Very, very early in the morning, someone began knocking at Ben Kenobi's apartment door.
He shuffled out of his bedchamber half-dressed, outer tunic wrapped sloppily over his chest, bare feet tangled in wrinkled trousers. His hair was tossed up in an untidy heap, sweaty tendrils clinging to his forehead. Coruscanti nights were far warmer than their freezing Tatooine equivalents, and Coruscanti days were far colder than Tatooine's deserts ever were. The double juxtaposition often saw Ben shuffling from his room every morning much the same as he did now: haggard, sweaty, huddling in his tunics for warmth. He answered the door.
"Hmm?" He said to whoever might be standing beyond he threshold.
"Oh, uh, I'm sorry Master," Obi-Wan Kenobi said, embarrassed to have roused his counterpart from what seemed to have been a very deep sleep.
"It's alright, padawan, I needed to get up," which was probably true. "Is there something I can help you with?" Ben leaned against the doorjam, blinking heavily.
"Yes, actually. My master mentioned before that you had sapir tea?"
Ben frowned. He hardly saw how this justified crossing the entire residential wing and waking up a Jedi master at… he glanced at his chrono. Half past fourth hour. He looked back at Obi-Wan. "I do," he affirmed, intoning it just curiously enough that the padawan shuffled and sighed.
"We've run out," he explained. "I've been busy with exams, and I forgot to buy more." Ben chuckled at this.
"Ah, empty tea coffers. A dire situation in the Jinn residence," he commented. Obi-Wan did not share his mirth. "Hells hath no fury like Qui-Gon Jinn without his tea."
"It's not that, Master. It's just, I've been making it for him every morning ever since…" he trailed off with a sigh. At length, he looked down and said quietly, "He's been doing better… I don't want him to regress again."
The humor slowly melted from Ben's eyes, and his mind whirled back through the years. Twenty-five aught twelve. Of course. "Ah," he said eventually, voice softer now. "That was this year, wasn't it?" He asked. Obi-Wan nodded. "How many months ago?"
"Not quite four," the apprentice whispered. Ben nodded again to himself, and stepped aside. "Come in," He waved the boy inside his small apartment. "I'll get you some."
Obi-Wan was picking at the long green-leafed vines that dangled from the top of Ben's cooling unit while Ben filled a small bag with tea. "Careful," the master said, "That one is rather shy. Acknowledge it for too long and it won't grow for a week."
Obi-Wan frowned at him. "It's a plant."
"And you are a human," was the immediate reply.
"Yes, which means I'm sentient,"
"Debatable," Ben smirked. Obi-Wan scoffed.
"This plant is not."
"Your master has much to teach you yet," Ben smiled, and Obi-Wan glanced dubiously at the plant. Normally he would argue, but it was far too early to engage in a duel of wits, much less with himself. Ben folded up the bag of tea leaves and handed it to the apprentice. Obi-Wan took it and put it carefully into a belt pocket.
"Thank you."
"Of course," Ben studied Obi-Wan's mein. It was surprisingly difficult to read your own facial expressions, he thought. "How has he been doing?"
Obi-Wan glanced up, and shrugged after a moment's thought. "The mornings are the worst. Hence the tea."
"Mm. Yes, I remember," Ben stroked his beard. It was all a blur in his mind, the many months when Qui-Gon mourned the death his dear friend and love, Tahl. But he did remember the mornings, having to watch as his master withdrew in deep melancholy, sometimes in spite of the tea.
"Will he get better?" Obi-Wan asked him, eyes hopeful and adread. It was a good question. Ben wasn't sure if he was qualified to answer. He knew information about his future, of course, but now that he was here… well, things were bound to change, weren't they?
If he had anything to say about it, they would. But he felt like a hoarse newborn, still struggling to find his voice. And this was one future that he doubted he could touch. "The future is always in motion," he reminded his younger self, who bit his cheek and looked away contritely. Obi-Wan lingered in the kitchen, lifting a finger to the timid greenery as if in apology. Ben watched him keenly. "It is not unbecoming for a Jedi to express emotion, you know." Obi-Wan turned to look at him as if he'd let out an acrid Huttese curse. "The danger lies in letting those emotions control us. Letting them run their course is not only natural, it is the healthy way of things."
