Obi-Wan and Yan Dooku were dueling.

They had been dueling for nearly two hours.

They had been dueling for nearly two hours every week for the past month, to Qui-Gon's deep and unforgiving chagrin.

As they neared the close of the most recent engagement, Ben watched the proceedings with calculated indifference. Out on the dojo floor, Dooku had Obi-Wan in retreat. After staging an intentional flurry of strikes and parries to dizzy his opponent, the master attacked his grandpadawan in a vicious mikashi fleche. Obi-Wan ducked last minute and rebounded with a passata soto maneuver that Dooku had only taught him the previous week; he executed it perfectly.

Beside Ben, Qui-Gon bristled. His presence was growing darker and thornier in the Force with every passing moment, digging itself beneath the Light's apathy to forge his own corner for sulking. Ben knew better than to say anything about it.

In the end, of course, Dooku was proclaimed the victor. Aside from his many decades advantage of experience, Dooku was a master of the most difficult of dueling forms; mikashi was still only a new taste to Obi-Wan. The master ended the duel by landing a singing hit on Obi-Wan's arm. The boy hissed in pain but pushed through it with a defensive riposte, only to find his grandmaster's green saber resting centimeters from his throat. He slowed his movements and sighed. After a moment he let his sword arm fall. "Solah," He yielded.

Dooku flicked the blade almost tauntingly past the boy's nose before he withdrew. "Your offense is indulgent," He pronounced, not winded in the slightest. "Even for a student of Ataru, I am surprised that you would deign to such extravagance."

Obi-Wan, drenched in sweat and now feeling the sting of his burns, smiled up at his austere superior. "I believe it was Master Wynn Ra'alscha who said 'even the mighty may falter on the unexpected'. I kept you going for longer than last time, Master."

The angle of Dooku's eyebrow could have cut steel. "And what does your master think of your consulting the words of heretics, padawan?"

"Master Qui-Gon encourages the virtue of a diverse education," Obi-Wan's eyes twinkled. "I endeavor to honor his teachings in all of my pursuits."

"I see." Dooku pursed his lips and said nothing further. "Go clean yourself up, your tunics are a travesty."

"Yes, Master. Thank you, Master." Obi-Wan bowed respectfully and headed to the dojo showers.

Across the room, Qui-Gon stirred. "I should go," He grumbled as Dooku approached.

"Did you not want the next spar, Master?" Ben asked.

Qui-Gon was already halfway to the door. "I have better things to do."

"For years I hoped he would grow out of his moods," Dooku told Ben as he came to the edge of the dojo. "Alas, the Force has other plans for him."

"He resents your teaching Obi-Wan mikashi," Ben said, though they both knew it had nothing to do with the second form.

"Yes, I know." Dooku scoffed. "He shouldn't. The boy's a natural swordsman, he shouldn't be squandered on ataru. He tells me you've taught him some soresu as well?"

"Yes, though he still favors Form IV."

"Hmm," said Yan enigmatically. "We shall see." The master glanced between Ben and the showers were Obi-Wan was licking his wounds with bacta. "I should like to speak with him further, but I have an engagement to meet outside of the district. If you see him before you leave, tell him he ought to brush up on his riposte."

Ben almost smiled at the sheer bluntness of the advice. "Of course, master. May the Force be with you."

"And also with you."

Obi-Wan emerged shortly thereafter, tunic still singed in places and face and hands rubbed sticky-pink with bacta where the burns were worst. Ben was waiting for him.

"Where did they go?" The boy asked, upon seeing neither his master nor grandmaster.

"Master Dooku had an appointment."

"And Master Qui-Gon?"

"He left earlier."

"Oh," Obi-Wan didn't seemed surprised, but was disappointed all the same. He poured himself a glass of water and sat down. Ben joined him on the bench.

"Dooku wanted you to know that your riposte is atrocious." This earned a dry, mirthless chuckle from the younger man. "What do you think of our esteemed grandmaster?"

Obi-Wan shrugged. "He seems decent enough. Stern and elitist to be sure, but he's a fantastic swordsman. I can see how Master Qui-Gon got as good as he is."

