A/N: Sorry for the wait, I've been fairly preoccupied with some new and chronic health issues (not COVID related, just to be clear). Between that and all the anxiety/depression caused by the state of my country and our garbage-fire leadership (or lack thereof), my inspiration has been bone dry as of late.

Also, while I try not to sully the escapist world of fanfiction with real life stuff, I want to take a moment to say:

-Black lives matter
-Stay home when you can
-Wear your mask when you can't
-Wash your hands
-Keep others safe
-Be kind to each other

Apologies for the interlude.

The story is getting ready to shift gears quite a bit, so hopefully we can tie up a few loose ends in these next two chapters:

When Ben had said they would be leaving by the next morning 'at the latest', Anakin had not taken it to heart. And yet here they were, being woken at the darkest previews of dawn and loaded onto a ship's medical bay like bales of cargo. Their ship was outfitted with a full medbay, and Anakin resented the Alderaanians' insistence that he stay abed for the journey.

Reluctantly, Anakin got onto the bed and let Ben affix the sensors that would measure his heartbeat and oxygen during their trip home. In Anakin's case, it was more a formality than anything. Still, as Ben smoothed the sheet of adhesive nodes onto Anakin's chest, he took extra time to make sure they all connected properly, that all the numbers on the machines lit up as they should. He smoothed the sensors again, just to be sure, and it made Anakin feel guilty.

"I'm sorry, Master," he said. Ben looked up at his face.

"For what?"

"I made you worry," the apprentice said. Ben gave him a wan smile.

"As I'm sure I made you worry. There's nothing to apologize for."

"I know," Anakin wasn't sure what he was trying to say. "I just…" He shrugged and looked away. Ben watched the boy's face. He could see that there was more. After a while, the master brought up a hand and held Anakin's shoulder.

"Anakin," he said gently.

"I-I just feel awful," Anakin blurted. "I feel awful about everything that happened. About Obi-Wan, and the Sith—the one I… the one I killed, and the one that got away." Anakin had told Ben about leaving a second sith unconscious but alive when the master was composing his initial report. The memory of how the color had drained from Ben's face still haunted him. The fact that the Alderaanians hadn't been able to find any trace of him haunted him even more. "It's just so stupid. I-I mean, maybe I should've…" Anakin's head hurt. His crippled left arm hurt. Even looking at the stump, bandaged and in a sling, made him feel sick and want to panic. He rubbed at his face with his only hand. The ghost of his left ached. "Maybe I should've just killed him, too, while I still had the chance," he mumbled. "It would have been better."

"No," Ben said immediately, and grasped Anakin's shoulders firm in both hands. "No, Anakin, never think that. You did what you had to do, to defend yourself and Obi-Wan. But to kill anyone, even a Sith, when they are defenseless, is another thing entirely." Ben crouched in front of Anakin's bed, so that he was looking up into the younger man's downturned face. He tilted his head, trying to catch his apprentice's eye through the fingers that covered his eyes.

"Had you killed him, even out of pure intentions, I would be more worried about you than I am worried about any dark plans a Sith could conjure." Ben reached up and pulled Anakin's hand away from his face. His eyes were red and tired. "Decisions of life and death are never a matter of expediency, padawan, not even when dealing with Sith."

Anakin swallowed, adam's apple bobbing uncertainly. "I know," he said weakly, without conviction. He was embarrassed at how quickly he'd descended from composure. If all it took to unravel him was a glance at his own arm and his master offering reassurance, maybe he was in worse shape than he'd thought. When Ben stood to his feet and pulled Anakin firmly into a hug, Anakin melted. He wrapped his good arm loosely around his master and enjoyed the feel of Ben's soft robes against his face. They were quiet for a long time.

"How many of them are there?" Anakin asked, voice muffled.

"How many what?"

"Sith," Anakin clarified. Ear close to Ben's chest, he heard it when the master's pulse sped up. It was the only way he could tell Ben was even bothered by the question.

"I don't know." Anakin had always been taught, growing up, that there were only ever two Sith at a time. "I don't think anyone really knows anymore," Ben admitted. The galaxy felt too big for an answer like that. Ben held him tighter.

"You did well, Anakin. Sleep well knowing that. The rest we will discuss when it will do some good." Anakin nodded, and Ben moved away. Master and apprentice exchanged a wordless look, and Ben left to prepare for departure.

