Chapter 10: Kindred Spirits . . . Or Not

Qui-Gon let out a gasping little chuckle as he stepped aside to let Master Dooku into his home. Anything new happening? What a question! It almost frightened him to think how much his life had changed in the last few days, never mind the ten years or so since he'd last seen his Jedi friend.

"Why, yes, actually, quite a lot has been happening," he said, and was pleased with how steady his voice was. "Did you know I'd gotten married?"

Dooku nodded deeply, once, as he crossed the threshold into the small living quarters. "I remember receiving an invitation some years back, yes." He frowned slightly at the sight of the tousle-haired youngster sitting on the couch, staring sleepily at him with wide, innocent blue-green eyes. "I didn't hear you had a son, though."

Obi-Wan blinked, eyes widening even further. Qui-Gon cleared his throat, crossing to stand by the couch and lay a hand on the boy's shoulder. "This is Obi-Wan Kenobi, our young friend. He's staying with Julune and me for a time while he recovers from a rather serious illness."

"Hmm, yes. I thought the child looked rather peaked." Dooku seemed to be peering down his nose at the boy, but Qui-Gon knew that this was the way the man interacted with everyone, even sentients he respected greatly. It was an entirely unconscious attitude of superiority, and it fit the powerful Jedi like a well-worn cloak, comfortable and homey. And it made Qui-Gon smile to see his old teacher looking and acting so exactly as he remembered him.

"Obi-Wan, this is an old friend of mine," Qui-Gon said, gently squeezing the youngster's shoulder. "He taught me about the Force, many years ago, and we've kept in touch. Though not always very well," he admitted with a wry twist of his lips.

Obi-Wan nodded, very slightly, staring up at the Jedi in something like awe or appreciation, though Qui-Gon realized that neither word was quite correct. It was almost as if the boy was . . . evaluating Dooku, and coming to a conclusion. Though what that might be was not clear. "I've heard of you, Master Dooku."

"Can't say the same," Dooku said, not unkindly. His thick black brows seemed to knit together. "Though I wonder . . ."

He looked at Qui-Gon. "A kindred spirit of yours?"

Qui-Gon hesitated, thinking of the bond. "You might say that."

"Hmm." Again the supercilious, questioning look was turned to the pale-faced lad. "You should be a Jedi, just as Qui-Gon should be. The Force around you fairly sings with power. Why aren't you a Padawan? Did your parents make the same choice as Qui-Gon's? To keep you?"

Obi-Wan opened his mouth, then closed it and lowered his head, staring down at his hands clasped in his lap. "No." It was a nearly-silent murmur, empty of any sign of emotion. "No one chose to keep me."

The black brows scrunched yet more firmly together, and Qui-Gon recognized that look of Dooku's, the one he wore when bent to a puzzle he was determined to solve. He stepped forward to prevent the Jedi from making more blunt declarations, probing more open wounds. Dooku was not the most sensitive man in the galaxy, to say nothing of his tact.

"Have you met my wife yet? I don't think you have. Julune!" he called, turning toward the kitchen. "Dearheart, we have a visitor."

A sound of clattering came from the kitchen, and after a moment Julune appeared at the doorway, wiping her hands on a towel. Her brows were knit in a disturbing mirror of Dooku's, a slight frown gracing her perfect lips. Though Qui-Gon knew the expression wasn't aimed at him, he felt an apprehensive shiver pass over his chest. He had learned to be wary of that face. Julune Graffon-Jinn was a force to be reckoned with when riled.

"Yes, I heard him come in." She gave the elegant Jedi a cordial nod. "I'm pleased to meet you, Knight Dooku."

The man gently cleared his throat, one eyebrow raising slightly.

Julune raised a hand, nodding deeply in acquiescence, then raising her head to continue her dark stare. "Sorry. Master Dooku. Welcome to Bandomeer."

