I recognize that some find my stories slow moving and short of action. That happens to be my style, and while I might wish I could tighten up the stories (and actually do, after I've stepped away and gained some perspective) - "it ain't goin' to happen." If 24 chapters have gone nowhere, so will a number more. Action-oriented stories are elsewhere on this fan site and I wish you great enjoyment of them.

To everyone - whether you're enthralled or bored - I wish each and everyone one of you a safe and Happy New Year!

Chapter 25. Confrontations

Gratitude.

It made Mace Windu just a bit uneasy: what need had a Jedi – had he - for gratitude?

Oh, he understood gratitude – he could feel it radiating in the Force from misbehaving padawans or younglings when punishment for any infractions they may have committed were less severe than anticipated.

Of course, such gratitude was never personal, never directed at Mace Windu; instead, it was usually directed at the Force for saving them from Mace Windu.

But gratitude from an ailing Jedi, for doing little more than any Jedi would do in the same circumstances, discomfited him. He was comfortable with who he was and who he was perceived to be. Warm and fuzzy he was not, not by choice or by temperament.

Blast the boy and his gratitude, anyway!

Obi-Wan was not going to change that. It just wasn't going to happen. Not if Mace could help it. The easiest way to deflect it was to twist it and make it work to his advantage.

Therefore, being the crafty Jedi he was, Mace had no compunction about taking advantage of Obi-Wan's gratitude with a request they take a stroll together to the Room of a Thousand Fountains, a few days later. It was perhaps not fair to ask, for Obi-Wan would not deny the request, not from one to whom he felt beholden.

It seemed the right thing to do to help him towards healing.

Most Jedi, not just Obi-Wan, found the gardens restful, a place where the Force and nature were in harmony. So whether or not he cared to be seen around the Temple, the young Jedi would go and immerse himself in the tranquility of life rather than continue to hide from it. It would do him good, or so Mace had justified his request, squashing down any hint of hesitation.

Whatever trepidation the young man may have felt, he covered well. Any protest he might have made died unsaid before his lips could even form words.

Wordlessly he had nodded.

His hesitation was one sign of how much damage Obi-Wan had suffered; his acquiescence one sign of how strong he was despite that. He was – not quite afraid, no, that wasn't the word Mace wanted – but determined to face what he preferred not.

Strength of character would see Obi-Wan through this; for one so young, the boy had a will and determination that could overcome nearly any obstacle.

Mace felt a twinge of something he would never call "paternal pride," no, he thought it mere admiration.

Progress was slow, for Obi-Wan still tired easily and his left side was still just a bit weak. Mace had chosen a time when few Jedi would be in the halls or gardens. Obi-Wan relaxed visibly when he settled on a stone bench amidst the red of K'a'rinda blooms.

"No one stared," he murmured.

"And why would anyone stare at you?" Mace decided to play along, well aware that Obi-Wan had not meant to be overheard.

After a moment's silence, Obi-Wan raised innocent eyes to Mace. "Me?" A hint of his old humor surfaced. "I was referring to you - everyone probably scurried off as soon as they saw you."

"Me? Yoda's the one with the gimer stick." With a broad wink, Mace pretended to be affronted at the implication. In truth he was inordinately pleased that some part of the old Obi-Wan had surfaced.

"In case they had to face the infamous Windu scowl." The wry turn of his lips – for a moment – broadened into the impish grin of old.

"You really are an impudent brat." No sooner were the admiring words out of his mouth, then Mace winced. That had been Qui-Gon's favorite affectionate epithet for his padawan. This was the first time Mace had known the words to fail to bring the usual grin and fond retort in kind.

"Please, don't!" Obi-Wan exclaimed, interrupting Mace's apology. A faint flush crept up his face. "I mean – please don't apologize, Master Windu. I don't want to be treated like an invalid who has to be protected from reminders of, well, his past life."

"You can't blame us from wanting to avoid anything that may cause you further hurt." Changing the subject abruptly, Mace pointed to the water and suggested Obi-Wan soak his feet.

