Obi-Wan had always harbored a special resentment for the Temple Commissary, but like all other Jedi, he released his distaste into the Force, for a Jedi had no need for such untoward emotions. Today, he found releasing his disdain particularly difficult, so he thought of Qui-Gon's cooking, and it made the lukewarm groat stew offerings look immensely more palatable.
He'd chosen to eat fairly early in the evening, when he could start off his meal in comfortable quiet. As he chewed halfheartedly on the chunky soup and browsed the news, Jedi young and old began to fill the tables around him. The commissary was one of the loudest places in the temple. Although Jedi did not, as a rule, raise their voices anywhere, in the commissary even normal speaking tones combined by the hundreds to create a dull cacophony. Obi-Wan would hardly consider it soothing, but he'd grown used to it.
Amid the hubbub, a particular presence caught his attention. He looked up to see Anakin Skywalker, alone, with a tray piled high with sweetcakes. The initiate was attempting to see over his doughy ambitions to find a seat.
"I would not attempt to eat all of those, if I were you," Obi-Wan said as the boy passed by. "Take it from someone who knows."
Anakin turned to face Obi-Wan and his view was blocked entirely by sweetcakes. The top one wobbled precariously, and he darted his tray left to keep it from falling. This gave him a better view of his advisor.
"Oh, hi, Obi-Wan," Anakin smiled.
"How many do you have there?" Obi-Wan eyed the tower that dripped of sticky, sugary glaze.
"Um," Anakin said, "well, they were leftover from lunch, and I asked for some and the droid just gave me these."
Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow. "I don't see you complaining about it."
Anakin grinned in wicked glee. "Jedi don't complain, Master Kenobi," he said with deliberate aptitude. Obi-Wan laughed out loud.
"How very wise of you. Come sit down, I'll help you not complain about it."
Anakin pushed the tray onto the table and clambered up across from Obi-Wan. The knight put his datapad away and selected a particularly plump cake from the lot. It'd been ages since he'd indulged in these - they were usually more for the padawans and younglings. He bit into it with relish and came away with flecks of icing on his mouth. Anakin did the same. They were quiet for a moment, enjoying their snack together.
"So," Obi-Wan brushed the sides of his mouth with a thumb, "where are your agemates? I should think your dorm master will be looking for you."
Anakin shrugged. He'd never paid too much attention to authority, for better or worse. "They'll be here soon. I just came a bit early."
"Always hungry, is it?" The boy was what, ten? Eleven? Obi-Wan could remember the feeling.
"Not always," Anakin protested as he bit into his third cake, laminated bits of icing falling from his face. Obi-Wan eyed the show with disturbed amusement. He dare not think what he would be like a few years from now.
"You won't be if you keep eating those," Obi-Wan warned. "Save room for real food."
"This is real food."
"It's not, and you know it." Obi-Wan picked up the tray and moved it to the other side of the table. Anakin scrunched his nose, and Obi-Wan ignored him. With knightly dignity, Obi-Wan plucked a second cake from the pile and bit into it. When Anakin gave him an accusing glare, he said through a mouthful, "I've already eaten my dinner." As Obi-Wan chewed his ill-gotten gains, Anakin began to look around for his dormmates.
"So," said Obi-Wan conversationally after he'd finished his dessert, "how are your studies progressing?"
Anakin shrugged with juvenile melancholy. "I twisted my ankle, and now I can't do sabers," he complained, as if this were the be all and end all of his studies. "So I've been working on Arbie-One instead."
As he always did, Obi-Wan cringed at the homonym but said nothing. "It'll heal soon, I'm sure. Are you taking any interesting classes?"
The boy shrugged. "I dunno. I'm in Republic History 4 right now, but it's taught by Master - oh, sithspit," Anakin ducked his head low. Obi-Wan, eyes-wide at the burst of vulgarity, looked down at the boy in surprise.
"I've never heard a master by that name," he said sternly. "Everything alright, Anakin?"
Anakin ignored the reprimand and darted a nervous look over his shoulder. "That's Aren, he's in my dorm," he said, without pointing. "I guess he's the first one here." He slumped lower so his shoulders might hide the rest of his head. Obi-Wan looked up to see a tall, gangly boy with dusty-brown hair and a sour expression.
"I take it you and Aren don't get along very well?" he asked.
Anakin shrugged. "He doesn't like me much. Pel says he's angry because he's almost thirteen."
"Ah." That particular subject dredged up unpleasant memories. He looked back at Aren, more sympathetically this time. The sour expression began to make sense. "Do you know which Corps he'll go into?" he asked, almost sadly.