Obi-Wan looked skeptical. Ben folded his arms and added meaningfully, "Suppressing emotions is just another way we grant them control over us. It is far better to let them out."
"To release them into the Force. Quietly," Obi-Wan insisted.
"Alone, in the dark, in denial. Yes, that reflects Jedi precepts just perfectly, doesn't it?" Ben prodded sarcastically.
Obi-Wan was frowning more deeply now. He pulled his hand away from the plant and began pinching his tunic sleeve. "There is no emotion, there is peace," He said. Ben did not smile.
"There is always emotion, and we must find our peace in midst of it," Ben countered.
"That is heresy," Obi-Wan flustered, aghast that his older self would believe such a thing.
"It is wisdom," Ben corrected. He tried to remember when in his life he had discovered the original version of the Jedi code. It had been too late in life, he felt. "Watch your master in the days to come, Obi-Wan. See how – and if - he finds his peace. Then you may lecture me on sound doctrine."
Chastised, Obi-Wan clenched his hand and looked away. Ben glanced at the chrono. "He'll be awake soon. You'd best go. May the Force be with you."
"And also with you, master," Obi-Wan bowed. Ben watched him leave and sighed.
He was here to change things. Or so it seemed to be. It was a persistent but understated calling, unheard but profound in its effect. It was the heartbeat of his presence here, the hum of his own personal engine. Change things for the better. Employ his hard-earned wisdom for good. Bring balance to a world falling off-kilter. It was pure heresy, he thought, to think that he could change history, alter the will of the Force. But perhaps young or old, he had never quite grasped what heresy meant.
Ben forewent his morning ritual of tea and moved instead to his meditation cushion. It would be difficult to find peace in the midst of the whirlwind of emotions inside of him, but he knew it was possible. He'd mastered that wisdom in his solitary years, holed up with no company but that of his own torrid emotions. Perhaps now, in this reincarnate calling, the Force would turn another heresy into wisdom. Or so he could hope - and no matter what Obi-Wan believed about emotions, hope was the one that the Force loved most.
Qui-Gon could tell the moment the tea touched his lips that he was drinking from Master Kenobi's stash. He said nothing to Obi-Wan, but quietly wondered about it after his apprentice had inhaled his breakfast and left for classes. Had Ben given it to him? If so, why? Was this his way of expressing pity? Was it some bribe to try and get Qui-Gon to visit him for tea again? He bristled at the thought.
Later in the day, when he went to his tea cabinet for a mid-afternoon cup, he found that his sapir supply was empty and had been replaced by a small flimsi bag of Kenobi's stock of choice. Perhaps, he thought, he might have overthought the whole thing. "Oh," he said aloud.
Ben was watching the holonews Senate broadcast when the second visitor of the day came to call. "My, aren't we popular today," he said to his woosha plant, next to which he sat the holodisk. He rose with a sigh to answer the door, and sensed who was on the other side only soon enough to conceal his surprise.
"Master Jinn," He greeted. "Good afternoon."
Qui-Gon nodded. It was obvious that he was uncomfortable, but trying very hard not to be. "I believe this belongs to you," he said, extending a small pouch of sapir. Ben looked at it and then at Qui-Gon, and blinked rapidly in apparent shock. "Qui-Gon Jinn is attempting give up the finest variety of sapir this side of the rim," he said to the air, "what is the galaxy coming to?"
Qui-Gon glowered, and dropped his hand. "I will not steal from you, Master Ben."
"You cannot steal what is freely given."
"Given?" Qui-Gon raised his brows. "I was unaware you had free access to my kitchen cupboards."
"From a certain point of view, I do," Ben's eyes twinkled. "Your apprentice came by and asked for it this morning. And as you should know, I will never object to sharing good tea with friends." Friends. It was such a subtle and stinging insinuation. Obi-Wan's wit was sharp and unbridled; Qui-Gon wondered idly when in his life Ben had developed into such a quiet firebrand.
