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Rating: PG

Archive: M-A, or Master Jacynthe's

Series: Suspension of Disbelief (Cinders and Padawans, Sleeping Master)

Categories: Q/O, angst

Feedback: Yes, please.

Summary: Obi-Wan suffers amnesia. Yoda complicates matters. I suck at writing these summary lines.

Spoilers/Warnings: One line from an EP2 banner poster, couched in other thoughts. If you've seen the poster, it's not a spoiler. If you haven't, you probably won't know it.

**This is an active series with a temporary conclusion to this episode.** It pickes up more or less where Sleeping Master left off. The next one will pick up where this one ends.

Disclaimers: Someday I intend to use my own beloved, beautiful characters to write for fame, fortune and glory. Today is not that day.

Thank you, KaritaWyr, for the Rumpelstiltskin bunny lo those many weeks ago, and Rose and my Padawan Ghostie for betas. Next up, Rapunzel.

Dedication: To JD Greybraid.

/..../ thoughts, *....* emphasis

The hovering gurney bore Obi-Wan, bound down securely, to the trauma ward, flanked by two healers and with Qui-Gon close in tow. They hurried through the halls, almost jogging in their urgency to get him to the ward. Qui-Gon decided the high-pitched whine of the gurney was among the most disturbing noises he thought he'd ever heard, and shortly it was to be compounded by the cold, slightly green scent of bacta and antiseptics.

"Tell me exactly how it happened," Healer Todak was asking, switching on a data recorder. She shot a stare through a padawan walking the hall. He shrank into a doorway immediately, clearing a path.

"I've already explained this," Qui-Gon said, irritation and worry combining in his voice. "He was executing an aerial maneuver and fell from the catwalk."

"Has he been exhibiting any signs of dizziness? Any lack of balance? Headaches, nausea, clumsy fits?"

Qui-Gon's irritation with the healer spiked to anger. "Clumsy... fits?" he asked, incredulous, his voice deathly quiet even as they raced into the ward. "Absolutely not. Obi-Wan suffered none of those things. He would have told me, or I would have felt it through the training bond." Even as he said the words, he felt that the very nature of Obi-Wan's grace and balance made the fall seem that much more incredible.

The healer cast him a meaningful, questioning look; he felt a probe against his consciousness. He dropped his shields automatically. The healer gauged his truthfulness, then punched in notes. "Thank you; we shall admit him immediately. Master Yoda has been contacted, as per your request. You may wait here." The gurney hummed into the treatment room, guided by the other healer. Todak stopped in front of Qui-Gon, blocking his path though she was but a little wisp of a humanoid, almost elfin in her slightness and stature. Qui-Gon looked directly over her head at the sealing door behind her.

"Wait *here*?" Qui-Gon looked around. He had not even registered that they had arrived in the ward common room.

"Yes. Trauma patients of this sort--"

"He is not a 'sort,' he's my padawan, and I'm going in." He made to move past her, but she blocked his path again.

She steeled herself against him, her flint-gray eyes boring into his. Qui-Gon drew himself up and projected his most imposing demeanor, beginning to crowd her.

Healer Todak looked up at him, unimpressed. She spoke slowly and patiently, as though she were talking to a crecheling. "Trauma patients of this sort must be handled very carefully. He is in psychological as well as physical shock from the blunt injury. His head must be protected, his energy conserved, and that's to say nothing of his spine. You would be a distraction if he becomes conscious, and if he does not, you'll only be in the way. You *will* wait here, or I'll have you detained."

He could feel the Force suggestion behind the words clearly, as evidently as though she'd batted him in the head with her datapad. They made no impact on him other than to show him her seriousness. He looked down at her-- she was possibly two thirds his height, if that-- and tightened his jaw. He had no doubt that she would bind him in Force restraints without hesitation.

Narrowing his eyes, he backed down perceptibly for her sake. He was a hair's breadth away from applying his own Force suggestion, but that might have only bought him a little time. The second she pulled out of it, she'd have him locked up.

"You will keep me updated."

She nodded her acquiescence. "At the slightest change, you will know."

Studying her, Qui-Gon held his ground a moment longer, then shifted backward. "All right."

She nodded again and wheeled around, palming the door open and disappearing inside.

Qui-Gon stared after her, nonplussed. Never since he'd become a master had *anyone* denied him access to any part of the ward. He was unsure whether he should be impressed or aggravated.

As it was Obi-Wan in treatment, he chose aggravated. Whirling about, he prepared to begin pacing.

"Step on me, you will not, Qui-Gon," Yoda said, from nearly under his feet. So upset was the tall Jedi that he had not even sensed his old master's presence.

Immediately, Qui-Gon backed up a step and dipped into a bow. "My apologies, Master."

"Ruling your head, your emotions are. Go to your quarters, you will, and calm and clean yourself. Smell like lightsaber practice, you do." Yoda wrinkled his nose.

Qui-Gon widened his eyes and dropped to one knee. "Master, that's my padawan in that room. I'm not going to leave him."

"Leave him you will, Qui-Gon. Understand the nature of his injuries we must before you are allowed to see him." He wrinkled his nose again, then closed his eyes for a moment. "Guilty, you feel. Responsible, hm? Your love he needs, yes. Your support, yes. Your guilt? Need that he does not. Go."

Qui-Gon lowered his head and sighed. "Master, with all due respect, I--"

"*Go.*"

This time, Qui-Gon did not feel the Force suggestion. Though a tiny segment of his rational mind stammered in protest, he raised his eyes, suddenly blank, and said, "I will go now." He stood smoothly and went to his quarters.

He was halfway through his shower by the time his head cleared.

"Increase septophan by point five," Todak said, "and put a slant on the bed-- fifteen degrees." She stood back, making notes, while two other healers bustled around following her orders. "Bacta infusion direct to the fourth vertebrae. Master Yoda?"

Yoda leaned forward on his gimer stick. "Like this, I do not. Find nothing in his mind, can I. Recover... I think he will, but--" He shook his head. "Feel him now, I do not."

"Perhaps his master...?"

"Shield Qui-Gon from him, in fact, we must, hm. Too much to comprehend the training bond will be, when Padawan Kenobi awakens."

The healer grimly made notes. "I might need some help from you, Master, in keeping Master Jinn away from here. He was-- rather adamant."

Yoda snorted. "A problem with Qui-Gon you will not have. Cares too much about that boy, he does, to argue much."

When Qui-Gon returned to the ward, he was quite a bit more chagrined and less stormy than when he had entered it the first time. Todak was expecting him.

"Before you come barreling in here with your intimidation factor and your attitude, you need to be aware of two things."

Taken aback by her instant reproval, Qui-Gon looked at her coolly. He raised his eyebrows. "And those are?"

"First, his brain waves have regulated. He is no longer in a coma, merely sleeping."

Qui-Gon found that odd, but said nothing. He knew all too well that in some cases, there was nothing "mere" about sleep. "Secondly?"

Todak took a breath and braced herself. "You can neither see him nor try to reach for him through the training bond. In fact, I am required to tell you that you *must* shield from him altogether."

Qui-Gon went cold all over. "Why? What's happened to him?" His gaze darted to the door behind which his padawan was resting, as though it would offer the answers.

The healer's demeanor seemed suddenly relaxed, calm-- soothing. It set Qui-Gon's nerves on edge. He had a bad feeling about this.

"Master Jinn," she said softly, "Padawan Kenobi took a terrible fall. Master Yoda was unable to connect with him mentally. We believe that when he wakes, he will exhibit signs of concussion."

"Which signs?"

"Dizziness, headaches, lack of motor skills--"

Qui-Gon's eyes narrowed. "The symptoms you asked me about when he was brought in here."

Todak took another deep breath. "Yes. Possibly, the symptoms might be compounded by amnesia. That's why it's so important for you to remain shielded from him. If he wakes with no memory and someone else inside his head..." She trailed off, shrugging. "We have never tested that, and we don't intend to start with your padawan."

Qui-Gon turned away, rubbing the back of his neck in distraction. "Well I do appreciate *that* at any rate," he muttered. "How long will he be here?"

Todak checked her datapad. "We aren't sure. So far there have been no severe physical injuries displayed in the scans we've done. It is possible he was able to throw enough Force around him to cushion the impact, or shield his head somehow. We won't know until we ask him. And we can't ask him until he's been awake long enough to strengthen."

Qui-Gon looked at the door again. "Well that's it then, isn't it." He sounded half bitter. "Will you comm me when he wakes?"

She nodded, growing irritated with him. "I said I would let you know if anything changed, and I will." Her voice took on a defensive tone. "Get over yourself, Master Jinn. You're not the first master to have an injured padawan, and you're not the first one to think you can change all the rules to suit yourself."

Her tone softened at his pained expression. Todak sighed in what she believed was a great concession. "Believe me, Master Jinn, if I didn't know it to be *utterly* crucial that you stay away, I would let you in there."

He nodded morosely. "I understand. Thank you, Healer."

She patted his forearm. "You should eat."

The very thought turned Qui-Gon's stomach. "Don't push your luck, Healer," he rumbled, not unkindly.

As he walked away, Todak turned back to the room in which the patient slept. A slight change in the rhythm of the monitor and a stretching out of her empathy told her instantly what she needed to know.

"Master Jinn!"

He turned back, tense all over.

"He's awake."

Qui-Gon sat in the waiting room, a place to which he was totally unaccustomed. Currently he was the only one there.

/The only one to let his padawan fall off the third tier of catwalks. The only one brainless enough to allow his padawan to be injured./ He knew it wasn't true-- no aspect of his self-blame was-- and he knew intellectually that he had "allowed" no such thing. Still, he fretted. His stomach was a cold knot. He hadn't even seen Obi-Wan move so close to the edge. How could that have escaped his notice?

But Obi-Wan was awake, now. Qui-Gon was shielded heavily, afraid the slightest emotion, thought, or sense might slip through. The healers had not come out of the room since his padawan had awakened, so he could only assume they were working intently. He told himself over and over that it was a good sign.

