"Should we release him?"

The question still hung in the air as three healers sat in Cielan's office, discussing their patient. Physically, Obi-Wan was recovered enough to be discharged, to finish healing and regain body mass and muscle. His fatigue, though still present, was no longer a major concern; Obi-Wan would still be on medical leave and his activities monitored.

"I've researched everything Jocasta Nu could find on Force exhaustion and I still can't explain why Obi-Wan's midis aren't functioning correctly. Those with worse cases died, and those with less severe cases fully recovered after a period of rest. Him, however, we can't explain."

Hearing those words in an entirely different context almost made Cielan smile.

"Could it be – a combination of different factors?" Bant offered. The healers continued to review the case notes and the medical tests.

"We know he was poisoned by those grubs," Bant said slowly. "There were toxic aftereffects – gastrointestinal distress, nausea, nerve stimulation…."

"He mentioned he was poisoned during your initial exam," Cielan said, reviewing that report once more. "Reading this, I think he meant a separate poisoning; he very clearly stated that those grubs could survive digestion and were meant to ingest his organs from the inside – he didn't use the word poison when referring to that. Might we have a toxic interaction?"

"I missed that," Neille said, scanning the report eagerly.

"Obi's usually very precise in his words," Bant added. "He must have been talking two different things."

"Poison and toxins…no, not by itself, no," Neille said, thinking hard. "We wouldn't have this on-off cycle in this case. Something triggers a reaction– does it trigger the midis on – or off? I wish I could even figure that out."

Yawning, Bant stood up. "I can't think straight right now. The only thing I can think of right now is to reread all the date, read Alpha's account to the Council and see if there's the slightest clue there we might have missed. So we agree – release Obi but monitor him?"

As the only major concern the healers had were the recurring nightmares and the intermittent connection with the Force, they all agreed.

They explained to him they were still baffled by his on and off connection to the Force, for his midichlorian count was not yet within range of the Order's target. They would have expected no connection, or total connection, not this intermittent connection to the Force, as Neille frankly admitted to the Jedi.

His release came with a stern admonition that he was restricted to quarters for the first few days for more rest, then to the Temple until given permission other, and even then he was expected to remain in his quarters unless accompanied by someone.

"You can blame that on yourself, Obi," Bant said matter-of-factly when he grumbled. "Pulling so much on the Force in the condition you were in absolutely exhausted you as you already know; this exhaustion was no ordinary one because of that. You spend a good part of your time sleeping, admit it – at least you aren't restricted to bed rest in your quarters. I expect it'll be for just a few days."

"I am doomed to Anakin's cooking?" Obi-Wan made a sad face. "Can't I stay here?"

"Afraid he'll feed you those bugs you told me about – oh, Obi!" Bant clamped a hand over her mouth.

Despite a sudden sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, Obi-Wan merely shook his head as he fought the urge to head for the 'fresher.

"Don't, Bant. You can't worry that every word brings up a bad memory. If everyone tiptoes around me, we'll all be constantly on edge. I don't want my friends afraid to be around me, to measure each word before they speak. I'm edgy enough on my own at times; worrying about your worry will just make me even edgier, okay?"

"Force forbid you get any edgier," Bant teased back, aware of the wisdom in his words. "Just remember Master Yoda's stick."

"He's never cracked anyone's bones yet." He flexed his fingers, thoughtfully staring at them. Other than a slight swelling, they looked and functioned as normal now. As deformed as they had looked, strangely they had never hurt much, the pain too buried, he supposed, in the greater pain of that time.

"Please, can I at least go to the meal hall? I can use a hover chair. I won't have any trouble carrying a tray. See, they work just fine." He flexed his fingers at her and gave her his puppy-dog look.

"Obi, no. Confined to quarters for at least a couple of days, I said. Anakin can cook, fetch a meal for you, or you can have it delivered. You are allowed visitors as long as they don't tire you out. Normally we would restrict the number of such visits, but, oh, Obi, so many Jedi are away fighting."