"I dunno, I just know he wants to be a knight, but can't get a master to notice him." Force, it was so familiar it ached. "And he hates me because I've already been requested."
Wait, what?
"A master has asked to train you?" Obi-Wan said, flummoxed. Wasn't the minimum age eleven? "Who?"
Anakin looked at him as though he should already know. "Master Dooku. He asked a few days ago." Obi-Wan's face was frozen, but his eyebrows skyrocketed. Anakin shrugged. "The Council said no because I'm too young." Which certainly made sense, Obi-Wan thought. Anakin turned and looked at Aren shuffle into a line at the serving counter. "I wish Dooku would ask Aren, instead." He turned back around and looked at his lap. "I feel awful."
"Don't," Obi-Wan advised. "If it's meant to be, it will be. If not, it will not." That maxim had never placated him when he was younger. He saw that it would do no good for Anakin, either. "Even if he gets sent to the corps, that doesn't mean he can't possibly ever come back," the knight said. "Did you know, Master Jinn didn't become my master until months after I was thirteen. I'd already been expelled from the academy."
"What?" Anakin's mind left Aren in the dust, eyes wide in shock. "You?"
Obi-Wan laughed. "Yes, I was going to be a farmer on Bandomeer."
"What?" Anakin repeated, wide-eyed incredulity keeping Obi-Wan smiling. "But - but you're… you're you."
Obi-Wan wasn't sure what to do with the flattery, so he ignored it. "I was thirteen, it's what happens. I went into the AgriCorps to learn how to farm, but then I picked a fight with a hutt, and Qui-Gon was there, and we ended up on a grand adventure, and the rest is history." He gave Anakin a smile. "The Force will have its way with or without the Jedi's rules." He realized that he probably shouldn't be saying this to a ten year-old initiate. "The Force's will was for me to be a knight," he shrugged, "so I am a knight."
"Wow," Anakin breathed, wanting to know more but not sure where to start. "Did you know that? When they sent you away?"
"Know that I would be a knight?"
"Yeah."
"No," Obi-Wan shook his head easily. "Well, sort of. It's difficult to explain. I wanted to be a knight. No," he paused, expression growing more intense, "I… well, I had to be a knight. I knew i had to. It'd been like that since I was a kid. But then, I turned thirteen, and that was impossible. So, I supposed it was not meant to be."
"Even though you felt that you were meant to," Anakin said, something stirring uncomfortably in his chest, "like it was right, like it had always been that way."
"Yes," Obi-Wan said slowly, frowning, "exactly like that. How did you know?"
Anakin opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted. "Anakin, there you are. You should stick with the group." A tall Korun master came up to the table, an assortment of preteen initiates waiting nearby. Upon seeing Obi-Wan, she extended her hand in introduction. "Master Ulo," she smiled.
"Obi-Wan," the knight returned the smile as he shook her hand.
"Kenobi, yes, I recognized you," the master chuckled. Obi-Wan resisted the urge to touch his scar. Most people recognized him these days, whether he knew them or not. "I hope Anakin has not been taking up your time, Master."
"Oh, no, of course not," Obi-Wan shook his head. "I was regaling him with stories of my own initiate days, and…" his eyes strayed to the half-decimated tray of sweetcakes still sitting on the edge of the table, "...advocating better judgement." He winked. Master Ulo fought back her grin and gave Anakin an admonishing look.
"I appreciate your intervention, Master Kenobi. Come along, Anakin, meals before sweetcakes. We need to be going."
Anakin waved goodbye and left to join his agemates. Obi-Wan waved back, and watched Anakin go, carrying all the puzzles of his character with him.
When Obi-Wan returned to the apartment that night, the kitchen still smelled of burnt nuna gumbo. He wrinkled his nose. "There's some left in the fridge, if you want it," said Qui-Gon, not looking up from his reading.
"I'll pass, thank you," Obi-Wan replied, each syllable dripping with condescension.
"Brat."
"I've already eaten dinner," Obi-Wan defended, taking off his cloak and doing a double take when he realized he'd left another cloak draped over the couch earlier in the day. He swept them both into his arms and went to his room. "And dessert," he said.
"Dessert?" Qui-Gon scoffed, finally looking up from his reading. He gave Obi-Wan a disapproving look as the knight re-emerged from his bedroom. "Knighthood has made you decadent."
"Well, I've finally escaped from under your culinary thumb, I might as well enjoy my freedom."
Qui-Gon scoffed again, and turned back to his datapad. "I hope you get fat."
