Disclaimer: All belongs to the great and powerful Mouse.
Summary: After the traumas and tragedies of Undone, can master and padawan find their way back to who and what they were?
A/N: While not the most timely of updates, at least I didn't make you wait a year! Hopefully, thigs will continue to get better both for the characters and my frequency of writing!
A/N 2: Big thanks to my lovely and wonderful beta Maevependergast. I still couldn't resist tweaking some things, so all mistakes found here are mine.
Thanks:
Star Wars and Skillet: Thanks. I'm glad you enjoyed it. I hope Obi changes his mind too!
Leolina: Truthfully, I never abandoned this story, or Human (which is incomplete as well). Both are always open on my laptop it's just that nothing I wrote seemed to work. Writer's block is no joke!
Please R&R!
~LOST~
Chapter 5 – A Punch to the Head
"I think this ceremony would be good for you."
Good for you. Obi-Wan brought his shields up and immediately the sense of his master faded into background noise of his mind. Good for you he had said. Obi-Wan's bones seemed to vibrate in his skin. It was something of a wonder that his body didn't seem to shake in its seat. How could anything be good about what he had done?
/It can't. There's nothing good about what you've done. Or you…/
"Good for me," he repeated aloud. His brain, no his soul would not, could not even begin to process those three words. It made no sense. He had killed someone, someone he had once thought of as a friend. It didn't matter what Adaen had done in those last desperate moments. What Obi-Wan had done to him was far worse. He had deserved Adean's anger and his vengeance. Nothing his master could say would change that and certainly not some stoic Jedi celebration of… of murder.
"You think celebrating the fact that I ki… that I killed someone would be good for me." There was no real answer for that, he knew, but he had to ask. Something inside compelled the words and he was not strong enough to stop them. Just like he couldn't stop the thoughts or the memories or the nightmares.
"It is not a celebration. It is a communion of like souls, an expression of our sorrow, and conduit for support. Acknowledging the taking of a life does not demean it. Only not acknowledging it can do that."
/He wants you to be happy with what you've done. He knows who you are, what you are. Betrayer. Torturer. Murderer. That's what he wants you to acknowledge in front of all the Jedi. He knows it and he wants them to know it too…/
"No."
"Obi-Wan, I know that it doesn't seem like it now, but,"
"I said no, or doesn't what I want matter anymore!" Obi-Wan yelled. How could he ask him to do that! He wouldn't. He wouldn't!
"Of course, what you want matters, but you should consider,"
/He can't make you do it. No one can make you do anything. Don't let him…/
"I don't need to consider anything. I don't care what you say! I said no," he interrupted. He watched his master's jaw tighten. Qui-Gon was angry with him. Part of him quailed at the knowledge, but another part of him, a part that frightened him honestly didn't care. It reveled in the tiny taste of power over so mighty a man.
"You forget yourself, Padawan," his master said, his tone icy and hard. Where were the warm tones he had used just moments before?
/It's because he knows what you are…/
"I know that what you have experienced in the last months has not yet been fully dealt with and that this has been compounded by more recent events. Therefore, I am willing to overlook certain lapses in your behavior, but I will not tolerate this blatant disrespect. Do I make myself clear, Padawan?"
/He doesn't want you and he has a reason now… No, he does want me. I know this… He doesn't. He will just send you away again… No… He will… No!/
"Yes, Master."
"Better. We can continue this discussion at another time. Now, I think you have time for a brief meditation on respect and humility before your first class. Go see to that. Now, Padawan. I don't intend to repeat myself."
Qui-Gon was standing over him now and, if it were possible, Obi-Wan felt even smaller and more insignificant than usual. He couldn't bring himself to look up and see the likely disgust and anger in his master's eyes.
/He just wants to control you. He hates you…/
He didn't know what to say, so Obi-Wan said nothing. Instead, he rose from his chair, the little food he ate souring in his stomach. He marched to his room and wondered if anyone would notice if he wore his heavier cold weather cloak. He was feeling very cold.
