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Second Chances

by The Rose (rosarocaminis@yahoo.com)

"Speak with you, I must, Qui-Gon."

Qui-Gon Jinn turned and gazed down at the diminutive Jedi Master behind him. He inclined his head in agreement. "Anytime, my Master."

"Come, then." Yoda led him to a nearby garden and hopped up on a low brick wall, motioning for the tall man to sit near him. "Asked the Council to be separated from his padawan, has Master Tr'leen."

Qui-Gon's blue eyes widened. He knew Tr'leen, though not well. He had been Yoda's padawan learner just before Qui-Gon, and he had taken Obi-Wan Kenobi as his apprentice just the day before the boy's thirteenth birthday, after Qui-Gon had repeatedly turned down Yoda's request that he take the boy himself. The tall Jedi kept his face carefully set, revealing nothing. "That's unfortunate. But why are you telling me this?" he asked, then he yelped as Yoda's gimer stick impacted sharply with his ankle.

"Know you that the boy should have been your apprentice!" Yoda told him. "Now, time to rectify that it is."

Qui-Gon stood. "I'm not ready to take on another padawan."

"Ready you are!" Yoda said, banging his stick against the stones in emphasis. "Wait longer for you the boy cannot!"

"Master, I can't ---"

"Take him, you will, Padawan!" Yoda said in that voice that threatened dire consequences if it were ignored. "Need you, Obi-Wan does, or lost to the Dark Side I fear he will be!"

Qui-Gon sighed and closed his eyes. "And if I take him, he may be lost anyway."

Yoda's stick struck him again, across the shin this time. "Not your fault was Xanatos! Know this in your heart, you do! Know this everyone does!"

Qui-Gon shook his head, rubbing his painful shin. "I can't, Master Yoda. Please . . ."

"Grieving you still are. Hard to lose a padawan it is. But to lose Obi-Wan, unthinkable it is! Much pain there is in the boy. Much sorrow. You it is that he needs. Him, you need, to heal."

"I think I'm past healing," the tall Jedi said, his eyes dropping to the floor. If truth be told, he wanted Obi-Wan as his padawan. Had, for a few years now, as he had watched and admired the boy from the sidelines. But the loss of Xanatos to the Dark Side was still a raw, open wound, even after all this time. The thought of filling that emptiness with another young soul in need of guidance . . . He shook his head. "Please, Yoda. Don't ask me for what I can't give."

Yoda's ears wilted until they were nearly flat on his head, and he let his breath out in a long sigh. "Very well," he said finally. "Force you to take him I will not. But know this. Without a strong influence in his life, an influence such as yours, lost I fear he will be. Face that, can you?" He hopped to the ground and turned to look up at the blue eyes that refused to meet his own. "Consider that, will you? The separation ceremony is set for the tenth hour tomorrow. Come, if changed your mind you have." And then he left, and Qui-Gon was alone.

"Master Tr'leen," Mace Windu said the following morning when the elderly Master and his fourteen-year-old padawan stood before the assembled Council members. "Do you wish to sever your teaching bond with your padawan, Obi-Wan Kenobi?"

"I do."

"Please state your reasons."

"I am too old for this," Tr'leen said, not glancing down at the boy who stood beside him. Obi-Wan was staring at the toes of his boots, his shoulders slightly hunched, his hands clasped together in front of him. "When I took the boy as padawan last year, it was mainly to keep from losing a talented youth to the Agri-Corps. I didn't fully realize then how taxing his training would be."

Yoda chewed thoughtfully on the tip of his gimer stick, watching the door. Qui-Gon had not come to the ceremony as he had hoped he would. He gave his head a small shake. Too stubborn, his former padawan was. He turned his eyes to the boy Obi-Wan Kenobi. Much alike, these two. Both headstrong, both rebellious. A fine team they would have made. Now, there was only one hope. Another Master sat waiting in the back. Having lost her own padawan to illness a few months before, she had expressed her willingness to take on young Kenobi could no other Master be found. It was far from a perfect match --- Master Sennigal did not have the temperament to deal with a difficult student --- but it would have to do.

Mace's raised voice brought his attention back to the meeting. "Padawan Kenobi, do you agree to this separation?"

Obi-Wan raised his head, his listless gray-green eyes flicking dully from one Council member to the other before they finally settled on Mace. He shuffled his feet, and nodded. "Yes," he said in a voice that was barely audible.