Obi-Wan collapsed into the couch beside him. "Unlikely."
"Twenty years from now, you shall have short hair and a gut, and you'll regret this conversation."
Obi-Wan rolled his eyes. "I saw Anakin today," he said, diverting the discussion, "he's the only reason I had dessert, you should know. He was trying to eat his way out of a pile of sweetcakes as big as himself."
"Oh?" Qui-Gon chuckled absently, still scrolling through a news article. Obi-Wan turned to watched his old master's expression as he spoke.
"Apparently, Dooku has asked to be his master."
Qui-Gon did not budge, but his eyes lifted from his datapad.
"You already knew," Obi-Wan concluded. Qui-Gon sighed, switched his datapad off, and set it aside.
"I only learned yesterday."
"You didn't tell me." Obi-Wan was mildly offended.
"It never came up," Qui-Gon shrugged. "The Council refused him, anyway."
"Yes, said he was too young, I heard. Probably for the best, I was quite surprised." Obi-Wan admitted. "Still, I think Dooku would make a good master for him, when he's old enough."
This time, Qui-Gon's reaction was firm. "He would not, for more reasons than I care to describe."
"You only say that because he was your master," Obi-Wan accused.
"No, I say that because I know that man better than you ever will," he snapped, asserting his latent authority. "Anakin is far too young, Dooku is far too old, and they're poorly matched."
"Alright then," Obi-Wan muttered, raising a sardonic eyebrow. He glanced at the coffee table to see which holobooks Qui-Gon was currently engrossed in. Most of them were saber reference books he used for his classes. He looked away, and spotted a teacup still sitting on the edge of a chair where Ben had left it that morning. "I suppose Ben could train him," he said, "he spends more time with the boy than Dooku does."
Qui-Gon sighed. Obi-Wan looked at him as if he'd just made a statement. "You think Ben should train him."
"Ben doesn't want to."
"But you think he should," Obi-Wan insisted.
Qui-Gon was growing annoyed. "What I think, as I have been so constantly reminded by you and your even more annoying self, is immaterial."
"Why doesn't he want to train Anakin? All this time, I assumed it would be one of them." Had he really read the situation so poorly?
Qui-Gon opened his mouth, and stopped. Obi-Wan did not know who Anakin was, who he had been. He did not know about the arguments held over that boy. He hadn't heard the midichlorian counts that Dooku had reported, all those years ago. He didn't know that Qui-Gon was beginning to wonder if they'd been true after all. He didn't know that Dooku could've been dark. He didn't know that Qui-Gon had offered to train Anakin in Ben's stead. After all, Qui-Gon had told him that he would be his last. "You're going to have to ask him that," said the master at length. His former apprentice gave him an incredulous look.
"Right," Obi-Wan said. The conversation withered. The younger man looked out through the windows where Coruscant's sleepless spires were beginning to twinkle in night, midnight oil sparkling from windows against the skyline. "I should be turning in," he said. "Bant and Reeft and I are planning Garen's reception tomorrow."
"Oh?" Qui-Gon regained his smile upon hearing that. "No dreadful pranks planned, I hope?"
"You think far too lowly of me," Obi-Wan said, stretching and unbuckling his belt as he shuffled toward his room.
"My thinking is exactly on par for you and him together in the same room."
Obi-Wan scoffed, and disappeared through the doorway. Before he closed his door, he said, "...Maybe one."
Qui-Gon smirked in the glow of his datapad. "Thought so."
Obi-Wan climbed into bed and fell into a calm sleep. Across the apartment, Qui-Gon followed suit.
It was around two in the morning when Obi-Wan woke up in a cold sweat, memories playing across his inner eye like visions.
They had taken all day to make. They looked like perfect tiny starfighters, painted with humorous hull tags and all glistening with a delicious, sugary, transparent syrup.
Garen regarded the confections with a dull expression, and glared up at the three beaming faces huddled around the platter. The absence of a braid on his shoulder made him feel authoritative, but no force of intimidation would have deterred these particular Jedi. "Really?" he asked, deadpan.
"As a Jedi Knight," Obi-Wan said with pronounced magnanimity as the only other knight among them, "you should be able to tell the muja syrup one from the beebleberry."
"Don't worry," assured Bant, "we've brought a hypo just in case."
Garen exhaled and looked back down at the tiny cakes. There were expertly done, he had no idea how the three of them had managed it. But of course now that they'd made them just for him, he couldn't refuse. That was the beauty of the trick, of course. He glared angrily up at Obi-Wan. "This was your idea, wasn't it?"