It proved to be a long day.
He had left their quarters without another word. His master said nothing to him, so he spoke nothing in return secretly glad to be out of the older man's presence. That was not a feeling Obi-Wan was accustomed to. He usually enjoyed being around his master, especially lately. But this morning he had felt so angry… He was angry, and he didn't know why. In fact, he was so angry with himself, with his master, with everything that he didn't even think to worry that this was his first day back in class since…
Suddenly, he legs wouldn't work. He steps faltered, his knees turned to water. What was he thinking! He couldn't go in there! Obi-Wan felt his chest tighten painfully. He couldn't catch his breath. Surely, he would die right in this hallway, a disgusting corpse to be discovered by more worthy Jedi.
There was a pressure in his head. His master. His master was pushing on his shields, demanding entry. And hand went to his temple as the pressure increased not quite moving into pain but closer. Desperate, he lowered his shielding and, immediately, his master's presence surge into his mind. The hard tone and iciness was gone. All Obi-Wan felt from his master was warmth, comfort, and a subtle yet distinct tinge of concern.
/Padawan?/
/Master…/ Obi-Wan sent back. The concern he felt across the bond lessened somewhat with his response, but he knew it would take more to assuage the elder Jedi. /I'm sorry, Master, I did not mean to worry you. I'm fine./
There was a pause, only a few seconds, but even in their mindspeak there was a sense of tension.
/If you are certain…/
/I am. I'm fine, really./
Another pause.
/Very well, Padawan./ was the reply. The strong sense of Qui-Gon in his head began to draw away. It was not the muted feeling of sensing him on the other side of strong shields, but instead the typical imposing of a polite distance between them. As his master withdrew, Obi-Wan tried to take hold of himself. He was still standing in the middle of Temple corridor. Thankfully, no one had come by and seen him, but that luck would not hold if remained much longer. Besides, if he didn't get moving he was going to be late for his Durese language class.
He stood up straighter and took a deep breath. He could do this. It was just another class. Nothing new. He could do this. Obi-Wan resumed his walk towards the main teaching complex, congestion in the halls growing thick with other padawans as he drew nearer. He walked into the classroom and took a seat towards the rear of the room. A few other padawans were there and others followed in behind him. In a matter of minutes, the room was nearly full. Their instructor, a younger Devaronian master called Tona Peddiah, glided in and the quiet murmur of the room settled into silence.
"Good morning class. Pull out your pads and refer to the section on honorifics. We will be working with partners today."
Qui-Gon unfolded his long legs from his meditative posture. He had been experiencing only minor success in his attempt to sink deeply into the Force, but what little serenity he had achieved was shattered when a muted sense of panic weaved its way down the bond. Immediately, he had tried to reach out to his apprentice, but he was blocked by the boy's impossibly dense shields. He could have forced the shields, shattered them like a vibro-hammer on a duracrete wall, but that would have been invasive and psychically damaging. Not to mention a complete overreaction. But that didn't mean the master would do nothing. Qui-Gon had pushed against those shields. Hard. Not with a pointed attack meant to pierce the child's mental walls, but to apply pressure to them, to tell his apprentice without words to let him in. It had worked and Obi-Wan had dropped the high shielding. Once he did, Qui-Gon felt the wave of panic immediately subside. That fact was only a partial relief.
He had spoken with his padawan, a padawan who was quick to reassure him that everything was, indeed, alright. If, nothing else, the hasty assurances only deepened his well of concern, though his was careful not to allow that to travel down the now opened bond. In the end, Qui-Gon had conceded and allowed his apprentice to continue on his way to class without further inquiry.
Their brief communication ended, Qui-Gon returned to meditation, but his thoughts were too distracted to allow for anything other than the most cursory of trances. With a sigh, he rose, giving up the practice for now and donning his cloak. He needed answers and if he couldn't get them from his apprentice or from the Force, he would seek them in the archives.