"He's not happy that you've taken to Dooku so fondly," Ben said.

"I know – but I don't know why. He's a good teacher, if not a bit harsh. He knows the code, he's well read, and has a lot of experience – and was on the council for years, too."

"You sound enamored," Ben eyed him. "Do you wish Dooku was your master rather than Qui-Gon?"

"Hels no," Obi-Wan burst. "I'd go mad. But he's very skilled and wise. He's precise in everything. I… don't get a lot of that with Qui-Gon." He looked guilty saying it, but Ben could sympathize. He'd picked up some finesse from Qui-Gon over the years, but real refinery was something he'd had to learn on his own. Obi-Wan finished off his drink. "And anyway, Qui-Gon's always encouraged me to diversify my skillsets and branch out. I don't see why he's so upset."

Ben sighed and shrugged. "I suspect his objections are far more personal than you give him credit for."

"He and Master Dooku don't get along," Obi-Wan agreed, using the Force to shove his flimsiplast cup into the 'cycler bin. "Anyone can see that. But I don't understand why." His tone begged the obvious question.

"Unfortunately, neither do I." When Obi-Wan turned to him in surprise, Ben put up his hands and shook his head. "I didn't know Dooku when I was your age. I hardly ever knew him at all – and when I did it was not… ideal. I know even less than you do about their quibbles."

"But surely something must have happened to make them like this," Obi-Wan hypothesized, recalling the last month's worth of cold shoulders and ill moods.

"Your guess is as good as mine. Perhaps you can make uncovering the truth your next research project – when you're not busy studying the work of fringe theorists and heretics, of course."

Obi-Wan gave an angelic shrug. "I can only access those records with Master Jinn's permission, you know that."

Of course, Ben was able to see right through him. "It is extremely remiss of you to abuse your master's accesses codes without his explicit consent."

Obi-Wan was unaffected. "He extends consent by pretending not to notice."

"Can silence really be construed as consent, padawan?"

"I find that highly depends on one's point of view," Obi-Wan replied, dimples showing through. "Even so, it was not Master Jinn who first instructed me to consult heresy, years ago."

Ben squinted at him. "You honor his teachings well."

Obi-Wan hid his smile by bowing in his seat. "It is my sworn duty."

Obi-Wan did not see Qui-Gon until that evening, long after dark.

The apprentice glanced up from his heaping bowl of veggie pasta. "Good evening, Master." He finished a bite and nodded at the stove. "I made enough for two, if you'd like."

"I ate in the refectory," was Qui-Gon's cool reply. He picked up a datapad left for him by the door and sat across from Obi-Wan at their dining table. He browsed the reports and said nothing.

Obi-Wan finished his dinner in silence, eyeing Qui-Gon all the while. At eighteen, Obi-Wan had long been accustomed to the idea that Qui-Gon was not the infallible paragon of maverick have-no-care composure that made himself out to be. Even so, seeing the evidential cracks of grudge and hurt fracture the pedestaled image of Qui-Gon Jinn that he'd held in his mind for so many years was… disappointing.

But Ben had told him that he ought to try. He cleared his throat.

"Master, I feel I owe you an apology. For my actions this past month. I know that you do not approve of my training sessions with Master Dooku, and I have expressly ignored this on multiple occasions. I will cease training with him, and would like to train more in my Ataru focus, to-"

"Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon put out a forestalling hand. He shook his head, and hesitated. His next words were halted, but sincere. "Yan Dooku is the most accomplished practitioner of Mikashi in the Order. You should continue to train under him if you sense that Form II would benefit your education." He returned to his reports.

Obi-Wan was rooted to his seat by the anticlimax. He blinked a few times, unsure of what to do or say. "Yes, Master," He gave the knee-jerk reply after a delay. He set his dishes aside. Qui-Gon ignored him.

"Master?" He said, in that dangerous, inquisitive tone.

Qui-Gon looked up at him from under his brows. Obi-Wan had the sense to look uncomfortable.

