Author's Note:
Regarding your question, Falcona, the answer is blatantly in this chapter. The 'why's will be answered as she has more contact with Jedi and has to dodge more questions. With the should-be-dead Jedi… Well, if you're back from the dead, there's no reason a clone body can't do some of the same things an original can, like childbearing. Yes, there are drawbacks if you go too fast, too soon (as you'll find out eventually from Tahiri); but Siri isn't the only one who has thought the new Order's polocies might be fun to try. —Well, obviously since it takes two to have a baby. In fact, she and her companion mention how the proposal went; but I'll clarify that when they explain it to someone. (Siri Tachi is from the Jedi Apprentice & Jedi Quest series.)
Next few chapters have a roughdraft. The next one has a scene with Anakin, Jr. & his 'delicate' 'favor'.

Been wondering why a certain woman didn't want 'Dan Stanley' to contact Kyp? Find out, this chapter!
Jedi Apprentice readers who hated The Death of Hope might like this chapter. Do not take anything the wrong way about Qui-Gon's daydreams! I'd explain more, but that's hard to do without giving their not-as-obvious-as-you-think purpose away. I'll just say they're a necessary bit of foreshadowing.
Those who are wondering who's writing those diary entries should enjoy this chapter, as well. (Hint: watch the names.)
Enjoy! :)

Twenty-One

"C'mon, freak," irritably muttered Jedi Knight Tahiri Veila. "You said you'd find me."
But then, she had done her best to make it hard for Barriss to track…
"Aha!" Grinning, the dead Jedi scooted into the seat across from Tahiri, in the same loose black tunic as always. "Told you I'd meet you." She waved at a waiter. "So, what do you want, kid?"
Tahiri began to retort that she wasn't a kid, but remembered that this woman had been a peer of Master Skywalker's father. "Uh…"
"Naboo Special—make that two, with Lakeside tea."
Her jaw snapped shut when she realized the woman had just ordered for her. "Excuse me—"
"What?" Barriss asked mischievously, eyes glinting. "Don't you trust me?"
"No!"
Her impish smile widened. "Good," she said quietly, calmly straightening the napkins on their table. This small diner was very cozy.
Tahiri blinked. "What?"
Barriss didn't bat an eyelid, still sedately straightening napkins. "It's good you don't trust me. It'll help when some Dark Jedi show up who once were old Order Jedi."
"Like Anakin Skywalker?"
"No." The dead woman didn't spare her a glance. "Like those who had no remorse for what they did and would do it again in a heartbeat." She flicked a speck off the table. "Speaking of Anakin, he's stable in a healing trance and should be back to full physical health in a few weeks."
Tahiri's head shot up. "Weeks?"
Barriss shrugged. "Let's just say healing isn't one of his strengths, and I'm not going to make it easier for him. He has to be able to heal himself without a rogue Healer trotting after him all the time."
Jedi Veila froze. "Rogue?"
"I married and had kids. That's rogue behavior, by my Order's standards." She took her tea directly from the waiter and sipped it, then put the mug on the table, hands wrapped around it. She drew a breath. "Speaking of my kids…"
Tahiri waited. "…Yes?" she finally prodded.
Barriss sighed and shook her head. "No, let's just talk about the one. The one living."
She waited some more. "Yes?" the young Jedi Knight prodded again. The dead woman was uncomfortable, but she didn't care. She wanted to know why the Healer couldn't tell Master Skywalker his father's condition, herself.
More tea was sipped before Barriss worked up the courage to continue. "I'm not sure if you've heard any of the… stories, about me, but…"
Her lips twisted into an odd quirk. "Another reason it's going to take Anakin so long to heal is that I'm not actually a Healer."
She swallowed more tea. "I'm a psychological Healer. A psychiatrist, basically." She tossed her gray-streaked dark hair. "But even then, I'm only an Apprentice. I never took the trials."
Tahiri was completely lost. "Huh? Trials?"
"The trials to become a Knight. Technically, I'm still a Jedi Apprentice. A Padawan Learner." She sighed. "Everything happened so fast in the Clone Wars, so many promotions and—and such, that… that when… that when my Master died, I got overlooked. So when the Jedi Purge happened, the Sith sort of overlooked me, too."
Her lips quirked. "Of course, it helped that I knew Anakin's in-laws…"
Tahiri frowned. "What's this have to do with your kid?"
Barriss smiled tightly. "My son takes after me, in my abilities. I'm… concerned about how he'd react if he saw me."
"Your son?"
The Naboo Specials arrived, and the dead Jedi immediately stuck her fork in it and took a bite. She chewed carefully before swallowing and clarifying:
"Kyp."

He ran his hands over the familiar console, tears forming in his eyes.
Not that he would've admitted it. "Aw, girl," he murmured. "What'd you go and quit on me, for?"
Han Solo's gaze was drawn to a difference in the cockpit. He shot out of his pilot's seat and scrutinized the discrepancy. Someone had tampered with his Falcon!
He glowered at the exposed wiring. He would never trust Lando, again.

Luke stopped beside the hospital bed, looking worriedly at the still figure who lay there.
"Leia?" he asked softly. "You hear me?"
His sister didn't respond.
The Jedi Master nodded to himself. "Follow your own advice," he quietly told himself, and left.

