---

Obi-Wan brought a spoonful of thick stew to his mouth. He didn't savor the feeling of food yet, and predicted he wouldn't for awhile longer, but he faintly appreciated the taste as he swallowed.

Potato and Vielak cheese. His favorite kind.

"You remembered." Obi-Wan smiled, his lips shining from iced tea.

They were seated at the quaint kitchen table, a plate of pink fruit and citrus slices between them.

Qui-Gon chose a vibrant lime selection. "How could I forget? I made it every week for the better part of twelve years."

The Knight laughed. "Do you ever prepare it now?"

"Do I have to answer that question?"

A pure deadpan, and Obi-Wan snickered. He was well aware of Qui-Gon's lack of fondness for the particular dish. The fact that it was served, almost religiously, whenever they were grounded at the Temple was a testament to their friendship--and the Master's generosity.

"Oh, come on. This stuff is great…" He had to pause and alleviate the raw itch in his throat with a quick drink. "It contains all the essentials, which is more than can be said for those sweetberry tarts you so enjoy."

Qui-Gon glared at him from across the table. "Sweetberry tarts are a gift from the Force itself--and you know it."

Obi-Wan clamped a hand over his mouth, fearing it would burst in a spray of potatoes and helpless laughter.

"Please don't stain the tablecloth, Obi-Wan. That would be very uncouth."

---

For all his vocal adoration of the stew (which Qui-Gon did find, personally, to be vile), Obi-Wan consumed little more than a quarter of a helping, favoring his sweating glass of chilled, weakly brewed tea instead.

Not much, but in comparison to his phantom appetite of a few days earlier, the young Knight had made leaps and bounds.

Still, Qui-Gon carried the tray of fruit to the living area, where they both reclined on the sofa, placing it within Obi-Wan's reach.

Obi-Wan tucked his legs beneath him and stared thoughtfully into the distance.

The Master frowned. "Something on your mind?"

His blue-gray eyes flickered over to Qui-Gon. "When is your apprentice returning from his mission?"

"A few days." The man sighed through his nostrils and sat straighter. "Apparently, he was a great success."

"I'm glad to hear it." Obi-Wan smiled weakly. "When he does return, I'm sure he'll be anxious to catch up with his Master."

There wasn't an inch of jealousy or bitterness in that dulcet voice, and Qui-Gon forced himself to emulate the example. Of course he wasn't resentful of Anakin's speedy resolution in his assignment. He was quite proud of his current Padawan's skills. But he understood that he was a horrible person…wishing for a slight delay, so that he might have more time to spend with his former student.

"I don't believe you're capable of being anything less than a wonderful Master." Obi-Wan said from his place beside Qui-Gon, in quiet, supportive reflection.

Qui-Gon smiled. "This is certainly a change. Wasn't I always the one to pick up on your thoughts?" Then he shook his head with a chuckle. "No. I suppose not…I was just more comfortable commenting on them."

"As is the way of Master and apprentice." Obi-Wan recited, then laughed, his eyes going a little wide. "Gods, I'm starting to sound like the troll."

Qui-Gon clapped his shoulder lightly. "The curse of our generation, I guess…" He paused, his eyes narrowing as he detected a frightening idea budding within the other's mind. "Oh please, Obi-Wan, spare me your imitation of him!"

A peal of silvery laughter. "You see? You can still read my thoughts."

"Thank the Force."