"Why…" he squirmed. "Why do you dislike Master Dooku so much?"

Qui-Gon continued to glare at him. He didn't want to reply. He wanted to tell Obi-Wan to kriff off and mind his own damn business. But Obi-Wan was not an invasive gossip, nor was he a mind healer or an inconvenient friend looking for something to lord over him. He was just a boy – no, a young man. A curious, worried young man to whom Qui-Gon owed a great deal. He sighed heavily and set his datapad aside.

"You know that Master Dooku trained me."

Obi-Wan nodded.

"We did not… always get along." It was a relationship difficult to put into words. Qui-Gon wrestled with his thoughts while Obi-Wan watched him. Eventually, he sat back, crossed his arms, and sighed heavily through his nose. He did not look his apprentice in the eye when he said,

"Obi-Wan… as your master, I hope that you see in me at least some qualities that you would like to one day see in yourself. And when you are as old as I am, graduated, with your own missions and padawans and grandpadawans," he paused to let Obi-Wan overcome his brief discomfort at the notion, "I should like to think that we will still be friends. Moreover, I hope that you will still see in me then the same qualities that you seek to emulate now." He chewed on his lip, eyes sad. "That is something that I can never say of myself for Master Dooku."

Obi-Wan gave a slow nod. "Oh," he said in a respectful whisper. He didn't actually understand; his brow was still wrinkled. He wouldn't let the matter drop, Qui-Gon knew, he was merely stalling to find a diplomatic mode of interrogation. To save them both the trouble, the master pushed headlong into the fray:

"When I was an initiate, I was headstrong – not unlike you. Passionate. Confident. Aggressive in the dojo and very successful at anything I put my mind to. Dooku saw these things and decided to take me on."

Obi-Wan frowned at that. Qui-Gon felt a chagrined pang of pride to know that his apprentice could predict, if even peripherally, where this tale was headed. "He pushed me to become the best version of myself. The most adept swordsman, the most shrewd negotiator, the most cultured and knowledgeable and adaptable Jedi in the Order, who could and would do anything to complete the mission mandate. It was exactly what I had wanted as an initiate. It was exactly where my own ambition would have led me. And I hated it."

Such strong words from a master made Obi-Wan's eyebrows shoot upward, but he said nothing, knowing that to interrupt would break the unspoken agreement of this confession. "He pushed me toward my own ends; the ends that I thought I had wanted. By the time I was your age, I was headed down a path that I knew would ruin me. It was the line he chose to tread, the path he forged for himself. He took me on because he saw himself in me. But after he pushed me onto that path, I realized that it was one I could not take. It was only through his relentlessness that I saw it for what it was.

"Master Yoda counseled me. I was not quite a senior padawan at the time. I trained with him. Learned more Ataru than Mikashi. I studied the Living Force in depth. I trained away from Master Dooku more than I trained with him. The only reason he did not speak out publically was because it was his own master who taught me. Yoda did what he could to reconcile us. But… our missions together were hellish. We hardly spoke. It became evident that we would always see the opposite solution to any given problem. We did not agree on saberplay, or politics, or philosophy. The day I graduated, he hardly said a word to me. The day after, he left on a solo mission. It was never the same after that." Finally, Qui-Gon looked up at his apprentice. "I hadn't seen him since… oh, before you were born." He wondered if he looked as old as he felt. "Frankly, not much has changed."

Obi-Wan had been sitting still and quiet in his seat, but now shifted, sitting back to see his master in a new light. "He does not regard you poorly, you know." He relayed. "He speaks of you often."

Qui-Gon seemed unimpressed. "And when he does, does he berate me for my choice of Ataru? For my recklessness? For my overstated compassion or my hair?"

Obi-Wan gaped, then fidgeted. He began picking at his fingernails under the table. "Well… your hair never came up…" He mumbled. Qui-Gon only sighed. The apprentice rebounded. "He is harsh. Overly so. Anyone can see that. But he is a good teacher – at least in the dojo."

"Oh yes," Qui-Gon nodded. "Of that there is no contest. But he is not an entirely wholesome mentor."