The harsh hand of his soon-to-be former Master slapped the boy across the chest with a resounding thud. With a startled yelp and a quick glance upward into the disapproving face, Obi-Wan mumbled, only slightly louder, "Yes, Master Windu."

Mace frowned at the violence. "Very well. Kneel, both of you." As they obeyed, he stepped up to stand in front of them, one hand on each of their heads. He closed his eyes and reached for their training bond.

And, across the room, the door to the Council chambers opened.

Qui-Gon paused in the doorway, watching the proceedings. Then his eyes were drawn to Yoda as the diminutive Master's ears rose hopefully. Qui-Gon easily read the unspoken question on the face of his former Master. Setting his mouth into a thin line, hoping he wasn't making a terrible mistake, he nodded briefly.

"It is done," Mace said solemnly as he took a step back. "Master Tr'leen, you are freed from your vows to this child. Padawan Kenobi, you are to be placed with another Master." He looked up at Master Sennigal, only to see her waved back to her seat by Yoda. Then, he met Qui-Gon's eyes. The faintest hint of a smile crossed his dark-skinned face. "Master Jinn, step forward please to claim your new padawan."

A numbing sort of shock ripped through Obi-Wan. But he did not bother to look up as his former Master moved away and his new one, a man who he knew had rejected him at least twice before, came to stand beside him. A strong hand, much bigger than his own, drew him to his feet then slipped into the small of his back in a silent show of support.

"I ask the Council for permission to take Obi-Wan Kenobi as my padawan learner," Qui-Gon said formally.

"Do you agree to this placement, Padawan?" Mace asked.

Obi-Wan gave a slight shrug of his shoulders, stubbornly not looking at either of the men. "I guess," he said. At the slight tightening of the hand behind his back, he heaved a sigh and straightened himself only slightly. "Yes, Master Windu," he said in what was obviously disinterest.

Mace stared at him for a moment, then raised his eyes to meet Qui-Gon's. Are you sure this is what you want? that look asked silently.

Qui-Gon nodded in response. "Very well," the Councilman continued. "It is done." And he took a single step back.

"Are your things already packed, Padawan?" Qui-Gon asked the boy standing sullenly beside him, receiving only another nod in reply. "Very well, then. Come along." And he left the Council chambers with the boy trailing along a few steps behind him.

The other Council members, muttering among themselves, began to disperse, and Mace made his way to stand beside Yoda. "Are you sure this is such a good idea?" he asked.

"Good for each other, they will be. Meant to be together, they are. I have seen it."

Mace sighed and wiped one hand wearily over his face. "I hope you're right. Because Qui-Gon doesn't need another failure."

As soon as Qui-Gon had sent his new padawan along to retrieve his things from his old room, he looked up to see Master Tr'leen approaching.

"This must be difficult for you," Qui-Gon began. "Breaking a training bond is never easy."

"In this case it was no great hardship," Tr'leen said, his voice rough and chalky. "The boy and I never connected at all. But, now that my work is over, yours is just beginning. I have some advice, if you'd care to hear it."

"I would, thank you."

"Don't coddle him," Tr'leen said, his age creased face going hard. "He needs you to be strict with him. Give him an inch, and he'll take a light-year. I'm almost tempted to tell you to beat him daily just on principle --- he will probably give you cause to do so anyway."

"You've had to physically beat the boy?" Qui-Gon said, shocked.

The older Master laughed harshly. "I've had him over my knee so many times that he just automatically falls there whenever he sees me frown."

"Is he that disobedient?"

"Disobedient, willful, defiant, sullen --- I have an excellent paddle, if you'd like it. Sturdy but light, lots of sting . . ."

Qui-Gon felt his heart constrict in his chest. "Thank you, but no."

"Suit yourself. But I hope you know what you're getting into, Qui-Gon. I know Yoda probably twisted your arm and threatened you with much more to make you take the boy, but personally, I think we'd all be better off if he was thrown out of the temple on his ear. Oh, mind you, the boy has a good grasp of the Force. He wields it like a weapon. This one's going to turn, you just mark my words. I hate to see that happen to you, Qui-Gon, after what happened with Xanatos, and all."

"Is there nothing you like about him?" Qui-Gon asked, amazed that after over a year with Obi-Wan this man could seemingly have no feelings for the boy. His own impressions about the boy made such a thing seem unlikely in the extreme.

"Well, like I say, the boy's good at manipulating the Force. And he's a great fighter! Flashy, stylish, really fast on his feet! I'll bet there's not another padawan even close to his age that can hold a candle to him."

