The door was made sluggish by its own weight as it slid open, buzzer muffled by a cacophony of irritation and misery. The head warden and her guest stepped into the hall.

"-be a relief, really. He's been a bit of a headache," the short, stout Trandoshan was saying. As they crossed the secure area into the theater of holding cells, a guard was escorting a handcuffed man to the processing center. The criminal spat in their direction. The tall Jedi sidestepped, and the projectile missed his boot by centimeters.

"Sorry about that," was the warden's gruff apology, "the new ones can be pretty moody."

"I'm sure," Mace Windu said, grimacing slightly as he looked up and down the long hall of suspects and newly-convicted felons waiting for their tagged jumpsuits and long-term cells. "Has this John Doe been giving you similar trouble?"

The warden hesitated. "No, and quite frankly, it's spooking my men more than if he'd been making shivs."

They arrived at the last holding cell on the main level. The warden came to a stop first, waved a hand, and crossed her arms.

"Well?" she asked. "That him?"

Mace Windu held his tongue and studied the scene. On one side of the cell was a group of a dozen or so criminals, all voluntarily crowded together with little personal space between them. A few cast nervous looks toward the other side of the cell, where, with enough legroom for five men, a single detainee slouched on the bench. He had close-cropped hair and an unkempt beard. He was also shirtless, revealing a toned physique and a library of scars, including the long, jagged line that ran across his face, right eye, chest, and arm. He turned a blue-eyed glare onto Mace.

"What happened to his clothes?" the Jedi asked, eyes never leaving the scarred face on the other side of the bars.

"He was wearing a lot of 'em," explained the warden, "like the ones you have. Security was afraid he could be hiding weapons, or that he could use them to… well, to strangle someone."

"Hmm," Mace raised his eyebrows and nodded. "I wouldn't have thought of that."

"We've learned from past experience," the warden replied darkly. She looked from the motionless prisoner to her Jedi companion. "Well?" she prodded, "this him?"

Mace ignored her. "It's been a while, Kenobi."

The scarred man continued to glare. Then, he spoke in a prim core accent:

"Can I leave now, or do I have to invoke my Ashtakaal Rights and bring the courts into this?"

The other prisoners reacted with shock; if Mace had to guess, they'd never heard their cellmate speak at all.

"I could just leave you here," the master said. "They'll have to release you or charge you in two days. Want to see what they'll come up with?"

"Mace," amid the anger, there was the slightest strain in the scarred man's voice, "please."

Mace pursed his lips in stern consideration. Then, "That's him," he told the warden, "you can let him go. I'll take it from here."

"Gladly." The Trandoshan huffed and reached for her keys. She hadn't even found the right one before the prisoner had stood to his feet, walked to the door, and opened the lock with a touch. He stepped out of the cell and locked the door behind him. Inside, the prisoners were in an uproar.

"He could've done that this whole time?"

"The kriff is wrong with you?"

"You freak!"

"Kriff you, you arsehole!"

And worse.

"Hey, hey, settle down!" The warden stepped up to the door to double down the lock. She hit the bars with her baton. "Get back, all of you!"

"You haven't been officially released yet," Mace spoke calmly amid the uproar. "That's very rude."

"Two and a half weeks," snapped the shirtless man. "Thirteen days. Shall we discuss what qualifies as rude, master?"

"And you've made friends in the meantime," Mace smiled at the riotous prisoners in the cell, who were spitting through the bars and slamming their fists, cursing and screaming.

"Acquaintances," the jailbird corrected.

Guards arrived to prevent the escalating outcry in the cell. Relieved of the situation, the warden turned to her guests.

"Alright, so what's your real name, John Doe?"

Shirtless and unwashed for weeks, the man still managed an air of dignity. "Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jedi Knight," he said.

A look at Mace's face confirmed this for the warden. "Oh chssk, I was wrong," she chuckled. "Looks like I owe Berrik ten credits. Sorry for the misunderstanding, masters."

With restraint, Obi-Wan shook his head and said only, "It happens from time to time."

"I'll let you nullify the charges," Mace told the warden. "I'll look into the ID documents myself."

"Consider it done."

