Thank you to M Art, firewingz, Pug, Shanobi, ewan's girl, Kynstar and Athena Leigh for your lovely comments and support. Of all my fics, this has been the most challenging by far. Inspiration has been pretty much nonexistent for over a month, but I'm going to try to plow through it today, without much of a plan. Wish me luck!

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Obi-Wan heaved a breath before entering the Healing Ward. It was an unnecessary visit, of course. A precautionary measure that would accomplish nothing, save waste his time.

And just what would I be doing with this time? Dodging Qui-Gon?

Sinking back into the discontented shadows coiled within him, the apprentice met the receptionist at the front desk.

A fresh-faced Healer with a slim, flaxen Padawan braid dangling at her ear greeted him. "Good morning, Padawan Kenobi. You're here for your checkup?"

Obi-Wan nodded. "Yes."

The girl glanced with keenly trained eyes at a data pad, tracing her fingers down a column until she found his name, then highlighted it with a quick touch.

"Currently most of the healers are attending a new technique-intensive seminar. And since you're not an emergency case," She glanced up with a small smile, "One of our programmed physicians will be directing your checkup. Room 2A. Right down that hallway, Padawan Kenobi."

A half-bow. "Thank you." He followed the direction she had pointed toward. Well, there's a bit of luck. 'Programmed physicians' was a technical term for med droids and to Obi-Wan, that was a purely beautiful beacon of light. He never relished being prodded both mentally and physically by the Temple healers. There were two breeds he had encountered during his numerous visits. The stern healers that didn't much care if their instruments were stored on Hoth and lowered Obi-Wan's temperature to a shivering degree with every touch.

And then there were the fussing healers. They were the preferable of the two, displaying compassion almost to a fault. As nice as it was to be worried over, he didn't need to be lectured on the dangers of running alongside a swimming pool or performing certain katas blindfolded.

That was what his Master was for.

The thought garnered a deep ache, as he expected it to. Obi-Wan started to straighten his tunics, then wondered why he bothered, and entered the examining room.

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Once silence had fallen in the absence of the other Jedi, Yoda turned to Qui-Gon, his small body leaning against the gimer stick. The wide eyes were fastened to the taller, broader Master, moving down his form with deliberate slowness.

Qui-Gon was well accustomed to being under the renowned sage's appraisal. Normally, he would not be irked by such focused attention. But the very foundations of his connection with Obi-Wan had been uprooted ,as well as a few of his own, personal truths.

The Master was adult enough to admit it. He was antsy.

Finally, Yoda settled his eyes on the other's face. "Surprised, you were, by the incident on Eume'Li." When Qui-Gon didn't answer, the Master clarified, "The rain."

"Yes," Qui-Gon replied, without the slightest measure of delay. A smile ghosted his tired face. "Weren't you?"

The clawed hands drummed, warring with the glimmer of pale jade eyes. "Not so much as you, I believe."

Qui-Gon chuckled. "Tell me, Master. Does anything surprise you?" He watched morning projected as pallid shafts on the floor, where a few moments earlier, his Padawan had stood. "Before, during the meeting, you said he was disturbed." The Master locked eyes with his smaller counterpart, and the humor was but a memory, fled quickly from his voice. "What did you mean?"

Yoda saw the desolation drawn in deepening lines on Qui-Gon's face. "Frown too much, you do. A habit passed on to your apprentice." He poked a stubby finger against the man's forehead. "Ugly habit."

And for some reason, the gentle prod brought a moist sheen to the towering Master's eyes. "I know," He practically gasped, "But what can I do? I can't rewrite the past, Master."

The ancient little alien captured Qui-Gon's massive hand. "Take quill in hand for today, you can. And the day after, if strong for your apprentice, you can be. Ready, the page is, for your inscriptions.

"It is your decision."

Qui-Gon looked around the familiar room while the advice registered. "I lost him. For those minutes on Eume'Li." He sighed. "So it's possible for me to lose him again. What if I'm not strong enough?"

A slight smile creased the sagging skin around the citrus eyes. "Never know what good weight we can shoulder, if we never try."

"He told Knight Tirr that I have placed him in the shadow of…of Xanatos."

"Mmm." Yoda's ears drew back against his wrinkled head. "If so, it is a tragic darkness to live in. But only you know what is true, Master Qui-Gon. Only you can sate him."

Qui-Gon's fingers curled in. "He didn't come to me. After our talk in the hospital--he told a near stranger what he felt, instead of his own Master. I suppose that speaks for itself."

"Speaks of Obi-Wan's nature, it does." Yoda corrected, with tenderness. "His great reluctance to upset you."

"Well," Qui-Gon blew out a breath, "He's gone against his nature this time around then."

The Master hobbled closer, and the daylight wove through the white wisps of hair on his head. "Indeed. Upset, you most surely are. And he knows it."

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