The reminder quickly sobered the Jedi. He remembered the echoes of absent Jedi after Geonosis; never had the Temple seemed so lifeless as then, even the Force straining to make itself felt. It was a much quieter Obi-Wan that asked his next question.

"What about classes – can I visit the initiates, anything?"

"Obi, what part of rest don't you understand?" Bant threw an exasperated look at her friend. "Maybe in a few days; I'll check with Neille, it's his call. The little ones will surely tire you out, but perhaps initiate level and higher – but no sparring classes, that's for sure."

"It'd be good therapy," he tried, giving Bant his most ingratiating grin, the one Bant claimed she could not resist. It might work on his friend Bant, but it did not work on healer Bant.

"And one of the initiates gives you a big whack, you go down, the initiate is either scared witless at downing a Council member or gets way too overconfident when one of thebetter swordsmen in the Temple is so easily defeated. No, Obi, you know that's not a good idea."

Imagining himself at ten defeating Mace Windu, unlikely as that would have been, he had no choice but to agree.

"What about your medical records, Obi?"

"My records?" He suddenly realized what the actual question was: the extent to which he wanted them kept private. The medical records could be sealed or left open, and if the latter, under what restrictions did he want them placed?

Somehow the question brought home the reality of what he struggled to put behind him and his heart skipped a beat. Such a simple question, but it was the moment of truth, of hard-edged answers. Just how much did he wish to bury away, whether within himself or within sealed records?

Torn between revealing the extent of his mistreatment and the wish to keep the knowledge bound within him, Obi-Wan gave the only answer that the man he had been could, one that held true to his deepest beliefs; he finally told Bant that as his friend she was free to share any pertinent medical information she deemed reasonable and necessary to any one who asked. Any Jedi who wished to know would not inquire out of idle curiosity.

Understanding Obi-Wan's reluctance, Bant quietly classified his med chart as "Jedi-secure." Obi-Wan could retain the strength of his convictions yet should never be in danger of seeing all the details showing up on the Holonet.

The information would remain within the Temple; details would not go beyond its walls unless subpoenaed for some reason by the courts. Not even the Senate or the Chancellor's office would have access to it, though as yet, none but the Jedi knew of his return – or so they thought.

As he was still being overseen by the mind healers, those records were still restricted. Once closed, those records would be open only to the healers and the Jedi Council and then only to the latter upon a formal request to the mind healers.

Bant realized that the details of his captivity – the known details, for much lay hidden within the Jedi's mind, yet unshared – were too painful and too personal to be fodder for idle curiosity and speculation.

Politicians might hold Obi-Wan up as an example of the "evil of the Separatists;" the Separatists try to twist his truth into an example of "Republic lies or Jedi brainwashing," while ordinary citizens shivered in distant horror and excitement over brutal treatment that would be reduced to mere entertainment for the masses. Unless holograms of his gaunt and scarred body were made public and the nightmares that interrupted his sleep freely distributed, the true horror of his situation would be minimized and sanitized, questioned and denied.

There was no reason to put Obi-Wan, or anyone, through that kind of public scrutiny.

After a quick shower to "wash away the sterile stench of the Healer's Ward" Obi-Wan dressed in light training clothes that Bant had fetched for him. They were his own clothes, but they still hung on his still-too-thin frame. Though physical wounds rarely bothered him, Obi-Wan wanted to avoid the sight of whatever the looking glass would show – it might show more than he wanted to yet see. In his rush to dress, he got tangled in the top as he pulled it over his head and the fabric draped around his head. His struggles to get free just made it worse, trapping him in folds of cloth.

No, no…he breathed. A whispered cry to Bant didn't reach her. He was stuck. Gods, no – he was suffocating – drowning – falling… and his world was going dark….

A thud made Bant run over to the fresher and call worriedly, "Are you okay, Obi?"

A soft moan came back. "Bant. Help me, please." The panic in his voice prompted her to push the door open, to find Obi-Wan sitting on the floor, struggling desperately to free himself. Despite the initial reaction of wanting to laugh, the situation was anything but funny.