"And why would he do that?" the taller man asked.
Ben shrugged. "He said that you had run out; that he was caught up in exams and had neglected to buy more. He was… adamant that he have some for this morning." When Qui-Gon glanced away, Ben knew that the sapir ritual was no mystery. He added quietly, "He's worried about you, you know."
"I know."
There was a moment's pause, and Obi-Wan stepped aside. "You may return the tea now under the sole condition that you help me drink it," the Negotiator proclaimed. Qui-Gon gave a small sigh and stepped inside.
"Very well."
The two went to the kitchen together, Ben putting on the kettle while Qui-Gon prepared the teapot. There was a surreal sort of familiarity in the way they shared the small space, moving around each other in a very old ritual. Both noticed. Neither mentioned it. As the kettle roasted, Qui-Gon regarded the dorva vine with a horticulturalist's eye. "Your friend looks a bit shy," he observed. Ben scoffed.
"Yes, well, it was doing rather well until this morning when your apprentice scared it back down again. Probably won't grow a millimeter for another week."
Qui-Gon chuckled. "Obi-Wan can have that effect." To Qui-Gon's surprise, Ben chuckled back.
"He'll learn eventually."
"Will he?"
Ben paused in his preparations. He'd been thinking a lot about change recently, meditating on the possibilities. He shrugged before he fell too deep into thought. "He did once," He surmised, "he can do it again - Force help him."
Once the tea was brewed, they moved to the main room and took the brew in silence, savoring the delicate aroma and warmth. Eventually, when their bowls were nearly dry, Ben spoke up. "Obi-Wan tells me it's been not quite four months."
Qui-Gon's face was unreadable as he gazed into his tea bowl. "Yes."
"I am sorry."
"There is nothing to apologize for," Qui-Gon insisted, face conspicuously trained to neutral.
"Empathy is not an apology, Qui-Gon."
"Empathy," Qui-Gon repeated, and shook his head. "With all due respect, Master Ben," he set aside his tea bowl, green dregs dotting the porcelain sides in bitter formations, "you do not have the right to have empathy in this matter."
"Don't I?"
"It is my loss. It is between me and the Force."
"And the council, which has given you a six month leave without having to specify why, and your apprentice, who will wake me at fourth hour so that he might bring you tea every morning, and every other Jedi in this temple who walks within ten metres of you, who can feel the grief falling in waves and says nothing." Ben watched Qui-Gon's face carefully. "Loss is never borne alone."
"But it is felt alone."
"Not in a vacuum."
Qui-Gon's jaw muscles bunched under his beard, betraying thinly veiled emotion. "What is your point, Ben?"
"My point is that if you are ever going to move past this grief, you must first move past yourself." Ben was having flashbacks to his teaching days. "Obi-Wan would be a good place to start." he poured his master another cup of tea. "He's grieving too, you know."
"He shouldn't," Qui-Gon snapped bitterly without thinking. "What was she to him?"
Ben gave him a withering look. "The Qui-Gon Jinn I knew was never so obtuse. You know very well what she was to him… to me. Even if we never talked about it."
Qui-Gon took the fresh bowl with the minimal amount of grace required by civility. "Even so," He said quietly, not looking Ben in the eye. "It… is not the same."
"Of course not." Ben blew steam away from his second bowlful and took a sip. "You and Tahl were… close. I understand completely."
It took a moment for Qui-Gon to catch the implication. He regarded Ben with a suddenly sad expression. Even now, as things were settling around Ben's identity, Qui-Gon found he couldn't bring himself to treat Ben as though he were actually Obi-Wan. But despite it all, he did know, deep down, that it was so. That being the case, he hated to think… "Completely?"
