded a turn; he increased his speed another notch. He had managed to reach the top of the gangway when another thud landed behind him. This one was louder, metallic-sounding, and a quick glance behind him revealed that S'pex had found another hand -- this one still clutching a blaster -- and had sent it rolling down the gangway behind him. Dignity was abandoned altogether as Xanatos ran the last few steps ahead of the gruesome thing, then leaped aside to let it roll past him.

He was staring after blaster and hand when something hit him firmly in the back. No, it hit just below the small of the back. A final hand had been heaved at him, and the launcher of same stood in the entry to the Fortuna. Glowering, Xanatos leaped off of the gangway and whirled about to glare at his attacker before stalking off, fuming.

S'pex's mocking laughter followed Xanatos all the way into the temple.

Qui-Gon emerged shortly, wrapped in nothing but a towel and with his hair dripping water plaintively on the carpeting, only to have Obi-Wan thrust a mug of tea into his hands.

"Thank you, Padawan." He sounded as if he meant it with all of his heart, and Obi-Wan remembered neither one of them had had their morning tea, much less a decent meal since. Slurping noisily at the liquid, Qui-Gon headed for the table as Obi-Wan slipped past him and into the 'fresher.

Obi-Wan relished the though of a shower, wanting to wash away the sweat and grime gathered over the past few days. Rummaging through the cabinets, he came up with two large, thick towels. Master-sized, they were was sheer luxury to Obi-Wan, whose remembered Temple bedding and towels had been frayed and worn more often than not. It was plain to him that this Master had no problem taking advantage of his advanced station and requesting small luxuries in honor of his achievements and service within the Order.

It's the small things that count, or perhaps it's simply a leftover from having lived with creature-comfort Xanatos,/ Obi-Wan reflected, settling his lightsaber carefully on the counter and well away from the water before shedding the rest of his clothes and climbing into the shower. He found wood-scented soap and a washing sponge waiting there. They smelled of Qui-Gon so strongly, as did the damp walls, that Obi-Wan felt surrounded by his Master anew. Smiling to himself, he didn't bother retrieving the soap Santros had given him. /We share a bond now, what's a bar of soap?/

Obi-Wan's stomach rumbled as he left the 'fresher on the way to his own chamber. Clutching the towel draped across his hips with one hand, he rubbed his hair dry and blotted at his braid with his other hand.

"Come and eat, Padawan."

"I will, Master. Soon as I'm dressed."

"Eat and nap, then dress for Council," Qui-Gon insisted softly. "I can feel your hunger growling at me through our bond."

Obi-Wan altered his course abruptly, tossing the towel over the back of a chair and settling at the table.

"Yes, Master." He grinned at the older man, who had finished his meal only to lean back, cross his arms, and contemplate the eternal traffic flowing outside the plasteel windows.

"Are you going to need write a report before we meet with Council?" Obi-Wan asked, ready to offer his help.

"Hmm? No, they'll wait for most of the details. All they want right now is a brief sketch of how we managed to come home with that ship. I also need to tell them that I've claimed you as my Padawan, and no scripted report is required to do that. The meeting shouldn't take long." Offering a warm smile, he reached over and ruffled Obi-Wan's damp hair. "I'll set the alarm to wake us."

Qui-Gon's affectionate gesture was interrupted when the front door swooshed back and Xanatos swept in, cloak billowing behind him, a look of outrage on his austere face. Stalking up to Qui-Gon, he loomed over the older man where he sat, swept back his cloak, and stood with hands on hips, glowering down at his former Master.

"That woman -- or whatever she is -- is unspeakable. Do you have any idea what I have just been through? The ordeal I just survived?"

By way of reply, Qui-Gon arched an eyebrow and did Xanatos the courtesy of planting all four legs of his chair on the floor. "What did you just survive?"

"I let S'pex out as you recommended I do."

The eyebrow climbed higher. Qui-Gon spared a glance at Obi-Wan and all but growled down the new bond, /I didn't tell him to let her out, did I? I distinctly remember telling him something quite different. What do you remember me saying?/

/'I suggest that whoever lets her out might wish to be well out of range when she comes through the door,'/ Obi-Wan faithfully repeated.