"It was a group effort," Reeft said, and pointed. "I baked the cake, Obi did the trimming, and Bant decorated."
"Obi was the one who made the syrup, though," said Bant, and Obi-Wan beamed cheekily. Garen sighed, and looked back down at the platter. "Hurry up, this is getting heavy," Bant added.
Garen regarded his dozens of options. He put a hand to his chin and picked at the clean-shaven skin there. "You realize," he said to his horrible, horrible friends, "that if I die of anaphylactic shock induced by beebleberry kriffing syrup," he glared pointedly at Kenobi, "my death will be on your hands."
"Don't be so dramatic," Bant said, rolling her giant Mon Cal eyes. "I already told you we've got a hypo!"
"Well, that's comforting," he grumbled sarcastically. Emergency hyposhots for allergic reactions were highly effective, to be sure, but they also felt like getting stung on the neck by a hornet. He puzzled over the tray again.
"Use the Force, Garen," Reeft prodded gently like a creche master.
"Oh, shut up, Reeft." Garen followed his gut instinct and plucked one off the tray. He sniffed it experimentally. It was hard to smell anything besides the sugar. To hels with it. He popped it into his mouth.
"Happy now?" he asked after he'd swallowed. The three continued to watch him. He coughed, and felt his neck tighten. "Oh, kriff me," he coughed again, and scratched at his throat. Bant produced the promised hypospray shot and raised it to Garen's neck victoriously, even as he leaned away, coughing out, "Wait, wait, waitwaitwait!"
"Oh, by the way," Obi-Wan said, as Bant deployed her weapon and Garen yowled in pain, "they were all beebleberry."
As Garen's allergy crisis subsided, the first words he wheezed out were, "You kriffing bastard."
"Garen!" said Bant, aghast.
Obi-Wan cackled.
"You have to admit, though," said Reeft, "it was a very tasteful prank."
They all groaned. Obi-Wan handed the tray to Bant, and reached under a tablecloth, where an identical tray was hidden. "Here are the muja ones."
"I hate you," Garen said, taking a ship and stuffing it in his mouth. "I hate you all. Mmm. These are really good. You're all horrible." He ate another one.
Obi-Wan handed the second tray to Reeft. "Congrats, you barve," he said, wrapping Jedi Knight Garen Muln in a hug. Garen reached through Obi-Wan's arm to grab another tiny muja starship. "Bastard," he said again, eating the ship in one bite and patting Obi-Wan affectionately on the back. Through a mouthful, he continued, "you're a bastard, you know that."
"Of course."
"Alright, that's quite enough of you lot." Diminutive though she was, Clee Rhara had very sharp elbows, and she employed them to great effect until she could reach her former apprentice and pull him away from his ginger-haired friend. "The chaps from the Starfighter Corps are here, and they can't stay long. Come say hello."
"Did they tell you they were going to do that?" Garen pointed back at Obi-Wan and the others as his master whisked him away.
"Did they tell me they were going to do what?" Clee said, innocently.
"You knew," Garen gaped at her in utter betrayal.
"Knew what? Come on now, and wipe your mouth. You've got syrup all over your face."
Obi-Wan gave Master Rhara a small salute, and she winked back. Bant and Reeft returned the trays of cakes to the refreshments table. That is to say, Bant took both trays, and Reeft trailed after her, stealing nearly half of them for himself.
"You are just as horrible as I knew you would be," Qui-Gon emerged from the throng and went to stand beside his padawan. "Well done."
"I take my cues from the very best," Obi-Wan bowed, and ignored the surly look he got in return.
"Ach, he'll survive." Feemor came up beside the two, watching as Aola trailed off behind Garen and Master Rhara to give her congratulations. Feemor waited a polite moment before saying, "Obi-Wan, a word, please?"
"Hmm?" Obi-Wan looked up, and caught Feemor's meaningful look. "Oh, yes, of course," He said, face growing serious. The two former apprentices stepped away together. Qui-Gon cast them a curious look, but Obi-Wan only shook his head.
Once they were away from the crowd, Feemor said, "So, this committee thing. I'll do it."
Obi-Wan was ecstatic. "Will you really?"
"Yes, Aola has agreed as well. I can't say I know what you're getting us into, but…" He gave a small smile, "I think I'd like to see where you take this project."
"Thank you, Feemor, really. I think we can get a lot done, here."
"Spoken like a true politician, lad," he laughed. He watched the festivities across the veranda, casting a special eye on Aola, who'd filled out into a beautiful young woman with a brilliant smile and a mind to match. Mingling with the other Jedi, she no longer looked lacking without a master by her side. "I suppose it's only a matter of time before you'll be playing congratulatory tricks on her," Feemor said, wistfully. Obi-Wan looked over at him.