Qui-Gon grimaced. He'd forgotten how easily sound carried in these tiny quarters Obviously, she'd heard the entire conversation so far, and was less than pleased.. Julune's frosty tone spoke much more plainly then her hospitable words—he would have to speak to her later, make her understand that this was just Dooku's way. Both his wife and his old teacher simply were who they were, both dear to his heart, and he would never try to change either of them. He only hoped they wouldn't come to blows before he had a chance to mediate a truce.

However, Qui-Gon was fully aware that these particular negotiations had a high likelihood of failing miserably. Julune was typically calm and laid-back, laughing off any slights to herself with sparkling, merry eyes, so comfortable in her skin that such words simply slid off. But she did not respond as well to disparaging words or gestures aimed at her work, her family, her planet—and most especially, her husband. And now Qui-Gon saw that when it came to Obi-Wan—this vulnerable youngster who had slipped so easily and tenderly into their home and their hearts—when it came to this boy, Julune was a full-tilt mother she-niber, and her claws had just been unsheathed.

Then, with a flash of insight, he understood. It wasn't so much Dooku's words that had set her off—anyone could have made an innocent mistake, unknowingly pricked Obi-Wan with uncomfortable questions. It was the fact that this was a Jedi, and the Jedi had hurt this boy. That was all it took to rouse Julune's protective instincts to full, alarmingly feral life. It truly was as simple as that.

"Master Dooku, won't you sit down?" Qui-Gon asked, pouring warmth into his voice as a subtle message to everyone in the room. He spread a hand toward the recliner still drawn up next to the couch, absently massaging Obi-Wan's shoulder with his other hand.

Dooku nodded his thanks. He removed his cloak with a rather lovely flourish—it was either entirely natural or had been practiced so much that it appeared so—and sat, somehow imbuing the broken-down, sand-colored piece of furniture with the dignity of a throne. Qui-Gon took the cloak and hung it on one of the hooks on the wall, next to his thick green one and Julune's dark red.

Julune took a deep breath. "Will you be staying for supper?" The words were spoken neutrally, without rancor. Qui-Gon knew that only he could hear the sullen, slightly menacing edge beneath them.

"If it's no trouble," the Jedi said smoothly, stretching his long legs out and settling his shoulders back with the satisfied little sigh of a weary traveler coming in to rest.

"Oh, none at all." Julune widened her eyes in a masterful display of innocent surprise, as if shocked that he would even think his presence could be the slightest bother. "It's soup, and there's plenty to go around—I'll just set another place at the table."

"You are most kind, madam."

Julune made a little pish-tosh gesture and turned sharply around to disappear into the kitchen again.

Qui-Gon hesitated. He wanted to go into the kitchen and have a quiet little conversation with Julune, make sure she wouldn't "accidentally" poison Dooku's soup. But it didn't seem safe to leave Obi-Wan and Dooku alone, either. They were again studying each other with intense, focused eyes, the blue-green gently hooded by long lashes and a lowered head, the dark brown clear, straightforward and thoughtful.

With an exasperated shake of his head, Qui-Gon gently nudged the boy to scoot over on the couch, then sat next to him, his arm circling the slender shoulders without conscious thought. And Obi-Wan leaned into him, also without thought, much of the tension in his slight frame instantly fleeing as if repelled by that simple touch. Qui-Gon did notice the slightly sardonic smirk that touched the corner of Dooku's mouth, and glanced instinctively down at the boy tucked under his arm. Only then did he realize what he'd done. But Obi-Wan didn't look up, and Qui-Gon decided not to move.

"So, what brings you to Bandomeer, Master Dooku?" Qui-Gon asked.

"Just thought I'd drop in and see you, old friend." Dooku straightened the creases on his trousers, plucking at them with long fingers.

Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow. "I didn't realize you had our itinerary. Julune and I only stay on a particular planet for a couple of months—it makes it rather difficult for most people to keep up with where we are."