/Is that what I really said?/

/Close enough, I believe, Master./

/Hmm... thought so./

The only hint Obi-Wan had that Qui-Gon had refocused his attention on the ongoing protest was a slight shift of the blue eyes from inward to outward. Xanatos never missed a beat. Striding away from the Jedi, Xanatos stared out, unseeing, at the skyscape of Coruscant.

"She threw hands at me, Qui-Gon. Filthy, stinking--"

"They were cauterized and fairly fresh, Xan. They didn't stink."

"You didn't meet them up close and personal as I did, Master Jinn. She hit my back."

"No, she hit your butt," Obi-Wan contributed with a snort, only to almost reach for his saber when Xan rounded on him.

"How would you know, Padawan?"

"Um... there's a couple of handprints on the back of your cloak. Right.... there." He pointed and stifled a grin as his Master's laughter filled the bond.

Xanatos spun in place, trying to see the offended area.

"She seems to have gotten your chest as well," Qui-Gon contributed.

"There's a smudge on his cheek, too, Master."

Xanatos's expression grew even more stormy, if possible. "I can see that there will be no sympathy tonight from this quarter."

"You're right," Qui-Gon remarked softly. "Obi-Wan and I are enjoying a quiet meal together after a stressful time away from the Temple. If you'd care to cool your temper, you're welcome to join us."

"No, thank you!" Xanatos snarled. "I have things -- and handprints -- to attend to." Giving a short bow, the Councillor glowered at his old Master. "I swear, that is the last time I will ever meet your ship."

He stomped from the common area, with Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan watching him go. Qui-Gon's eyes were mild when he met Obi-Wan's. He smiled.

"Don't let Xan's harshness bother you, Padawan. He's said such things before and was actually very restrained this time. He'll say them again, but he has alway met my ship."

Rising from the table a few minutes later, Qui-Gon left Obi-Wan to his meal and disappeared into his own chamber. The bond between them began aching as soon as the door slid closed behind the older man. Obi-Wan winced at the sudden shooting pain in his head and reached for another piece of fruit before padding toward his own door.

He was all but gasping by the time he'd cast aside his second towel and settled on the bed. The bond throbbed and complained -- there were no other words to describe it -- with Obi-Wan feeling his new-found peace feeling shattered and raw. /Something's wrong, and I can't sleep like this. Gods, but it hurts. Master--/

Lungeing for his new set of sleep pants, Obi-Wan fumbled his way into them and was out the door in a matter of seconds. Crossing the common area, he reached the Master's chamber and was about to knock when the door slid back to reveal Qui-Gon, similarly attired and looking as if he was suffering the same misery as his Padawan. Gathering him across the threshold and into a tight hug, Qui-Gon soothed the bond as well as his apprentice. Obi-Wan shivered as the pounding pain behind his eyes lessened abruptly with the contact.

"Master, what--"

"Forgive me for not anticipating this, Obi-Wan. The bond between us is very deep. It is also still forming and will take a bit of time to settle. Time we would be better not to try spending apart."

Obi-Wan winced. "I think I caught that part."

He allowed himself to be steered toward what seemed a very big bed and urged beneath the covers. Qui-Gon climbed in after him, settling on his side and encouraging Obi-Wan to to the same. Long arms wrapped around him, he was pulled against a barrel chest, spooned up against the older man in full body contact, and made to stay there.

"I must be crowding you," Obi-Wan protested.

The Master chuckled, smoothed his Padawan's hair. "The Force has joined us mentally, intimately so. How can you possibly crowd me when the joining is so comfortable for us both?"

"But--"

"Sleep, Obi-Wan." He lowered his voice, let a hint of warning creep in. "There will be time for you to ponder and voice any true objections later."

Closing his mouth, Obi-Wan felt Qui-Gon send himself into a Force-enduced sleep. /He's probably every bit as exhausted as I am./ Still, Obi-Wan couldn't help but give in to his curiosity for a few minutes, to look around the chamber he'd been so abruptly welcomed into--almost as abruptly as he'd been welcomed into this Master's life.

His old Master's room had been spartan, utilitarian to say the least. Not so this one's. More than anything else Obi-Wan had seen or heard before, this room bore witness to the differences between the Qui-Gons.

Yes, there were books, just as there had been in the other Qui-Gon's quarters. But not like this. /Gods, we're sleeping in a library,/ was Obi-Wan's bemused thought.