Qui-Gon noticed with dismay that the other Master had not called Obi-Wan by name a single time. "But Yoda feels that Obi-Wan has great potential."

Tr'leen shrugged. "Yeah, I know. But I've been with the boy for over a year and it beats me what the crazy old troll sees in him. But, I'm sure Yoda is happy now. You always were his favorite, you know. Doesn't seem right for him to do this to you. Oh, well. Best of luck to you, Qui-Gon. You're gonna need it."

"That's your room, Padawan," Qui-Gon said as they entered his suite, pointing toward the smaller of the two bedrooms, a room that had been empty since Xanatos. "As soon as you've unpacked, I'll have some supper on the table. You have your choice of chores. You may either set the table, or wash the dishes afterward. Which do you prefer?"

Obi-Wan shrugged, gazing at the rug.

Qui-Gon stepped in front of him and lifted the boy's chin, meeting the insolent green eyes. "You might as well learn the rules right now, Obi-Wan. First, I demand that you look at me when I am speaking to you. Second, you must treat me with respect and obey me in all things while completing those tasks that I assign you. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, Master," the padawan mumbled.

"Good. Now, set or wash?"

"Wash, I guess." At the hardening of Qui-Gon's look, he added, somewhat reluctantly. "Master."

"Good. Go along to your room now and meet me in the kitchen when you are done."

Dinner was a somber affair. Obi-Wan didn't speak unless questioned, and then his reply was only a "yes, Master," or "no, Master," always spoken with downcast eyes and in a disinterested voice. Qui-Gon tried to ignore it, for now. After all, the boy had just been ripped away from the only father figure he'd ever known, however poor their bond had been. He was bound to be hurting. He reached out through the Force for the boy's mind, only to find it firmly shielded against him. Well, he told himself, time enough for that later.

But the next few days didn't go any better. Obi-Wan was obedient enough, outwardly. But he was always a second or two too long in responding, making it clear that he was obeying only because he knew he would be forced to, not because of any genuine desire to be respectful. His face and his attitude remained just on the verge of outright insolence. He never initiated a conversation, never offered an opinion, never smiled. And still his mind was totally closed against his new Master. Finally, one week into the apprenticeship, a distraught Qui-Gon sought out the advice of his former Master.

"Difficult, the boy is being?"

"Yes, Master. I can't seem to connect with him."

"Know you much of his relationship to his former Master, do you?" Yoda inquired as he handed Qui-Gon a cup of his favorite tea.

"Only what Master Tr'leen told me. He said the boy was all but uncontrollable, and required regular physical punishment."

"Struck the boy yourself, have you?"

Qui-Gon nearly choked on his sip of hot tea. "No, Master! I've never raised a hand to him! Nor do I intend to."

Yoda nodded, stirring his own tea with a spiced stick. "Good this is to hear. Much abuse I fear young Obi-Wan has suffered. Damaged, his spirit may be."

Qui-Gon fairly bristled. "Forgive me, Master, but if you knew Tr'leen was beating the boy . . ."

Yoda waved his anger off. "Never one to interfere with a Master and his padawan am I. Did his best, Tr'leen did. Needed, perhaps, some of it was. But now, reclaimed Obi-Wan must be."

Qui-Gon shook his head and sat his tea aside, barely touched. "I'm not certain I know how."

"Praised for small accomplishments, he must be. And shown love. More positive than negative feedback he needs now, I think."

"What small accomplishments?" Qui-Gon scoffed. "He never does anything unless I order him to. And then he does the least possible to satisfy me."

"Look deeper, you must. Find good behaviors, however slight and unintentional they might be. Test you, he soon will, I think, hmmm?"

Qui-Gon sighed. "Sith, I hope not. I'm barely dealing with him now."

Yoda nodded, then got to his feet in what was clearly a dismissive gesture. "Fine you will be, though time it will take. No missions for you until you and the boy have bonded."

"That's probably a good idea," Qui-Gon said as he got up. "At this point, he'd probably run off on some well-populated planet and I'd never find him again."

"Believe in him," Yoda instructed, tapping his gimer stick on the floor for emphasis. "Fail you, he will not."

But what if I fail him? Qui-Gon wondered, but he did not voice it. From the look in Yoda's face, however, he believed his former Master heard it. He bowed out the door and returned to his room.

The next morning, Obi-Wan's moody face greeted him over the breakfast table.

"Good morning, Padawan. I trust you slept well?"

Obi-Wan grunted noncommittally, not looking up from his oatmeal.