Ben watched tealeaf shapes float in his bowl, drifting lazily about the bottom amid clear green. He swirled them, and the shapes changed. It was so easy. "I will not tell you her name, because if things go even remotely as they did last time you will meet her and I'd hate to sway your opinions." He did not look up from his tea. It was only years of practice that let him speak around his grief in an even tone of voice. "She was the only reason I ever doubted my calling as a Jedi. She was murdered by an old enemy of mine, purely to provoke me. I was forced to watch." The leaves in his tea bowl settled into an indistinct polygon and he set it carefully on the table before lifting his eyes. "So yes, completely."
Qui-Gon's expression of sadness was vague and profound. Eventually, he said, "I'm so sorry."
"Your empathy is appreciated, master." Qui-Gon shot him a look, and Ben gave a sad little smile. "It's not so hard, you see." They both sipped their tea in solemn silence. After he had drained his second helping, Ben said, "Obi-Wan does not understand. I hope he won't have to, in this life."
"You do intend to change things, then?" Qui-Gon inquired. He had been wondering – everyone had. When Ben said nothing to the contrary, the master tipped his eyebrows. "The council will want to know your plans, if you have any."
Ben sighed. It was irksome, having to involve the council. He had a horribly bad feeling about it. Telling the council what his future had looked like would only sway their beliefs about what their future could be. They could not afford one seed of doubt, one iota of determinism. They were Jedi. Better to keep the damaging intelligence as limited as possible. No one needed to know – not the really terrible things, anyway. Not yet. Not until it was needed. Not until Ben was sure.
"Kriff the Council," he said, with feeling. Qui-Gon coughed around his tea. Once he recovered, he stared incredulously at Ben and the stubborn set of his jaw.
"Are you sure you are a Kenobi?" he asked. At that, Ben's eyes lit up and he gave his master an impish smile.
"As surely as you taught me everything I know, master."
Qui-Gon cocked an eyebrow. "And here you've been lecturing me on the value of community, the dangers of isolation. Did I teach you to be a hypocrite as well as a rebel?"
Obi-Wan's expression transformed into a scowl. "Caution is not hypocrisy."
"Fear is not grounds for caution."
"A Jedi does not fear."
"Then what?"
"Call it a feeling."
"A bad one?"
"Very."
They each glared at the other in tense silence, the unfamiliar fetters of equals pulling at a disused bond. They gave up their staring contest around the same moment. "Your feelings have misled you before," Qui-Gon noted.
"Not in a long, long time," Obi-Wan said, taking no pride in the fact.
"What do you plan to change?"
"A great many things."
"Will you not tell anyone?"
Ben thought on this. "I will. When the Force prompts me to."
"Are you sure?" it was a warning. "I sense fear in you."
"A feeling," Ben corrected.
"A dark one."
Ben glared. "I do not answer to you, Master Jinn."
"You claim to have, once."
"Many, many years ago."
"Then if not as your master, then hear me as a friend," Qui-Gon challenged. If that's what they were. "Tread carefully, Obi-Wan."
The sharp pluck of surprise that raced across the Force emanated from both of them. Obi-Wan's brows were up near his fringe, while Qui-Gon sat frozen in realization. In the silence, Qui-Gon's comlink chirped at him. He cleared his throat and answered it.
"Yes, padawan?"
"Master," came Obi-Wan's voice from the other end, blissfully unaware of the awkward conversation he was forestalling. "Mid-cycle exams are over, and Master Chartel wishes to know if you would be available to review my exam scores after evening meal tonight."
"Yes, I believe I will."
"Master…" Obi-Wan added somewhat reluctantly, "I feel I must warn you that my astronavigation results were... I am severely disappointed in myself, master," he said with tactful regret.
"Very well, Obi-Wan."
"…I'm sorry?" the apprentice said, obviously thinking he'd misheard.
"We may speak on it later. Tell master Chartel I will meet her at seventh bell."
"…yes, master." The conversation ended anticlimactically, leaving the apprentice in confusion.
Qui-Gon stood and moved to leave. "Wait a moment," Ben stopped him, and Qui-Gon paused, waiting in irritation for the man to point out his slip, his acknowledgement of the strange reality he was not prepared to discuss. The moment did not come. Ben scratched out something on a slip of flimsi and pressed it into Qui-Gon's hand. "So Obi-Wan doesn't feel obliged to visit my tea cabinet at all hours."