Obi-Wan frowned, the wrinkle between his eyebrows furrowing deeper. He rubbed palms against his knees. "Is he… do you think he's a poor Jedi, master?" He was almost afraid to ask it too loudly.

Qui-Gon crossed his arms. "Dooku is not… a poor Jedi, padawan. But he is…" Qui-Gon faltered. How to explain?

"Grey," Obi-Wan finished for him. "Like… Like master Krell. In a way."

The boy sounded hesitant, but Qui-Gon would not have put it any other way. "Yes," He said, heart aching despite his long grudge. "Yes, like Master Krell."

"But what does that mean for a Jedi? You don't… you don't think that he would ever…"

"I don't know, padawan. With these things, it is best to focus on the here and now."

"Yes, Master. Of course." Obi-Wan stayed seated a moment longer, and then stood to clean up after dinner. When he was done, Qui-Gon stood and faced him.

"I do want you to continue to train with him, Obi-Wan. Do not let my personal weaknesses detract from your training." His expression softened into a lighter emotion. "From what I saw today, your Mikashi is improving a great deal." Which was to say that he was a natural at it. "I do not want to see you squander the opportunity."

Obi-Wan smiled and gave an overly formal bow. "Of course, Master. I seek to honor your instruction in all things." This last enunciation made Qui-Gon shake his head and tug on Obi-Wan's braid before passing him by to the kettle.

Obi-Wan left for his room to finish his homework assignments, but he paused in the doorway. "And master?"

"Yes?"

"I should be honored to be anything like you, one day." After a beat, he cut the maudlin sentiment by squinting and adding, "…though, maybe not the hair."

Qui-Gon smiled, the warmth in his heart not registering the insult to vanity. "Thank you, Obi-Wan," He said, and meant it. He jerked his head at the boy's room. "Finishing your studies on time would be a good place to start."

Obi-Wan gave him a grin. "Of course, Master." He disappeared into his room. "After all, I cannot emulate your fine example in all things."

"Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon growled. The apprentice only laughed.

"Does he really fight on low power?"

"I heard he was the best duelist in the Order – better than Master Windu!"

"Why in the galaxy has he been away this long?"

"Is Master Jinn cross with you for training with him?"

"Does he really wear a cape?"

"Come on, Obi," Garen flicked a grain of rice at his friend, mouth full, "speak up, it's not like you to be quiet."

"Well you haven't given me much to time to say anything," the padawan griped. "Yes, he fights on low power, and yes he does wear a cape. Yes, I'm training with him, and no, my master is not cross. Happy now?"

"But could he beat Master Windu?" Reeft postulated, squinting into some unseen oracle. Obi-Wan rolled his eyes.

"I don't know, why don't you go and ask him?"

"What is his like?" Bant wanted to know. "Is he as mean as he looks?"

"Oh for Force's sake," Obi-Wan let his hands fall on the table as he threw back his head. "So many questions! You're like a brood of younglings."

Garen gave a so-sue-me shrug. "It's not our fault you waited until we're all off-planet to start training with your grandmaster, the master of Mikashi who hasn't been at temple since you were in diapers." He shook his head. "Honestly, Kenobi, you've no respect for the finer things in life."

"Finer things?"

Garen tore into a bite of tika-sal. "Juicy gossip," He explained around the food. "I need something to cheer me up after such a long deployment."

"Garen, it's only been three months."

"And you've been training with him for as long! Three months is a long time, mate."

"Well you should've wrapped up your mission a bit sooner, Muln."

"It's wasn't my fault!"

"Shifting blame to Master Rhara? For shame, Garen."

"It was neither of our faults."

Obi-Wan ticked an eyebrow. "If that's what she wants you to think."

"Why you son of a-" Garen stood. Obi-Wan stood with him.

"Sit down, you idiots," Bant grabbed an arm in either hand and yanked then back down. "Honestly, it's like neither of you left the crèche at all," she grumbled. The males glared at each other. Having played spectator while he chewed on his food, Reeft swallowed and asked,

"But really, Obi, what does Master Jinn think? And what about Master Ben?"