"Did you finish that Astrophysics assignment I gave you yesterday?"

"No."

Qui-Gon stared at the boy who had still not made any attempt at eye contact. "Why not?"

"It's too hard. I can't do it."

"Of course you can," his Master assured him in what he hoped was an encouraging voice. "You merely need to apply yourself. After breakfast we will sit down and go over whatever problems you are having."

"I'm having problems with the whole thing!" Obi-Wan exploded, sending his cereal bowl sailing off the table to land with a wet sort of splat against the base of the counter. "I don't know why I have to do it, anyway! You know as well as I do that I'll never become a Knight! So what's the point?"

Qui-Gon sat very still, counting to ten, and then to fifty, as he tried to rein in his temper. "First of all," he said when he felt he had himself enough under control that he wasn't going to grab the child by the back of the neck and make him clean the floor with his tongue, "you will make an excellent Knight ---" Or so Yoda tells me, at least. "--- and secondly, throwing your breakfast across the room is not an acceptable form of protest."

Obi-Wan shoved his chair back from the table with a grating sound and lurched to his feet, his face red with anger. "What the Sith difference does it make?!" he shouted. "You hate me as much as Tr'leen did! Why don't you just admit it?!"

Qui-Gon folded his hands on the tabletop, forcing himself to breathe deeply. Control, Qui-Gon, he reminded himself. He's only acting up to gain your attention. "I know you and Master Tr'leen didn't get along, but it has nothing to do with you and me ---"

"I'm worthless! Tr'leen knew it and you know it! So why don't you just give up now and send me away like he did?!"

Qui-Gon jumped to his feet, seeing the sudden move startle the boy, who flinched back as if expecting a blow. But the tall Jedi merely leaned over the table and pegged Obi-Wan with the full intensity of his gaze. "You are going to clean up this kitchen, padawan, from top to bottom, and I do mean every inch of it. If this task if completed to my satisfaction, then I shall book us a training room for saber practice this afternoon. If it does not satisfy me, you will do it again, as many times as it takes, until it does suit me. Do I make myself clear?"

Obi-Wan gulped from the steel in that voice and he lowered his eyes, fidgeting. "Yeah."

"Unacceptable answer."

"Yes, Master," Obi-Wan grumbled petulantly.

"And pouting will get you nothing but more chores," Qui-Gon told him. The green eyes met his defiantly, and for a moment he considered what he would do if the boy refused to obey him. But eventually Obi-Wan backed down, though he grumbled something under his breath as he turned to take his glass and eating utensils to the sink. "I didn't quite hear that, padawan."

"Nothin'," came the mumbled answer.

"Repeat it," Qui-Gon said, his words sounding like three brief thunderclaps.

Obi-Wan shot him a sullen look over one shoulder. "I said I'm still hungry."

"Then you shouldn't have thrown your breakfast on the floor, should you?"

The green eyes grew round with disbelief. "So I can't have anything else to eat? That's not fair!"

Qui-Gon lifted his eyebrows. "It's perfectly fair. If we go to the training room this afternoon, we shall go by the cafeteria first and feed you. Until then, suffer." And he turned away from the startled boy with a private little grin. Gotcha! he thought.

It was a little over an hour later when Obi-Wan finally emerged from the kitchen, and Qui-Gon had to suppress another grin. The boy's pants were stained at knees and seat with dried oatmeal, and his face was smudged with something that Qui-Gon couldn't quite identify. But he carefully schooled his face to not show his amusement. "All finished?" he asked.

Obi-Wan nodded glumly. Then, when Qui-Gon glared at him through narrowed blue eyes, the boy sighed theatrically and mumbled, "Yes, Master," almost under his breath.

"Fine," Qui-Gon said, getting to his feet. "Then lets go see how you did, shall we?"

The boy frowned but nodded again. Then Qui-Gon noticed him rubbing absently at an angry red spot on the back of his hand.

"Padawan, what did you do to your hand?"

"It's nothing."

"It doesn't look like nothing," Qui-Gon told him. He reached to catch the boy by the wrist, drawing his right hand over to examine it. "What did you burn yourself on, Obi-Wan?"

"I didn't realize the hot plate was still on under your tea kettle," he said, the corners of his mouth still turned down as if he expected to be chastised for his carelessness.

But it was himself that Qui-Gon was upset with. "That was my fault, padawan. I forgot to turn it off," he said, not mentioning that if Obi-Wan hadn't thrown his breakfast all over the kitchen that he probably would have remembered the hot plate. "Sit and let me heal this."