The warm water was soothing and so clear that each small grain of sand or small pebble could be seen in fine detail until one wiggled one's toes and watched the swirling patterns obscure the shapes and colors beneath.

Like life, like the Force, the patterns would smooth for a while once the disturbance was past.

Pink and white, gray and black, spotted or striped, the tiny pebbles were all of a size and all so very different. Rounded, no really rough edges on any, unique and ever-changing as the sweep of the artificial "sun" swept in its arc, that which was unique and singular diminishing in shadows to a uniformity that vanished when highlighted by angular light, only to brighten to near uniformity once more under direct light.

The pebbles and grains of sand under water: a lesson in life itself, Obi-Wan thought.

The Sith – true evil, all dark in nature unless struck by angled light that proved them perhaps to be individuals with perhaps a swirl of goodness normally hidden. The "Chosen One" so full of light that all within range could see little else.

With a mental shake of his head, Obi-Wan re-focused on the swirling patterns, letting his mind move in a lazy rhythm that matched the swirls. He had always been enthralled by moving patterns – in water, in dancing flames, or in the sweep of clouds across a sky – the pulse of life itself and infinitely calming.

After a while he rested his head on his arms, propped on bent knees, and absently watched flitter flies dart amongst the colorful blossoms not so far away.

A low rumble in his stomach reminded him it was nearly midday meal. Perhaps his appetite was coming back, perhaps a sign that the nausea was abating as well. At least the dizziness no longer plagued him as it had the first few times he had risen from his bed in the Healers' Ward.

He stood and stretched lazily, grabbed his socks and indoor footwear, and turned to find a pair of bright blue eyes appraising him from a few feet away. Inwardly he gulped as his stomach did a flip-flop.

Not good.

"Good day to you, Anakin. How do you like being – a padawan?" The words were polite.

"Rather well. Master Qui-Gon is the best master in the Temple," Anakin boasted. His face grew sly. "Of course, you knew that. He was your master once."

"I – yes, he was," Obi-Wan acknowledged, tugging on his footwear and then twisting his fingers into fists as his hands tucked deeper within the sleeves of the robe he had quickly shrugged on, ready to make his escape. Even as he thought that, he wondered at the word his mind dredged up: Escape.

Regardless, he felt his anxiety level spiking – then espied the reason why.

"Anakin, move away from Obi-Wan. Come here, please." The authoritarian voice rang out as the big Jedi strode forward purposefully.

"We were just exchanging – pleasantries." Why was he flushing, like he had done something forbidden?

The slight defensive tone in his reply prompted another sly grin from Anakin. Obi-Wan's eyes narrowed a fraction. Anakin had initiated the contact expecting Qui-Gon to interfere – but for what reason and why would Qui-Gon care about a simple, civil, and if Obi-Wan had his way, very short conversation?

"Please don't do so again. It is best for Anakin not to -," Qui-Gon's eyes flickered as he saw Mace approaching rapidly, wearing a formidable scowl. "I prefer Anakin to have no contact with you."

Something perverse in Obi-Wan prompted him to stand tall and coolly ask as if the answer meant nothing to him, "And you?"

"Our time together has come and gone. I don't expect we will cross paths often." The voice held no warmth, no recognition that only weeks ago they were companions and comrades. "Anakin does not need to be exposed to – well – my duty is protect him." The large hands dropped on Anakin's shoulders and turned the boy around.

Obi-Wan stood frozen, impossible thoughts beating in his head.

Protect? Does not need to be exposed to?

He had killed, yes; the Zabrak, the Sith – but that was hardly reason to – to protect Anakin. Was it?

He fought to control the trembling in his body.

Mace glared at Qui-Gon Jinn and Anakin Skywalker, neither of whom was in a position to see, backs turned as they walked away. A simple encounter - and one easily avoided - looked suspiciously like a confrontation, considering the rigidity in the young Jedi's body. No point now in reproaching himself for not having stayed nearer at hand, able to intervene. He needed to deal now with what had happened; dealing with why would have to come later.

He turned his attention back to Obi-Wan, pale and obviously shaken although the rigidity was fading before his very eyes, melting into a kind of stunned disbelief and sick fear that was nearly concealed from sight, if not the Force.