Unable to sit still any longer, he stood and began to pace. He wrapped his arms around his torso, hugging himself, mentally reinforcing his shields and trying to bring himself some calm.

/Oh, my Obi-Wan,/ he thought, frightened. /Be well. Please be well./ Qui-Gon knew he would never forgive himself if-- but no, that was the least important thing in the universe. If Obi-Wan were permanently injured, then the crucial thing would be helping Obi-Wan to adjust. Qui-Gon would *not* saddle his padawan with his guilt.

He would not allow himself to think of the worst-case scenario.

Releasing a heavy sigh, he rubbed his forehead and then stroked his hand back over his hair to his tail.

How in all the suns had Obi-Wan been able to *handle* himself while Qui-Gon had slept that two-week sleep? How, indeed, had he finished the negotiations on Lasyc Four? How could he have managed it if he had felt even half as incapacitated as Qui-Gon did?

/Just be well,/ he thought again, redoubling his shields as he found himself inadvertently projecting the thought outward. Oh but it ached, the very *idea* that he might not even be allowed to look in on Obi-Wan during his stay here. With a sick feeling, Qui-Gon wondered how he would handle that.

/Oh, be well./ He repeated it over and over again, listening to it echo against his shields like a litany.

He had no idea how long he'd alternately paced and sat there before Healer Todak walked through the door.

Qui-Gon almost lunged toward her. "What? How is he? Is he all right?"

She held her hands up and closed her eyes, pushing peace at him as she drew in a breath to speak.

"Stop coddling me, Healer! Is he all right?"

Todak shook her head and looked as though she were gripping her datapad tightly in lieu of hurling it at him. "He is awake, he is able to eat, and he has full range of motion of all his limbs, his neck, and his spine."

Qui-Gon sighed heavily, releasing the breath he didn't know he'd been holding. His blood tingled with the return of oxygen as he inhaled again. "Then I can see him." He began to step toward the door.

Moving with infuriating efficiency into his path, Todak said, "He doesn't know who he is."

Qui-Gon blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

"You heard me. Near complete amnesia. I told you it was a possibility."

The master shook his head, staring, pale.

"He doesn't know his name, his identity. He doesn't know he's Jedi. He doesn't know he has a master; he doesn't know where he is. He has no concept of what a padawan is. He knows how to eat, drink, go to the 'fresher, but little else. He can speak, but in non-technical terms. Like a droid wiped back to its initial program. Everything its ever stored on its own is gone from its AI bank, but it can walk, talk, oil itself and tell when it needs to be recharged."

Qui-Gon stepped back and staggered to a seat. "He didn't recognize my name?" His voice had folded in on itself and almost disappeared.

The look in Healer Todak's eyes told him all he needed to know. When she shook her head, it told him more than he wanted. "We haven't told him your name. That he didn't understand the concept of a 'master' was enough to tell us he didn't know you." She paused, watching him carefully. "We don't know that he'll regain anything. Ever."

"How can he not regain anything?" Qui-Gon was dazed, completely shocked. He raised his eyes to Todak's gray ones. "You must let me see him. The training bond--"

"--will do more harm than good at this point," she finished for him. "I'm sorry, Qui-Gon. It's not possible. Not now."

Anger flashed through him and he rose quickly, towering over her. "You're telling me I can't see him-- and I can't even reactivate the bond-- until he regains his memory, which might be *never*? Do you realize I am responsible for that boy? This is *wrong,* Healer Todak, and I won't allow it."

Her expression never changed, but remained soft and sympathetic. There was no point, she realized, in pushing him. "I'm afraid I can't give you any choice, Master Jinn. We will contact you should anything change." She turned away and moved into the room again, unimpeded, much to her own surprise.

He stared after her, unable to register it until she clicked the locking mechanism behind her. Obi-Wan. Wiped clean. Like a droid. He shook his head again.

"No," he said under his breath, and sank back into the chair, frightened.

/A braid. I have a braid./ The young man sat up in bed, the malleable bed frame folded upward to his specifications, cradling him. He played with the tail of hair, wondering what it meant, or if indeed it meant anything. He felt his head. His hair was spiky and short, and he had a short tail in the back. He felt his face, but could not tell what he might look like.

He could glean nothing from his surroundings. The room was brightly lit and the bed was comfortable, but none of it looked familiar. He was bare from head to waist; under the blanket, he was in leggings, comfortable ones. He had a thing inserted in the back of his neck, but it wasn't painful.

The person taking care of him, she'd called herself Todak. Healer Todak. She'd said the thing in his neck was a bacta tube. He didn't know what that was. He'd eaten a bite of a thing called a nutrition bar, and it had been dry and pasty, but as soon as it had touched his lips, he'd realized he was famished. They wouldn't let him eat any more of it though. They said they didn't want to make him sick; it was only to see if he remembered how to eat. Well how could he not remember how to eat? That was silly. When he'd said he needed to relieve himself, they had sent someone with him, checking to see if he remembered how. He'd faltered with the mechanism that sent the water away, but it wasn't as though he hadn't learned after the first time.

Still, it was all very confusing. They said he'd fallen, that part of his brain might be bruised. He wondered why his head didn't hurt then; they'd told him the bacta contained an analgesic dilute, whatever that was, and was keeping the pain down and healing him. Then they'd gone to the other side of the room and murmured to each other.

He wasn't sure how he felt about that, but then he wasn't sure how he felt about anything.

Only just after they'd left him alone, the door shooshed open. A little green man came in, but it wasn't a man. He had ears that were too large. The patient was unafraid but unimpressed. "Who are you?"

"Master Yoda, I am. How feel you?"

The man in the bed blinked his eyes, confused by the odd syntax. "The... tube is cold. I'm hungry."

Yoda nodded and probed into Obi-Wan's mind delicately, unobtrusively. He was met with confusion and blankness and a complete lack of identity or self-awareness.

"See if I can bring you something, I will." Yoda would have turned away then, but something in the boy's eyes stayed him.

"You just did something to me," the young man accused. "Something in my-- in my head." That wasn't quite right, but he didn't know how else to explain it. "What did you do?"

Hope insinuated itself. "Felt it, did you? Good, good. Probed your thoughts, I did. No harm to you is there in that." He turned away and shuffled out the door, locking it behind him with a flick of the Force.

The patient leaned his head back carefully, tilting it off the bacta tube and allowing it to be cupped in the soft, moldable mattress. He wanted a meal. He wanted to be warm. He was beginning to think a name might not be bad, either.

Qui-Gon sat before Yoda in the little Councilor's quarters, listening. Obi-Wan felt the Force. It had to be a good sign.

He wanted so desperately to see his padawan that it was a palpable thing between himself and his old master. Reading this, Yoda admonished him, "Ready for you, he is not." Yoda appraised the younger master a moment, then added, "Ready for him, *you* are not."

Qui-Gon lowered his head. "Master, I cannot relax, I cannot *think.* He must be so confused, and this was my fault. I had him doing katas up there. I--"

The crack of gimer stick against the side of Yoda's chair effectively silenced Qui-Gon.

"Your fault, this is not. His balance he lost, yes, but no one's fault was it: not his, not yours, no one's, hm? Three padawans there were with him, and a master on the lower tier. Cushioned enough was Obi-Wan that he is alive-- feel guilty, do you? Polish boots then, you should, for the padawans and master who used the Force to keep his neck from breaking."

Qui-Gon rested his elbows on his knees and sank his head into his hands. His mind replayed the accident over and over; he could never get away from it, but he had not considered that detail. The sickening thump of Obi-Wan landing on the matting, he realized, should have been accompanied by a sickening crack of bone. The other Jedi training on the catwalks had done what Qui-Gon, in his flash-frozen horror, could not.

He wondered if he would ever be able to look Obi-Wan in the eyes again. Then he thought, /Obi-Wan, my Obi-Wan, you would not even know me if I did./

He closed his eyes and fought the constriction of his throat. "There must be some way for me to see him, Master."

Yoda closed his eyes. "See him, you may not. But send in a holo still we can."

Qui-Gon's head shot up. "A holo? Of me?"

His old master nodded. "Yes, a good idea this is, I think. See you that way he can. Allow you in, the healers will not. But a holo... yes. Do that, we will."

Hope surged in Qui-Gon's heart. Perhaps-- but he would not allow himself to get too far ahead. A holo still would do, for now.

The patient sighed. They'd been in here all day: he knew his name, he knew how old he was, they'd shown him a mirror so that he knew what he looked like. He had two black eyes that were fading rapidly due to all the bacta, and a perpetual headache, in spite of all the bacta. They had said he was looking "much better," though he couldn't make any judgement calls on *that* one way or the other.

He knew he was a Jedi. He knew he liked pallies and didn't like Alderian white rolls, though he didn't know what an Alderian white roll was, and he could have sworn he'd never seen a pallie until a little while ago. They tried everything known to their apparently wispy, intangible religion to get him to remember things on his own.

He wasn't too sure about the concept of having a master, either. They'd called the little green trollish one "Master," and he couldn't entirely understand that.

/Yoda,/ he corrected himself, remembering that Healer Todak had blanched when he'd used the word "little" a while ago. /His name is Yoda. My name is Obi-Wan. I have a master who is my teacher./ Oh yes, he knew all these things now, by rote; these things, and more. But he didn't *feel* them.

They wouldn't, for some reason, tell him the name of his master.

"He owns me, but I don't get to know his name?" he asked, incredulous and irritated.

The healer shook her head. "It isn't like that, Obi-Wan. He doesn't own you, he teaches you. He is your mentor. You live with him, he takes care of you, he trains you in the ways of the Force. The philosophy, the faith, the movement of it."

Obi-Wan put his hand on his forehead and sank back onto the bed. "Why would I need to know all that?"

The healer blinked. "Because you-- you're strong in the Force. You see, it moves within you, and without training, you would soon find it too easy to use the Force with your emotions and not calm direction, as you should."