"It's okay," the boy said, trying to pull free of his Master's grip, but Qui-Gon held on, holding Obi-Wan's gaze as well as his wrist. After a moment, the boy sank somewhat reluctantly to his knees in front of the Jedi's chair and sat back on his heals.

Qui-Gon concentrated on the crescent shaped burn, reaching out with the Force. After a few minutes, he ran a finger lightly over the new pink skin. "Better?" he asked, noting with satisfaction the brief look of amazement that passed over his padawan's face. It was hidden quickly, however, replaced with a look of indifference.

Obi-Wan shrugged. "Yeah, I guess."

This time, Qui-Gon let the lack of a respectful title pass, getting to his feet instead and pulling Obi-Wan up by the wrist he still held. "Very well, padawan, let's inspect your work." The kitchen floor was spotless, as was the counter. A few items had been left out, but Qui-Gon wasn't certain that the boy knew where they went, so he let that pass as well without comment. The sink, however, was another matter. "I believe the sink and drain still require attention, Obi-Wan," he said in as mild a tone as he could manage. "Other than that, your work is excellent." Watching his padawan closely, he didn't miss the slight easing of tension in the slender shoulders, even though the boy's bored facial expression didn't change. "Please clean the sink again," he said, even though he could tell it had never been cleaned in the first place, "and then bring your Astrophysics assignment into the common room and we shall go over it together."

Obi-Wan's frown deepened, but he nodded. "It won't do any good," he said softly as if to himself.

"That remains to be seen, doesn't it, padawan? Do not underestimate yourself, or my abilities as a tutor. You're not my first padawan to have trouble with astrophysics, you know."

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes but did not reply. Two hours later, however, long after the sink had been scrubbed and polished to his Master's satisfaction, the fourteen-year-old's eyes lit up briefly as one of the problems that had stumped him suddenly made sense.

"See? You can do it," Qui-Gon told him with a smile. Obi-Wan's eyes met his, and for a second or two there was no animosity there, not even a trace of insolence or ill humor. It didn't last, but it gave Qui-Gon some slim hope for the future. The next day, however, the lying started.

"Obi-Wan, have you been playing your vid-games on my datapad again?"

"No, Master," came the reply from the padawan's room.

"Come here, please."

"I'm making my bed, Master," Obi-Wan said somewhat petulantly.

Qui-Gon held his temper. The paper he had been working on for two days had been erased from his datapad. A datapad that the boy had already been told not to touch. "You can finish making it in a moment. For now, come here."

Slowly, dragging his feet and grumbling under his breath, Obi-Wan obeyed. He drew to a halt in front of his Master and looked up at him through his lashes. "What?"

Qui-Gon's eyes narrowed. The boy was definitely treading on thin ice. "Obi-Wan, my report on the political structure of Querrin Five has been deleted. Now, I know I didn't do it, and since you are the only other person who has had access to my datapad . . ."

"I didn't do it, I said!" Obi-Wan shouted. "What's the matter, don't you believe me?"

"No, I don't!"

"Well, I'm innocent! That's what all you Masters do, isn't it? Blame everything on their harmless, well-meaning padawans!"

"Obi-Wan, you are many things. But harmless and well-meaning you are not!" Qui-Gon told him, and was pleased with himself that he didn't yell it. "Now, what do you intend to do about my missing paper?"

"Since I didn't delete it, I don't have to do anything about it, do I?"

Don't kill him, Qui-Gon, the Jedi Master told himself firmly. There are laws against those things. Besides, he's only a child. A lying, deceiving, infuriating child, but a child nonetheless. He made himself take a deep breath. "Very well, padawan. Until you are willing to admit your mistake --- and mistake I most certainly hope it was --- you are restricted to your room. You will leave it only for necessary trips to the facilities or for meals."

"That's not fair!" the boy shouted, taking a daring step closer until he was looking right up into his Master's face. "I didn't erase your stupid report!"

Qui-Gon held onto his temper. "Furthermore, you will prepare a five-page composition on the importance of respecting other people's possessions. I will expect it by noon meal tomorrow."

"Oh, man . . ." the boy grumbled.

"And, while you are in your room there will be no recreational reading or playing with your vid-games. Until it is time for bed, you are to meditate or you are to study. Do you understand me?"

"Yeah."

"Padawan!"

