I hurried into the treatment room as the droids and another healer were helping two men onto tables for examination and treatment. I had heard, whispered by one of the healers, that three human males had just come in, two of them Jedi, and that two of them were hurt.

I could care less if they were who they were rumored to be, in fact, I almost hoped they weren't. I had respected the Jedi, once, when they were beings mediating peace and maintaining justice. But they had turned to waging war and all that that entailed, warriors serving the politicians in their inept dreams of glory – I had lost my respect for them. I had seen too much, and lost too much. Because of this war.

I didn't recognize one of the men, or really two of them for that matter, since one had his back to me.

I recognized Anakin Skywalker at once. His face was plastered over the Holonet; one could not avoid seeing his youthful face and cocky grin, like some poster boy for war. He wasn't looking so cocky now, I realized with some satisfaction tinged with dismay at my own thoughts. I was a healer after all, and my dislike of the Jedi was born from their actions in war, not from any one of them personally. Indeed, I had never met one before.

Lying on the exam table with his tunic off as he was bandaged, he caught sight of me and grinned in my direction. He whispered something to the Jedi standing by his side, half turned away from me, something like "quite a looker," I thought.

I am not vain, but I am used to males looking at me, and I wish they wouldn't. It appears a mane of reddish brown curls is currently the "in" look. I tie mine back from my face and dress simply. I do not draw attention to myself. But there are just some males who must notice and comment on my looks. I raised my eyebrows and tapped my foot, ready to glare at the other man when he turned to look. I can glare at an uninjured man. I expected to get a lot of pleasure from glaring at a Jedi.

I was actually surprised when the other man didn't turn around. He must have said something quietly, for Skywalker rolled his eyes and fell silent.

This then, had to be his companion in war. Jedi General Obi-Wan Kenobi. The man himself.

Jedi General Obi-Wan Kenobi. He wasn't what I expected, not at all. I didn't think much of the Jedi in general, and I thought even less of those who waged war. Even less of those who led and planned them. I saw, all too often, the hurt aftermath of those battles, just as I was now doing. Sentient life, hurt, paralyzed, dead.

After his last battle, the death toll was reported to be in the thousands, when you counted the innocents who got caught in the middle. I was one of the war's uncounted casualties: my family had been on Delex IV a few months ago; I still hurt from losing them. I wondered how many the general had condemned to death this time.

I expected a hard, callous man without one ounce of feeling: arrogant and harsh spoken, expecting immediate obedience to his every word. He wasn't going to get it from me – I would not jump to his tune.

I saw a man, younger than I had expected, almost unassuming. He wasn't hard angled, with a steel trap jaw or a hawk's fierce gaze. He was not particularly tall. Under his stained tunic, he appeared to have a well muscled but smallish build. In fact, if not for the aura of perfect command that seemed to surround him, he would seem just an ordinary man. The way he ran his hand through his hair, or stroked his chin, were his only visible signs of humanity. Those, and the lock of sandy hair that constantly fell over that face that I had not yet had a good look at.

To say I was surprised when he quietly asked, "You'll take good care of them, won't you," would be quite an understatement. More so when I saw his hand rest gently on the younger man's shoulder and make such a simple gesture as to squeeze it.

So: hardhearted and callous he might not be. I looked at him, but his eyes were on his two men.

"I suppose it is some time until I have their services again. I shall have to do this alone," he remarked, sighing. All right then, he is as hard as I thought. I flared up again, not really having registered the last part of that statement.

"You might at least wait until they are healed before you throw them back to fight, perhaps to die next time."

"I suppose so," he said evenly, and rubbed his temple.

He was a perfect example of a perfect Jedi, I thought disdainfully; soft spoken but hard hearted. Totally dispassionate, not showing an ounce of feeling though he had brought in two injured colleagues. They may as well have been droids.

I could be dispassionate too. I wanted to see if anything could reach the man, who stood looking down at the two, face still half hidden from my sight.

"You almost seem disappointed not to have this chance to get them killed, like all the others you've sent to their deaths: except their deaths mean nothing to you because you Jedi just don't have any feelings," I snapped; then wanted to curse myself.

I was no better than he, worse, for he was cruel without thought. I had planned my words to hurt, to see if there was a man inside the Jedi. Even my harsh words didn't reach him. He showed no reaction, he just turned to walk away, and said simply, "Take good care of them."

He raised his eyes just enough so I could get a glimpse of them, and through them was the man that I had wondered was inside. They were pools of sadness and worry that could not be hidden, though his demeanor had revealed none of it. Hurt at my words. He turned away from me, and I saw, barely visible, the slight slump of his shoulders.

I put out a hand to touch his arm, but he had moved out of reach. I stood staring after him. Perhaps…I had been mistaken. Again. I no longer knew what to believe about the man. He was a riddle I wished answered.