"What if I don't want to be strong in the Force? Can't you just-- take it out? It seems like my life would be a lot easier without it."

Frowning, Todak wondered if she herself was going to be responsible for the entire reeducation of a senior padawan. "No, we can't take it out, so you'll have to deal with it as you are able. Never mind that. For now, you need to rest. We are still working on a way to try to recover your memories naturally."

Obi-Wan shook his head. "If I have a master, and he's the one who teaches me, shouldn't he be in here now? Shouldn't he be the one telling me all this? Why can't I know his name?"

Todak suppressed a sigh. By all accounts, this one was living up to himself, no question. "It's not that simple," she explained patiently. "There are reasons why he's not in here. But for now..." She pulled the holo still out of her utility pouch and handed it to him. "Here. Does that trigger anything?"

Obi-Wan looked at the holo. It was of an older man with blue eyes and longish brown and gray hair. He shrugged. "No."

He moved to hand the picture back but Todak held up a hand. "Keep it."

Obi-Wan shrugged again and tucked the picture into a fold in the bed linens. "If you say so. Can I have something to eat now?"

Disconcerted, Todak nodded and left the room.

Qui-Gon was fairly hovering in the doorway when she came out. "How is he? Does he remember anything?"

Bothered by that flat look and the uncaring shrug when Obi-Wan had looked at his own master's holo still, Todak met the Jedi's gaze. "No. Nothing."

He sagged. "Not even...?"

"I'm sorry, Master Jinn." Deliberately, Todak brightened her voice. "He's asking to eat-- that's always a good sign." She bustled to get Obi-Wan a tray.

Qui-Gon watched her while she heated it. Nothing. Obi-Wan had no memory of Qui-Gon. Or even of himself. He shook his head. That couldn't be right. "Are you sure? Nothing, really?"

Todak looked over her shoulder at him, but said nothing. She jumped a little when the patient call went off. Moving to the wall where the intercom unit was, she hit the button for Obi-Wan's room. "Yes?"

"This picture," Obi-Wan's voice said, tinny through the speaker. Qui-Gon's heart tightened at the sound of his beloved padawan's voice as well as at the words.

"What is it?" Todak asked, casting a look at Qui-Gon, who had gone tense with anticipation.

"Pallies. They make wine out of pallies, don't they?"

Puzzled, Todak kept her eyes fixed on Qui-Gon; he looked like he was ready to try to bolt for the treatment room door. "Yes, they do. Do you remember something specific about that in relation to the holo?"

There was a pause and a click, and then another click as the intercom was activated. "Pallies and wine... and this man. I don't know."

Qui-Gon felt a burst of joy in his chest. "Our last mission," he whispered hotly, as Todak was still holding down the 'talk' button.

Todak remembered; she'd overseen blood tests, wine samples, midichlorian reactions-- her head had swum with data for three days after that episode. "Do you remember anything more? Any connection?"

There was another pause and a rustle of bed linens. "No."

A small beep alerted Todak to the status of Obi-Wan's meal. She punched the 'talk' button again and said, "It's all right, Obi-Wan. I'll be in with your food in a moment."

She released the button and turned back to Qui-Gon, who was staring at the treatment room door.

"Don't even think about it," she warned, taking up the tray. "This is still my watch; I don't care if he *does* remember pallie wine." She swept out of the common area and into the treatment room, and Qui-Gon heard the door seal behind her.

For the next two days, Obi-Wan Kenobi was researched and inundated with information from his own life. Healers were sent in shifts with his files, sifting through data and periodically probing his mind for a chink in the endless blankness of his memory. They pulled from everything they could find: mission logs written by both master and padawan, carefully edited personal journals, training logs, and creche records long abandoned were reopened in hopes that he would recall something-- anything-- that would give them a way in.

Obi-Wan sat in the ward, still hooked up to a bacta tube though nothing hurt but his head. He was perpetually hungry, though he did nothing but answer the same questions repeatedly and listen. He could remember nothing, though they regaled him with the Adventures of Obi-Wan Kenobi, Padawan Learner to Some Master, whose name they would not tell him for some unknown reason. It meant little to him; the only flash of recollection he'd managed had been the murky, nondescript feeling that somehow pallie wine and the master in the picture went together.

Since then, he'd studied the picture until he could close his eyes and see it. He even imagined the man in motion: walking, half-turned away, bending his head down. Or were those memories? He couldn't tell. By the third day, he was so full of information that he felt as though he should be tested-- as they said he was quite a bit, when he was current in his Academy work. Apparently he was quite proficient in astronavigation, and hated poetry.

He was tired of being in the room, he knew that much. He felt pressured to remember things he wasn't sure he ever could. He had grown angry at one point, lashing out, "You know what, I don't even think I *am* this Obi-Wan Kenobi person. I think you're trying to make me be someone I'm *not.*"

He had later apologized, mostly because he couldn't stand the way Healer Todak glared at him.

"Whoever I was, I had an exciting life," he muttered to himself, and when Healer Todak looked up at him sharply, he said, "I'm getting another headache; I think it's this thing you won't take out of my neck. Can you get me something for the pain? And when do you think I can get out of here?"

Todak met his irritated stare evenly and told him, "At this point, you aren't any more anxious for that answer than I am," before whirling about and leaving the room.

Setting her datapad down at the workstation, she realized that there was very little that she could do for Obi-Wan. After a moment, she commed Master Yoda.

"Obi-Wan-- Force, I'm so glad." Qui-Gon's relief was palpable. "You nearly fell."

Obi-Wan smiled, looking down at the distant floor and the tiers between the mats and the two of them. "You should have been here," he said, still smiling.

Qui-Gon puzzled. "But I am here."

"Not anymore." Obi-Wan took his master's large hand in both of his, gripped it firmly, and then flung him over the edge.

With a jerk and a gasp, Qui-Gon woke. His hand went instinctively to the bed as he panted and struggled for coherency.

Closing his eyes and falling back on the pillow, he released a deep breath. It had been the same dream for three nights. He *should* have been there. He should never have let Obi-Wan practice on the upper tier without him. His pride in his padawan's accelerated advancement had got the better of him, and now Obi-Wan was paying for it.

The dream was beginning to nag at him. It had too much of a *feel* to it, as though he had missed something crucial.

/Of course you miss something crucial: Obi-Wan./

He shook off his sharp melancholy and went to the comm unit.

"Strange, that is," Yoda said, his ears drooping. He held a tiny teacup in his hand, which he alternately stared into and swirled. "Feel you any Force presence within the dream?"

"No. I only know that he's angry at me in it, though he smiles." Qui-Gon looked at Yoda mournfully. "Master, I am so alone without him. I don't know how long I can stay shielded."

Yoda looked at him sharply. "About *you* this is not, Qui-Gon."

Qui-Gon nodded miserably. He was well aware of his own unreasoning possessiveness where his padawan was concerned. The training bond between himself and Obi-Wan was deep, and it bothered Qui-Gon to keep himself from it, to feel that odd silence where the warmth of his padawan's emotions and thoughts had always been. But now... Obi-Wan did not even know his master. In fact, he might not even be the same person with whom Qui-Gon had forged a training bond.

The thought made him hurt all the more.

Master Yoda tapped his teacup with one finger. "Do something for you, I can. Let him come home, I will. For this, three promises there are that you must make me."

Qui-Gon's gaze was intense, his heart pounding. "Yes. Yes, Master."

"Tell him your name, you will not. Test the bond, you will not. And tell him of your relationship, you *certainly* will not. Your name he must remember, must speak out loud, and know it to be yours, before reopened the bond is. Know you and remember his own love for you he must, before learning of yours." Yoda's eyes studied his former padawan carefully.

"He cannot know my name? How will we live together if-- and the bond--?" The younger master was miserable in his confusion. He'd never felt so lost in all his years.

Yoda looked on him with something like tenderness. "Wither, the training bond will, if reopened it is not. Allow that, you must. Bonded to someone who does not know you, you do *not* want to be."

Heart aching, Qui-Gon nodded his agreement.

Obi-Wan looked up as the door slid open, and saw the man whose picture he held.

He was tall-- very tall. He had a sorrowful air about him, but one of expectancy and hope. 'Blue eyes and brown-gray hair' was a woefully inadequate description of the man: his eyes were amazingly blue. His hair was silvering, yes, but it looked soft and well-cared for. The man had a grace to him, an almost animalistic smoothness that was belied by the tension in his body.

"Obi-Wan," the tall man greeted, and the depth of the voice, the faint burr under it, made the young man shiver.

"Yes?"

"They are allowing you to come home." Qui-Gon had rehearsed this reunion all morning; he kept his shields tightly shut and had carefully strained the need out of his voice. He saw something in Obi-Wan's eyes, something warm and inviting, but it wasn't recognition-- at least, not beyond that of having already seen the holo.

Obi-Wan looked tired and pale. The purple splotches under his eyes had faded to yellowish smudges, and would probably be gone by the next day. Still, those faded blue eyes were empty, and it stung Qui-Gon deeply to see that blankness there, that plain, flat lack of identification.

"The only thing," Qui-Gon went on, "is that you must remember who I am on your own. I am going to try to train you, to teach you how to use the Force again." He didn't expound on that; the Council collective had been apprised of Obi-Wan's status and had made it very clear that if he did not regain memory soon-- or at least proficiency in the Force in his current persona-- he would have to leave the Order.

Qui-Gon did not see that as a viable option.

"I'm going to live with you? Even though I don't know you?" Obi-Wan shook his head. "How odd."

The master schooled his features so that they did not betray his pain. "It was either that, Obi-Wan, or you would have had to live with someone else you didn't know."

"True." Obi-Wan shrugged, as though it didn't matter. He hopped up, ready to go. "Well, they finally unhooked me today: what a relief *that* was." He took a step or two and then faltered, frowning. His hand went to his forehead, stroking absently.