"And if it's not too much to ask," the Master of the Order leaned away from the bedraggled knight, who smelled as bad as anyone would after two weeks in a prison cell, "do you still have his shirt?"

They did have his shirt, and tabards, and belt, and lightsaber. Obi-Wan gripped even as he climbed into the quiet, clean safety of the Jedi-issue skycar.

"So what the hell happened?" Obi-Wan felt compelled to ask once they were out of the sector.

"I should be asking you the same question," Mace countered.

"Thirteen days?" Obi-Wan shot back.

"That was a true misunderstanding." The elder Jedi managed an apologetic tone. "Your fingerprints brought up Ben's records, which of course don't match your ID, which triggered a scan of the entire database of known identity thieves in the Republic."

"Oh, Force." Obi-Wan rolled his eyes.

"It's still running, I imagine," Mace told him. "We actually heard of your arrest nearly the same day as it happened. Apparently Ben himself ran into the Constancian agent who busted you."

"What?" That bastard.

"But since your file didn't have the right name on it, it took us nearly two weeks to figure out where they'd put you." Mace turned a baleful look on the younger man. "Do you know exactly how many prisons there on on Coruscant?" Obi-Wan did not. "I had half a mind to grab the nearest pale-skinned pain in the ass and pass him off as you."

That garnered a chuckle from the passenger seat. Mace let him enjoy the joke for a few more moments before his voice took on a more serious, annoyed tone.

"That explains the thirteen days. It doesn't explain everything else. Constancia's OrbitSec sent us a report on the charges a few days after the fact. Immigration fraud? Impersonating a Jedi? Resisting arrest? Stealing property?" He paused to let Obi-Wan wilt under the weight of his incredulity, and then came back: "Immigration fraud, because your visa expired on the exact date and time I told you it would-"

"I was stuck on Sullust," Obi-Wan tried to explain, "I was caught up on the wrong side of a sting, it wasn't as though I could've just taken a few days to-"

Mace ignored him and continued: "-Impersonating a Jedi, because your identification chip expired on the same date and time of your visa, an event which I also recall warning you about months in advance-"

"-again, I was on Sullust, I had planned to renew them both when I got to Tshindral-"

"-and resisting arrest?" Mace interrupted. Obi-Wan huffed.

"They didn't believe that I was a Jedi."

"Because your ID was expired-"

"-which they wouldn't let me go to the Capitol to renew-" Obi-Wan accused.

"-because your visa was expired."

"They wouldn't even contact the Council to verify who I was!" The knight said, indignant. Mace remained unmoved.

"A decision I'm sure was made in an overabundance of caution, considering your other apparent crimes. What about the stealing property charges?"

"That was not my fault," Obi-Wan insisted. Mace gave him a look. "I mean, yes, I did take a ship, but I took it from a swindler, and I only took it because he shot mine to pieces. As I've been saying, I was in my way to Tshindral to renew my visa so I could renew my ID, so I could get back into the Republic to continue my investigation."

"And have instead set me up with a mountain of paperwork despite the fact that I haven't received so much as a memo from you for eight months," Mace concluded. Obi-Wan bit his lip in contrite silence. "I'll let you fill out the restitution forms," Mace told Obi-Wan, who sunk further into his sulk.

"He stole that ship before I did," Obi-Wan felt compelled to say. "An absolutely horrible man."

"A horrible man he may be, but chances are he has a lawyer," Mace reminded. "I'll leave the forms to you, and if you don't like it, take it up with the Council."

"You're in charge of the Council."

"I'm a Council member."

"Yes, and you hold the most powerful vote."

Mace gave Obi-Wan a disappointed glance. "Despite what you've heard from Qui-Gon or anyone else prone to conspiracies, neither I nor Yoda hold any more stake in the Council's ballots than anyone else."

"Your title holds sway," Obi-Wan reminded him.

Mace scoffed. "To a councilor? Why don't I put you on the Council, and you can learn firsthand how wrong you are?"

Obi-Wan scoffed. "First you punish me with paperwork and now you want me on the High Council."

"The High Council is paperwork."

"And I haven't written so much as memo in eight months," Obi-Wan reminded, touting his negligence like a badge of honor.

Mace shook his head, but said nothing.