"Stop fighting, Obi," Bant said calmly. Wondering at his hitched breathing, she worked the shirt down over his torso. "I guess we've found the secret weapon to defeat a Jedi – a shirt."

Her attempt at lightening the atmosphere fell flat. Obi-Wan looked up at her, his head finally free, and his eyes wide with some nameless emotion. "It attacked me," he said breathlessly, trying to smile.

But his fingers were trembling, as was his voice.

"He was scared." Bant said, her voice hushed with disbelief. "Obi was scared – of his shirt. As soon as he was free, he relaxed and even made a joke out of it, but – he was scared."

The two healers were silent, contemplating the possibilities. They knew from Obi-Wan he had been trapped within dirty clothes before being stripped entirely of them; they knew it had been dark, damp and cold, they knew he'd been poisoned and tortured to tears and beyond – but there was something else they weren't aware of. It was something Obi-Wan was not revealing, and that was the piece of the puzzle they needed.

After a moment's reflection, Cielan said, "He's functioning well enough, other than these episodes. Let's still release him, since his padawan will be there watching for any adverse reactions. "

"For a few days, at least – Anakin's not much for inaction for long," Bant muttered. "In the meantime, I'll keep digging deeper for clues."

"In session, I may have to push Obi-Wan a bit hard – harder than I like," Cielan said thoughtfully. "Pushed hard enough he'll either say something he's trying to hide or something he's hid so successfully even he doesn't remember it, though it may cause a minor setback for a time. I have a feeling that if Neille could figure out why this on and off connection to the Force and actually repair it, Obi-Wan would face this on his own with the Force to back him up. He's definitely been through something far more traumatic than we can possibly imagine. We need more answers before we can declare Obi-Wan fit for duty, and, well, recovered."

"And if we don't find those answers?"

Cielan's silence was her answer.

Mace Windu was waiting outside his room when Obi-Wan stepped through the doorway. Dressed like a Jedi, he felt like a Jedi again, not a patient. Seeing Mace straighten up at the sight of him, Obi-Wan made a face at Bant who smiled sweetly back at him.

"I'm just humoring the healers," Mace told him, correctly interpreting the look. "If you want, I'll shadow you back to your room – I won't go away, though, because I know the healers will dredge up some excuse to haul me here for shots or something if I allow you to leave on your own. Where's your padawan, Obi-Wan, shouldn't he be here to escort you with that stupid grin on his face he gets when he's delirious with joy?"

The sour way Mace said that last caused Bant to scurry away with her hand over her mouth, grinning.

"Unless you've locked him up, he is on leave, Mace," the Jedi reminded his friend. At the frown that greeted this, Obi-Wan sighed and crossed his arms. "You didn't, er, forbid him to actually take advantage of his justly deserved leave?"

"Who, me?" Mace threw up his hands in mock protest. "I just thought, well, considering how worried he was about you that he'd want to be here himself when you're released to his custody –"

"His custody?" Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow. "Force help me. Maybe I should stay with the healers – it'd be safer." He turned around and took a step.

"All right, all right, you two can fight it out who has custody of who," Mace surrendered. He hesitated, and looked at Obi-Wan before adding carefully, "Even though you're released from the Healers Ward, you do know that you are not released from their custody? Until they give you a clean bill of health, well…." He seemed reluctant to finish his thought.

With Mace running interference, Obi-Wan made it through the sparsely crowded hallways without too many delays. He had stopped to exchange a few words with initiates and padawans between classes. He had been stopped along the way by several colleagues wanting to wish him a speedy recovery. A simple glare from the lead Council member managed to keep most of the latter encounters short if any threatened to turn lengthy. Even so, the trip had kept him on his feet longer than expected.

Knowing his friend's need to rest – and mindful of Bant's orders and the potential for consequences if he ignored them - Mace quickly took his leave after seeing his friend to his doorway, after Obi-Wan promised to take it easy for the rest of the day.

Standing in the open doorway, Obi-Wan just smiled and looked around. He was home at last. This place comforted him – the worn furnishings, the pleasant memories of master and padawan at rest – he first one, then the other.