Qui-Gon was instantly by his side. "What is it?"

"It's nothing. I get these headaches." He put his hand out, and Qui-Gon caught his arm and steadied him.

Obi-Wan looked up at the man holding his arm. This master had practically flown to him, exuding worry from every pore. Obi-Wan dropped his eyes, flushing under the intent regard. He hoped he would remember something soon, some key. It was unnerving to be looked at that way by a stranger.

Obi-Wan wandered the quarters, touching things, smelling them. He went through his own things, which Qui-Gon had carefully picked through to be certain that any journals or holos with his name on them might not be found accidentally. Obi-Wan was struck by the astonishing neatness of the place, and the sparsity of it. There was less here to look at than there was in the healing ward.

He couldn't really believe he lived here. The clothing looked like it fit, the room had a comfortable appeal to it, but it wasn't as though he suddenly felt at home. He opened a drawer and found a collection of rocks. He picked one up, then another, studying a few of them, wondering what they were to his former self.

"Birthday presents," that rich voice said from the doorway. Obi-Wan jumped a little.

"Are you doing that mind thing that little gree-- Master Yoda did?" The young voice was slightly resentful. They all wanted him to remember so badly, but no one would stay out of his mind. It would probably be more private if he never remembered a thing.

Qui-Gon smiled slightly. "No, I wasn't doing the 'mind thing.' It only stands to reason that's what you're wondering about when you're looking at them all in turn and putting them back."

A little embarrassed, Obi-Wan nodded and turned back to the drawer. "So these are all mine."

"Yes." The master stepped into the room, but slowly, cautiously. His padawan-- and it hurt to even think of this young stranger that way-- was very skittish lately, very nervous. It wouldn't do to give him the full Qui-Gon treatment all at once.

"I gifted you with them: one a year. Sometimes I would find them months before it was time, so I hid them until your naming day came."

This surprised Obi-Wan. So much care taken for a handful of rocks. "And I liked these presents?" Now he really wished he could remember. He wondered what the appeal was. Some of them were quite plain.

Qui-Gon's eyes went distant and sad. "Yes, they always made you happy." The master remembered every one of them, as well as every nuance of expression on Obi-Wan's face, in his changeable eyes, when they were given. Stepping forward again, he offered quietly, "Would you like to hear about them?"

Obi-Wan ducked his head down and rubbed the back of his neck in a gesture that was achingly familiar to Qui-Gon.

"Actually," the young man said, suddenly a little nervous, "if I could take a shower, that would be nice."

Home it might not be, but it was *very* good to get into a shower. All they had in the ward were sonics; here, the tall master had shown him how to operate the water function in their 'fresher. Obi-Wan stood under the spray for a long time, as though it would help wash away the perpetual fog he carried in his brain.

After a while he realized he should be washing, so he soaped his hands and scrubbed his hair. He looked at the long tail and hesitated, thinking that he should wash it, too. He tugged the band out of the bottom and set it aside, beginning to unravel the braid. It made him feel faintly guilty, though he didn't know why.

This master he now lived with cared about him a great deal; that much was evident. Obi-Wan sensed a level of urgency under the caring though, and he wondered at it. He hadn't felt too many of those mind things happening since the day Master Yoda had come in, and he hadn't felt any at all since coming here this morning. Perhaps *this* master had a little more respect for his person than the others had.

He turned off the water and stepped out, wrapping himself in a towel and scrubbing dry. He put a robe on that the master-- *his* master-- had provided for him. Quickly, he finished up: he brushed his teeth, then combed out the long strands of hair.

Qui-Gon sat in the common room, trying to read a datapad but unable to concentrate. Obi-Wan was home, but it was as strange to have him here, this way, as it had been to have him gone. It had been three full days and a partial one since the accident, but it felt like an eternity.

He wished there was something he could do. He wanted so much to tell Obi-Wan everything about how they'd come together, the love they shared, the depth of the training bond. Somehow, though, he knew that would barely be skirting the edges of Yoda's directive, and wasn't sure that it would help matters. Obi-Wan seemed nervous, and as much as Qui-Gon longed to drop the shielding he'd locked so tightly around the bond, he knew that suddenly displaying his enormous need for his padawan would do little to restore the young man's confidence.

Obi-Wan came out of the 'fresher then, looking worlds better, pink and steamed and somewhat more relaxed. Qui-Gon noticed that the braid was undone but combed flat. He looked up into Obi-Wan's eyes, caught between a smile and his own brand of new nervousness.

"I am going to get dressed," Obi-Wan said, his voice neutral-- but then his voice was nothing *but* neutral since he'd regained consciousness. "When I'm done, I was wondering if you would... if you minded putting this back." He indicated the long tail of loose hair.

Qui-Gon felt a rush of hope at the words and squelched it quickly. "Of course. I can teach you how to do it yourself."

Obi-Wan looked away. "Well, I can do it. I figured it out when I unbraided it. It's just-- it seems like something you should do." He looked at Qui-Gon a moment, then ducked out of the room.

Qui-Gon closed his eyes. /Oh, my Obi-Wan,/ he thought recklessly, /there are many things I should be doing that I'm not./

Obi-Wan thought that regardless of what his former self had been like, he hoped that he had been friends with this man. The master sat patiently and braided the strands, all the while talking about the rocks Obi-Wan had brought with him and put on the floor in the middle of his folded legs. As the padawan held up each rock, Qui-Gon explained its significance in that low, rumbling voice, detailing how he'd found it, what the mission had been, and what Obi-Wan's reaction had been.

As the master-- *his* master, he reminded himself again-- braided, Obi-Wan took small opportunities to steal glances at him. The hands were callused but deft. The eyes were intense but gentle. The face was wise but expectant and hopeful. The man was a series of contradictions. Obi-Wan knew he was going to end up doing a lot of wishing: for memories, and other things. He felt a wistful kind of regret when the master pulled back, having secured the braid in place with the band. He had finally begun to feel relaxed, sitting there almost directly in the other man's personal space. Not wanting the moment to end, Obi-Wan looked up into those deep blue eyes and asked, "What was I like?"

Qui-Gon opened his mouth, then paused, thinking carefully. What, indeed. /You're a wonderful lover. Caring, compassionate, loving. You're the light of my existence, the other half of my heart, you're the axis my world turns on./

"You are an excellent student," he said carefully. "You are very proficient in the Unifying Force. You are conscientious and wise. You listen carefully, and you trust my judgement, unless you find a reason not to. In those cases, you explain respectfully why you think your method is correct. And sometimes you're right. But even when you're not, you accept my rebuttal with grace and trust, and you always strive to understand my point of view."

Obi-Wan nodded, relieved. "I'm glad."

Qui-Gon gave his padawan a questioning look.

"It's only-- they didn't like me very well in the ward. Todak was ready for me to be out of there. I wondered what kind of person I was. If everyone disliked me."

Touched immensely, Qui-Gon swallowed. "Obi-Wan, I assure you: you are well-liked."

The smile that brought him was dizzying in its brightness.

"Come on," Qui-Gon said, patting Obi-Wan's knee. "Remember how to make tea?"

Obi-Wan shook his head.

"I'll show you, then." And they went to the kitchen.

Obi-Wan watched as the tall man pulled a strangely-shaped pot from the top of the stove and filled it with water from the sink, setting it back on the stove and then turning the flame on. Then, the master pulled a box from a cabinet above the stove.

"Not that one," Obi-Wan said.

Qui-Gon stopped. "What?"

"Not that tea. I don't like that kind."

They looked at each other, surprised. Qui-Gon, really, was halfway to elated. He smiled broadly. "Of course. I've been drinking a lot of this tea because I don't like to drink the other when you're not here."

Obi-Wan watched him lose his composure for a moment after the confession. The master-- /*My* master, damn it!/ he corrected yet again, trying to wrap his mind around it-- glanced away and replaced the offensive tea with another box.

Obi-Wan began to get another headache, gnawing faintly at his composure.

As his master spooned the tea into the teapot, Obi-Wan wondered how he might begin to flesh out the memories of the stranger with whom he now lived.

After their tea, during which they spoke very little, Qui-Gon decided it was time to try to begin. He showed Obi-Wan where he kept his meditation mat, and then instructed him to put it on the common room floor.

They knelt facing each other, and the master began with the simplest of meditation techniques. He spoke slowly and quietly, guiding Obi-Wan into a calm state. Obi-Wan listened to that voice that was flowing over him like water, wrapping itself through his mind. He wondered if his former self used to get so lost in those deep tones. His headache began to recede, though he didn't know why. He suspected it was because he was relaxing.

In meditation, he realized that whoever he was now, whether he remembered anything or no, he did not want anyone else to teach him these things. He felt comfortable with this man, and safe, thought he dearly wished he knew more about why.

When they came out of their shared meditative state, Obi-Wan fixed his eyes on the master questioningly. "Tell me about yourself?"

Qui-Gon returned his gaze thoughtfully. How much could he tell when his padawan was under a directive to *know* him before he revealed anything? "I shouldn't, Obi-Wan," he said, going directly against his own heart.

"Why not? Can't you tell me things I didn't know before? Surely that wouldn't be cheating."

/You knew everything about me,/ Qui-Gon thought, closing his eyes and centering. There had to be some insignificant details that Obi-Wan was unaware of, but to save his life, Qui-Gon could not think of them now.

"Come," he said, rising and offering his hand. "It's time to eat."

Obi-Wan stared at the proffered hand, then rose without its assistance. He took up his mat and turned away, then looked back over his shoulder coolly. "I realize that this is probably some 'journey' I have to walk on my own, but it would be nice to have a signpost or two." He put his mat away and went to his quarters.

Qui-Gon stared after him, aching.

"Obi-Wan-- Force, I'm so glad." The words came from Qui-Gon's mouth even though he viewed the dream lucidly by now.