"You don't want me on the Council," Obi-Wan said, "paperwork aside. You know Coruscant isn't really my forte."

"It is, actually, though you don't want to admit it." Mace countered immediately. The silence between them was suddenly deeper, an unspoken truth rendering the air more uncomfortable than any arrests, jailtime, or paperwork. Obi-Wan sat utterly motionless, as if holding his breath would fend off bad memories. Mace wanted to smack him. "Coruscant is exactly your forte. Valorum was buried six years ago, Obi-Wan, and one day, you're going to accept that."

Obi-Wan kept his gaze emotionless and trained out of the window. "I am sorry for all the miscommunication around this… debacle," he said, voice transformed from petulance into polished jade. "I'll get the paperwork sorted out as quickly as I can. After that, I would appreciate the opportunity to continue my investigation into the Pykes. We've made significant progress, but there's much to be done."

Mace gave Obi-Wan a long, silent look. Eventually, he returned his gaze to the skyline, where the looming ziggurat of the Jedi Temple rose from the steel nest of Coruscant. "First thing's first, you need a shower and a shave."

Obi-Wan had to admit, that sounded nice.

"I'm sure Master Che will oblige you after she's finished her examinations."

That sounded considerably less nice.

Mace dumped him like a flea-bitten dog at the Halls of Healing, where a gaggle of medical apprentices he didn't recognize ushered him to a room to await Master Che's judgement. Obi-Wan hadn't seen the domineering physician in well over a year, but when she opened the door and looked up from his charts, she seemed annoyed by their reunion.

"You're going to use up half my supply of Wild Space vaccinations, and you don't even care."

"It's good to see you again, Vokara," he gave her a weary smile.

"That's Master Che to you. " She shut the door and put on a pair of gloves.

"As you say, Master." She never seems annoyed when Ben calls her that, Obi-Wan griped to himself. Vokara came over to his bed and pulled at his neckline, wincing at his stench and the grime hiding beneath his collar.

"Prison, huh?"

"A lengthy misunderstanding," he offered.

"Hmm." With cold hands, she guided his head into a tilt and thoroughly cleaned his neck with alcohol. She loaded her hyposhot gun and fired. He tried to stop the involuntary yelp in his throat, but it came out as a squeek. Vokara laughed and ejected the needle into the trash.

"It's good to have you back, Obi-Wan." She reloaded her weapon. "Hold still."

Once he'd been screened for parasites and injected with a half dozen more neutralizers for any diseases he'd carried in from Hutt Space, they finally let him out of quarantine. He showered in scalding water, washed his hair, trimmed his beard, and washed his hair again. While he was bathing, they'd even found him clean robes - dark brown, not really his color.

"Are those grey hairs I see?" teased Vokara Che as he combed his freshly trimmed hair. He looked in the mirror with some surprise and yes, they were grey hairs, hiding in the auburn forest at his temples. He thought suddenly of Ben, and was alarmed to see his older self looking back at him, one-eyed in the mirror. He must've looked as stunned as he felt, because Vokara's smile faltered and she added, far more gently than she usually spoke with him,

"There's no harm in it, Kenobi. It's a good look for you." He wasn't sure about that, but he let it go.

Clean, vaccinated, and in clean clothes, Obi-Wan emerged from the Halls nearly two hours later and was surprised to find Mace Windu waiting for him, sitting on a bench with legs crossed, thumbing through a lengthy mission report.

"You came back," the knight said.

"I never left," the master responded, not looking up.

Obi-Wan realized he was being babysat. "Oh, no," he said. Not looking away from his datapad, Mace stood to his feet.

"Since you've yet to submit any full reports on your whereabouts and movements in the last eight months, the Council wants to hear it from the fathier's mouth, so to speak." He shut off the 'pad and looked balefully at his subordinate. "Today." It was not often that Obi-Wan Kenobi was struck speechless, and it made Mace smile. "Let's see if the Outer Rim has ruined that silver tongue of yours." He gave the knight a slap on the back and marched down the hall. Belatedly, Obi-Wan jogged to catch up.