He sniffed and smiled appreciatively at the distinctive aroma of Pongju tea and Tasala caf: Anakin had laid in a fresh store of both anticipating his master's return. Fresh, for the aroma of both dissipated after just several days in dry storage. This stock had been replenished no later than the previous evening.

He would celebrate familiar surroundings with whichever one caught his eye when he was ready. He wasn't tired enough to rest in bed, but before he could settle down on the couch with a datapad and hot cup, he would first have to retrieve said datapad from his room. In so doing, he could start the room's air to re-circulate since it was always stuffy and musty after a long absence. Walking into the room, Obi-Wan stopped short when he noted the neat pile of clothing on his bed with the case carefully perched on top.

"Oh," he said faintly, feeling almost emotional over a mere possession. He cherished it as much as the river rock that had been his thirteenth life day gift He slowly sat down and picked up the case, turning it over in his fingers, remembering the occasion of its gifting.

"Another step closer, Padawan," Qui-Gon had said with a smile as he plaited another ribbon in the braid. He had excused himself, only to return and drop something into Obi-Wan's hands from behind. "We are allowed very few possessions, but some occasions need to be marked in some way and this can be one of the few you are allowed. I am proud of your growth in the ways of the Force. When you're a knight and away from my tutelage, this might let you remember your old master."

Obi-Wan smiled, covering his pleasure with teasing. "With your maxims and admonishments constantly running through my mind I could hardly forget you, Master, even should I wish to." He opened the case and saw the repair kit inside and smiled with genuine delight. "Master, thank you. A most practical gift as well as one I will greatly treasure."

He sat on the bed now, in the room that once been Qui-Gon's, marveling that he had survived and returned to find memories as vivid as in his cell: of life with Qui-Gon, of life with his padawan. There was no doubt in his mind that Anakin had left it as he had; a pointed reminder of the life he was returning to.

Reckless and head strong, his padawan was still that thoughtful person thinking of others; Qui-Gon would be pleased to know this young man who was fast growing into adulthood, perhaps soon to be a Jedi knight.

Qui-Gon, I hope I've at least come close to living up to your expectations – both as the Jedi I grew into without you to guide me and as the mentor I've been to Anakin. I've made a lot of mistakes along the way, but you taught me to live in the here and now, not the past and not the future. Right now I am trying…I am trying so hard, but I can't quite do it. Of course, that doesn't mean I don't still miss you; I could use your presence right now, but I can imagine you're sitting here with me if I close my eyes.

A gentle breeze from the window wafted past his face, almost a soft caress against his cheek. With a smile on his face, he leaned back against his pillow and let the soothing memories of his past welcome him back, never feeling ghost arms wrap around him. It occurred to him once to wonder where Anakin was, but he shrugged it off. Anakin had had a rough time of it on Jabiim; he was entitled to some time of his own without his master's supervision no matter what Mace or others might think.

He stirred slightly when he felt a blanket drape over him and felt something removed from his hand as a warm hand touched his forehead.

"Go back to sleep, Master," Anakin said softly. "You need a lot of rest according to the healers."

Instead the Jedi pulled himself upright and leaned back against the pillow, glancing at the chrono. His eyes widened a bit. "I had quite a nap already, good thing I never did put water on to boil for tea."

He yawned and moved far enough over to give Anakin room to sit on the edge of the bed at his side. He saw this Anakin too little nowadays, gentle and compassionate, the same generous heart that had so quickly captured his and was too often nowadays kept hidden. He mourned the loss of the eager and innocent boy in this too often troubled and withdrawn young man – mourned the war that had changed so many of them and taken so many lives.

The aftereffects of Jabiim were giving him back this boy in the form of this young man.

"Thank you for bringing this back – you must know how I treasure it. I'm afraid it and my rock are the two attachments I've allowed myself, but hardly a serious transgression against the Code, I think."

"Attachments are directed at other persons, Master," Anakin corrected sternly, inwardly hiding a flash of guilt. "This comes under the 'no possessions' portion of the Code."