Obi-Wan's smile and the distance to the floor was so familiar, as familiar as breathing. Qui-Gon could hear his own voice saying, "Obi-Wan, it was an accident. I promise you, it will never happen again."

Obi-Wan seemed not to hear him. He kept staring down, down. "You should have been here," he said, that ugly, beatific smile still pasted on his face.

Qui-Gon walked through the rest of the dream, knowing helplessly that he could do nothing else. "But I am here."

"Not anymore."

Qui-Gon jumped awake, his heart pounding. Why was he still having that dream when Obi-Wan was home?

He rose, knowing he would not sleep again. He should try, he knew: today they would begin training in earnest. Qui-Gon intended to take Obi-Wan through at least the first kata and another meditative technique, and there was no telling how the padawan would react. They hadn't exactly ended their previous day on a good note: third meal had been strained, with neither man knowing what to say. Evening tea had been equally strained, and immediately after, Obi-Wan had retired to his room, muttering something about meditation on his own. All in all, beyond the small epiphany over the tea Obi-Wan didn't like, it had not been a good day.

Worse, Qui-Gon ached with unrequited love for someone he was beginning to view as a different person altogether from his padawan.

He paced in the dimness of his room, then pulled his cloak on over his bare shoulders and moved out onto the balcony. It wasn't yet dawn; the city was quieter, but certainly not quiet. There was never true silence on Coruscant.

Qui-Gon began to wish for less silence in his head. He caught himself reaching for the bond before he remembered that he shouldn't. *Couldn't,* actually, as tightly shielded as he was. Even in sleep, he kept his shields diamond-hard and impenetrable around the training link.

Obi-Wan lay in bed, wakeful and lonely. It was good to be in a place where he wasn't hooked to three machines and a bacta feeder, but it was dark here, and too quiet. He had only his thoughts, but they weren't nearly enough.

He heard the balcony door open and close, and that sound made him get up and move into the dark common room.

There was the master, silhouetted against the lighter darkness of the Coruscant sky. Obi-Wan really hadn't allowed himself to look at him the previous day, not in the way he'd wanted to. The man was striking, even in darkness, even from behind. He had his head turned and was looking silently out over the cityscape, and he appeared to be deep in thought. His hair was slightly rumpled, and his cloak was slung on haphazardly, the hood drooping to one side. The sight of the master in what seemed to be a distressed state of sleeplessness brought out a strange ache in Obi-Wan's heart.

Calming himself, he stepped through the doorway silently; the only sound breaking the hum of speeders and cruisers was the quiet hiss of sliding plasteel.

Qui-Gon turned, a little surprised. "Hello," he greeted. "You should be resting, padaw-- Obi-Wan." Silently he cursed himself. This *was* his padawan.

Obi-Wan glanced down, tugging at his soft sleep tunic. "I couldn't. I'm not used to being alone." He moved up to the railing and leaned forward onto it with his arms.

The master looked at him a moment-- Obi-Wan could feel it-- then said, "I apologize for the way things have to be between us, Obi-Wan. I don't want to make this any more difficult for you than it is."

Obi-Wan shrugged. "You're under orders. I know that Master Yoda would thump you if you didn't follow them." He swallowed, frowning.

Qui-Gon chuckled. "So you've met the business end of the gimer stick, have you?"

"No-- well. Not recently."

Qui-Gon stared at Obi-Wan staring at him. Qui-Gon thought how grateful he was-- one more memory. It was priceless in the amount of hope it gave.

Obi-Wan thought he might get lost in those eyes if he didn't look away.

They gazed out over the city for a little while, listening to it. Qui-Gon knew that Obi-Wan only needed time. Two memories in roughly eighteen hours, small ones, but memories nevertheless. He knew, however, that the Council would not view that as reasonable progress.

The only way to keep Obi-Wan in the Order, then, was to train like mad.

"I need you to be aware of something," Qui-Gon told him. "Tomorrow-- that is, later today-- we will begin your training. Our best hope is to make you perceptive again in the Force, to unlock whatever it is that's keeping you from your full awareness of it. Without that, Obi-Wan, I'm afraid that--" He faltered, his throat suddenly too tight to get the words out.

"They won't want me. Well, of course not. What good's a Jedi without the Force?" Obi-Wan didn't really know what he was talking about, but he knew that those two concepts were inextricably bound together.

The simplicity and perception in the statement struck Qui-Gon. He nodded tightly and made the rest of his statement in a rush, lest he lose nerve. "But I need you to be aware, Obi-Wan, that I care about you, and I'm going to do everything in my power to keep you here."

Obi-Wan looked at him, hard. "You care about me." He had thought it was true, but hadn't realized how much those words might mean until he heard them.

"A great deal." The master's voice was perilously close to breaking. He turned away, focusing on a distant flashing light atop a tower.

They fell silent. After a moment, Qui-Gon's hand moved to clasp Obi-Wan's on the rail. Obi-Wan looked at the hand, then up at his master. Something slipped into place inside him, something quiet and content.

Qui-Gon could not meet the eyes of his apprentice, but he stared over the city, held that warm hand in his, and hoped only that together, they were strong enough to manage this.

That day and the day after, they trained. Obi-Wan struggled with the first kata, but displayed the same enthusiasm and thirst for learning that he always had. By the time he had the first one down, he was ready for more, insisting that his master teach him the second. Qui-Gon happily guided him through it.

Obi-Wan took very quickly to meditation, finding solace in quieting his mind. He joked at one point that it was so easy because his mind had nothing in it. The master seemed so bothered by that, though, that Obi-Wan decided he'd best not tease like that anymore.

Most of their training took place in the gardens. Qui-Gon could not bear to visit the training halls; in fact, he preferred solitude while his padawan was relearning things that his yearmates had perfected in their later years in the creche.

Obi-Wan, though he could feel the Force at odd times, seemed to have very little control over it. The lack of a training bond made things that much more difficult for Qui-Gon, who had no idea how Obi-Wan was adapting to his skills. They worked on simple things: pushing a cup over, or balancing a datapad on its corner. Invariably, Obi-Wan would end up frustrated, and Qui-Gon would have no idea what his padawan was doing wrong, so he could not help.

By the third training day, Obi-Wan knew two katas well, and could meditate. He could make objects waver and rise, but could not command them. Qui-Gon decided to set that aside for the time being, and began to work with Obi-Wan on the Code.

"There is no emotion; there is peace," Obi-Wan supplied immediately, and Qui-Gon smiled broadly.

"Excellent," the master said, and prompted Obi-Wan to continue.

"There is no ignorance; there is knowledge. There is no passion; there is serenity. There is no death; there is the Force."

Qui-Gon was thrilled. "Obi-Wan, that's wonderful. Do you know how you remembered that? Perhaps if we have a clue, we can use it to recover more."

Obi-Wan sighed. "I'm not a droid," he muttered. "I wish it were good enough that I'm simply trying." He raised his eyes to meet his master's confused look. "What if I never remember? What if it's forever only a piece here or there? Will that be enough for you?"

"Obi-Wan--" The master glanced away at the table, at the dataslate, at anything other than those malleable blue-gray eyes. "It isn't only me. The Council--"

"Damn the Council," Obi-Wan hissed, tilting his head and taking the apparently fascinating datapad away. "Would it be enough for *you*?"

Qui-Gon, nonplussed, met his glare. "I do not want you sent away."

Obi-Wan rose from the table angrily. "If it's going to be like this with you, I'd almost rather you did."

The master grasped his arm as he was about to turn away. "Don't say that. You don't mean it. You simply don't understand what it was like-- what you had." He faltered and looked away. Sith, when did he get so tongue-tied?

Obi-Wan furrowed his brow and looked down at the hand holding his arm. "Whatever I 'had' remains a mystery, as it seems to pertain to you," he snapped, and jerked his arm loose.

Suddenly there was a flash of remembrance, a time as a young padawan when he'd pulled his arm free of his master's grasp in irritation, and he was instantly contrite.

"I'm sorry, Master, I--" He stared at the older man, ashamed. "What a terrible padawan I am." He tore his gaze away and dropped it to the floor.

Qui-Gon felt the same wrenching in his heart that he had the first time Obi-Wan had said those words, so many years ago. Gently, he cupped Obi-Wan's cheek and forced him to look at his master.

"You are an excellent padawan, Obi-Wan. I am honored all over again to hear you call me 'Master.'"

Obi-Wan stared into those blue eyes. His heart picked up speed as he realized Qui-Gon was bending toward him.

The kiss was a soft question, and it was over as quickly as it began. The master straightened suddenly, clearing his throat.

"I am sorry," he said hoarsely. "I shouldn't-- that was wrong of me."

"Why is it wrong? We both wanted it." Obi-Wan's heart sank as he saw how uncomfortable the other man was.

Qui-Gon's heart ached at the words. "Obi-Wan, if you knew half of my wants..." He brushed his thumb over Obi-Wan's cheek. "But they would never help you regain yourself." He gave Obi-Wan one last, apologetic look and left the common room.

Obi-Wan sank into a chair, staring at the doorway through which Qui-Gon had left. He felt a sinking feeling in his stomach as he realized that, memory or no, he was falling in love with that man.

"Obi-Wan-- Force, I'm so glad." Qui-Gon no longer felt any happiness on standing before his padawan. "You nearly fell."

"You should have been here," Obi-Wan said, and looked at him, that awful smile firmly in place. "You're still not here."

Qui-Gon was confused. "I'm here, I'm with you."

"Not for long." Obi-Wan grasped Qui-Gon's hand, and though Qui-Gon resisted, he could not stop himself from being hauled over the edge.

Qui-Gon opened his eyes, no longer startled by the dream; he hadn't been in days, but he felt an unfamiliar sting of tears behind his eyes. The dream was changing, mutating into something more horrible than it had been at the outset. He was falling in love with his padawan all over again, falling in love with that innocent trust and the plain desire in those blue-gray eyes. And his love was going to be worthless against the Council directive that he knew was coming.