Obi-Wan heaved out a terribly put-upon sigh. "Yes, Master, I understand." He turned to go back to his room. "It's still not fair," he muttered as he left. Once he was gone, Qui-Gon sank into his favorite chair and buried his face in his hands.

One or both of us may not survive this boy's apprenticeship, he moaned to himself.

"Qui-Gon!" Mace Windu said the next day as he slapped his old friend on the back in the cafeteria. "So, how is your new padawan behaving? Have you strangled him, yet?"

Qui-Gon looked at the dark-skinned man narrowly. "No, I have managed to restrain myself so far," he said. "But it's been a very near thing."

Mace sat down beside him, noticing that Qui-Gon was barely picking at his food. "So, where is the little son-of-a-Sith?"

"Grounded," Qui-Gon said. "Of course, the only problem with grounding a difficult child is that it keeps him underfoot all day, which of course makes him even more difficult." He shook his head and ran one hand wearily over his eyes. "What have I gotten myself into, Mace?"

Master Windu chuckled annoyingly. "Nothing you don't deserve, my friend." At Qui-Gon's sharp look, he continued. "If you had taken that boy as a padawan when Yoda first asked you to, maybe the child's self-esteem wouldn't have suffered so, and he probably would be a normal, well-adjusted, moody adolescent by now."

Qui-Gon's eyebrows shot up. "What, you think this insolent, rebellious attitude of his is my fault?!"

"If the lightsaber fits, Qui . . ."

Whatever outraged reply Qui-Gon was formulating was interrupted by a third voice. "Problems with your padawan are you having, hmmm?"

Qui-Gon sighed with exaggerated patience. "Why, no, Master Yoda. Obi-Wan is a wonderful boy. He's bright, maddeningly inventive, demonstrates very interesting and complicated mood swings, and displays a most endearing lack of respect for my authority. Why would I possibly be having any problems with that?" Go ahead --- chuckle, you little green troll! The shoe will be on the other foot when I dump this problem child in your lap!

"Told you, I did, that it would be difficult. But break through to the real Obi-Wan you will, I think. Only time you need."

"Time, and a set of handcuffs," Qui-Gon growled.

Yoda chuckled again, and Qui-Gon seriously contemplated dumping his bowl of turken soup right on top of that little green head. Luckily, perhaps foreseeing such an action, Yoda moved on to get his own lunch. Mace slapped Qui-Gon on the back again.

"Well, my friend, don't give up yet," he said with a grin that Qui-Gon wanted to shove down his throat. "You know what they say --- it's always darkest right before the dawn." And he followed Yoda, leaving a steaming Qui-Gon alone with his cooling bowl of soup.

For the next few days, Qui-Gon tried his best to live up to his friends' expectations. Some of his ideas actually seemed to work. Obi-Wan adored saber practice, even though he tried very hard to keep from showing it, so Qui-Gon used it as a reward for good behavior. Bribe, he told himself. Call it what it is. And it was during saber practice, and only then, that he saw glimpses of the boy he had admired in years past; spirited, freethinking, deeply embroiled in the Force. Sometimes at home, when he would find some little thing to praise the boy on --- the square corner folds on his freshly made bed, the perfect seasoning in the tea he had the boy brew every morning --- he would see a glimmer of hope light those changeable green eyes. At times like those, he would think he was making progress.

And then there were the other times. Fortunately, after keeping the boy grounded to his room for two full days, the lying hadn't been as much of a problem. But Obi-Wan's insolent attitude, his sulking and grumbling, and the little things he did that Qui-Gon knew were aimed solely at making his Master crazy, were sometimes more that the Jedi thought he could bear. But it all came to a head one evening. As a reward (Bribe, Qui-Gon, bribe!) for having learned an especially difficult kata, he had granted the padawan permission for an evening out with his age-mates.

"Where will you be?" Qui-Gon asked as Obi-Wan headed for the door, his robe slung carelessly across one shoulder.

"Out."

"Insufficient answer. Out where?"

"Out with my friends, Master!" the boy fairly snarled, neither slowing down nor looking back.

"Obi-Wan!" the Jedi Master snapped, and the tone was enough to make Obi-Wan freeze in his tracks, although he still didn't turn. "I require you to look at me when I speak to you."

Slowly, oh, so slowly, the apprentice turned, head tipped forward, eyes on the floor, mouth set into a deep frown of annoyance. Without raising his head, he rolled his eyes up to meet Qui-Gon's, his attitude one of unrepentant insolence.