Qui-Gon looked down at the neat script, which described an address some eight hundred levels below the surface of Coruscant. It was labeled 'The Best Sapir". His eyebrows shot up. "Dare I even wonder how you found this place?"
"Through you, of course."
Qui-Gon frowned. He'd never heard of it. Ben shrugged.
"You would have found it eventually. But if memory serves, it was under unnecessarily… messy circumstances." He shrugged. "I do not believe a preemptive recommendation is amiss." And yet it felt so… dangerous.
"Changing things," Qui-Gon accused.
"It's only proper to begin with tea."
Qui-Gon regarded him. "Thank you," he said after a moment, then added more seriously, "Do try to tell me beforehand, next time." Me, if not the Council, was the unspoken hint.
Obi-Wan gave a noncommittal nod. If the Force so prompted him.
"Something troubles you," Qui-Gon observed, taking an unhurried bite of his meal. Across from him, Obi-Wan was defying all precedent of sixteen year old human male behavior by picking at his food without eating it.
"Yes," he admitted.
A pregnant pause. "Would you like to talk about it?"
Obi-Wan sighed. He tilted his head one way, and then the other, and adjusted the tilt of his shoulders. He looked down at his bowl and took a breath, and Qui-Gon braced himself for impact. "Is emotion evil, master?"
It was not what Qui-Gon had been expecting. He'd been expecting some well-rehearsed defense of his abysmal grades in astronavigation, or questions about the complex diplomatic questions he'd had to answer in his exams, or even about his new saber katas. Feelings hadn't even occurred as an option. It took the master a moment to answer. "How do you mean?"
"I mean… the Code says 'There is no emotion, there is peace." So having emotions must be bad, mustn't it? Just like ignorance and passion and chaos and death."
"Having emotions is neither good nor bad, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon said.
"Yes, but we are taught from infancy to control our emotions, to hide them. Does this teaching not dictate that emotions themselves are a deficiency to overcome?"
Qui-Gon chewed and swallowed, using the time to gather his thoughts. "If they are a deficiency, then it is one that all Jedi have in common. Emotion affects us all."
"Then why do we ignore it?" Obi-Wan asked, frustrated.
"We do not ignore it. We confront our emotions, and release them into the Force." Alone, was the unspoken addendum.
"But is that even possible?" Or was he just extra deficient? Four months now, days filled with meditation and mantras and weeks on end where he sought nothing but peace. Yet his insides were more muddled than ever before. And now Ben had shown up, and nothing made sense. It was baffling enough that Ben was in Obi-Wan's life at all, but then he had to go and start spouting heresies, for Force's sake, and had the gall to make them make sense.
"You have long dedicated your life to the Order, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon reminded him with a masterly tone. "Surely even in your admittedly shortyears of learning, you can tell me what is possible through the Force."
The implication that it was he who was lacking did not go unrecognized. Obi-Wan set his fork down and sat back in his seat, crossing his arms petulantly. He did not answer Qui-Gon's prompt, half out of indecision, half out of spite. Qui-Gon finished his meal alone while Obi-Wan brooded. At length, he set his bowl aside and watched his apprentice with an expectant expression. Obi-Wan did not meet his eye.
"But why can't there be both?" the padawan asked eventually.
"Both what?"
"Emotion as well as the Force."
Qui-Gon's eyebrows raised in surprise at the departure from Obi-Wan's characteristic traditionalism. "One glance at the code could tell you that, Obi-Wan."
"One glance at the Code could tell me the letter of the Code, but it won't tell me why."
"Emotion is a doorway to the Dark Side. You know this."
"A door opens both ways."
"Mind your thoughts, padawan," Qui-Gon reprimanded. "Indulging emotions is unhealthy for those of us sensitive to the movements of the Force, you know this."