It was a long walk to the Council Spire, and despite Mace's haranguing, the Master chose to lead their trek at a leisurely pace. Only now, surrounded by the amber lights and warm halls of home, did Obi-Wan realize how inordinately tired he was. He hadn't slept well in jail, or in a stolen ship, or in Hutt Space, pursued by the Pykes. It would be nice to take a breather here at the Temple – he only wished it hadn't taken him an arrest to get him there.

"Anakin will want to hear your version of how you got arrested," Mace broke into his thoughts. "He let the story from Constancia slip to some classmates, who've turned it into vile rumors. He's gone blue in the face trying to defend you."

Obi-Wan frowned at him. "Anakin Skywalker?"

"Yes," Mace gave him a smile. "Force knows why, but he admires you a great deal. Oh, there he is now," Mace looked up as a classroom of padawans let out into the hall. "You can use him to practice your explanation for the Council."

"Where?" Obi-Wan scanned the crowd of teenagers but saw no one resembling Ben's pupil. "I don't see him."

"There," Mace jutted his chin, arms crossed. "Between the Pantoran and the Zygerrian."

Obi-Wan spotted the tall young man and was overcome by a foreign feeling of antiquity. "I haven't been gone that long, surely," he said. "He's huge."

"One year, nine months, and seventeen days," Mace corrected him. "He's nearly eighteen, you know."

"What?"

"You don't live in a vacuum, Obi-Wan," Mace reminded. He watched the man's astonished face a moment before stepping away. "I'll be waiting at the end of the hall."

Obi-Wan turned his attention back to Anakin, who hadn't seen him yet. Eighteen, the number echoed in his head. Had he looked so young when he was eighteen, Obi-Wan wondered? Had he been quite so lanky, his shoulders jutting out like wings on a ship? Had his face been as spotty with acne and day-old stubble as this? Eighteen was the end of junior padawan days, the end of classes, the beginning of the end of an apprenticeship.

But Anakin was only almost eighteen, Mace had said, and ought to reminded of his place. Obi-Wan marched up behind Anakin before he or his friends could spot him, grabbed the offending teen by the scruff, and pulled him into a headlock.

"Ahh!" The confused padawan yelped, dropping his datapad and homework. He grasped at the arm around his neck and tried to smack the face that owned them. His friends, who could now see the attacker, smiled in astonishment and amusement.

"Force damnit, Sepensi, is that you? Get the hell off me!" Anakin twisted his head this way and that, but couldn't wriggle free. Obi-Wan stayed silent, winking conspiratorially at Anakin's friends.

"Not Sepensi," said Nira, gold marks on her cheeks scrunching up with her smile.

"Oh Sithspit, it's Tog, isn't it?"

Obi-Wan dug his knuckles into Anakin's scalp, and the padawan tried to give a retaliatory kick, but missed. "Son of a vetch."

Obi-Wan laughed. "Such language, I'm sure your master didn't teach you that."

"What the-" Anakin burst to free himself again, and this time Obi-Wan let him. Anakin straightened up, saw him, and stood agog. Obi-Wan was still smiling, scar setting his dimpled smile on a familiar angle.

"I nearly didn't recognize you, Skywalker."

"Obi-Wan!" Anakin's smile erupted like a ship from its moorings and he surged forward for a hug. Though temporarily blindsided by having his face land in Anakin's shoulder and not above it, Obi-Wan returned the gesture in kind. The ferocity with which Anakin held onto him warmed his heart, but also made him feel inordinately guilty.

"You're back!" Anakin pulled away. "I thought you were- I mean, I heard you had been-"

"Arrested?" Obi-Wan raised his brows.

"I mean, uh…" Anakin trailed off. His classmates tuned their ears in interest.

"I was, unfortunately. A case of mistaken identity, I'm afraid, but it's been cleared up now."

"Oh, good," Anakin smiled, genuinely relieved. "When you didn't beat us back to the Temple, Master Ben got a little worried."

Obi-Wan chuckled. "There's no need. All's well now."

It was an anticlimactic resolution, and disappointment radiated from the assembled teenagers. Obi-Wan whipped a look of rebuke on the throng of apprentices, who scurried away under the collective decision that they had other, more important things to do. Anakin and his two closest friends remained.