Dooku shrugged. "Itinerary? I would have commed ahead if I had known I was coming. No, I was flying by the system on the way back to Coruscant when I had a feeling that I should stop by. I didn't understand why—a nasty little world, this. But I have learned to listen to strange voices in the night, on rare occasions, mind you."

Qui-Gon smirked. Even the idiosyncratic little phrases Dooku used reminded him of the time they had spent together years ago, Qui-Gon exploring the Force like a child in a toy store, Dooku patiently explaining how it all worked, where things should go, and why it was best to stay away from the shadowy corners where spiders lurked. He had to fight to keep the nostalgic mood from overtaking him. Julune was still agitated, and Obi-Wan was definitely struggling within himself, as well. It wouldn't be fair of Qui-Gon to abandon them so he could sink into the past.

"Well, I'm glad you decided to follow that particular witch-light into the fog," he said warmly. "It's been too long. We have a great deal of catching up to do."

But Dooku was again staring at the young boy, who seemed to have found something infinitely fascinating on the tip of his left index finger, and was studying it intently. "On further thought, I think the name Kenobi does ring a chime," he said slowly. "Were you . . .?"

"Yes," Obi-Wan said abruptly. A tremor ran through his body, but he lifted his chin and looked his interrogator directly in the eye. His voice was clear, the words slightly clipped. "Two weeks ago, I was a Jedi initiate. I was not chosen by a master, so I was sent to join the Agri-Corps here on Bandomeer."

Dooku's dark eye flashed. "Not chosen? Not chosen?" He sat forward in his seat, his hands clenching the armrests. "A child of your obvious talent and power, shining so brightly in the Force that the light all but crosses over into the physical realm—you were not chosen? What is wrong with those idiots at the Temple?"

Obi-Wan was taken aback—he leaned against Qui-Gon's arm, as if attempting to sink into the couch to escape the Jedi's rising voice. Qui-Gon pressed him closer and just stared at his old teacher, amazed. He had never seen the man in such high dudgeon.

And it appeared to be getting higher. Dooku suddenly jumped to his feet and began to pace, the prowl of a large, carnivorous creature bent low to the ground to sniff its prey. He even growled a bit, his fists quivering at his sides. "I knew it. I knew it! Something's gone wrong. There's a pall over the Order—we've gotten weak, clouded, tied to the strings of the Senate . . . Not our own. Shouldn't be this way. More and more talented children are being allowed to fall through the cracks, and the mediocre, the mundane, the rule-bound . . ." He spat this word like a foul-tasting morsel, a bit of bone caught in his teeth. The dark gaze flashed to Qui-Gon, to the boy, and forward again as the man continued to pace. ". . . these are the ones who rise," he finished, shaking a finger in the air. "The low, the cringers and scrapers. I knew it. I knew something was off."

He paused to point at the boy, his finger now quivering with outrage. His dark eyebrows were bent over eyes that seemed to spark with disgust, daring the boy to contradict him. "Did no one speak to you at all? Did anyone try to explain why no Master would take you? Was it because you were too passionate, too unpredictable, too headstrong?"

Obi-Wan shrank yet further against Qui-Gon, but he answered, his voice trembling only a little bit. "Y-yes, Master Dooku. I had one last chance, and I . . . I fought too aggressively. Knight Xanatos was disturbed, and he said . . ."

"Xanatos." Dooku sat suddenly, heavily, in his chair, the single word seeming to escape his mouth rather than be spoken. It took all of his energy with it, and though his eyes as he stared at the boy were sharp, the ferocious strength of righteous rage no longer sparked there. "That fool. He rejected you, didn't he? The fool, the stupid young fool."

Obi-Wan nodded hesitantly, then gathered himself together, stilling his agitation. He leaned forward a bit, looking curiously at the Master Jedi. "You, you know Knight Xanatos?"

"Why, of course I do." Dooku's voice was grim and hard. "Training him made me a master, after all."

Obi-Wan nodded again, more certainly this time, and leaned back into Qui-Gon's support. He had nothing else to say.