Qui-Gon rubbed the bridge of his nose and stifled a sigh of frustration. The Jedi Temple on Coruscant held one of the largest, most diverse collections of knowledge, history, and literature in the galaxy. Eclectic texts, archaic documents, and ancient artifacts, spanning millennia and crossing cultures both current and extinct, all could be found within the hallowed halls of the Temple Archives. It seemed nearly anything could be found there, except of course what he searched for.
The was precious little to be found on Dar'Makai. It was a type of bond, disfavored by Light users because of its one-sided formation. Aside from its creation, it could be severed just as any other created bond. That was all. That was all the master could find on the damnable bond. Qui-Gon closed his search request on the terminal before him and stood up, stretching his back with a satisfying pop.
"You look like you've been here awhile," a voice called out from behind him. The master was smiling even before turning around to greet his unexpected guest. When he did turn, he was greeted by the warm green and gold striped gaze of one of his oldest friends.
"Not that long. Hello, Tahl. What brings you to the archives?" he asked gathering his own few datapads and sliding his chair under the small desk.
"That's what I should be asking you," she said. "This is my stomping ground, Qui. What is it you're looking for because that line on your forehead tells me you haven't found it."
Qui-Gon smiled wryly. Blunt, insightful, and beautiful, that was his Tahl.
"Indeed, I haven't," he replied as he hooked his arm around Tahl's elbow. "I had hoped to find more information about different types of bonds."
If Tahl noticed his careful phrasing, she gave no indication, but he was certain of her understanding. She had been told about the Dar'Makai shortly after he discovered it, and she would know without speaking of it that this topic was not one for public spaces.
"Yes, I could see how that type of research could be a touch frustrating if you can't find the specific characteristics you need," she replied easily. "So, if you haven't been hiding here all night, why do you have enough bags under your eyes for a three-day trip?"
Qui-Gon straightened his back and shot his friend a side-eye glare.
"I do not look that tired," he grumbled with all the dignity of a maligned senator. Tahl laughed, an airy, melodious thing that had Qui-Gon working to hide a smile.
"Seriously, Qui, how are things?"
"Honestly," he began but he was interrupted by the beep of his personal comm unit. He and Tahl pulled to one side of the large hallway and out of the main flow of traffic as he took his comm unit off his belt.
"Jinn."
"Master Jinn, this is Master Peddiah. I was hoping I might speak with you regarding Padawan Kenobi."
Qui-Gon shot a sideways glance at Tahl who was listening attentively.
"Of course, Master Peddiah. When would like to meet?"
"I have a break between classes right now if you are available."
"I will be there shortly," Qui-Gon responded as he terminated the call. He reached out across the bond to his padawan and encountered a wall. His mouth tightened into a thin line that did not go unnoticed.
"Qui?"
"He's shielding from me. Again. Even after everything this morning," Qui-Gon snapped, his hand closing into a fist around his comm unit. Tahl stepped in closer to him and closed both her hands around his fist.
"What happened this morning?" she inquired gently. With an effort, Qui-Gon calmed himself.
"Night terror followed by a panic attack on his way to class. Both of which I was hindered from assisting because of his shields. Shields he should not have at this point in his training."
"Shields he has because of the bond," Tahl finished for him, voicing what they all suspected but Qui-Gon did not like admitting, even to himself. Tahl kissed the hand she held clasped between her own.
"Go to Master Peddiah, find out what he wants, then find your padawan and give him what he needs," she said matter-of-factly. "And remember to come to your friends for what you need as well, Qui. For example," she said as she let go of his hand and snatched the pad from under his arm. "I'm going to finish your research."
She had stolen his pad and was already walking away before he could formulate a sufficient answer. Not that there was one except for what he said to her retreating back.
"Thank you, Tahl," he muttered, "you meddlesome little tyrant."