Curiosity curing him of his anger, Garen crossed his arms and warmed to his friend's query. "Yeah, I thought your uncle was trying to disciple you in Form III. Everyone knows you're his favorite student."

Embarrassed by the (albeit unwitting) accusation of self-obsession, Obi-Wan frowned and shot back, "That's no true."

"Debatable. You're still his best student."

"How come Obi-Wan gets allof the best swordmasters?" Reeft wondered aloud.

Obi-Wan ignored him. "Master Jinn isn't mad - he's actually encouraged me to continue training in Mikashi. Ben doesn't say much about it. He still teaches me some Soresu. Speaking of," Obi-Wan decided it was high time to change the topic, "Have any of you seen Master Ben recently? I need to speak with him."

"About how to suck up to the best swordsman in the order?"

"Kiss a sarlaac, Garen."

"I saw him earlier today," Bant said, ignoring the testosterone-fueled bile on either side of her. "He said he was on his way to the crèche."

"The crèche?" Obi-Wan frowned in distaste, "what on earth is he doing there?"

Obi-Wan followed directions from half a dozen different crèche masters until he found himself at the doorway into the wolf clan dormitory.

"Ah, you must be Obi-Wan," smiled the tall selonian clan master.

"Yes, Master… how did you know my name?"

"Your uncle has mentioned you. I can see the family resemblance."

"Oh. Yes, I'm actually looking for Master Ben right now. I was told he was here earlier today?"

"He still is, in fact, visiting young Skywalker. Just this way." She led him across the warm crèche playroom to the sleeping hall. As they crossed the room, Obi-Wan couldn't help but think that the rooms were far smaller than he remembered them being. A group of younglings were playing levitation games in one corner, seeing who could raise a feather higher in the air without losing concentration. Obi-Wan remembered playing an identical game with his crèchemates as a young boy. If he wasn't mistaken, he'd been rather good at it. He tried to remember the name of the game to no avail.

"Master Kenobi," his own name brought him out of his thoughts. "Padawan Kenobi has come looking for you."

"Oh?" Ben glanced at the door. "Hello, Obi-Wan. Thank you, master Zyrha."

"Of course." She frowned at some unseen disturbance and turned around. "Rilen, holobooks are not for eating." She gave the two Kenobis a serene smile before turning to leave. "Excuse me."

"And what, might I ask, are you doing here?" Ben inquired, fighting back amusement as Obi-Wan picked his way through the child-sized sleeping mats like a bumbling giant.

"I might ask you the same question," Obi-Wan replied, nearly tripping. He did not realize that Ben had a youngling sitting with him on the floor until he looked up from his mine-field navigation.

"Who that?" Anakin asked

"Ah," Ben smiled. The glint in his eye made Obi-Wan inexplicably uncomfortable. "Anakin Skywalker, meet Obi-Wan Kenobi."

Obi-Wan joined the child and his older self on the ground, opting to kneel rather than mimick their reclined sprawling. "It's nice to meet you, Anakin," He said politely.

Anakin looked up at the introduced with curious blue eyes. "D'Obi Kenobi," he said.

"It's Obi-Wan, actually."

Anakin blinked. "D'Obi-Wab."

Ben bit back his laugh as Obi-Wan's frown intensified. "Obi-Wan," he said.

Anakin scrunched up his face in concentration. "D'Obi-Wannn."

Obi-Wan sighed. "Close enough." He looked up at Ben, eyes demanding explanation.

"I'm the one who found him, years ago." Ben said. "Did your master not mention him?"

"No." He eyed the youngling as if it were an unsavory specimen in a lab. Pathetic lifeform. "Where did you find him?"

"That is a long and complicated story that I may one day tell you. He comes from Alderaan; Master Dooku was the one who brought him to the Temple."

"Oh." Obi-Wan was trying to ignore Anakin's fascinated staring. "I see. I actually wanted to speak with you about master Dooku," he said.

"Oh?"

