Fudge Thank you! Athena Leigh It was explored to some degree in the book 'Rogue Planet', and decided to elaborate, because it was a great, interesting idea. Thank you, as always, for your dedication and lovely reviews.

With a sigh, I enter.

His head snaps up. Sitting on the edge of his narrow sleepcouch, only slightly emerged from the shroud of the room's darkness, his back is bowed.

I notice with painful guilt that he hardly resembles the jumpy little sprite that sprinted through the Naboo starship, with an irrepressible spirit and unquenchable thirst for exploring the countless sources of curiosity that abound the vessel.

The burst of happiness he experienced when he departed from the viewing room has since ebbed.

I can guess why.

"You still don't believe me." He states morosely.

"Anakin…" I slouch beside him on the bed. "What do the Jedi teach about Difference of Perspective?"

The boy shrugs, his eyes staring at some unknown spot on the wall.

"Anakin."

He huffs. "In conflict, to truly understand your own view, you must first understand the view of the other." It rolls from his tongue in the classic, unthinking recital of a Jedi student accustomed to such prompting from one teacher or another.

I nod my approval.

"But Obi-Wan," He draws out my name with a tinge of irritation, "Does everything have to be rooted in mantras and strict philosophy?"

I consider it for a moment. "Some situations cannot be solved solely through aged postulates. Take the Difference in Perspective: Usually, it's applied to a confrontation between adversaries.

"Now, am I your adversary? Am I your enemy, Padawan?"

"No. No, of course not. You could never be my enemy, Master."

I have to pause, as something comes unhinged within me, and new feeling pours through my aura like rain after a stagnant drought. You could never be my enemy.

"So you see?" My voice cracks, thankfully just under the line of his perception, "Adjustments have to be made. You know how you feel, but you can't know how I feel. Whether or not I believe what you've heard and sensed, you will still believe it.

"But maybe your view of me would change if you knew something of how I must see all the things you've claimed….Do you know what I mean?"

He rubs his eyes, but nods.

"I know I didn't act the way I should have back there. I—I was completely wrong, Anakin. I snapped at you. That was totally unwarranted." I look at his open, painfully young face, and my stomach twists. "There isn't an excuse for my behavior. But you must understand.

"Master Qui-Gon was more to me than a teacher. Or even a mentor. He was the nexus of my existence. The only family I'd ever known. The only father I'll ever know. He was taken before I was ready…when could I have been ready?…and it was not in a natural way.

"Somebody took my Master from me. And I watched it happen. It hurt, Anakin. It…It will never stop hurting." I tell him softly, afraid that I shouldn't have, for I've never let another soul glimpse this deep into mine. "So it's difficult for me to believe that he could come back, in any capacity."

I brace his shoulders with my hands, and am certain he is looking at me fully before I continue. "It isn't that I don't want to." I grapple unsteadily for a breath, to ward off the tightness in my throat. "But I can't. It isn't in me."

In a surge, he lunges forward and wraps his arms around me, hugging me close.

I'm taken aback, but gradually, I return the embrace, bringing my arms to encircle him, even resting my chin on the soft bristles of his head.

"But it could be, Master." He swears feverishly against my chest, against my heart. "It could be." He pulls back, tear tracks gleaming silver in the weak incandescence. "I could help you. Like how you always help me."

I feel a swell of moisture in my eyes. As with so much, I am powerless against it. I reach out, and with two fingertips, touch the short braid, from its start behind his ear to the plaited middle to the sandy, silken tail at the end.

"Without you, where would I be, Master?"

He sounds like he's speaking from far away, his message a foreign notion. You mean without Qui-Gon where would you be?

Anakin shakes his head. "You saved me. Nobody else believes in me the way you believe in me."

I'm startled by his reaction. It isn't often an apprentice, let alone one of his tender age, is able to penetrate the layers of a Master's shielding.

Even a Master who, when the recent past slips his mind, sometimes grabs for his own braid when the night grows cold.

"Anakin, your depth of compassion astounds me." And it does. "But some things cannot be created. If they're not there to begin with, nothing can be done to change that."

"The Force is with you from the beginning. I could feel it even when I was on Tatooine, and didn't know what to call it. Master Qui-Gon speaks to me through the Force. He should speak to you, too. And he tries, Master."

He swallows and focuses keenly on me. Unafraid. "I think you do hear him. And I think you block him out."

Fresh tears spike like the nick of tiny, cold razors in my eyes. "Why would I do that?"

"Because you loved him. And it would make it hurt worse."