Obi-Wan sat glumly staring at the back of his hands, the 'x' scars standing out starkly on his skin. The broken skin on his knuckles was new, however, some of which were still pink with blood and stinging with only the contact of air. Master Peddiah had kept him after class, or what was left of the class after what the master was politely calling an "incident."
Obi-Wan sank deeper into his seat. His own master was not likely to use such an innocuous euphemism. Another blazing disappointment from his walking disaster of an apprentice, was a more likely name. If Qui-Gon wasn't done with him before he would be now.
/Even your classmates know you're broken…/
Obi-Wan pulled his knees up to his chest and tucked his head down. Maybe if he curled up tight enough he could make himself disappear. Maybe discorporate into the Force like a true Jedi. Maybe…
"Master Jinn, ah right on time. Please, come in."
"Master Peddiah," his master's deep voice rumbled. A pause and then, "Padawan."
Obi-Wan turned in his seat facing the wall to see his master standing tall and imposing in the doorway, his blue eyes boring holes to the back of Obi-Wan's skull.
"Attend," his master ordered. One-word. That's all he got, that's all it took, and Obi-Wan was out of his seat and moving despondently to his master's side. Master Peddiah gestured to a chair by his desk and then moved to sit in the single chair behind the desk. Qui-Gon took the proffered seat, leaving Obi-Wan to remain standing beside him and slightly to his front. The Devaronian interlaced his long fingers and leaned onto his desk.
"Master Jinn, let me start by saying, I have no intention of reporting this… incident to the Disciplinary Council. I am… aware of Kenobi's recent difficulties and will, of course, make any accommodations necessary to help him reacclimate himself to his studies and his training."
His master shifted his weight forward in his seat, resting his elbows on his knees. Not a good sign. Obi-Wan knew even from his limited time at his master's side that that was a posture he adopted when trying to hold on to his patience when he was clearly irritated with the way things were proceeding.
"Master Peddiah, perhaps it would be best to start with explaining the details and circumstances of the incident to which you refer," his master intoned. The other master smiled somewhat nervously and then nodded, his horns bobbing up and down.
"Of course, Master Jinn. Of course."
And so the bleak recitation began. First of the normalcy of the class' introductory lesson then the somewhat awkward switch to partnered work. The murmurs and distracted glances shot to him from every padawan in the room. The not-so-subtle stares at the scars visible on his hands. Then the comments, the questions, some whispered, some directly posed. The teaching master told of the anger then, seen as a dark and flickering nimbus around him as he told his fellow classmates to leave off and shut up and other phrases unbecoming of a Jedi. The he spoke the true damning portion. Master Peddiah told of how Master Jinn's apprentice Forced pushed one classmate out of her chair and decked another with a sloppy reverse punch. Through it all, his master listened attentively, but nothing ever touched his expression. The man was as unreadable as stone, his eyes reflecting a matching hardness.
"While the general behavior of the other padawans was unacceptable and will be addressed, your padawan's responses were…" the Devaronian waved his long fingers as he searched for the right word. Obi-Wan's master beat him to it.
"More so," his master supplied neatly. The instructing master nodded.
"As I said, it is not my intention to report this matter. Serious offense though it is, I cannot in good conscience see the boy punished for what, in any other circumstances, would be an expected and perhaps even reasonable response. That said, I can also not allow such behavior to continue in my class. Therefore, I am requesting that you remove Padawan Kenobi from attending my class. You may, if you choose, assign him a tutor and have his studies continued in private. He assignments will still be submitted to me and I will provide and score his exams, but he must not attend my class in person until I have a written declaration from the mind healers declaring him fit and recovered enough to resume his full training."
To Obi-Wan's surprise, his master only nodded, a gesture seeming more directly aimed at himself that to the other master. Then he stood, graceful and tall as ever. He tucked his hands in his voluminous sleeves as he spoke, his words perfectly intoned.