"Welcome back, Master Kenobi," the Pantoran girl smiled. Obi-Wan gave a small bow.

"Thank you, Amira."

"How long are you going to stay?" Anakin wanted to know. Obi-Wan shrugged.

"It's not my decision, at this point," the knight said.

"Are you in trouble with the Council?" asked the short Zygerrian next to Mira.

"Sarsan!" she hissed, and hit him in the stomach. Despite the rebuke, Obi-Wan raised his eyebrows and sighed.

"I don't know," he admitted earnestly. He looked up. At the end of the hall, Mace Windu waited with arms crossed, unmoving. "But I get the feeling I'm about to find out. Excuse me."

Anakin turned to see Master Windu lurking by the exit. "Force be with you, Obi-Wan," the padawan bid, a burr of teasing in his voice. "You might need it."

"Talk like that, you might need it too," Obi-Wan reached out and gave the boy a shove. "I'll see you later." The knight continued down the hall and fell into step with Mace Windu. The three padawans watched him go.

"So he did get recalled," Sarsan concluded.

"Oh, come on," Anakin glared at him. "Don't tell me that you've been listening to all those rumors."

"Everyone has."

"That'll be one lucky kid, too," Mira added wistfully. Both boys turned to look at her in non-comprension.

"What are you talking about?" Sarsan asked. Mira blinked at them.

"He got recalled because they want him to take an apprentice," she told them. "I thought everyone knew that."

"I heard he got recalled because he has a huge bounty on his head," Sarsan countered.

"I haven't heard any of this," Anakin insisted, looking between the two of them with deepening betrayal. "For all we know, he hasn't been recalled at all."

"He said it wasn't his decision to stay," Sarsan shrugged.

"So?"

"So that's what happens when you're recalled," Sarsan insisted.

"But he didn't say he'd been recalled-"

"Well duh," Sarsan rolled his eyes, "I wouldn't own up to that either, it's not exactly-"

"Would you stop it? Force," Mira, who was taller than Sarsan and nearly as tall as Anakin, grabbed either boy by their ear and pulled them apart. The boys complained, and she rolled her eyes. "Anakin can ask him later. Come on, we'll be late for class."

"Master Kenobi." Despite her youthful beauty, Adi Gallia was several decades older than most of the Council and eons older than Obi-Wan. A wicked, maternal humor danced in her eyes as she said, "if I'd known it would take an arrest to get you to file your paperwork, I would've petitioned for a warrant months ago."

A subdued ripple of laughter went around the circle of Councilors, sticking most fervently to Yoda and, much to Obi-Wan's chagrin, the friendly face of Kit Fisto. Obi-Wan had been surprised to see Bant's former master on the Council and had hoped the Nautolan might lend a sympathetic ear - but instead, there was that toothy smile of his, shoulders wobbling in mirth. Traitor.

"You're too kind," Obi-Wan bowed to the room. "Another two and a half weeks locked up with criminals would be sure to give me time to finish my reports," he deadpanned.

Yoda harrumphed. "Time enough now, you have," he said unsympathetically. "Busy you have been, too busy, it seems, to tell us what business you keep. Tell the Council you will." Yoda huddled back in his seat, ready for a long story. Obi-Wan drew in a breath and gave him just that.

As he grew older, time became increasingly difficult for Obi-Wan to keep track of. Had he really been away from the temple for a year, almost two? As he recounted the pertinent details of his mission – missions plural, he rediscovered as he spoke – he realized that it hadn't even been his most recent absence that had propelled him to this point of grey hair and seeing Anakin grown. It had been the one before, and the one before that, and the one before that, all the way back to Valorum's assassination six years ago, when he and Mace had begun this crusade.

Yoda and Mace were the only Councilors who understood the true motives behind Obi-Wan's solitary missions. He'd engaged against the Hutts, the Neimoidians, the Dugs, the Pykes, and every breed of criminal from Coruscant to Wild Space. All of them dealt with the Sith – but that was not public knowledge.

"And have you forwarded this information onto the Chancellor?" Ki Adi Mundi looked up from where he'd been taking notes.

Obi-Wan wasn't sure how to answer.