Three walls had been claimed by floor-to-ceiling, transpare-enclosed, antique wooden bookcases. /Hermetically sealed and temperature controlled, no doubt. And the only reason the fourth wall is clear is probably because Master is bound so closely to the living Force that he wants to see the gardens out there./

Obi-Wan had already learned that this particular Jedi Master did nothing by halves. Behind the transpares were ancient leather-and-board-bound creations with brittle, yellowed pages; books and manuscripts long consigned by other, so-called sophisticated beings as quite useless and archaic. Out of their time, cumbersome, awkward to store, and definitely unnecessary with today's technology.

A comfortable chair for reading and a small writing desk sat on a thick Carpasian carpet before the shelving. More books were stacked haphazardly there. A few were propped open and a datapad sat close by, as if the scholar had been called away mid-entry. The carpet beneath the desk was woven with mystical designs, and something stirred in the depths of Obi-Wan's memories to remind him that much of Carpasian civilization - at least in his world - was dedicated to metaphysics. Obi-Wan suspected it was the same in this world, perhaps moreso as the Carpasians would have Force-access here, which would open up an entirely different universe of study. He made a mental note to ask his Master about that when there was time.

The Master's lightsaber sat on a small table near the bed, well within reach should it be needed. His boots were just so, beside the door, with his belt draped over a nearby chair and the dirty clothes he'd shed earlier no doubt having been sent down the laundry chute. There was a strange sort of comfort for Obi-Wan as he was allowed to peer in on all of this. He had little understanding as yet of this Qui-Gon's eccentricities and habits -- of which there were no doubt many -- but Obi-Wan had seen enough to know that he'd been well and truly welcomed into the man's world. The welcome had been there from the start, he realized, from the moment this Qui-Gon had stepped into the small conference room after witnessing Obi-Wan's mindsweep. There had been no awkwardness, no hesitation or doubt on Qui-Gon's part about taking in this lonely, stray knight and seeing what could be done to make a place for him in this world.

/Obi-Wan, I can hear you thinking,/ came the sleepy thought into his mind, as clearly as though he'd thought it himself. /We can meet, if you like, on a Force-level beyond the physical and talk of the things you're turning about in your mind, but for now our bodies need to rest. Don't make me use the Force to put you to sleep like a first-night Padawan, hmm?/

Obi-Wan send a hug through the bond. /No, Master. Thank you, Master./

Once, Obi-Wan would have cringed at such an admonishment, would have ladled on the guilt-feelings and made the words carry much more censor than they did. But a certain kind of honesty had developed between them since the bond distilled Qui-Gon's feelings and hid nothing, which gave Obi-Wan a solid sense of security and well-being. He knew that his Master was feeling nothing but deep affection and a wistful longing for an undisturbed and well-earned rest.

Qui-Gon's aura settled around him, as close as two souls could be. Obi-Wan welcomed the intimacy and sleep stole up on him despite himself, yet he refused to let it take him before he'd asked just one question.

/Master?/

/Yes, Padawan?/

/Have you really read all of those books?/

Obi-Wan didn't know it was possible for a Master to give his Padawan The Look through their bond, but Qui-Gon managed it.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

The Master traversed the Temple hallways at a fast clip, with Obi-Wan all but trotting beside him. Sparing a glance up at the tall man as they rounded the last corner leading to the Council chambers reception area, Obi-Wan realized his new Master looked just as stern and determined as Obi-Wan could remembered the old one having been.

"Are you worried that Council will give us trouble on some point of the mission, or whatever we should call it?" he asked worriedly.

"No." Breezing into reception, he turned to regard Obi-Wan calmly. "It's simply best to give them what they want, which is always the grand performance."

Blue eyes crinkled with reassuring humor, and Qui-Gon fingered Obi-Wan's braid in open affection. His hair had been Padawan cut within an inch of its life before they'd left their quarters; the senior Padawan tail was back, its band every bit as tight and itchy as Obi-Wan remembered it.

"Xanatos would be very disappointed if I didn't performm," Qui-Gon continued, his gaze racking over Obi-Wan's pristine gray Knight's robes, which would now have to be exchanged for Padawan white. "He rather expects it of his old Master."