"Your requirements are most reasonable, Master Peddiah, and I thank you for both your compassion and your discretion. I will make the arrangements," his master said with a bow. "Padawan."
Obi-Wan instantly moved to his master's right.
/Quick as a whipped dog…/
His master walked out of the classroom without even looking back to see if Obi-Wan was following. But, of course, Obi-Wan was following – two steps behind and to his master's right, a padawan's place. A place that would not be his much longer. Obi-Wan knew that assaulting another Jedi was an expellable offense regardless of the circumstances. And he has assaulted two.
/They will soon be rid of you and then what will you do…/
He followed behind his master in utter silence except for the sound of booted footfalls and the lesser sounding swish of his cloak. The anger he had felt when everyone was whispering about his scars, speculating about how he got them and what it meant, that anger had gone or at least faded into quiescence replaced by the calm despair of resignation. As a result, Obi-Wan was not the least bit nervous or fidgety as he might have been when he and his master reached their quarters. Qui-Gon stepped inside, immediately shedding his cloak and hanging it up. Then, surprisingly, the master reached and took Obi-Wan's cloak as well. Then his master strode into the kitchen, removing a small cloth and turning on the faucet.
"Come here, Obi-Wan."
Obi-Wan, not padawan. The distance was not surprising, but the hurt was stronger than he expected. Still he would accept this with as much dignity as he had left, though his reserves were appalling low.
"Your hand please," his master ordered, although it was politely stated. Obi-Wan lifted his right hand, his bruised and torn knuckles red and puffy from abuse. Served him right for choosing to punch a Weequay in the face. Their tough, leathery skin could deflect blaster bolts, yet he decided to pit it against his fist. Brilliant that. He deserved his minor wounds and more. Which is likely why his master again surprised him by kneeling before him and taking the damp wash cloth to his wounds.
"Master…" he began but he didn't quite know what he wanted to say. Qui-Gon paused briefly when Obi-Wan spoke, but when nothing more was said, the master resumed his gentle cleaning of his knuckles.
/Just a kindness before the block… Even the damned get a last meal…/
After a moment, the cloth was put aside and Obi-Wan felt a warm tingle travel through the back of his hand. Qui-Gon was using a Force healing. That made no sense. The injury was too minor to warrant it and, besides, he had deserved it for what he'd done. A few seconds later, every physical sign of his folly was gone, and healthy, pale skin was left in its place. Qui-Gon stayed on his knees, however, further confusing Obi-Wan. His master still held his hand and now the older man was brushing a calloused thumb over the newly healed knuckles.
"Master?"
"I wish…" his master started then the man shook his head and sighed. He released Obi-Wan's hand and rose to his full, towering height. He turned back to the sink and began to wash his hands.
"Padawan," the master started, "I know better than anyone what you have gone through and the hard-won gains you've made to get back what was taken from you." Here his master turned off the faucet and dried his hands. "That said, you still have a long road ahead of you, a road we are meant to walk together," the master continued as he as finally turned to face Obi-Wan. "But I cannot walk it with you if you won't let me in, Obi-Wan."
"I don't understand…" he offered hesitantly. His master looked so sad. There were shadows in those eyes now, shadows that Obi-Wan had put there.
/You're a burden to everyone around you…/
"Your shields, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon replied his voice heavy with exasperation.
"My shields?" Obi-Wan repeated dully. He turned his attention inward and was startled to find exceptionally dense shielding surrounding his mind and the bond with his master. What's more, he had no memory of erecting those shields nor did he understand how he could have done so in the first place. His shields, as he saw them in mind's eye, had always been like a wall, each brick stacked carefully in the building of his protective mental barrier. But what he saw now was more like a crystal lattice work, one more complex than he had ever seen. He had built this?
"Obi-Wan, we cannot function as a pair with such walls between us. You must not shield against me."
His master was right, of course. The master/padawan relationship depended on the training being right and true and open. To close himself off from his master this way was…wrong.