"Yes. I was speaking about it with master Jinn, and was wondering…" Obi-Wan glanced around the relatively empty crèche, not knowing what he should and shouldn't say around children. "About… mikashi. And… other things."

"I see," Ben sobered somewhat. "Of course. Let me return young Skywalker to the supervision of Master Zyrha, and we may walk together." He stood to his feet and shook feeling back into his legs. "Come, Anakin. I must leave. Why don't you go play lift-feather with your friends?"

Obi-Wan's eyes sparked in remembrance. Lift-feather, that's what it'd been called.

"Nooooo," Anakin moped, tugging on Ben's robes. "Stay and play lift-feather with Ben," he begged.

"Anakin, You know I cannot. What have you been taught about coveting?"

The boy moped, but let go of Ben's clothes. "To not to," he said morosely. "Not the Jedi way."

"That's right. And you shan't covet my time any more than I do yours. We are Jedi. We will see each other shortly, I'm sure. Come, now." He stood, and Anakin stood with him, still moping in a royal fashion but, at very least, following directions.

"Ah, leaving so soon?" Master Zyrha was cleaning a stack of holobooks in the other room.

"Duty calls, I'm afraid. Thank you for letting me visit, it's good to see he's adjusting well."

"Of course, Master Kenobi. It is always a joy to have masters interested in the younger generation."

"Obi-Wan, there you are," Qui-Gon Jinn's face appeared in the doorway. Two masters, one padawan, and one youngling turned to look at him. He stepped inside. "You really must remember your comm," he reprimanded, handing his apprentice a commlink. "I've had to consult half the Temple to find you." Obi-Wan looked surprised.

"Oh," He said, only now realizing that it hadn't been on his belt. "I'm sorry, Master. Thank you. It won't happen again." He took the comm and clipped it to his belt.

"My, who was I to know my clanroom would become a meeting place," Master Zyrha laughed. After a brief moment, her smile disappeared and one of her ears swiveled in place. She turned her head to look at a spot where two of her elder younglings had broken into an overly exuberant wrestling match. She sighed. "Excuse me."

Qui-Gon gave her a smile before turning back to his apprentice. "As I would have told you an hour ago, had you remembered your commlink, we have a council briefing set for later today."

Obi-Wan straightened in attendance. "We're being put on assignment?"

"Yes. I'm not sure of the details yet." A flicker of movement caught his eye, and Qui-Gon looked down to see Anakin watching him from behind Obi-Wan's legs. His stern expression smoothed.

"Anakin Skywalker," The baritone master recalled. "Greetings, little one."

"Anakin smiled at him. "'Lo," He said back.

Qui-Gon glanced between the boy and his apprentice, an unreadable emotion on his face. He shook it away. "Ben, I was going to ask you if you wouldn't mind looking after things while we are away."

'Things' being 'plants'. "Of course," He said with a smile.

"Why do you have a long hair?" Anakin asked aloud, head tipped up to see Obi-Wan's padawan braid. Obi-Wan looked down at the child, nonplussed.

"Because I'm an apprentice. And it's not a hair, it's a braid."

"Oh."

"Will you come by for tea before you leave?" Ben was asking.

"I will try. The council may want to send us off immediately."

"Hmm. I should like to speak to you before you leave for too long."

"Of course."

"Why is so long?" Anakin asked of Obi-Wan's braid.

"Because I've been an apprentice for longer than you've been alive," The padawan replied dryly.

Anakin giggled. "It looks silly."

"You have a braid, too, you know," Obi-Wan gestured at the tiny stub of hair behind Anakin's right ear. The boy fiddled with it and shook his head.

"Yeah, but it's not silly," he insisted. Obi-Wan scoffed.

"Well, one day it will be."

"Yours will be sillier," Anakin said, spinning in circles for no discernable reason. Obi-Wan frowned at his antics. He'd never understood children.

"Mine will be gone altogether, Force willing." He winced when Anakin fell and caught himself. "What are you doing?"

"Practicing."

"For what?"

"For being as silly as you," The child giggled at his own joke, and Obi-Wan blinked slowly to disguise his eyeroll. Qui-Gon still saw it, and was smiling at him when he turned to look.