"You think so?"
Feemor's eyes were steady on his apprentice. "Aye. Sooner than I'd like." He smiled. "Qui-Gon said the same about you before you graduated, you know. He's a softie, at heart." Obi-Wan hadn't known. He was touched, but he wouldn't say so.
"Of course he is."
"Knowing when to let go is difficult. But Aola needs to prepare for her trials. Knighthood is hard, and she finds our missions too easy. But politics? If this assignment is as long as I sense it might be…" he gave a tiny smile. "Well, what greater challenge for a zoologist than a pit full of politicians?"
"I think she'll be right at home," Obi-Wan said. Feemor laughed.
"So she might." He gave the younger man a slap on the back. "Now, where are these beebleberry starfighters I've heard such noise about? They sound delicious."
"You'd better hurry, Reeft was smuggling them out under his robes, I think."
"Force, I'd best be off, then."
Obi-Wan laughed, and watched Feemor make a beeline for the refreshments table.
"I assume," came a deep voice from behind, "Master Gard is agreeing to join you in the assignment detailed in the memo I received from Chancellor Valorum this morning."
Obi-Wan whirled around to find Mace Windu giving him a stern look. "Memo?" Obi-Wan said.
"Yes, apparently the Chancellor assumed that you had, per protocol, informed your superiors of your new assignment as soon as you received his mandate." A pregnant pause. "He wants to know if you're going to, how did he put it… 'get on with it'. Valorum is not a patient man when it comes to committees or their members, Knight Kenobi."
"Ah," said Obi-Wan, shuffling. "I'm… very sorry, Master Windu. I… I was trying to figure out how best to handle the responsibility, and I thought that if I went before the Council without a solid plan, I would-"
"Calm down, Obi-Wan. I would've done the same." He came to stand by the knight where he could watch the throng and its distant buzz. "But if that little nip can startle you, you're going to need to brush up on your rebuttals before you go to the Senate. They're like vipers there, and once you fill a committee seat, they're not going to play nice because you carry a lightsaber." He glanced sidelong at the knight. "It's time to put that silver tongue of yours to use."
Obi-Wan clenched his jaw. I know, I know, he thought. But of course, he didn't. It was like trials - you didn't really know what you were doing until you'd done it. And sometimes even then it was a close thing. He blinked his blind eye.
"Feemor was a good choice," Mace said, calmly. "Though I'm not sure how his padawan will play into this, except to annoy Valorum." He glanced at Obi-Wan again, and this time, the knight withstood the urge to look contrite. "Better," the master complimented his effort, "but be careful who you spite. Politicians have long memories, and you will need some friends in this committee if you want to get anything done."
"Yes, Master," Obi-Wan said humbly. He felt like a padawan again, in over his head and drinking up all the advice he could even though he had no idea what to do with it.
"Feemor can help you in that regard. He's probably the most likable man in the Order - how he ended up in your lineage, I haven't the slightest idea." Obi-Wan frowned at that. "Speaking of which…" Mace trailed off. Obi-Wan followed his gaze, and saw Yan Dooku towering amid the crowd, speaking with Master Rhara. Ben Kenobi was mingling not far off. They were not looking at each other, but were slowly, steadily drifting closer together. At last, Dooku noticed Ben, and began talking to him. They spoke for a matter of seconds before Ben shrugged off the company with an anxious air and marched out of the crowd toward the door.
Mace sighed. "He needs to stop," he grumbled.
"Stop what?" Obi-Wan asked.
Mace went to say something, but paused. "It's nothing," he said, and stepped back to rejoin the crowd, leaving Obi-Wan alone.
"Mm, nothing, he says." Obi-Wan looked down to find Master Yoda enjoying a handful of muja and beebleberry starships. "Teach my padawan deceit, I did not. His own invention it is."
Obi-Wan had to smile at the ancient master's peevishness. "I'm sure, grandmaster."
"Believe me, you do not. Believe you, your friend should not have, when told him there was one muja among the beebleberry, you did." He ate the last of his snacks, and licked the syrupy remains off his claws. "Believe in the Force, you must." He fixed Obi-Wan with a perceptive gaze. "Know why your elder broods, do you?"
Obi-Wan watched the doorway where Ben had disappeared, and a melancholic certainty fell over him. He hesitated. He always hesitated to give voice to his visions. "I might," he said.