Remember that he's just a boy, Qui-Gon. Don't kill him yet! But he couldn't prevent himself from glaring at him. "Now, Padawan, you will tell me where, exactly, you will be in case I should need to find you."

"I don't know where I'll be! Is it going to be an interrogation every time I want to go out with friends? Sith, Qui-Gon, you're treating me like a child!"

"Then stop behaving like one! And you will address me as Master!"

"Fine," he sneered. "Master!" And he spun away toward the door, flinging his robe off his shoulder and clearing half of Qui-Gon's desk with it as he passed. He kept going as things clattered to the floor. Qui-Gon reached him in two long strides, his fingers digging into the boy's shoulder and turning him around.

"We are not finished here, Padawan!"

"Yes we are, old man!" the boy growled.

Qui-Gon acted instinctively, without thought. He backhanded the fourteen-year-old across the face. With a gasp that was as much surprise as it was pain, Obi-Wan spun around and crashed face first against the wall. Horrified that he had actually struck the boy after he had promised himself he wouldn't, Qui-Gon did the only thing he could think of --- he slid his arms around his padawan and pulled him back against his chest tightly.

"Obi-Wan, I'm sorry . . ."

"Let go of me!" the apprentice said, struggling to break free, trying frantically to free his arms which were trapped under Qui-Gon's.

But Qui-Gon merely tightened his grip, holding him easily. "I reacted poorly. I shouldn't have struck you."

"I knew you would, sooner or later! You Masters are all alike!" He was struggling even harder now, and Qui-Gon reached out for the boy's mind, trying to soothe him, but it was still tightly shielded against him. What he did feel, however, was rage. It radiated off the boy in waves, and Qui-Gon quickly erected a shield of his own around the two of them so that Obi-Wan wouldn't broadcast his feelings to the entire temple. "Let go of me, damn it!"

Qui-Gon clutched him to his chest, his arms locked firmly across Obi-Wan's stomach, still pinning both his arms. The boy was trembling, shaking, and the Jedi Master realized with a start that there were tears streaming from his eyes. "I'm so sorry, padawan," he said again.

"Don't call me that!" Obi-Wan screamed, doubling his efforts at getting away. "You never wanted me! No one ever wanted me! So don't pretend that you care!" And as quickly as that, his shields failed completely.

Qui-Gon closed his eyes as the intensity of Obi-Wan's emotions stabbed into him. Rage, of course, but behind it an all-consuming sorrow, the likes of which the Jedi had never met in any living being. It staggered him. He laid his cheek on the top of the still struggling boy's head. "Shhh, Obi-Wan," he tried to soothe, not knowing if Obi-Wan could even hear him. For he was sobbing openly now, his struggles weakening as he leaned more and more heavily into his Master's grip. Finally, Qui-Gon was able to turn the boy in his hold and look down into his face.

It was wet with tears, the gray-green eyes full of pain. Freeing one hand, Qui-Gon tipped the boy's chin up. "You're wrong, padawan," he said gently, looking into eyes that still wouldn't meet his own. "I do want you. I've wanted you for a long time, but I couldn't let myself accept you."

Slowly, the gray-green gaze rose. Obi-Wan sniffled. "Why would you want me?" he asked in a small voice.

Qui-Gon smiled and reached to stroke the spiky hair. "I suppose I saw something of myself in you. Independent, willful, maybe even a bit defiant. But, except for Master Yoda, you have more talent in the Force than anyone I've ever met. Don't you know that?"

"Boy have you got your circuits scrambled," Obi-Wan said, but he said it in a soft, rather amazed voice.

Qui-Gon chuckled, still stroking the boy's hair, a gesture of affection that seemed to be calming Obi-Wan more than his words. "You are so much more than you realize, padawan. Maybe more than anyone realizes."

Puzzlement and new pain flashed in Obi-Wan's eyes. "Then why didn't you take me as your padawan?" he asked, more tears falling though he tried to blink them away. "Why did you let Tr'leen take me instead?" He pushed back, trying to escape Qui-Gon's arms. He shook his head. "No, I don't believe you. This is just some new ploy to try to get me in line. I know that Yoda forced you into taking me ---"

Qui-Gon drew him into a hug, holding the boy tightly to his chest. He lightly kissed the spiky hair. "No, Obi-Wan, it's the truth. I couldn't take you last year because of --- well, because of personal problems. And, yes, Yoda did talk to me about taking you when Tr'leen released you. I still didn't feel like I was ready, but that's about me, not you. I'm stubborn enough that I wouldn't have taken you as apprentice if I hadn't wanted you." He could feel the boy trying to believe, could feel his need to believe. "I think it's time you and I had a long talk." He pressed his lips into the spiky hair again, feeling Obi-Wan sag into his hold.