"Indulging," Obi-Wan scoffed. What did that even mean? "Yes, because hiding them in the Dark where no one will see is far healthier than recognizing the fact that they exist, isn't it, Master?" It was a very intentional strike. Qui-Gon's aura flashed red in anger.
"That is enough, Padawan," He snapped. Obi-Wan bit down on his lip and glowered.
At this point, he would have normally scolded Obi-Wan's overly emotional tone of voice and sent him to run the Temple perimeter at least twice. But he knew that such a rebuke would only provoke this already heated debate. The master stood and cleared the table, taking Obi-Wan's untouched dinner and tossing it down the rubbish chute.
"I must go meet with Master Chartel. You will spend the evening meditating on the nature of emotion, and of your own weaknesses in this area."
Obi-Wan sulked, but managed to give an obedient "Yes, Master."
"We will discuss this – and your astronavigation exams – later."
Obi-Wan sulked harder, irritation and frustration bleeding across their training bond. Qui-Gon hardly noticed, because he was too preoccupied with his own feelings of anger and hurt. "Yes, Master," Obi-Wan said.
"Good," Qui-Gon claimed the final word. It sounded more childish than he would've liked.
After Qui-Gon had left, Obi-Wan stood and faced his designated meditation spot. He stopped before it and stared into space, taking only a few seconds to contemplate his next act of rebellion. He took up his cloak and abandoned his meditation pillow for the door.
Qui-Gon hadn't specified where he should meditate. He marched down the hall toward the lifts, trying to recall the exact sequence of Mace Windu's security passcode.
"I was wondering if I might find you here." Obi-Wan jumped at the voice. Ben Kenobi approached at a calm gait. "Apologies for startling you."
Obi-Wan had found his way back to the chamber where Ben had appeared weeks ago. Now cleared of rubble and sporting a large duracrete center where granite had once laid, the chamber was empty and clean save for Obi-Wan and his halo lamp. And Ben, of course.
"I'm meant to be meditating," Obi-Wan told his older self.
"Oh? What did you do this time?" Ben asked with a smile in his voice.
"I was… thinking about what you said this morning. About emotions. My master did not share your sympathies… I'm afraid I indulged my emotions a bit too much."
"Ah. Indulging emotions… it's not the same as letting them out, you know. It takes practice." Ben lowered himself to the cold stone floor, mimicking Obi-Wan's cross-legged posture. "But you agree with me?"
"I understand you. But I know that the Code says there is no emotion… and my Master says that…" Obi-Wan slouched. "Actually, I'm not sure I understand at all."
"Not to fear." The elder placated, his expression providing a foil of calm to Obi-Wan's confusion. "It wasn't something I learned in a day, of course. You won't either."
"Yes, Master," Obi-Wan said despondently from his hands. "I merely need to learn." Listen to Qui-Gon, that is, no matter how much he did not want to at the moment.
"Admittedly, your master is hardly one to teach on emotion these days," Ben said, picking up on the subtly. Despite himself, Obi-Wan leapt automatically to his master's defense. Qui-Gon was knowledgeable in all things; who was Ben to criticize? "Now hold on," Ben chuckled, easily sensing Obi-Wan's indignation through the thickly-layered Force in the temple depths. "I only mean that for the past four months he's been too compromised to think clearly on his own emotions, let alone yours."
Obi-Wan sighed and slouched again, shields falling down. It was the concession of someone who wanted to be defeated if only so that they could rest. "He never talks about it," he grumbled, and frowned more deeply, eyes shining with a hurt he didn't understand. "Why doesn't he talk about it? Why can't just… say it?"
"Say what?" Ben asked patiently, drawing out the poison that had festered for far too long in his childhood.
"Say…" Obi-Wan wrestled with his tongue. "Say something. Anything about her. Recognize that she's gone, and that it matters." Obi-Wan knew he was acting like a crecheling who couldn't control his emotions, but he didn't care. Ben waited while emotions tumbled out into the open air where they could be seen for what they were. "We have tea, and he says nothing, and we're on leave, and he says nothing, and I see Bant every day, and I can't say anything, because we don't talk about it, and I can't talk about it with him, and I try to release it into the Force, but every day, I just…" He heaved in a shaky breath, determined to not cry. "She's gone. And it shouldn't affect me, not like it does him, but it… she… she was…" He struggled with that tormenting, elusive concept, a word that he'd never known.