He hated reports.
Qui-Gon sighed, rubbing his temples. Just a little more to finish before his transport time. He could do it and nap in transit.

Green-and-gold striped eyes flashed merrily, their owner laughing. She fell over on the bed, her billowing nightdress almost transluscent, revealing her skin; smooth perfect skin, the color of dark honey.
He drew closer. She didn't stop laughing, gaze amused. He nuzzled her dark tresses, feeling her through the nightgown's fabric against his chest—
He shook himself, mouth suddenly dry. Such fantasies, he chid himself, taking a sip of his tea. He couldn't afford to think of things like that. Attachment is forbidden, he reminded himself sternly.
Qui-Gon didn't like these images. It almost made him think Tahl was hiding something from him, they were so real.
She was nervous around him; but then both of them knew their feelings for each other were something more. What to do about it was having to wait until they adapted to living, again.

"Qui-Gon!" she shrieked like a small child as he tickled her. She swung at him, but he caught her arm and twisted it, pulling her with her back against him.
She struggled half-heartedly. He leaned his head towards hersÉ;
He slammed his datapad on the cafeteria table, making his tea mug shake. "Sithspit!" he muttered, frustrated. He felt like a Padawan, again; unable to control his thoughts.
"What's wrong with you?" Jedi Knight Jaina Solo sat across from him. She looked so much like her grandmother and like her grandfather's mother it was almost painful.
Jaina hadn't taken after either of them in their height, he noted with amusement. That would be the Solo side.
Qui-Gon smiled slightly and nodded respectfully at her, aware he looked her age. "Just some realistic dreams I can't forget."
The girl scowled, suspicious. "Ever meet Master Durron?"
"No." He'd never heard the surname before, actually.
Jaina looked down at her meal, embarrassed. "Sorry. It's just that sounds like what happened to me when I was recovering from a Force wipe he gave me." She shrugged, completely oblivious to his frozen face. "Not that I can say that's what it is, of course."
"Who could?"
"Cilghal. Maybe Tekli. Jacen, probably. Just ask a Healer."
He nodded. "I'll do—"
His commlink interrupted him. He activated it. "Yes?"
"You're late, Qui-Gon," came the sour reply.
He glanced at his chrono. Force! "Apologies. I'll be there shortly." He hastily stood. How had time passed so quickly?
Because you were fantasizing about Tahl.
He contained his frustration.
Jaina waved him away, swallowing a bite. "I'll take care of your mug."
He smiled and bowed. "Thank you, Knight Solo."
Qui-Gon made a mental note to renew her acquaintance when he returned to Mon Cal.

Jedi Master Kyp Durron stared at the still-incapacitated Senator. His head swam, dots forming in his vision.
He blinked. He couldn't sleep yet; he had to wait for her to wake up—to convince her to officially request Jedi security. Since the Hutts were trying to get rid of Tatooine's senator, she needed the best guardians possible.
Unfortunately, even Jedi Masters needed to sleep, sometimes…

He's asleep.
Are you sure?
Yes, Tayun.
How do you know?
Does it matter? I know.
Testily, Senator Misti Whitesun swung herself out from the hospital bed, giving Master Durron a hard look to satisfy her. Happy?
…Sorry. I don't mean to question—
Yes, you do.
Well, you're the one who knew the Hutts were coming and wouldn't tell your bodyguard!
She sighed, leaning her forehead against the wall. Tayun domain Kwaad sounded just like her baby sister, sometimes…
We have a baby sister?
I did.
Belik tu?
She shook the confused persona from her surface thoughts. If she didn't fear that Tayun would get herself killed, she'd just let her have control. She closed her eyes. If only things were that simple… but no, they're not. I'm a Jedi bodyguard's nightmare.
Frowning, she mentally asked Terra to flex. The Yuuzhan Vong creature did so. The Senator's brow creased. That doesn't feel right…
Making a quick gasp, she restrained herself. Whatever you are, she told the feeling, please don't be the future! She didn't want to lose Terra. It wasn't her fault the Warmaster had taken… Misti's… hand.
I am Misti Whitesun, she reminded herself sternly.
Were you ever anyone else?
Ignoring her companion's bewilderment, she silently tapped the door control. It hissed open, but a mild Force-nudge ensured that Durron didn't hear it. He was much like his mother.
You knew his mother?
Shut up.
She obeyed, as always. She wondered what the Master Shaper who'd created the one within her would have thought had he known the infidel had been the persona he'd taught. Not Tayun.
She stepped out the door, restraining such useless speculation. Her 'master' was dead. Debating the 'what ifs' only hurt the one who worried about them in hindsight.
And Misti knew that full well.
At this hour, she had to be careful to avoid people. She moved swiftly, silently, as she had—
I cannot go there, she warned herself sternly. She had to stay in control.
Suddenly, she found herself trapped. Her eyes narrowed, blaring brown, as she debated her options. She felt beings in the rooms around her, and this room would soon be entered, so…
She swiftly climbed out the window. She grit her teeth, clinging to supports with closed eyes from the pain. She could make it to her office. She had to.
Her face settled into an expression of grim determination.
And the wounded Senator climbed.