"Master Jinn, they are ready for you," the attendance droid spoke from behind its desk as the Council doors opened automatically. Qui-Gon led the way, eating up the distance to the center of the tiled circle to take up residence there with Obi-Wan just behind his right shoulder.

/Formal occasion, formal presentation,/ he reminded himself, bowing in unison with the taller Jedi and folding his hands behind his back in conscious imitation of him as well.

/Very good, Padawan. The full performance, as I said./

"News you have for us?"

"News I bring of a small band of Corellian pirates operating in the Malakti system. Obi-Wan and I were successful in bringing them to heel. This morning, we delivered them and their vessel on the north landing bay, with Councillor Xanatos accepting their delivery. There was also some small matter of repairing our original transport ship and reimbursing her pilot, who requested our assistance after being threatened by the pirates."

"Assistance?" Mace Windu steepled his hands. "You make it sound so simple, Qui-Gon. However, Xanatos tells us that certain appendages were found laying about the corridors of the Fortuna. Additionally, the walls were scored with blasterfire, evidencing a formidable confrontation."

"The pirates boarded the Fortuna and attempted to take her. Obi-Wan and I dissuaded them from doing so."

"By cutting off their hands?" Xanatos asked mildly. "I don't remember your teaching me to do that in Padawan school."

"That particular technique was brought to bear by Obi-Wan."

"Masters." Obi-Wan stepped forward, sketched another bow. "It seemed the most expedient way at the time to neutralize the threat they offered."

"How did you get close enough to do such a thing?" Depa Billaba asked with a slight frown.

"I... jumped," Obi-Wan said, puzzled at the question.

"Jumped."

"In between them, Master."

"You jumped in the middle of a group of armed combatants? How many were there?"

"I'm not sure." He looked to Qui-Gon for help. /I'm sorry, Master, but do you know? I didn't stop to count them./

"How many hands did you find?" Qui-Gon asked.

"Numerous sets. Neatly cauterized. Two were still attached to blasters," reported Xanatos.

Qui-Gon pondered for a moment. "Some of the pirates surrendered, two died, I believe. The body count should be obvious if you cleaned up the ship as I requested, Xan."

"Have you any idea where they were from?" inserted Master Piell.

"No, Master," replied Qui-Gon. "It was my hope that the banks and logs of the ship will provide that information. They came upon the Fortuna unexpectedly, and we were employed at a moment's notice. Obi-Wan and I secured the ship and delivered her here, leaving the rest to you."

Xanatos nodded. /They can't claim you overstepped your authority this time, Qui./

Obi-Wan caught the thought as neatly as if Xanatos had spoken aloud. /You two share a bond?/ he sent Qui-Gon's way.

Xanatos's eyebrow shot up as he intercepted the thought; his gaze met Obi-Wan's. /A bond, indeed, Knight Kenobi, as do you. How curious./ The blue eyes slanted toward the Master. When they refocused on Obi-Wan, they were filled with a private sort of amusement. /I look forward to hearing, at a more opportune time, the tale of how this happened./

"Well, you did," Yoda complimented them. "Short your sabbatical was cut yet again, Qui-Gon. Take advantage of what remains will you?"

"No, Master. If I may take this opportunity..." Glancing across at Obi-Wan, the Master gestured him to stand before him. Obi-Wan went willingly, pausing before Qui-Gon as he rested his hands on his shoulders. "I take Obi-Wan Kenobi as my Padawan learner."

Yoda's ears shot straight up. Xanatos's grin would have lit all of Coruscant, while Mace Windu frowned. The rest of the Council members murmured amongst themselves.

/What else is new?/ Obi-Wan thought quietly to himself.

"Knighted he already is, Qui-Gon."

"Ready for it, he is not," Qui-Gon all but growled at Yoda, in a voice that plainly brooked no argument.

The ancient Master blinked in surprise, either at the message or the imitative delivery. Silence settled over the room, and Obi-Wan all but held his breath.

/Is this where they send me back?/ he wondered. /'To old to be a Padawan is he'?/

Yoda finally broke the silence by chuckling and banging his gimer stick hard against the floor. Once, twice, and and thrice to make official whatever he was about to say.