"Might," Yoda harumphed again, and began hobbling back toward the party. "A strange word, this is. A knight you are. Your own access code, you have. Begone with you now, and be of some help to him, you might."
Obi-Wan cast a look back at Garen, where the man laughed and chatted with well-wishers and friends. Then, he turned and left down the turbolift.
After he was gone: "Do you think that is wise?" asked Mace Windu, lurking nearby. Yoda did not need to look up at his old pupil; he'd sensed his presence minutes in advance. "Need a master the boy does. Pressuring me to allow Dooku to train him, Master Ulo is. Powerful he is. Without training, dangerous he may become - to himself and others."
Mace glanced between Yoda and the doorway. "And you really think Ben is the answer?" he said.
"Give an answer the Force will," Yoda said cryptically. "Chooses a path for its children it does, even if choose it for themselves they do not." He nodded to himself and some unseen audience while watching the door. Then, he turned back to Mace, as if surprised to see the younger councilor still standing there. "Brood, you still do?" He swung his gimer stick and smacked the Master of the Order on his shins. "Come. More snacks there are. A good baker, Reeft is. Take advantage, we must."
The galaxy was a bustling, restless organism, evolving day after day to the beat of milliseconds and centuries. However, since Obi-Wan was a young man, Basement Level 459 of the Jedi Temple had plowed through the years in its own temporal bubble.
"It's been awhile since I've been down here," Obi-Wan said aloud, voice echoing off the distant stone walls like a shot in the dark. He looked up, head tilted to the right so he could see. "It's comforting to know it hasn't really changed." And that was the real point of this place, wasn't it? The Force was strong and close down here, untouched by the worries and woes of daily life.
Obi-Wan continued to admire the stonework in silence. Illuminated by a small portable lamp, Ben was sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the great fissure in the middle of the room. It was likely the only thing that had changed down here in centuries; the crack in time and space that had brought Obi-Wan Kenobi back in time to become Ben Kenobi. That had been eleven years ago. Ben was looking at the formation with a far-off expression, ignoring his younger self entirely. Obi-Wan sighed quietly to himself and made his way over.
"You're brooding."
Ben did not roll his eyes, but Obi-Wan knew he wanted to. There was a tension in the air that only ever appeared between the two of them. They were, after all, the same person. But they weren't. When other people fought with themselves, it was rarely so literal.
Obi-Wan sat cross-legged down on the floor next to his older self. "This is about Anakin, isn't it."
"Does everyone know about Dooku, then?"
"Not everyone. I only heard about it from Anakin himself." When Ben's face began to form a puzzled expression, Obi-Wan said, "I ran into him in the commissary the night before last."
"Ah." The master was quiet once more. Obi-Wan watched him sidelong.
"Qui-Gon thinks you should train him." Ben took in a thin, irritated breath. "Master Dooku of course thinks he should train him. Master Windu seems to think you need to get over yourself, and Master Yoda thinks you need my help, for some reason." Obi-Wan gave the older man an apologetic look. "He's the one who sent me down here."
Ben sighed. They sat in the quiet for a moment before Ben started talking. "Mace thinks I'm touched in the head."
"And are you?"
Ben gave him a look. "Wouldn't you be?"
Obi-Wan would've laughed, but found that he couldn't. "Have you considered talking to a mind healer?" he asked. Obi-Wan had accrued significantly more experience with mind healers after his encounters with the Sith and subsequent blindness, and though he abhorred all things medical, he owed significant progress to the mind healers under Vokara Che's command.
"I have. You know that. But I can't tell them everything. And anyway, I have it under control. It's just… sometimes it comes back." He shrugged. "There are just some things that I find impossible to forget."
Obi-Wan could not say anything to that, so he didn't try. "And Anakin brings it all back."
"From a certain point of view, yes."
"Which is why you don't want to train him."
"It's far more complicated than that."
"Qui-Gon thinks that-" Obi-Wan began again, but Ben interrupted him.
"Qui-Gon thinks anyone but Dooku should train him," the master snapped. "He even said that he'd train the boy himself, if it meant Dooku stayed out of the picture."
Obi-Wan's eyebrows rose. He hadn't known that. But it did sound like something Qui-Gon would do. "Anyone but Dooku or me, you mean." Ben's head snapped up in surprise, and the two Kenobis locked eyes. "But you think I should train him."
It was rare for anyone to take Ben truly off guard, but Obi-Wan had managed it. "Why would you say that?" His tone was one of curiosity, not defense.
"Because that's how it happened last time," Obi-Wan said. "Isn't it?"