/He only wants to get inside your head… To use you, to betray you… If you let him in he will see… He will know… You must protect yourself… You must…/
"Padawan, please. Lower your shields."
"Yes, Master."
/No… Yes… NO… I must… I can't… I can't… I can't…/
"I can't!" Obi-Wan yelled. "I can't! I can't! I can't!"
"I can't!" the apprentice screamed, his eyes wide in what Qui-Gon could only describe as terror. "I can't! I can't! I can't!"
Obi-Wan's hands snapped to his head, pressing in on either side as if he were planning to tear down his psychic shielding with his bare hands. Qui-Gon stepped forward, taking hold of the boy's wrists and carefully prying them away. The teen still fought him, or at least fought his grip, but he was no match for Qui-Gon's greater size and strength.
"What is it, Padawan? What makes you so afraid to drop your shields to me?" he asked still wrangling the boy's jerky movements. Suddenly, Obi-Wan stopped thrashing and stared at him. The boy's eyes were dilated wide with fear and glassy on the verge of tears.
"No, you don't understand! I can't lower them! I didn't even raise them! I'm trying to let them down, but… but…"
Qui-Gon's own eyes widened with the boy's words. His grip tightened around the skinny arms and his voice grew harsh with concern and a very unJedi like fear.
"But what?"
"Something won't let me…" was the whispered response. The boy's body shuddered violently under his hands. Qui-Gon searched his mind, he searched the Force, he searched his memory. What to do? What to do? What had worked before? Last time Obi-Wan lowered his shield after the master had applied some psychic pressure. Perhaps it would work again. Qui-Gon closed his eyes and reached out with his mind towards Obi-Wan. As before, his probe was immediately halted by a psychic barrier that would be better matched to Senior Knights. But not necessarily a match to masters.
Qui-Gon slowly began to concentrate his presence, the bit of himself he had sent across the bond. His presence thickened, spreading out across the wall, and then he began to slowly exert pressure.
"Master!" Obi-Wan yelped as he jerked his hands clearly wanting to return them to his head. Qui-Gon held him fast even as he exerted more pressure.
"Master, stop!"
"Let me in, Padawan."
"Master, stop! It's starting to hurt!"
"Lower your shields, Padawan. That is an order!" Qui-Gon growled as he pushed against the wall just a tiny bit harder.
"Master, please," his apprentice begged. Qui-Gon was running out of time. If applied much more pressure he would actually begin to injure the boy or worse, penetrate his shields. And then something totally unexpected happened. Obi-Wan threw him from his mind psychically and Force shoved him across the floor physically. Qui-Gon slammed against the lower cabinets with a loud clap.
For several heartbeats the two Jedi simply stared at each other, both wearing matching expressions of shock and not a little bit of fear. Obi-Wan snapped out of it first. He dropped to his knees and placed his head on the floor, the position of the penitent padawan. Qui-Gon came to his senses a moment later.
"Padawan…"
"Forgive," was the muffled response, barely audible despite the charged silence of the room. Those simple two syllables spurred the master into action. Qui-Gon crawled, fairly scrambling, over to where his padawan knelt prostrated against the tile floor. He scooped the boy up, pulling him to his chest and cradling him there. Obi-Wan did not go with the motion, but neither did he protest. The teen was as limp and pliable as a rag doll.
"Forgive," the boy whispered again. One of Qui-Gon's large hands held the back of the boy's head, stroking Obi-Wan's short reddish hair under calloused fingers.
"Hush, Padawan. Hush."
"Forgive," Obi-Wan repeated, his voice small and muted against the master's chest. Qui-Gon tightened his grip around the boy, clasping the smaller body to hard enough to possibly raise bruises, but the force of his embrace seemed to ease at least some of the tension carried in the smaller frame. So, Qui-Gon held on, minutely rocking them both as he rubbed circles on the boy's back and whispered over his head.