"Enjoying your seniority, Padawan?" he asked with a smile. Obi-Wan scowled.

"I'd like to go to the council now, Master, if possible," He shuffled away from the trajectory of Anakin's new nonsensical circling. Ben chuckled.

"Ah, so the crèche is able to motivate you toward docility." Qui-Gon's mouth tilted in subtle triumph. "I'm glad to know it." He took leave of the room, irascible apprentice in tow.

Ben turned to watch Anakin spin in circles until he ran into a meditation cushion and toppled onto it. He chuckled quietly to himself, and caught the eye of Master Zyrha, who had an apprehended youngling under either arm.

"I leave him in your very capable hands, Master," he said, glancing around at the lift-feather competition, at Anakin gazing up at the ceiling from the flat of his back, at Rilen (who'd found the holobooks again) and at the two rapscallions in Zyrha's custody. "May the Force be with you," Ben said to her as earnestly as he could muster. She smiled at him in the longsuffering way that only crèche masters could.

"Thank you, Master Kenobi. And also with you."

That evening, Qui-Gon appeared at Ben's doorstep with a small collection of potted plants. One of them seemed to have teeth.

"I shall look after them as if there were my own," Ben assured him as he helped his master arrange the charges on the table and on the balcony, the toothed one far away from the others. They made tea afterward. "How did the council meeting go?" Ben asked as he poured their bowls.

"Well enough. They are beginning to take Obi-Wan's senior status to heart. I sense the mission will be a difficult one." Qui-Gon couldn't help the nostalgic look on his face. "Time passes quickly."

"Indeed it does." Ben took a leisurely sip, keeping the bowl close to his mouth so he could admire the aroma. "Where are you going?"

Qui-Gon waited until he'd finished his first sip. "Mandalore," he said. "Charged with averting civil war, it seems."

The tea bowl slipped from Ben's hands and it was only Jedi reflexes that allowed him to catch it. He muttered an apology and set aside his bowl to mop up the spilt tea. Qui-Gon watched with a new wariness in his eyes. At length, Ben recovered and said,

"Oh."

The only sound that passed for several seconds was the clink of teapot and cup as Ben poured himself a new bowl.

"Anything more to say?" Qui-Gon asked against his better judgment.

Ben set his cup down carefully, mind awash in old memories, of war, of living on the run. Of Satine. "It will be a difficult mission," Ben said at length, not looking Qui-Gon in the eye. "For him more so than you, I think." He ran a fingertip along the edge of his teacup, watching the leaves the bottom, still and settled.

Not everything ought to be changed, he thought. Hardship was not without its uses, and the very hardest of lessons were often some of the most valuable. But was Obi-Wan ready for it? Would he ever be? He was a different man than he'd been years ago, with different thoughts and values. What would change? Would the changes make it worse than before?

But he was still Obi-Wan. Confidence in this fact compelled Ben to let his teacup remain in its spot to steep. "Be patient with him," Ben asked Qui-Gon. "Just…" what to say? Give advice, but not too much advice. Intervene, but don't get too involved. Have a care; but do not compromise. Ben could not micromanage the situation from a distance. He sighed and said again, "Just have patience with him, please."

Qui-Gon looked more concerned and more solemn than before. "Of course," he said quietly. They drank their tea and spoke of other things. Qui-Gon avoided asking questions. Ben avoided giving unsolicited advice.

After their tea was gone, Qui-Gon rose to leave. As they were at the door, Ben said, "Master, you know that small holocron that I gave Obi-Wan years ago?"

Qui-Gon frowned. "Yes?"

"Would you make sure he brings it with him?"

Qui-Gon's curiosity was evident, but he restrained himself. "Yes, of course," he said.

Ben smiled. "Thank you. I have a feeling he will need it."

Qui-Gon nodded uncertainly. "May the Force be with you, Ben."

"And also with you, Master."

Ben watched him go for as long as he could, because he knew what Qui-Gon could not: they would not see each other for many, many months.