"What then of our lightsabers?" Obi-Wan grinned, and in unison both chanted, "It's not a possession, it's our life."

Both laughed. Anakin got up to leave; Obi-Wan's hand on his arm stopped him.

"Anakin, please, I really wish you would talk to me about Jabiim – it bothers you still, perhaps I can help. I saw it in your face on Riflor." Let me give you what you need, be the master you deserve, my padawan. His eyes searched Anakin's, waiting - hoping for Anakin's nod of acceptance of what his master's heart asked.

It didn't come.

Had it come, it might have served as a catalyst for some mutual confessions of inner turmoil, a tentative and first step towards a deeper understanding of each other.

If such were to come, it would have to come another time.

"How can you help me when you still need help yourself? No, Master, now's not the time. Perhaps - perhaps later." Anakin closed up, and Obi-Wan saw it was useless to pursue it at the moment. After a moment's hesitation, he reluctantly agreed.

"Another time, then. It'll do you good, and it's my job still to help guide you. Now, I don't know about you, but I actually have a bit of an appetite. Have you eaten already? Oh, well, I'll fix some soup or something."

"Let me, Master." Anakin stood up and smiled down at his master. "You have no idea how much pleasure doing something for you gives me – I kind of missed you, you know."

For just a second, a hurt little boy looked out of the man's eyes – a boy who was lost and alone. The same boy stunned silent in disbelief, hearing Padawan Kenobi trying to be as gentle as possible as he broke the news of Qui-Gon Jinn's death.

Though he could not have done otherwise, could not have left it to others, Obi-Wan would always know he would forever be the destroyer of one young boy's dreams. He had destroyed the boy's faith in the invincibility of Jedi, in his belief that good deeds were rewarded with a good and long life, and that good was rewarded with fairness. Despite a life as a slave, the boy had always believed in the triumph of good over evil.

Anakin Skywalker's dreams had been shattered more than once, by fate, by a Sith, and by a then Jedi padawan. By Obi-Wan Kenobi.

Somehow, on some level, that had always stood between them.

Not his fault, the Jedi knew; he, too, was caught up in events. He had so often been the bearer of bad tidings, but whether he wished it or not, he was all too often the pawn of fate, the one tasked with bringing both discipline and sorrow into his padawan's life.

Could he have done a better job? That uncertainty gnawed at him; a familiar ache unanswered by his heart, the Order, the Force – or even by Anakin himself.

It was an ache released to the Force, yet one rooted deep within him and thus quick to return. It was a flaw rooted in his own need to seek perfection and find it unattainable, and in the end, even he had to admit, proof that he would always be – human: fallible and imperfect.

And because of that, he feared he would fail Anakin and he would fail himself. To do otherwise would be to achieve perfection.

Failures and successes…in the end, it would be the summation of all that would define his life.

He knew he shouldn't feel guilty – he hadn't planned on being captured, hadn't planned to put his padawan through so much misery and pain on his behalf – but Obi-Wan knew from Bant and Siri just how badly the young man had suffered. No matter that he should have released the grief and anger – his padawan had hurt – and that hurt the master in turn. A melancholy smile touched his face for a brief moment, and he did his best to release his guilt.

He needed to be strong, for them all, but especially for his padawan. Anakin needed his master; the padawan needed to be his master's priority now.

"I was happy you weren't with me," Obi-Wan said quietly, reaching out and grasping the young man's hand and giving it a quick squeeze. "So I guess you could say I didn't miss you, from a certain point of view."

"You and your 'certain point of view'," Anakin mimicked, grinning, easily picking up his master's attempt at humor. "By not being there with you, I'm free to take care of you now – from my point of view. You, my master, are stuck with me for the time being." He stuck his head back in the door and grinned smugly. "And what I say goes, right?"

He ducked just before a thrown pillow caught him in the face.

"No unnecessary and frivolous use of the Force, Master," drifted back through the open doorway.

Despite himself, Obi-Wan grinned. Sometimes his padawan really did listen to him, if only to spout back his own words.