"I'm preparing the report personally," Mace answered for him, voice authoritative and calm. He shared a weighted look with the knight. "He's well aware of Knight Kenobi's work."

"Very well," Ki Adi replied cheerily, and picked up his stylus once more. "Carry on."

When the Council dismissed, Obi-Wan approached Mace Windu for a word.

"Is that it?" he asked, confused. "Am I not to receive a new mission?"

"You should be exhausted from talking alone, to say nothing of everything else," Mace laughed at him, but his smile faded when saw that Obi-Wan was being completely serious. He shook his head.

"It'll keep until tomorrow, Obi-Wan. Go rest – I don't think Qui-Gon's completely filled your room with plants yet."

Qui-Gon. Despite his desire to keep moving, Obi-Wan's heart felt lighter at the thought of his old master. "He was bound to replace me eventually," Obi-Wan said.

"He would never," Mace assured him in an uncharacteristically earnest voice. "He's missed you."

Obi-Wan fixed the master with a peculiar look. "Sentimentality isn't your style, Master," he said.

"It's a prerogative of old age – Qui-Gon can tell you that better than anyone. Now go reclaim your bed before it's covered in dorva vines and try to get some sleep."

The apartment was exactly as Obi-Wan remembered it. His first step inside immersed him in the aromas of childhood and comfort: the smell of library books due eons ago, freshly-watered potting soil, and charred bits of whatever food Qui-Gon had burned the night before. He closed his eyes and felt as a boy again, but opened them to see his master smiling at him, changed from the last time he'd seen him.

"Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon's voice was quiet. He was more grey than brown, these days.

"Hello, Master," Obi-Wan beamed at him.

The older man unfolded himself from the couch and came over to embrace his former apprentice. Obi-Wan returned the gesture with equal affection.

"I didn't know you were back – you should have called me."

"I'm sorry, I was… indisposed," the knight grouched into Qui-Gon's shoulder. The master's laugh reverberated through Obi-Wan's body. Qui-Gon pulled away, wrinkled face drawn up in an infuriating humor.

"Prison, was it? Mace told me. I'm sorry I couldn't have been there to give you a hard time about it."

Banter was as second-nature as the air of home, but Obi-Wan's attention was diverted by something else. "You've lost weight," he frowned, patting the bicep still under his own hand. Then he saw Qui-Gon's robes. "Are you wearing cassocks? You once said you'd rather die than wear cassocks."

"Ah, yes," the master chuckled, sheepishly pulling at the ankle-length robes. "I confess, I spoke too soon - they're incredibly comfortable. A holdover from my stint in the Halls - as is the weight loss, I'm afraid."

"What?" Obi-Wan asked, alarmed. Qui-Gon squinted, trying to retrace the months.

"I thought I told you? Perhaps you were still undercover. I came down with a particularly nasty case of pneumonia after a mission to Jagomir. Master Che kept me cooped up in the Halls for a few weeks to be on the safe side."

"A few weeks?"

"Yes," Qui-Gon moved toward the kitchen to fill the kettle. He caught a glimpse of Obi-Wan's horrified expression and scoffed. "I lost a few pounds, Obi-Wan, I'm not dead."

"I know," the pupil insisted, and moved around his old master in a well-practiced dance. He set the old, stained tea bowls on the tray and carefully shook sapir leaves into the teapot. "I just… I didn't know, is all."

He had to move not one, but three plants out of the way to set the tea tray down on the coffee table in front of their well-worn couch. Qui-Gon took a seat on his designated side, and Obi-Wan on his. Despite the years away, there was still a distinct indentation where he'd sat in this exact spot hundreds and thousands of times before. He found himself shrugging his shoulder, trying to feel a braid now ten years gone. Qui-Gon poured the tea and handed him his glass.

"I've missed you," the old man said - and Qui-Gon was old, Obi-Wan had to admit to himself. He smiled.

"It's good to be back."

They drank their tea and spoke as old friends do, and like rain over dry land Qui-Gon's company soothed the prickling itch that urged Obi-Wan to move, to leave, to go. He knew it was only a temporary relief, but Qui-Gon had raised him to live in the moment, so Obi-Wan laughed at Qui-Gon's stories and sank further into the couch.