He stared into the dark, feeling that presence in the other room, the one that haunted him and warmed him at the same time. Obi-Wan, but not *his* Obi-Wan. The mannerisms were different, the attitude, and there was little of the rambunctious, squirmy youth that had so charmed him the first time, and yet charmed he remained, in spite of the differences, and partially because of them.

/It's something I'll have to overcome,/ he told himself, knowing it was useless. /Something to be pressed aside./

Would that it were so easy.

The days rolled by slowly, and the Jedi and the padawan established a routine similar to the one they had used prior to the accident. Qui-Gon felt the press of time as one day led into another, then into a week, then into two. He could almost feel the Council's agitation at what they believed to be a waste of time. Master Yoda, of course, knew better, as did Master Windu, who knew Qui-Gon too well to think *this,* of all things, was a waste of time. Two Masters, however, were not enough to merit abandoning a collective decision. Qui-Gon knew that Yoda and Windu had fought as hard as they could on his behalf. Now, it was up to him to make his amnesiac, half-new padawan a Jedi before time ran out.

The healers checked in periodically, wondering as to his status. Medically speaking, it wasn't an entirely unusual case; he seemed to be fully recovered from the physical injury but the concussion had left a lasting impact due to the blunt nature of it. Healer Todak reminded Qui-Gon that Obi-Wan should be thankful he could move, let alone walk.

That reminded Qui-Gon to contact the masters of the padawans in the training hall at the time of the accident. He offered his assistance to them in any way possible from Consular string-pulling to a turn at kitchen duty. They all declined politely, expressing their gladness that his padawan was strong and healthy.

"It is our duty," one said, "to keep safe our own."

Qui-Gon sighed on closing the connection. /'Our duty,' indeed./ His deep, burning love for his own had not managed to help keep that one safe, and duty was the one thing between them.

Obi-Wan continued to have flashes of memory returned to him, but they were small, insignificant things. Usually a memory came to him in the form of a bit of a mission that helped to flesh out a story Qui-Gon had told him, or another preference, like chocolate biscuits, or the way he'd rather read astronav texts on the balcony. They were useful clues about his personality, but Obi-Wan could feel worry coloring the joy in his master's reactions to them. Chocolate biscuits did not help him become a Jedi.

As they settled into their daily routine, Qui-Gon found it harder to avoid making casual, easy contact with Obi-Wan they way he used to. He missed the closeness; he missed that warm body against his in sleep. More than anything, he missed the love in Obi-Wan's eyes. Now, invariably, he was regarded with what looked like carefully guarded wanting, something Qui-Gon was increasingly concerned about indulging. That he found himself increasingly desirous of it did not help matters.

He decided one afternoon that it was time to take a risk. He went to the drawer where he kept Obi-Wan's few distinctive possessions and came out with the single most important symbol of their relationship. He took it out into the dining area, where Obi-Wan was sitting, reading about Force manipulation.

"Obi-Wan," the master said quietly, sitting down at the table. "I want to try something, to see if you will remember more. Give me your hand."

Obi-Wan looked at him questioningly, but presented his hand nevertheless. He was surprised when his master slipped a supple, black glove onto his hand. It fit perfectly; obviously it was his, but he could get no meaning from it. He looked up at the older man, who was watching him carefully.

"Othaina gave that to you," Qui-Gon explained, but the hope in his heart was dying by the second. "For a very special occasion."

Obi-Wan turned his hand, studying the glove. "I'm sorry," he said, and he truly was. "Who is Othaina?"

"Your best friend," Qui-Gon said, his voice heavy with sadness. He took his padawan's hand impulsively and dragged his fingertips over the palm. Obi-Wan shivered involuntarily, knowing somehow that the gesture was important, but knowing nothing about it, nevertheless.

Qui-Gon knew then that there was no hope left, and time was almost gone. His heart ached to lay itself bare, and damn the Council, but he was so afraid that if he did so, they would simply take Obi-Wan away from him immediately.

Obi-Wan caught Qui-Gon's large hand in his gloved one. "Tell me what this means," he pleaded. "Tell me why this is so important."

Shaking his head, nearly overcome with sorrow and inevitability, Qui-Gon sighed. "I cannot."

Obi-Wan let out a noise that was half a growl and rose suddenly, leaning far over the table and catching his master's mouth in a possessive, needy kiss. Qui-Gon, startled, found himself responding almost helplessly. Obi-Wan's gloved hand snaked around the side of his master's neck, under his hair, holding him firmly as he mapped Qui-Gon's lips and tongue and mouth. Sensing that his master was struggling with himself, knowing that he was about to pull away in spite of the intensity of his response, Obi-Wan deepened the kiss, demanding an explanation, or at least reciprocation.

Qui-Gon could give neither. Shaken, he pulled back, setting Obi-Wan's hand away from him.

Before the master could turn away, Obi-Wan said, "I don't know who you are... but I know that I love you. That must be worth something. It must." His voice was shaking; he cursed his own weakness and dropped his gaze.

"I am sorry," the master said, and his voice was just above a whisper. "We have much to do, and time is so short. Please prepare yourself for evening sparring."

Obi-Wan would not allow himself to be stung by the utter disregard for his declaration. He jerked the glove off his hand and flung it on the table. "One way or another, *Master,* I'm going to find a way around you. What are you going to do when I manage it?"

Qui-Gon had no response.

Obi-Wan knew this was wrong, knew that it was, essentially, cheating, but he had to know. He couldn't go on like this. He loved the man. He felt it in his every waking hour-- in his head, and in his heart-- and knew that it was returned. He could see it in the pain hiding in his master's every look. He would not allow it to go ignored any longer.

Consumed, he searched his master's dresser, his trunk, his desk. Finally he found something, something with his own name on it. It was a journal, clearly labeled Obi-Wan Kenobi. He clutched it to him a moment, closing his eyes. This was what they had made the master do. They had forced him to conceal his identity from Obi-Wan, to the extent that he'd had to take things from the padawan's own room, all on the pretense of "letting him remember."

Enough. He knew that the Council was close to making its intentions known, and when that happened all would be lost. This was up to Obi-Wan alone.

Opening the journal, he pored over it. He skimmed its contents, sometimes seeing things that were familiar to the tales they'd told him in the ward, but it was little more than reading material. /Well-written,/ he thought distantly, and it was entertaining in some places, but he was looking for something more than entertainment, and he wanted a reference better than "my master."

Then, he found something.

"The ball-- oh, the ball." he read avidly to himself. "That night marks the turning point in my life as a Jedi, as a padawan, as a man. It was the night I discovered my love for my master, the need that goes beyond doing the twelfth kata well for him, or brewing the tea I don't like because he's had a long day in the Council chamber."

Obi-Wan was stunned. They had been lovers. That explained Qui-Gon's longing expressions and the desire that was so strong between them it was almost palpable. His mind hadn't remembered, but his heart knew. Now he read with increasing impatience. /Say his name, say his name!/ he chanted at the book.

"...tall and imposing, regal in a way only he can be, all in white and silver. Oh, my master. How could I never have noticed how beautiful you are?"

/How indeed,/ Obi-Wan snorted at his old self, and read on:

"And the kiss... oh. I am so glad that we will never have to go back to that simple relationship we had before. Now, everything is rich and beautiful, and my life is marked in two phases: before Qui-Gon Jinn, and now."

Qui-Gon Jinn.

Obi-Wan closed the book with a snap and tucked it away. Qui-Gon Jinn.

He darted out of the room.

Qui-Gon stopped just outside the door to the quarters, apprehensive. The Council would have it no other way: they were prepared to grill Obi-Wan for answers until he buckled, then they would send him to another master. Qui-Gon, they maintained, was too valuable an operative and diplomat to sit at the Temple with a padawan who needed to be retaught from creche level. After Obi-Wan was reassigned, Qui-Gon was to be immediately tasked out.

Qui-Gon had been shielding his intentions all day, and shielding them hard. He was not quite willing to admit even to himself what his plans were should they take Obi-Wan away from him, lest they become known to Obi-Wan, or worse, to Master Yoda.

Leaning his head against the door, he sighed and fought the rising worry. /A Jedi does not know fear,/ he told himself, but perhaps he wasn't the Jedi they thought him: he definitely feared the loss of the man behind this door.

It was the wrong way to feel. Either he would lose Obi-Wan or he wouldn't, and no amount of worrying would change either outcome. But worry, Qui-Gon did. Resolved to release as much as he could through meditation, he drew himself up and palmed the door open.

What met him was a cool, dark set of quarters. Bewildered, he stepped inside and closed the door behind him.

"Obi-Wan?" he called.

"In here," Obi-Wan responded from his room.

Confused, Qui-Gon moved through their quarters. "What are you doing?" he asked as he reached the bedroom doorway. "Why is it so dark in here?"

Obi-Wan shrugged, the gesture illuminated in the faint glow of a datapad. He was sitting on his bed, leaning against a pillow on the headboard. The room was dark but for the slight wash of light seeping through a gap in the curtains he had drawn closed against the Coruscant night.

"I thought I would just leave the lights off as it grew dark," Obi-Wan explained, but it wasn't much of an explanation to Qui-Gon. The master came forward, curious.

"What are you reading?"

Obi-Wan looked up at him, a half-smile playing on his face. "Corellian religious history," he said, and the smile carried in his voice. "Look at this. Apparently they abandoned a face-painting ritual at the coming-of-age ceremonies over a century ago."

Qui-Gon leaned down to look, close enough that his hair brushed Obi-Wan's ear. "Yes," he said, "I was aware of that. It was--"

Obi-Wan turned his face and kissed Qui-Gon then, softly, his lips pressing to the corner of that bearded mouth. It was a quiet, tender gesture. Surprised, Qui-Gon returned it.

His fear spoke to him: this was a blatant disregard for Obi-Wan's position. But as that soft, warm mouth moved under his, the tongue flirting at his lips for entrance, Qui-Gon's reason fled. He found himself sitting down on the edge of the bed, his mouth never leaving Obi-Wan's. The datapad clattered to the floor, and Obi-Wan clung to Qui-Gon's tunics, pulling him closer.