This can't really be true, can it? Obi-Wan asked himself. He had finally stopped struggling --- it was doing no good anyway. He pressed himself tighter against the strong chest, listening to the heartbeat. It was a reassuring sound in its own way; steady, strong, reliable. He'd never felt those things with anyone else before. But how can I believe it now? Then there was no more time for speculating, as Qui-Gon's arms loosened their grip and he felt himself being guided to the sofa. He sank down onto it gratefully, startlingly aware of a sudden weakness in his knees, and was surprised again as his new Master sat down beside him, draping one arm across his shoulders and pulling him in close.

"Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon began, his voice sounding somehow strained and altogether softer than he had ever heard it. "Did you ever hear about what happened with my last padawan?"

Obi-Wan sniffled back the last of his tears. "Yes, Master," he answered, using the title more easily now yet without knowing why. "They say he died. That he was lost during a battle." A long sigh from Qui-Gon ruffled the hair behind the boy's left ear, sending a tingling shiver down his spine.

"That's not entirely true," the Jedi said. "Xanatos didn't die. He turned."

Obi-Wan frowned. Surely he doesn't mean . . .? He twisted around in the man's grip and looked up into his face. "Turned?" he asked, feeling something cold growing in his stomach. "You mean, to the Dark Side?"

Silently, Qui-Gon nodded. "Yes." He pulled Obi-Wan close to him again, letting his chin rest on top of the boy's head, not wanting him to see the depths of the sorrow he was sure his eyes were showing. "I never suspected it, but Yoda did. Before he would let Xanatos take his Trials, he sent us on one final mission, back to Xanatos' home world."

"He betrayed you," the boy breathed, feeling the pressure of that thought crushing his chest, making it hard to breathe. Why should this bother me so much? he wondered. I don't even like this man. He snuggled a little closer to the warmth pressed against him. Or do I? "That's why you didn't want to take on another padawan? Because you were afraid it would happen again?" He felt Qui-Gon nod again, heard the shudder in his in-drawn breath. He pushed himself away again, swiveling on the sofa until they were face to face. "I won't turn," he told his Master firmly. To his relief, Qui-Gon smiled.

"I know you won't. I know that now --- but, then . . ." He shook his head.

"You were afraid," Obi-Wan repeated, wondering if it could be true.

Qui-Gon made a startled little sound in the back of his throat. "Why does that surprise you so?"

"Because, you ---" He made a sweeping gesture toward the Jedi. "--- well, you're a Jedi Master! Probably the most powerful one of all! I didn't think you'd be afraid of anything!"

"Only the foolish are never afraid, my padawan," Qui-Gon said, and Obi-Wan felt his heart warming at the endearment. "So you see why I didn't accept you earlier. It was never because of you. I let my fear rule me, and look what it cost you in return." He pulled Obi-Wan in for another hug, and this time the boy slipped his arms around the larger frame and hugged him back. "Can you ever forgive me?"

"Maybe," Obi-Wan said, a touch of his natural mischievousness creeping back in. "On one condition?" He hadn't realized his shields were still lowered until he felt the Jedi's surprise and gentle amusement flood his mind.

"Oh?" Qui-Gon said, not easing the hug. "And what would that be?"

"That you make some of your world-famous pasta for supper. I'm starving!"

Qui-Gon laughed, a wonderful deep sound that rumbled through his chest and into Obi-Wan's. The boy closed his eyes and enjoyed it. "Yes, I think that's definitely do-able," the Master said. Slowly, he untangled them, setting the boy back at arm's length to look him in the eye. "What do you say, padawan? Can we start over?"

Obi-Wan resisted the urge to smile. "Clean slate?" he asked.

Qui-Gon looked down into the sparkling green eyes and lifted an eyebrow. "Is this an attempt to avoid punishment for calling me an old man?"

Now Obi-Wan did grin. "Absolutely. Is it a deal?"

Qui-Gon laughed again, then reached to tug none too gently on the padawan braid that hung behind Obi-Wan's right ear. "It's a deal. Provided you help me with dinner?"

As much to his own amazement as his Master's, Obi-Wan nodded enthusiastically. "I think that can be arranged."

And the next day, it was a much different padawan/Master team that presented itself before Yoda. And all the little green Jedi could do was grin in approval.

The End