The following morning, after he'd set Anakin off to his earliest morning classes, Ben Kenobi came by the Jinn/Kenobi apartments to say hello to his recently-released nephew. He was quickly disappointed.

"Left already?" Ben repeated. Qui-Gon stood, alone and apologetic, in the doorway. "Force, it's hardly past dawn. I would've thought he'd want to recover after the last few weeks alone."

Qui-Gon chuckled. "He's still young, he doesn't know how to slow down."

"He's not so young. He's thirty-two now, isn't he?" Ben countered.

"And what were you doing at thirty-two?"

A faint memory hoved into Ben's mind, something about leaping from a window high above the Coruscanti highline, of fighting days on end without sleeping, of traipsing about with Anakin underfoot without a moment to himself. It was all very different now with a body in its fifties. "Point taken," he allowed.

"He left too early for tea, too," Qui-Gon waved Ben inside. "You can have his share."

Ben joined Qui-Gon in the kitchen and helped himself to a slice of toast while Qui-Gon picked through a mostly-empty bowl of fruit.

"Where's he gone, anyway?" Ben asked while the kettle rumbled. "I can't imagine the Council's giving him a new assignment just yet."

"I couldn't either," Qui-Gon admitted, "but they've called him anyway. Mace seems to have something set up for him already."

"What?" Ben was shocked. Even if Obi-Wan's arrest had been a gross misunderstanding, procedure would dictate a few weeks of leave while the paperwork travelled through official channels. "They can't send him out again, not so soon."

"He seems to expect it." Qui-Gon had begun carefully slicing a jogan fruit, eyes trained on the edge of the knife as purple juice ran down his thumb. "Sometimes I wonder about that boy. He is strong with the Unifying Force, you'd think he would sense what is coming."

"And what's that?" Ben asked with trepidation. Qui-Gon snorted.

"I have no idea. I do not understand the Unifying Force, but I understand Mace Windu well enough. Whatever he's got planned next, Obi-Wan's not going to like it." He popped a slice of jogan into his mouth and licked the juice off his thumb. As he chewed, he complained, "He'll probably expect me to pity him, too. There's still much for him to learn."

The council's pronouncement seemed to hang in the air. It was such a diversion from what Obi-Wan had expected, it took his hearing a moment to catch up with the rest of him and pull him back into cold reality.

"Probation?" He repeated the word. "Am I… am I not to be reassigned to the Pyke disputes, masters?"

"You have just been released from prison, Master Kenobi," said Master Rancisis charitably, surprised by the knight's agitation.

"I understand that, master, I meant no offense, I just…" Obi-Wan was truly bewildered. He looked around at the assembly of kind faces, unsure how to interpret their dismissal. "It was a misunderstanding. I had hoped to finish my work against the spice cartels, there's much work to be done."

"Understanding or not, these things do take time, Obi-Wan," Master Fisto offered with kind familiarity. "It will keep."

"Yes, of course," Obi-Wan replied in a level voice, though his eyebrows were sinking lower and lower over his eyes, "but it cannot keep forever. Does this… probation have an expiration date? I should like to take the time to research and prepare for the next phase of our investigation. If I knew how long-"

"The Pyke investigation will be postponed indefinitely until further notice," Mace Windu spoke for the first time that session. "I'm afraid it will not, as Master Fisto says, keep."

"What?" Obi-Wan looked to the Korun master in shock. Several of the council members seemed surprised as well. "Why?"

Mace drew a breath and for a moment, it appeared as though he would launch into a lengthy explanation. Then, he caught sight of the chrono, and sighed. "I'm sorry, Master Kenobi, we have half a dozen other appointments on our docket today. Come by my office later and we can discuss the particulars of your next assignment."

That gave Obi-Wan hope. He should have known better.

Hours later, sequestered in Mace's office away from prying eyes and ears, Obi-Wan stared at his new assignment with an unreadable expression. "So that I understand, Master," he tapped the laughably thin dossier with distaste, "You're grounding me on Coruscant so that I can investigate a burglary?"

Mace Windu's expression did not change as they locked eyes. "Yes."

Obi-Wan could not find words. In the gaping silence that ensued, Mace blinked at him.