He didn't stride down the hall as I expected, either, though he did square his shoulders and looked neither to his left or right. He walked with a slow gait, as if burdened by too much responsibility, or too much sorrow.

"General!" I called, startling myself as I took a step towards him. I didn't know what I was going to say, or even what had prompted my calling him. I hoped he hadn't heard me and would move on, to leave me secure in my dislike of those who wage war, a security that was dissolving into uncertainty.

"Yes," he said quietly, standing erect and quiet, back to me. His voice was patient, though weary, now that I was paying attention.

When I didn't respond, he turned and waited, one shoulder against the wall and quirked an eyebrow at me. I felt foolish, what was I going to say? I shook my head. With a hint of a smile – smile? – he started to turn around. He seemed to stumble, to reach a hand to the wall to steady himself.

For the second time in my encounter with the Jedi, I cursed to myself. He was clearly in some pain himself; the way he moved told me he was not free from injury. The brave fool wasn't going to even mention it…doubtless he had a public image he wished to maintain.

Tough luck. I was a healer and he was hurt. Simple. I could care less about public image. He was now a patient, if I had any say in the matter. So I did what any healer would do. I hurried to his side.

"You're hurt," I accused, but gently, and put out a hand to check under that tunic.

Darn, but the man just gave a hint of a nod and tried to pull free from my grasp.

"Don't worry about me. I will be okay. There is something I must do, and soon." For a second his mouth tightened and I saw something flicker in those eyes, those absolutely soulful and innocent eyes.

"What can you do in that condition?" I scolded him.

"Much," he answered. I swear, his eyes twinkled. Unemotional that man might appear, but those eyes gave him away. I had seen sorrow and now humor in their blue-grey depths. There was more to this Jedi than there appeared to be. I was - intrigued, to say the least.

I gentled my tone and tried to lead him to a seat in the treatment area, but he shook his head.

"General, really, you should let me look at -." I remonstrated, but I found a Jedi is just as stubborn as a rock. At least this Jedi. I would have found it easier to move the rock.

"I really don't have time. I have to -." And then he just shut up. Refused to speak. Infuriating man. Those eyes were now eyes of steel, determined. "There is something I must do. Alone, if necessary."

Oh, there was plenty I could have said. I could have tried pulling rank on him, even. But there was something about the way he said it, the determination in those eyes, and the suddenly straight line of that firm mouth. He would go, despite my own determination to keep him here. He really was an unstoppable force, as I'd heard him once affectionately called on a Holonet program by young Skywalker. So I said the only thing I really could at that point.

"Stubborn man. Do what you must. Take care of yourself. Then haul yourself right back here."

He smiled; the first real smile I'd ever seen from him, or from any Jedi, for that matter. A bright, dazzling smile that seemed to knock the lighting up several notches.

"I certainly plan to return," he said simply. There was no hint of bravado in him at all: just a total and firm belief in himself.

"Can I give you something for the pain…?" I called after him.

The tone of his voice seemed to smile. He continued walking away down the hall.

"Thank you, but no. I don't tolerate medicine well. I have with me that which I can use."

"Then take some, will you," I said crossly. I stared after his retreating body – I admit, I admired the view – and shook my head. The man had shaken my out of my easy complacency. I no longer knew what to believe. I still hated war – but did I hate the warmongers? Maybe life was far more complicated than I had been willing to believe.

I re-entered the treatment room and found the young hero himself all but passed out with the drug my colleague had given him. "Gotta…gotta go with Obi-Wan," he stuttered groggily.

"What is it with you Jedi, anyway!" I demanded, putting my hands on my hips and staring at him, though there was no malice behind my words. "He's already left."

The young Jedi tried to drag his eyes open. I sensed his fear. His hand shot out and grabbed my elbow. Speaking very slowly and carefully – he was fighting the sedative – he demanded," He actually left? He went on – by himself?"

"Yes, he did. He said he would be fine," I soothed him, though his words echoed in my head, of "then I will have to go on without them. I shall have to do this alone."

"Do what?" I asked gently, but all the young man could whisper before the sedative took effect was, "He'll need me. He can't do it alone."

But Kenobi had been so sure! The man who knew him best was concerned, scared even.

I suddenly had a very bad feeling about this. But he was so certain. In hindsight, I could see, he was certain in himself for self-doubt could be crippling. But he knew his chances were much diminished alone; that had only served to increase his determination to succeed.

If he came back – no, when – he came back, I would have to talk to him. I no longer had all the answers. Maybe the Jedi didn't, either. But confessing my anger would be a step to my own healing. He would understand. I had seen his eyes.

I knew I no longer disliked those who waged war – I disliked war itself, and what it did to those caught in it. All because I had gained a sudden respect for the man who put himself in the front lines, determined to do what he could do - must do - even alone.

I asked the Force to be with him.