"Obi-Wan?" Mace ventured cautiously.

"I'm – I'm fine," he answered, almost mechanically as if not really hearing, his fingers escaping his sleeves to again clutch the edges of his cloak. It was a gesture Mace was becoming familiar with, a new habit, born of an inner chill.

I'd cheerfully strangle Qui-Gon, Mace thought rather sourly as Obi-Wan bowed a bit absently, tucked his head and hands into his cloak, and walked away. The proud, straight posture was never less evident; the young Jedi now walked with a slump to his shoulders, visible evidence of his sadness and confusion. He's ruined perhaps the finest Jedi the Order has seen in some time, certainly the finest of his generation.

"Much more than most of us he will yet be, if less than he might have been," Yoda observed from behind, almost as if he had been reading his thoughts.

Mace uncoiled and looked at Yoda, taken not at all by surprise by the diminutive Jedi's sudden appearance. "Meaning – I hope you've had a vision, though you've yet to have one that actually doesn't have a downside to its upside."

"To all consequences and actions there are reactions," Yoda was not at all perturbed by the near-accusation. Nor did he elaborate, only changed the subject. "Dark thoughts mark your aura."

Mace snorted as if that was hardly worthy of mention. "What that man has done to him…."

"Stolen his light it seems."

"So it seems."

"Not all is as it seems."

After that soft murmur and contemplative glance at each other, both Jedi were content to remain silent.

The "what" of what happened had already been explored: the abrupt severing of the bond, along with the physical wound that was already draining the exhausted padawan combined with his valiant effort to save Qui-Gon Jinn with the Force, had overtaxed the young man's mind and brain.

The "why" was still largely speculation. Obi-Wan couldn't and Qui-Gon wouldn't provide any kind of in-depth explanation.

Answers would have to come from elsewhere. Yoda, along with Yaddle, sought them within the Force. Mace dealt instead with the consequences.

"Glad I am that another to care for he has." Yoda smirked, a rare expression for him. "Even more glad I am that you, Master Windu, care for him as do you. Wounded that young man is, needs affection to help heal. Expected it to come from you, I did not."

"Blast it!" Mace exploded. "I am, I suppose, a bit protective of young Kenobi – "

"Fond you are," Yoda corrected. A gentle smile came over his face as he conceded, "As am I. Affection that boy gathers to him as freely as he bestows it. When withdrawn that is, something of himself he loses."

Searching for affection was exactly how Mace would have described it when he and Yoda found Obi-Wan.

The young Jedi had always had an unerring instinct and understanding of others' hidden emotional truths no matter the outer façade except when it had mattered most.

That instinct had only truly failed him once: the first few months of his apprenticeship. Such was understandable, for Qui-Gon had been confused himself, trying to deny growing affection while admitting their pairing was all but ordained by the Force.

The two Jedi had decided to give the young man a chance to regroup before they intruded with questions as to what aspect of the "confrontation" with his former master and his new apprentice had so disturbed him. Obi-Wan was going to have to learn how to cope with their presence someday; he might well have been shocked more by the unexpectedness of the encounter than the encounter itself.

That hope was quickly proven false.

Seemingly oblivious to their entry, Obi-Wan huddled within a warm throw, tucked tight against a corner of Mace's couch.

The young man was absently toying with his braid, staring at a holo of himself over the years. His attentive expression and near-desperate eyes seemed to search for meaning – perhaps a search for himself – in each image. Small smiles of genuine warmth and joy lightened his face as he viewed holos of himself when young: a cheerful toddler who barely walked, a young boy with mischievous eyes and an innocent grin about age five, and a boy playing with his friends about age seven.

A thumb rubbed his chin at a solemn-eyed boy of age twelve or so, a boy who knew time was running out and his future running away.

He was motionless, face frozen in an unemotional stare that belied inner turmoil as he watched the holos over his apprenticeship – growing from an uncertain and shy padawan to a composed and confident one, secure in his place. Now it was all too clear that he believed that security a lie: a mere illusion born only of his hope.