Ben looked at him, mouth slowly falling open. "How did you…?"
"Remember after Kamino? When I'd seen what happened to Qui-Gon last time, with Maul? It was like that. Like a vision, but a memory." He spared a glance at the upturned granite that had hardly aged a day since he and Master Windu had journeyed down here and found Ben's lightsaber. "It was a few nights ago. After I spoke with Anakin, actually."
"What did you see?" Ben asked, dreading the response.
"Not much. Bits and pieces. He was my - your apprentice. I was a very young master, and…"
"And?"
"And you were very close." Obi-Wan glanced at Ben again. "And for some reason, you can't stand to think about it."
There was a long pause. "I did suggest to Qui-Gon that perhaps you would be the best option for Anakin's training," Ben admitted. "It seemed… right to me."
The idea made Obi-Wan uncomfortable. In his vision, he'd seen himself training a young Anakin Skywalker, who had been of a much more difficult disposition than the boy he knew. He'd just lost his master, his hair still not grown over from his knighting, and he'd had an apprentice. He couldn't even imagine taking on an apprentice now. He may have been a knight for four years, but he'd only just learned how to function on his own, to say nothing of a padawan. At length, he said, "Anakin said something curious to me when we spoke. We were talking about a classmate of his who is set for one of the Corps, and is not too happy about."
"Ah." Ben's immediate distaste was somehow comforting. It was nice not having to explain the story.
"We were talking about the Force's will for our lives, and how to know it when we see it. He seemed to get the idea fairly quickly, describing it as 'something that feels right, like it's always been that way."
Ben was smiling fondly. "He's a bright boy."
"And he may have a deeper point than he knows," Obi-Wan said. "There may be some things that have been before that are meant to be again."
Ben glanced sharply at him. "You're saying you think you should train him?"
"I was talking about you," Obi-Wan explained. Ben looked away, closed off once more. "You were his master before, and the stars themselves can see how much the boy means to you. Why is it that as soon as he needs a teacher, you run to the hills?"
"There are some things that have been that should never be again," Ben snapped angrily. "Why else would I be here?"
"Why else would you be here?" Obi-Wan quipped. "History does not repeat itself, but it does rhyme, you've said so yourself. So why are you suddenly shutting yourself off to the possibility that the Force might want to use you in this way again?"
"Because it went wrong," Ben burst, loudly enough to ring an echo off the vast hall. "Because my failure with Anakin Skywalker is why it all went wrong. Because it was my damn fault, all of it." He ran a hand through his hair. "I'm not sure if this life is a second chance or a penance."
"If it's redemption you're looking for," Obi-Wan said, "this is it."
Ben rubbed his face. "You don't understand."
"No," Obi-Wan said plainly, "I don't. I probably never will. But… Force damnit, Ben, stop looking at the past for two damned seconds and maybe you'll find that today lighter than you expected."
"You sound like Qui-Gon."
"He's a wise man," Obi-Wan shot back. "Maybe you should listen to him. You won't listen to me, that's for sure." The knight stood and straightened his tunics. His bootheels clicked a sharp rhythm against the stone floor as he went to the door. The tempo slowed and dust ground beneath his boots as he turned to say, "He's a ten year-old boy who needs guidance, and you know him better than anyone alive, probably better than he knows himself." He let that hang in the air. "I'm not you, and he's not who he was, and you know better than either of us this time. At least think about that before you hide yourself down here forever."
Obi-Wan swept out of the room and left his older self to brood in silence. In the isolation of the hall, Ben fell into meditation, but at every step, peace eluded him.
In the days and weeks following, the argument surrounding Anakin Skywalker intensified. It was no longer a mere problem on the horizon, but a real argument that had swept up Jedi of all levels of influence, pitting them on opposite sides of an increasingly thorny problem.
On one side was Master Ulo and an increasing number of other instructors, including Master Drallig, who wanted to see Anakin Skywalker placed as soon as possible to avoid dangerous incidents. The boy had always been accident prone, but recently, something seemed to have flipped a switch somewhere inside him, and not even Anakin himself knew why. Just last week, he'd accidentally flung a classmate clear across the room. The poor girl had needed stitches. The cause? Anakin had been trying to meditate.
"He needs help. He needs control - or to be contained." Master Ulo had confided in the Council. She was usually not an advocate of such measures, but Anakin was, as he had always been, an exception to all kinds of rules. "The Force is strong with him, and he does not mean any harm. But he taps so deeply into such power… he's just a child. I worry for him."