I seal my eyes and feel a shudder rush through me. Could he be right? Is the small part of me that argues with the rest, that fights the prevailing guilt and shame—could that be my Master?

Could that glimmer in the dark, that I'm so quick to smother, be Qui-Gon?

"And, maybe, you won't believe that I heard you on Pramilx because that would mean you loved me sort of like that." Anakin added quietly, unobtrusively. "Sort of the way you loved Qui-Gon."

I look away, my chest near to heaving. I never thought it would be possible. My heart has been full, with the memory of my Master, the endless agony of losing him.

How can it be that this child has made room? How could I have been unaware, all this time?

I thought my love for Anakin was forced, by circumstance, by duty—by fear.

But at this moment, I can't remember motive.

This affection hasn't sprouted from bitterly planted seeds.

It's real…gods it's real…

Anakin. Qui-Gon.

They're real. And, separately, I aimed to push them away.

"Master?"

I wipe briskly at my eyes, then turn to that tentative voice.

"I'm not leaving you. Nobody's gonna take me away from you."

I exhale in a half-sob, and actually smile. "I hope so, Padawan." It isn't right, for me to feel so out of control, so vulnerable, for the lines that design my mind to jag off course. I promised myself it would never happen, not after the cool, steel version of hell I found in the generator core.

He slowly moves his finger across my cheek, taking a drop of purged misery and utter relief with it. "My mom used to cry sometimes. When things got to be really bad. But it didn't scare me. It made me feel better, because I knew I wasn't the only one." He stops, his eyelids lowering slightly.

"I never saw you cry after Qui-Gon died."

Heat burns in my face.

He shakes his head. "But I don't cry about my mom anymore. Even though I still miss her. You just get to the point where it hurts, but it's a different kind of hurt."

I can't speak, can barely think, so I nod.

"I wish I could see her again. I wish I could talk to her, the way I can talk to Qui-Gon." He blinks, then gazes at me with bruised eyes. "I wish I had that chance. I wouldn't run from it."

There's an unspoken jealousy threaded through his tone. I want to be angry with him for it.

But I'm not. "Not everyone's as brave as you, my Padawan."

"Really?" He squeezes my limp hand. "Where d'you think I get it from? You can't say Qui-Gon this time."

"Your mother. Your own instincts."

"And you, Obi-Wan."

You want to be everything a Jedi embodies. But you want none of the credit that comes with it.

The thought springs up as though independent from me.

But Anakin…that wasn't Anakin.

More tears. I will them to retreat, to go back to where they came from, to that shaded chamber in my heart. I'm shivering, and I can't stop.

You're cold because you hold back the warmth.

As if to counteract the theory, I pull Anakin into an embrace, and bury my face in a small shoulder.

Did I imagine the spite, the envy? Was that my veil, to cover and protect myself from this intensity?

Would I, truly, have accepted the life of a child in my hands, if I ever experienced those emotions toward the child?

You know, my Obi-Wan.

I stiffen, and for an instant, I deny the rich baritone's authenticity. Maybe it's just the dizziness of the moment, a longing that has lived without fulfillment.

What more must I do, child? What more must we do to convince you? Walking through walls isn't really my style.

I gasp and tighten my arms around Anakin. In my mind enters a vision of the bead.

I'm with you, Obi-Wan. If only you would let yourself accept that, the night would not be so dark for either of you. Your dreams could hold more than tattooed faces.

"I…I can't…"

"You can."

It's a double encouragement, within my head and outside of it.

The bonds of Master and apprentice do not die simply because a Master does. Has your love died, my Padawan?

Weary beyond belief, I answer in the fashion of precious handfuls of years, when our connection transcended all else. Never.

Then how can I ever leave you?

I open my eyes, and withdraw from Anakin.

Neither of us can claim indifference to what has passed. The effects are sorely evident on our damp faces.

I run my fingers through his hair. "My Padawan." I smile. "I'm tempted to bodily throw the captain off this ship, so that you can have your run of the cockpit."

He beams.

)(

The alarm is a series of short, shrill beeps.

I have not slept, and so I halt the nuisance before it can wake Anakin, who snores lightly, curled up on his side.

We're not quite home yet.

For which I'm fortunate. I need a minute more to prepare.

I sit up and breathe out, clearing my mind.

A little mess never hurts anyone.

I laugh inwardly. But messes, even the little ones, have the habit of spreading.

I pull the stone bead from my pocket, and caress the surface. For the first time, it doesn't feel the same in my hands.

I glance at my slumbering apprentice.

It belongs to another.

And this thought is not only my Master's, but my own.

The End.