"Where you should be, now you are." He chortled. "Another Padawan you did not want, Qui-Gon. Approve this joining, the Force does. Approve, it did before Obi-Wan Kenobi arrived. Council acknowledges your taking Obi-Wan Kenobi as your Padawan Learner."

"Thank you, my Master."

Qui-Gon didn't remove his hands, but Obi-Wan could feel him relax, just a bit. Pulling gently, the Master made him take a short step back and lean against him. Obi-Wan wasn't certain who was offering comfort and support to whom in that moment.

"Rather than pursue sabbatical, I request that Padawan Kenobi and I be evaluated for active duty," that deep voice rumbled against him.

"I'll drop by tonight to assess your preferences and strengths as a team," Xanatos promised -- or threatened, as the case may have been, Obi-Wan wasn't certain which it was. The elegant Jedi looked as though he relished the opportunity. "In the meantime, Master Qui-Gon, why don't you continue acclimating your new Padawan to our world."

Yoda beamed at them. Xanatos sat back and hid a smirk behind his hand, while Windu waved their dismissal. Turning with his Master, Obi-Wan approached the exiting lifts on the opposite side of the room.

Passing by Xanatos, he was startled to hear the man murmur, "Welcome home, you two."

The warmth, gladness and relief in Xanatos' voice confused Obi-Wan for a moment, until he met the older man's gaze.

/He's been alone too long and I've worried about him,/ the Councillor confessed through the open bond. /It appears that the Force did its own worrying and worked a miracle on your behalf. Take good care of him, Obi-Wan. He's very special to me./

/I didn't come all this way to do anything but,/ Obi-Wan shot back, grinning as the lift came and Qui-Gon all but pulled him in after him.

/It's rude to discuss a man as though he's not here,/ Qui-Gon inserted. /Come along, Obi-Wan, lest they call us back to assign us some odious task right this minute./ The lift doors closed, and Qui-Gon regarded him mildly.

Obi-Wan drew a deep, settling breath. "It's official, and it was as simple as that, Master?"

"We're officially master and apprentice, if that's what you mean. You're completely doomed now." Qui-Gon's thoughts hurtled on. "I doubt that Xan will return our things from Spex's ship any time soon, and so we need to squeege another cloak for me. You have an extra, but I do not. And you're wearing the wrong uniform now. Will you help me explain this to Santros?"

"Gladly, Master." Obi-Wan laughed at the sudden change in directions -- off with the past and on with the present moment. Some things, at least, were still predictable about his Master.

"After that, we're overdue for a bit of sparring in the training arena," Qui-Gon thought aloud, leaving the lift and taking off down the corridor at a record rate. Obi-Wan all but ran to catch up. "We both need a decent workout, and I'd like to poke a bit at your techniques, not to mention begin testing you against my own. Xan will come tonight to begin assessing our bond and our abilities as a team. There's little we can do to prepare for that except meditate and balance within the bond, if it's stabilized yet. We'll see about that a bit later."

Dropping back the familiar two steps behind Qui-Gon's left shoulder, Obi-Wan grinned and listened to that beloved voice. Temple life continued around them, with a few of the Padawans skirting out of the Master's way and casting curious looks Obi-Wan's direction. He'd meet his peers and offer explanations later; for now, he was contented to be in his Master's company.

Reaching for the bond as Qui-Gon continued thinking aloud, Obi-Wan sank into it happily. Qui-Gon yielded automatically to the slight pressure of Obi-Wan's mind against his, embraced his Padawan mentally before reaching back and pulling him up beside him.

"Here now, none of that while we're home, Obi-Wan," growled, and even the growling was nice. "Walk up here with me."

/Always,/ thought Obi-Wan, unable to suppress a shiver of pure joy when Qui-Gon slid a hand across the back of his neck and tucked him securely beneath his arm.

/There's no way out of this,/ Obi-Wan realized as the Master tightened his grip possessively. /No way out, and he said that I'm doomed. Chosen and claimed and stuck with him. There's no going back now./

Obi-Wan grinned, and Qui-Gon's long hair brushed his cheek. Boldly, if hesitantly, Obi-Wan dared to slide his arm around Qui-Gon's waist as they traveled, the better to be rumbled by his voice as they continued on their way toward Santros' domain. Sighing, he matched his stride to his Master's and was happy that it should be so.

END OF PART I