Before he even knew what he was doing, Qui-Gon was sliding his hands over Obi-Wan's shoulders and splaying them across his back. He could not help but think that this man who had been living with him was not the same Obi-Wan he had raised to near-knighthood, but he was no less desirable. There was the one he'd adored since he'd taken him as padawan, and there was the one he was coaxing into padawanship now. Qui-Gon loved them both: passionately, intently, possessively. But this-- he could not allow this to happen. Already he could feel his shields slipping automatically, falling to admit the man who'd been inside them too long to close out any longer.

Breathless and hot with desire, he nevertheless tore his mouth away. "We can't."

Obi-Wan cupped Qui-Gon's face in his hands, forcing eye contact and stroking the bearded cheeks. "We can, too. Can't you feel this? Don't you know what you're doing to me?"

Qui-Gon closed his eyes. "Obi-Wan... the Council." But what was the Council to this? Qui-Gon knew he was a hypocrite-- Obi-Wan, an adult capable of making his own choices, had gone to such great lengths to love him, and yet his master could do nothing but blather on about orders.

"Don't even mention that to me," Obi-Wan breathed. "The Council isn't here. I know you want this."

The master made a small, impatient noise and dropped his eyes. "What I want is immaterial, Obi-Wan."

Obi-Wan leaned forward and kissed him again, demanding. He continued until his master was breathing heavily and returning the kisses almost desperately. Then, pulling back, Obi-Wan said, "What you want is everything to me, Qui-Gon."

Qui-Gon stared. His breath left him in a rush at the sound of those lips uttering his name.

"Yes..." Obi-Wan smiled, combing his fingertips through that beloved beard. "Qui-Gon Jinn, my master, my lover, my friend."

Still stunned beyond words, Qui-Gon reached his hand up and touched Obi-Wan's cheek softly. Questions sprang to his mind-- how did Obi-Wan remember? What had triggered it? Was there more that they could do? But now he could do nothing but stare at the love in his padawan's eyes: the undisguised, overwhelming love.

Qui-Gon opened his shields then, slowly. The aching silence in his head subsided as he connected with Obi-Wan, deeply and immediately. Obi-Wan gasped and his eyes went wide as he pulled back, staring. He wasn't sure what was happening, but it was right, it was perfect. Suddenly he felt something *snap* so solidly it was almost audible. Startled, he sucked in a breath and said "What--?"

"The training bond." Qui-Gon looked away, into the darkness of the room. How could Obi-Wan have remembered his name and that they were lovers without remembering-- but then, he had never regained more than a little memory at a time.

Qui-Gon kissed him again, softly. Obi-Wan opened up to it, deepening it almost immediately. He leaned forward, pressing himself against Qui-Gon as closely as he could, inhaling the warm, heady scent of skin and excitement.

"I never would have thought it could be like this," Obi-Wan breathed between kisses, and rested his head on Qui-Gon's shoulder again.

"What?" Qui-Gon stiffened and pulled back.

"I meant--" Obi-Wan looked away, flushing, instant shame in the pit of his stomach. "I..." His heart sank as he realized that he had just admitted to not remembering anything about their past together.

Qui-Gon took Obi-Wan's chin in his fingers and tipped his face up, forcing eye contact. "What are you not telling me?"

Obi-Wan looked into those eyes, nervous now that the gentle, rumbly voice had suddenly gone stern. "I... I cheated," he said, almost inaudibly.

The look he'd dreaded crossed his master's face: it was completely confused disappointment.

Heart pounding, Obi-Wan explained shakily, "I went into your room and found my journal. Qui-Gon, I want you so badly I *ache.* When you came home tonight, all I wanted was to know that you loved me that much." He saw the pain and the love and the growing anger in his master's eyes, and even as he hurt, Obi-Wan tipped his chin up defiantly and said, "I'm not sorry; I would do it again. I knew you might be angry, but I didn't care." He finally looked away uncertainly.

Qui-Gon stared, disturbed. "You should have cared. You've lied... to seduce me." He shook his head in disbelief. "Obi-Wan would never have done that."

Obi-Wan's worried remorse suddenly turned ashen in a swell of anger. "It wasn't like that!" he snapped. "Doesn't it mean anything to you that they're going to kick your 'Obi-Wan' out of the Order? Ahh, 'Obi-Wan,' that damned 'Obi-Wan.' You say his name like he's some other person, not *this* one right in front of you. I don't think that venerable Jedi ever existed. You have him so damned built up that *no* one can live up to him."

Reeling, the master got up from the bed, ignoring the fact that he was still in a dark room. Qui-Gon turned and faced his padawan, his control dangerously close to snapping. "Obi-Wan had nothing to live up to. He was himself. And you most certainly are *not* 'that venerable Jedi.'" He wheeled about and stalked out of the room.

Qui-Gon immediately took up his robe and left their quarters, needing to be away from that boy, that *child* who now inhabited his padawan's body. He couldn't imagine what had possessed Obi-Wan to act in such a way.

He slowed his steps as he saw a young knight flatten himself against the wall to allow him passage, ducking his head to avoid making eye contact with the quite-obviously-angry Jedi Master.

Qui-Gon was instantly reminded of the day that Obi-Wan had fallen, and the padawan who had pressed himself into a doorway as the healers and Qui-Gon had made that frantic dash to the ward. In a rush, the master's anger cooled. Turning where he was, he headed for the Gardens, lost in thought.

Master Yoda had told Qui-Gon in no uncertain terms that it had not been his fault that Obi-Wan had fallen. Qui-Gon wanted to believe that. His rational mind told him that accidents happened, and no amount of training or protection or preparation could prevent a stumble.

But his heart told him he had failed. And failed again: now Obi-Wan was hurt and angry. He was bonded to a master who couldn't help but see him as a *different* padawan, and worse: one who could not live up to expectations.

Qui-Gon reached the Gardens and moved to a quiet place, sunny but filled with large trees, casting dappled shadows on bright yellow field grass. He sank to his knees in front of one of the trees and placed his hands on it, feeling the knobby bark, hard and chalky under his skin. He pressed his forehead to the tree and sighed, feeling lost, as lost as he had felt when he'd been told Obi-Wan was not to hear Qui-Gon's name, or feel the bond.

He could feel the anger and hurt thrumming through the newly-reopened bond, and knew that his words had cut deeply. So deeply.

/Jinn, you're an idiot,/ he berated himself, balling his hands into fists against the tree and desperately trying to gather his self-reproach and send it into the Force.

Obi-Wan loved him. *This* Obi-Wan loved him. He had gone from utter blankness to cautious, naked trust to desire. Obi-Wan had come to feel a love that would drive him to search through his master's things for the answer that would allow them to stay together. Qui-Gon had been party to it, truth be told: he had stuck so damned staunchly to Master Yoda's judgement that he had endangered his relationship with his padawan, something he had worked so hard to piece together, something that had been reverting back to the close, comfortable openness he had *longed* for.

He had *wanted* that closeness but had been pushing it away at every turn. For what? For a Council missive. Qui-Gon Jinn, the most renegade master in the Order, following directives so strictly that he had actually *fought* with his padawan.

/Why now?/ he asked himself, settling back onto his heels and staring at the tree. Slowly, he quieted his mind, listening. Why was he pushing Obi-Wan away?

Master Yoda had assured Qui-Gon that Obi-Wan's fall could not have been prevented. But Qui-Gon knew it could have been. He should have been up there. He should have been watching more closely. He should have been less full of pride and more full of vigilance. Now, because of his own arrogance in his other half, that very padawan was living a life he no longer remembered, no longer felt.

Feeling sick, Qui-Gon realized he'd been punishing Obi-Wan inadvertently, trying to divide the man he was now from the man he used to be to *keep* himself from loving as much, to keep himself from falling to that pride again. To keep himself from the guilt that haunted his dreams. To keep this new Obi-Wan from hurting him. It was evident in Obi-Wan's treatment of him, that skittish awe he always presented, and it was evident in Qui-Gon's own recurring dreams.

The Obi-Wan in the dream was right: Qui-Gon should have been there, but as he had not been, the least he could do was be there *now.* For *this* Obi-Wan-- because this one and the other were the same. The same man, the same spirit. Qui-Gon had only been looking as far as his padawan's memory loss.

He folded himself over and pressed his forehead into the cool grass.

/Of all the times you've thought yourself an old fool, this is the most shining example./

He felt a renewed surge of anger through the bond and started. Straightening, he rose quickly and turned to go back. He had to fix this. He had to talk to Obi-Wan, and the High Council be damned.

He ran back to his quarters, disregarding the startled looks from other Jedi wandering the Temple. Before he even palmed the controls, he knew Obi-Wan was not there. He entered anyway, feeling his way. The rooms were still dark, so he activated the lighting to see if anything had changed.

The datapad still lay on the floor, glowing feebly. No comms had come in. No note had been left. Stretching out through the bond, he felt...

And left the quarters at a run, headed straight for the Council rotunda.

"Grave, this is," Yoda sighed. "Disappointed I am in you, Padawan."

"As your master must be," Master Windu added, disappointed himself in no small measure. This was, after all, the padawan of Qui-Gon Jinn.

"Yes, Master," Obi-Wan murmured, bowing his head. He had told them how he'd discovered Qui-Gon's name, and now was awaiting their judgement. "I understand there will be consequences for this action." He felt not the least bit repentant: the results of his escapade, though certainly not what he'd wished for, had definitely shown him a great deal about Qui-Gon's character.

Obi-Wan looked up at Yoda and added, "Master, I believe that there is a... conflict of interest of sorts between myself and my-- between myself and Qui-Gon."

Yoda looked at him hard. "Your master, that is. Show respect to him, you must." Master Windu spoke up again. "What conflict of interest is there, Padawan Kenobi?"