"Why?" he murmured, a pained whisper of a word at the final holo. It showed Qui-Gon with his arm relaxed around his padawan's shoulders, both of them laughing at something out of sight. The camaraderie and the affection would bring a smile to all but the dourest of Jedi. It had been taken just a few weeks previously.

Mace gently cleared his throat and wrapped a warm hand around the smaller, trembling hand, a gesture asking that the holo be relinquished into his care.

"Do you want to know why, Obi-Wan?" With a sigh, Obi-Wan put the holo into the extended hand and twisted to face his temporary guardian. "There is no why," Mace firmly answered the half-fearful, half-expectant gaze.

"The Will of the Force." Obi-Wan murmured without hesitation, offering his quiet acceptance of the answer that he had been taught from the beginning of his apprenticeship to be the answer to all things unknowable.

"For many things a great excuse but not for all things." Obi-Wan's eyes shifted to the older Jedi. They held a gentle admonishment and great tenderness as well. "What in particular has so upset you, young one?"

Obi-Wan dropped his eyes and slowly shook his head, a silent refusal that could mean he himself could not put words to it – or wished not to. Whatever had been said, it had hurt and confused him. Mace just hoped Yoda knew just what to say, for he certainly did not.

"Speak you must." The voice was firm but soft, as gentle as the clawed hand that patted the hand tightly clenched on one knee. "Hurting you are – but friendless and an outcast you are not. Hard it may be but help you we cannot if you do not speak to us."

So softly that Mace had to strain to hear it, Obi-Wan whispered, "With all due respect, Master Yoda, there is little to say."

"Plenty to say there is." Yoda thumped his stick against the floor. "Anger, fear, hurt – all these things you must acknowledge within yourself. Your grief and sadness we know of, no more and no less than your other emotions are they. Harmful they are if bottled up; diminish you in no way do they."

"Yoda's right, Obi-Wan," Mace agreed. "It's perfectly understandable if you were hurt by seeing Anakin with Qui-Gon – but, no, that wasn't it, was it?" No doubt that had hurt, but that wasn't the problem. Something more than that was troubling Obi-Wan. On a hunch, he added, "Did Qui-Gon mention Naboo?"

That got a reaction: Obi-Wan's eyes flashed to Mace. Pained eyes confirmed his guess, but not words.

"Did he give a reason for his behavior there?"

Obi-Wan wet his lips, but did not speak. He would not lie but he would not speak the truth either. The young man had never willingly accused others of misbehavior when it related to himself – it had kept him silent when bullied when young as it kept him now silent.

"Obi-Wan…." Recalling Qui-Gon's words in Council, Mace suddenly had a very good idea what could have so troubled the young man. "Did he threaten you, accuse you -."

The young man's resistance crumpled, a muscle working in his throat as he denied the accusation. His truth would not allow a harsher charge be allowed against his former master, just as Mace had hoped.

"No! He accused me of nothing, not directly; he just warned me – to keep my distance – said that Anakin needed to be protected from me. He just wanted to protect his padawan. From me! I would never hurt Anakin, Master Windu, Master Yoda. Not knowingly."

Mace's lips tightened and he exchanged a long look with Yoda.

"He always warned me to control my anger." Obi-Wan's fingers clenched tight in his lap. "I didn't. I didn't. I touched the dark. I remember now. He fears my very presence – is tainting Anakin – am I – did I…is he right? Did I fall on Naboo? Am I now tainted with the dark?"

Stormy gray eyes pleaded for the truth that he feared to hear.

"Stop, Obi-Wan!" Yoda's voice cut through the sense of horror that was spreading over the young Jedi. "Touching the dark means nothing and everything; touching the dark is no more and no less than a padawan's Trial to knighthood. To touch the dark is not to embrace it. Repudiated the dark and made your choice on Naboo – to serve the light, even at the risk of your mortal life. You chose there to be a Knight of the Order, even if you knew it not."

"Yoda's right."

Obi-Wan dashed a hand across eyes fever-bright with uncertainty. Could he not reconcile a heretofore-unknown truth with a reality he all too fervently believed in?