"Mother," Ben said, voice weeping with nostalgia. "The word you're looking for is 'mother'."
Obi-Wan absorbed this quietly, heart cracking like glass. Eventually, he drew his knees up to his face and sniffed. He darted a hand to wipe at his eyes, and Ben did not comment. "You know," the master said after a while, reaching into a pocket. "I've been asked if I have any intentions of changing things from how I knew them in the future. And my answer has been that of course I will. I must. Why else would the Force bring me here?" He drew a small holocron from the folds of his cloak. "The Force has not allowed me to alter the fate of Tahl, though I sorely wish it had. I can, however, offer you a bit of wisdom that took me far, far too long to find when I needed it most." He handed Obi-Wan the holocron.
"What is it?"
"When you have released your emotions and calmed enough to focus, you may open it and find out."
Obi-Wan took the multi-sided piece and turned it over in his hand. "Thank you," He said, not sure what he was thanking the man for yet.
"Be patient with Qui-Gon," Ben encouraged. "He's only human, after all."
Obi-Wan returned to his quarters that night to receive a verbal whipping for writing inappropriately lazy (and snarky) answers on his astronavigation exam and also for his unbecoming emotions earlier that afternoon. He meditated with his master to very little effect, and went to his room with a bitter taste in his mouth. He left Ben's holocron on his desk and went to straight to sleep.
He woke up the next morning and, as always, brewed a pot of sapir tea (looked like Qui-Gon had bought more, thankfully) before Qui-Gon awoke. As had become their custom, they said nothing as Qui-Gon entered the room, nothing as Obi-Wan poured the tea, nothing as they drank and smelled the aroma that had once been shared amongst three, not two.
Release your emotions. It is the healthy way of things. But what was the difference between indulgence and expression? Obi-Wan didn't know, but he ventured forth anyway. He would not allow this festering emotion to control him any longer. "Master?" he broke the silence.
"Yes?"
"I…" Obi-Wan fiddled with his tea bowl, unused to admitting weakness without prompting. "I miss her," He admitted hurriedly, and stiffened as though a physical blow would come next.
It took a moment, but eventually Qui-Gon sighed and said quietly, "I know, padawan." It was a small recognition, but an intense empathy was blooming between them, mingling slowly with the grief to turn its shade just slightly lighter. Obi-Wan did not realize that he felt at peace until later in the day, when he saw Ben's holocron on his desk. He levitated it to himself and carefully turned the hidden locks until it lay open. A small projection of a holobook page hovered mid-air. The title read: The Original Jedi Code. The contents of the page was short and familiar; but entirely revolutionary.
Emotion, yet peace.
Ignorance, yet knowledge.
Passion, yet serenity.
Chaos, yet harmony.
Death, yet the Force.
Below this, there was a note.
The only evil that a Jedi must overcome is the inability to let go. The New Code forces us to let go; it is safer that way. Treading through life's experiences by the Old Code is a more dangerous path to tread, but I have found it infinitely more rewarding. It is the only reason that I am still alive. The Jedi Order will change, as will the Code, but the Force is constant. Trust it.
- O.W. Kenobi
Obi-Wan's eyes stuck on the signature at the end, and was reminded suddenly that Ben understood him completely. But… imperfectly. For surely, Ben had not had learned this when he was sixteen. Obi-Wan studied the lines of the Old Code one last time and ingrained it on his mind, thirsty to learn more. To trust the Force over the Code… it sounded like something Qui-Gon would say. Except now, for perhaps the first time, Obi-Wan truly understand what it meant.
He could feel something shifting in the Force, like tea leaves swirling in sapir. He and Ben were the same; but they were different, now, set upon different paths of their own making. It was impossible to see where the divergence would take them.
He had a good feeling about it.