"Have I done something wrong?" Obi-Wan burst desperately. Sensing the words forming on Mace's tongue, he quickly added, "Besides getting arrested. Did I make some error? The investigation has gone inordinately better than I had hoped, am I mistaken? Did I miss something?"

Mace leaned back in his chair, looking tired. "It has gone well, inordinately so, as you say."

"Then why…?"

"As you may remember, I am duty-bound to report on all of your movements to the Chancellor," Mace reminded. "I report on all Jedi movements in the Outer Rim, and have done so since I took this position. Usually, this information is synthesized by the intelligence community and presented to the Chancellor as consolidated reports. But lately, he's been growing increasingly vocal about you and your missions in particular." Mace let that sink in. "Over the last six years, I've very carefully crafted a web wherein your missions appear a small part of a unlikely whole. But Palpatine is beginning to sniff us out."

That name, even after all these years, sent an angry chill down Obi-Wan's spine. The knight's countenance darkened.

"So he knows what we're doing?"

"As far as I can tell, no, but he's getting closer, and he's annoyed. We've been making trouble for his allies, and it's done wonders to keep him tame. But if we continue making such… efficient trouble, we're going to get caught. It's time we back off." Mace allowed himself a small smile. "In truth, it was convenient of you to get arrested, it makes my report writing easier." Mace picked up a datapad and waved it triumphantly - it was, Obi-Wan assumed, replete with details of his negligence. "Far easier to explain a knight's stupidity than to justify halting an investigation in its tracks."

"You're welcome," Obi-Wan said sarcastically.

"As for this," Mace pushed the two-page dossier back toward Obi-Wan. "This will keep you useful while you're grounded."

Obi-Wan opened it again, lips set to one side of his mouth in annoyance. On one side of the folder was a photograph of an intricately assembled metal cylinder, propped up by transparisteel at an artful angle and displayed behind glass. On the other side of the folder was a one-page police report. "It's a theft," Obi-Wan complained. "The police deal with thefts."

"Not when it's a four hundred year old lightsaber being stolen," Mace replied. "That weapon has been on loan to the Coruscanti Galactic History Museum for more than eighty years, but it's still Jedi property. We handle our own investigations."

"And you think a washed-up operative from the Outer Rim is the one for the job?" Obi-Wan deadpanned. Mace frowned. His gaze was as brutal as a vapaad strike.

"Is that what you think you are?"

Obi-Wan did not reply. Mace arranged piles of datapads and paperwork and sighed. "You're not from the Outer Rim, Obi-Wan, you're from the Core. You are not an operative, you are a knight. And no matter what you want to say on the matter, Coruscant is and always will be your bread and butter. Now wipe that self-pity off your face and get to work. I have a strange feeling about this one." The Master of the Order waved a hand, and the door to his office slid open, a pointed dismissal. "Oh, and by the way, I took the liberty of renewing your ID for you, but you'll need to go by the permits office for your pilot's license," he smiled. "Not even I can work miracles."

Obi-Wan stood in stoic frustration. The file in his hand was so pathetically thin it nearly slipped from his fingers. "Yes, master," he said it like a curse. "Thank you."

As Obi-Wan stomped out of the office, Master Yoda appeared in the doorway. In his frustration, Obi-Wan did not even glance down at the grandmaster. "Hmm," Yoda chuckled. "Always brooding he is." He looked up to his old pupil as the door slid shut behind him. "Remind me of you, he does." Mace frowned, and Yoda laughed again to see his point personified. He hopped up into the chair across from his old padawan and watched him sort through the forms regarding Obi-Wan's recent brush with the law.

"Perceive what you are doing young Obi-Wan does not," Yoda said sagely, "but approve I do."

Mace looked at his old teacher in utter bewilderment. "I'm sorry, master?" his eyes begged clarification.

"Perceive what you are doing, you do not," Yoda seemed to find this immensely amusing, "but perceive all the Force does. Do not concern yourself, padawan."

Mace had learned long ago not to pursue the meaning of Yoda's riddles. "Very well," he muttered, and went back to his work.

A/N: Before you nag me for it, look it up on Wookiepedia: weeks in the Star Wars universe are five days each, not seven.