You can't force him into a belief he is not yet ready to accept, but you can give him a goal.

"Don't prove Qui-Gon right, prove him wrong."

As Mace hoped, his words sparked something: curiosity.

Hesitantly, Obi-Wan asked, "About what?"

"That you're worthy of the name Jedi. Prove to him that your brush with the dark only made you stronger and more worthy of the name than – some. That your capacity to forgive the harm done to you speaks more of your worthiness than any deeds you may have done or might do. That you earned and are worthy of the title Jedi Knight."

A bitter snort greeted the words, much to Mace's chagrin. The words had backfired; further proof that that the damage to Obi-Wan's mind had left its marks in ways yet to be discovered.

"A knight without the Force; a hollow gesture for a hollow man. I want the Force back – I want to breathe it, to feel it, to see with it – I would willingly trade the title for that feeling. A part of me has been torn away and I'm half-empty without it and nothing – nothing fills it. Nothing."

With a tiny smile, Yoda prodded the wound. "Half a man you are, then. Disappointed in you I am." As cruel, as hurtful as the words were, Yoda's pain at speaking them reverberated in the Force along with sorrow and grief.

Obi-Wan's hurt was even more powerful; his shock palpable.

"Promising Jedi you were. Wise and strong for one so young. Had both the heart and the mind of a Jedi; most important skills of a Jedi they are, far more than prowess with the sword. Now flinch from the truth you do." Yoda leaned forward and gazed fiercely into eyes that would not – could not – look away. "Believe in one man's hurtful words you do and believe nothing of what I or Master Windu say. Believe not what your heart tells you. Believe not as a Jedi, but as a rejected boy whose fate rests in the good words of another. Bah. I know not this Obi-Wan Kenobi. Gone my Obi-Wan is."

A stifled, forlorn cry stopped Yoda as he turned away. "Not gone…taken. Taken." Just saying the words seemed to have exhausted Obi-Wan, for Loyalty and Truth had battled bitterly. He fell to his knees, head bent.

"Taken indeed, my Obi-Wan. Lie to you I never will." Yoda leaned forward and cupped the young man's chin with a gentle hand. "A great disservice Qui-Gon did to you. Blame not yourself. Accept your former master as human and capable of wrong, for a great wrong he has done you. Know you what's inside you but acknowledge it you do not – and acknowledge it you must to move beyond it. Trust me do you?"

"I – I," Obi-Wan could barely get words out. "I can't trust you both."

"Trust Qui-Gon, or Mace, or I, is not what I ask. I ask you to trust yourself."

Obi-Wan threw back his head and screamed; a choked, guttural, soft scream.

"Good, young one; good. Let it go, release the pain." Yoda's hand rested on the shoulder beneath him. "Release what is in your soul – your heart – your mind. Judge you we will not."

Obi-Wan brought his hands to his face and shuddered. A low moan escaped, then a hitched breath, and finally words, starting slowly and building in intensity.

"Half of me was ripped away and I don't know where that half is or how to get it back. Why – why would Qui-Gon – why would the Force do that to me? Why?"

By the time he finished speaking, anger and tears were leaking out in equal measure, just as Yoda wanted. Satisfied that the wound was lanced and some of the poison was draining, Yoda leaned forward and wiped clawed hands along the wet tracks of released pain as if he wished to wipe away the pain itself. He could not, Mace knew, no one could heal that wound but Obi-Wan himself.

"Why is the question that might never be answered. What you will do about it remains to be seen. Great hurt you have suffered, only right it is that pain you feel but pain unexpressed is pain unreleased. Room you have made for the Force, a space for it to fill."

One clawed hand moved upwards to rest on the bent head, as if bestowing the Force's blessings. It reminded Mace of a painting he had once seen. Even now he could not remember the medium or the artist, only its emotional impact. He had thought it a perfect representation of the power and the peace of the Force: a gentle hand lying on a troubled brow.

Offering peace to a wounded and weary soul.

It had even more impact seen in real life.

Note: this actually seems a great chapter to end a year with - Mace Windu reflecting on gratitude, the "benediction" - I sure didn't plan that.