Obi-Wan cleared his throat, flushing miserably, but then drew himself up.

"I am requesting reassignment," Obi-Wan said, "to another master. I have developed feelings for him which he apparently feels are inappropriate. Obviously this would impair--"

"*Obvious,* nothing is," Yoda snapped. "Decide, we will, what is 'obvious.' *Request* reassignment to another master, do you?" He and Master Windu exchanged a half-puzzled, half-suspicious look.

"Yes, Master. I no longer feel comfortable--"

His words stopped abruptly as the inner doors burst open and Qui-Gon entered, looking flushed and disturbed and altogether unlike Qui-Gon.

"Masters," he said apologetically, trying to center and slow his rapid breathing. He bowed as he reached the center of the circle. Obi-Wan stared at him, his nervousness at being in front of the Council and his anger at Qui-Gon superceded by his shock.

"Most unexpected this is," Yoda muttered, sounding not the least bit surprised. He held a stubby hand up as a preemptive strike against whatever Qui-Gon was ready to say, and turned his attention back to Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan's brow furrowed. He had hoped to have this over and done with long before Qui-Gon determined where he'd gone. Nonplussed, he pressed onward, bolstered at least with an indignant sense of bravado. Qui-Gon would hear first-hand his feelings; that had to be worth something.

"I am no longer comfortable with our training relationship. I have jeopardized his trust in me. I feel that my inappropriate emotions would hamper my training if I were to remain his apprentice."

Yoda studied Qui-Gon, who was gazing back at him calmly. "Know something of this, do you, Qui-Gon?"

"Yes, Master, I do." Qui-Gon turned to Obi-Wan and looked at him a moment, sensing all of his hurt and imperfectly shielded, reluctant love.

Facing Yoda again, Qui-Gon said, "I am requesting a year's leave. I have handled this inappropriately; I should like the time to take my padawan off-planet, perhaps to a Temple outpost. If given the time, I am sure that we can recover not only his memory, but the trust that we have *both* jeopardized." He turned to Obi-Wan for this last, his heart stilling as he saw startled hope in those blue-gray eyes.

"A year's leave is exceptionally long," Master Windu pointed out, steepling his fingers. "You are far too valuable to us at this juncture--"

"Six months, then." Qui-Gon amended. "I must have time with my padawan to assess the extent of the difficulties I have created between us. Aside from that," Qui-Gon softened his voice, looking at Obi-Wan, "Obi-Wan's feelings are neither inappropriate nor unrequited, as the Council well knows."

Qui-Gon relished the emotion in Obi-Wan's eyes. The padawan looked grateful and quite relieved. Certain of his words, Qui-Gon addressed the head of the High Council.

"Surely, you must recognize that together we are far more valuable than I am alone."

There was a brief silence as the Council considered this. Qui-Gon could almost feel them consulting each other in ripples of positive and negative emotion.

"Grant leave, we will not," Yoda said. "Reassign Padawan Kenobi we will. Requested this, he has."

"Wait--" Obi-Wan scarcely knew what he was about to say before he was speaking. "I spoke too quickly, Masters--"

"Already made, this decision is."

Obi-Wan felt his fear building. What had he done? He had all but demanded they find someone else to train him, and now he saw how stupid that was, how irrationally he'd acted. Now they were going to take him away from the only master he really wanted, the man he loved-- and at his own request.

Qui-Gon remained calm, pushing it through to Obi-Wan, feeling the rising panic in the young man's aura. He seemed so sure of himself, in spite of the fact that Master Yoda seemed no longer to be their ally in this endeavor.

"Reassign him, then," Qui-Gon said, and reached into his robe.

"What?" Obi-Wan exclaimed, and then saw that Qui-Gon was unclipping his lightsaber.

"I renounce my oath to the Jedi Order," Qui-Gon said, walking up to Yoda and placing the 'saber hilt at the foot of his chair.

A collective gasp went up, and Yoda's eyes flashed angrily. "Threaten us, do you?"

Qui-Gon spread his hands. "No, Master. It is not a threat; it is action. I have renounced my place here in order to continue assisting Obi-Wan in his recovery."

Obi-Wan felt as though he'd been kicked in the chest. Qui-Gon turned to him serenely, so certain, so relaxed. The padawan found himself drawing from that without even realizing he was doing so.

"That is," Qui-Gon added, "if Obi-Wan will allow me to continue to assist him."

"When would you hope to accomplish this, Master Jinn?" Master Gallia asked suddenly. "You are well aware of the time constraints in a padawan's life."

"He will have time eventually; if there is no personal contact, then we can use commlinks and messaging."

"No," Obi-Wan said firmly. He stepped close to Qui-Gon, swallowing, staring at the tall master. Qui-Gon tensed. After all of this, was it to come down to a simple rejection?

"If Qui-Gon leaves the Order, then so do I."

Qui-Gon barely restrained himself from pulling in a gasp. "Obi-Wan--"

Silencing the master with a curt swipe of his hand, Obi-Wan stepped forward, sure of himself for the first time since he'd awakened in the ward. He addressed Master Yoda specifically.

"You were eventually planning to send me out of the Order. It would only have been a matter of time. I haven't regained any memories of substance, and it will likely be a long time before I do. There's no reason for me to stay." He unclipped his own 'saber hilt and set it on the floor next to Qui-Gon's.

Obi-Wan straightened and stepped back to Qui-Gon's side, his jaw set, his strength evident. Qui-Gon could tell that even had he thought to argue, it would have been futile.

Yoda stared at them a moment, then closed his eyes, silently grounding himself in the Force and asking its direction.

Qui-Gon had no need of that at the moment; he knew with every cell in his being that this was the only way. Obi-Wan's presence beside him and the sudden solidity the young man exuded strengthened Qui-Gon. It reminded him very certainly of the man Obi-Wan had once been.

Coming out of his trance, Yoda looked at them sadly. "Sorry, I am-- this is the right path for you."

Qui-Gon nodded, gratified to be so readily confirmed. "We shall take our leave, then." He glanced around, more hurt than he wanted to admit that no one moved to stop him; indeed, no one even spoke to say goodbye. He caught Mace's gaze, steady and sad, but there seemed nothing to say.

/This is what I leave behind,/ he thought to himself. /My life. Everything I am./ His throat tightened, and he felt an answering sympathy from Obi-Wan.

Receiving nothing more from the Council, Qui-Gon turned and looked back at his former padawan, now simply-- what? Qui-Gon could find no label. He held out his hand. Obi-Wan stepped forward and took it. Pausing but a second, the two men left the scrutiny of the Council chamber behind.

They walked in silence. When they arrived back at their quarters-- /Not ours anymore,/ Qui-Gon corrected himself mentally with a pang/-- Qui-Gon turned to Obi-Wan and opened his mouth.

Obi-Wan held his hand up, sensing an apology. "Don't. We don't have time now. Where will we go? What will we do? What are we allowed to take?"

"I am not your master, Obi-Wan. I have initiated this, I have opened you up to an uncertain future on a path I cannot even see. I am not sure, now, that I was ever worthy of *being* your master." Qui-Gon turned away, moving to his room, surveying the quarters with a sadly critical eye, memorizing details, inhaling the scent that was so fundamental to the rooms, that was so inherent to the way they had spent their days and nights for so many years.

Obi-Wan followed him. "You will always be my master, and I chose this. Don't convince yourself I can't make a decision on my own, with or without someone telling me the Force wills it."

Qui-Gon would not look at him; his heart ached and he worried, now that his foolishly brave plan had cemented itself, he could do nothing but pack and plan.

"Take only the things you have that are not Jedi," he instructed gruffly as he began to strip his Jedi uniform from his body. "Leave everything else behind."

"Damn you," Obi-Wan whispered, stung. "It is not enough that I love you, that I willingly follow you, that I ache because of what you've done for me. No, now you're going to run around guilty and regretful because you've led me astray or some such nonsense. How very like you." He turned to go to his room, not knowing what else to do now but put his things in a sack and follow.

Qui-Gon caught his arm. "How do you know that? How do you know what I'm like?"

"I remember. I'm surprised *that* didn't come to me sooner." Obi-Wan pulled his arm loose. "Your problem is that you won't acknowledge that you put *both* of us up on pedestals so high, it's only *natural* we should fall off of them."

Laughing bitterly, Qui-Gon said, "You have no idea how right you are, Obi-Wan."

"Then keep your pedestal, if you want it that way." Obi-Wan stepped close to Qui-Gon and softened his voice. "I'll go with you because I trust you. You can try to prod memories out of me one at a time, and we can eke out a living and play Jedi, and I'll tolerate your sudden high regard for official approval, since that's all that will assuage your guilt. But I really would just like you to *be* with me. Then maybe, *maybe* we can construct something out of this mess. I have had the honor and privilege of falling in love with you twice in one lifetime, and I don't want to waste that."

Qui-Gon stared down into his former padawan's eyes, feeling a new strength between them, overwhelmed by his padawan's love, as well as his own. Closing his eyes, he rested his forehead against Obi-Wan's, suddenly reminded of his dream. He wasn't entirely sure it was left to him to come down from his pedestal now: he'd already fallen to his own expectations. Obi-Wan had been at the bottom, waiting to catch him.

"You are too wise for your own good," Qui-Gon said quietly.

"No. I'm only too wise for your comfort." Obi-Wan quirked a smile, then tipped his head up, his expression torn between amused and sorrowful. "Let's go, Mister Jinn. Surely your Obi-Wan kept some credits around here."

Swallowing, Qui-Gon closed his eyes and pulled the young man close. "You *are* my Obi-Wan."

They held each other a moment, then pulled apart hesitantly. Slowly, Qui-Gon dipped his head and kissed Obi-Wan, a request. It was answered softly, tenderly, without passion but with love and acceptance. It told Qui-Gon all he needed to know: their future was unsure, but their togetherness was not, regardless of what titles, names, or memories they bore.

End-- TBC in next episode.