"Shh, it's alright. It's alright, my padawan," he repeated over and over. "It's alright." Truth be told, Qui-Gon felt things were quite far from alright and were drifting much closer to all wrong. What Obi-Wan had done should not have been possible. Had Qui-Gon's shoulder and back not ached from being so thoroughly flung into another solid object, he might have allowed himself the comfortable denial of pretending that it hadn't happened. But, as his memory and muscles were telling him, it had happened. Obi-Wan had forced Qui-Gon from his mind and then used the Force against him.
But had he?
The amount of focus, of power, or ability that it took to cast Qui-Gon out was something that should have been beyond Obi-Wan's current training. Just as the shields themselves should have been. And then there was his inability to lower them. That fact frightened the master more than anything that had come before or after.
"Obi-Wan?" Qui-Gon called softly and he relaxed his hold on the boy, pushing Obi-Wan back a little so that he could see the boy's face. His apprentice looked absolutely miserable.
"I'm sorry, Master. I didn't mean,"
"I know, Padawan. I know, and I'm not angry. I'm not hurt, but I am concerned," Qui-Gon spoke carefully. With a finger he tilted the boy's head up to meet his gaze. "Obi-Wan, tell me truthfully, did you mean to do that?"
"No, Master! I swear it! I would never," the child immediately professed. Qui-Gon placed a silencing finger over the apprentice's mouth.
"I believe you. But now we need to…" the master began, but then he trailed off as he lifted his head towards their front door. "Shavit!" he exclaimed without thinking. A moment later, when the master's brain caught up with his mouth, he dared a glance down to his apprentice. Obi-Wan still sat more or less in his lap, but now he wore a wide-eyed expression so comical, Qui-Gon almost smiled despite himself.
"That is not to be repeated, Padawan," he said. Obi-Wan nodded sharply.
"Never, Master," he replied in a voice far too solemn and serious. Qui-Gon ruffled the boy's hair and then began to stand. Obi-Wan followed his lead, but before either could take a step their door chimed. Qui-Gon placed a hand on Obi-Wan's shoulder giving it a squeeze before stepping away and opening the door to admit their guest.
"Mace. This isn't a very good time," he said by way of greeting. Perhaps if he were forthright about his lack of wanting the man here, Mace would respect the unspoken request and leave. Yes, and if Hutts had wings…
"Then I apologize," Mace countered smoothly, "but I must speak with you, Qui-Gon." Mace moved to take a step forward into the apartment, but Qui-Gon blocked his path. The Councilor looked at the slightly taller master in surprise.
"This really isn't the time, Mace," he said. His words, or perhaps the desperate look in his eyes, made the Councilor stop, stare, and scrutinize him. Then the Jedi's eyes slid past him to the quiet teen standing meekly in the kitchen, staring at the floor. Mace turned back to his friend.
"Something's happened," the Councilor replied. It was not a question, though Qui-Gon knew there would be a myriad of questions shortly to follow. Mace had picked up the scent of trouble and Qui-Gon knew his friend would worry at it like a hound with a chew toy until he had his answers. There was nothing for it. Qui-Gon stepped aside permitting Mace entry and then turned to his apprentice.
"Padawan, tea if you would."
"Yes, Master," Obi-Wan answered with a bow. He then turned into the kitchen and set himself to the task assigned him. Mace shot Qui-Gon a look, but when he only stared back, Mace walked over to the large couch and took a seat. Qui-Gon sat down heavily in his armchair. Mace watched him then leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees and his fingers interlaced.
"I already know about today's classroom incident, but this," Mace paused waving one hand briefly about then reclasping them. "Something else has happened, something that has greatly disturbed you."
"Honestly, Mace, I have no karking idea what is going on anymore," Qui-Gon replied then added when he saw Obi-Wan approaching with the tea service and tray. "And I think that disturbs me more than anything that has occurred."
"Tell me."