That confrontation had lit the fuse. Next, Yan Dooku caught wind of the whispers, as he always did, and went to Yoda himself in an indignant rage, demanding to know why he'd been denied when Anakin so clearly needed a master.
Then there was Ben, still so confused and paralyzed it was all he could do to meditate, or try to, while the drama unfolded. Neither Qui-Gon nor Mace could coax him to see that he was running out of time.
Qui-Gon was millimeters away from requesting Anakin himself, held off only by Mace's warnings - but everyone knew how often Qui-Gon Jinn heeded those. When Dooku found out his former apprentice was attempting to undermine him, all the resentment they'd harbored for each other came out in a massive row.
Mace was attempting to hold the two at arms' length while trying to drag Ben back into the discussion, where he belonged. His own opinion on the matter fell by the wayside while the other Jedi fought.
After weeks of putting off all the appeals, belligerents, and peacekeepers, something in Ben snapped. Some angry spark found his fuse, and that fuse hit a soft spot named Skywalker.
And that is when it became a real argument.
They were all packed into the Jinn/Kenobi apartments in the middle of the afternoon, yelling at each other. Not actually yelling, as even a Jedi in anger knows not to raise their voice, but absolutely boiling in the Force, broadcasting ear-splitting frequencies of tumult to everyone within a half mile radius.
Obi-Wan Kenobi had been putting up with it for days. He'd heard his name spoken more than a few times in their heated discussions, usually by Ben, but he knew better than to take the bait. He hid in his room or left the apartment. They were masters; the could damn well sort out their differences on their own.
But this isn't about differences, a small voice reminded him as he stormed down the hallways, attempting to clear his mind, this is about the future of the galaxy. It had to be, hadn't it? Or else, Ben wouldn't be like this. The man was absolutely catatonic. Nothing hit his nerves like this, not even the Sith. Obi-Wan had been thinking about his conversation with Ben a lot over the past few weeks. Surely he wasn't mean to train Anakin, was he? He brushed against the Force's insightful depths as he had this thought. It was a habit he'd made whenever he thought of Anakin. As always, no clear answer surfaced.
He could offer to train him, he supposed.
Or he could not.
But what should he do?
As long as he could remember, Obi-Wan had relied on the Force for everything, and in return, the Force favored him with visions. They didn't always feel like rewards, but they'd seldom led him astray in times of need. He hadn't had any visions for weeks, let alone any about Anakin. He had dreamt several times about their conversation in the commissary.
"Like it was right, like it had always been that way."
"Yes, exactly like that. How did you know?"
Obi-Wan slowed to a stop in the middle of a hallway. Several padawans had to dodge to avoid hitting him, and cast back curious looks after they passed him.
Could the answer really be that obvious?
There was no vision, or grand revelation, but something on Obi-Wan's internal horizon sparkled, and compelled him to make a detour. He jogged toward the nearest turbolift and, after a brief hesitation, selected his floor.
Anakin tried not to move. He wasn't good at it - at all - but he'd convinced himself that if he didn't move, he wouldn't do anything stupid, and if he didn't do anything stupid, no one and no thing would get hurt. He and the rest of his agemates were in the Room of a Thousand Fountains, and were supposed to be meditating. Anakin had dutifully moved himself some ways away from the others. Occasionally, he could see Master Ulo crane her neck to look at him from afar, expression sympathetic.
He'd had everything under control until he'd started thinking about Aren's plight, and the Force's will for his own life. Then everything had gotten out of hand. Now, whenever he tried meditating too hard or too deeply, things went haywire. The Force wasn't supposed to burn its own, that Anakin knew for certain. So why did he have to tip-toe across its shores like a man across a minefield? Was there something wrong with him? Had he done something wrong? Was it possible for the Force to be angry?
"Anakin?" The voice of his dorm master made him jump. He turned to look up at Master Ulo, who gave him a small smile. "Someone here to see you," she said. He turned further around to see his visitor.
"Obi-Wan?" He was confused to see the young knight in the middle of his lesson.
"Master Kenobi wants to speak with you about your training," Master Ulo said. Something in her tone of voice confused him further, and he frowned.
"Okay," he said uncertainly. He stood and brushed off his trousers.
"Would you like to walk with me, Anakin?" asked Obi-Wan, in a far more formal tone than Anakin was used to hearing from him. He shrugged.
"Sure."
The two walked off together side by side, talking quietly amid the burble of fountains and the cool breeze. Master Ulo watched them go with motherly interest. She couldn't hear what was being said.
"Please," she whispered, to the Galaxy or the Force or both, "please take care of him. Put him where he'll be safe."