Obi-Wan arrived minutes later, escorted in a hover-chair by an Alderaanian nurse.

"Obi," Anakin grinned wide despite his glum mood. He'd not been allowed in Obi-Wan's room at all since the knight had been taken out of bacta, and had been desperate to see that his friend was okay. "You're looking better." Which was not to say he looked well; he looked starved, bruised, and high. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse.

"Anakin," the knight said, disarmed of witty comebacks. "It's good to see you awake."

"Same to you—you scared me, Obi," Anakin told him. That, at least got a smile.

"Serves you right," the knight said, and then fell quiet as the nurse helped him into the bed and he had to refocus his attention on absorbing the pain. He let his body relax into the bed before he attempted speaking again. "You scared me, too."

The nurse hooked Obi-Wan up to his vitals monitors before setting up his intravenous solution with an additional dose of drugs and taking her leave. Soon after, Padme Amidala came back on board and stopped into the medical bay with not one, but two droids. One was a standard-issue medical droid that floated by Anakin's bed to dock into the command station. The other, however, was a smelly, oil-stained, rumbling astromech.

"Artoo!" Anakin beamed. "What the hell—what is he doing here?" he asked Padme. Padme glanced down.

"What, the droid?" she asked.

"Yeah, R2-D2, he really saved my skin back there," Anakin told her, still beaming.

"He?" Padme was frowning.

"Trust you to make friends with a droid in the middle of a crisis," grumbled a sky-high Obi-Wan from his bed. He sniffed and grimaced. "It smells like burnt motor oil."

"It also holds terabytes of data taken from the memory banks of a small droid recovered from the mountain," Padme said. "I believe it was yours, Anakin?"

"Arbee," Anakin remembered, suddenly subdued.

"This droid," Padme patted its domed hull, "was the only one able to decrypt the memory banks."

"What?" Anakin sat up to peer down at the droid, half impressed and half annoyed. "You cracked my encryption?" He accused it. It beeped at him, for all the galaxy sounding like an actual laugh. "Why you sneaky little chs–" he stopped himself and looked up at Padme. Back at the droid. "–genius," he salvaged. From the other bed, Obi-Wan snorted. Padme fastidiously ignored the slip.

"He'll travel with us to Coruscant to present whatever intel Arbee captured to the Jedi Order. Until then, he'll stay down here with you. He may be an astromech, but I don't want him getting in the way on the bridge." she glanced back up at the Jedi and her gaze softened. "He saved Rex and I, and he was also the one who found you two, so I think I can trust him here."

"I don't suppose you could give it a bath first?" Obi-Wan asked. Padme laughed and turned to the door.

"We'll be leaving shortly. MD-3, make sure the beds are secured so we can prepare for takeoff." As the medical droid whirred to life to check the clamps on the beds, Padme left the bay and the door shut behind her with a hiss. Obi-Wan sighed.

"I wasn't joking," he said to the air.

The flight from Alderaan to Coruscant was a short one, but the distance was grueling on Obi-Wan's body. Every vibration, every shake of the hold in hyperspace went straight to his side and the gaping wound there. He wondered, far too late for it to matter, if the Alderaanians hadn't sent him on his way a bit too early in order to get him in front of the Council before news made it back to the Chancellor.

He wanted to meditate to take his mind elsewhere, but each time he tried he found himself face to face with memories that made the pain all the worse.

"Nah, I don't want to be any old Jedi knight," Garen was always smiling in his memories. Obi-Wan struggled to remember how exactly he'd worn his hair, what color of robes he liked best. "I'm going to be a pilot. A damn good one, too. I'll be flying circles around you while you're holed up in a stuffy archive, Kenobi, just wait and see!"

He opened his eyes, unwilling to face the spectres of years past when he would have to face the spectres of the present in due time. Garen Muln is alive. He still couldn't believe it. He hadn't been able to wheedle many details out of Ben—even the master was shaken about the discovery. All Obi-Wan knew was that Garen had been found, alive, in a mountaintop fortress on Alderaan where he'd been held prisoner by the Sith. Had he been tortured? Indoctrinated? Whatever had happened to him, it had to have happened over the better part of eight years. And seeing as they barely had a handle on what had happened, how and why were two questions that no one—maybe not even Garen—could imagine. Eight years. Obi-Wan tried to quantify how much he'd changed in eight years, and could not. How much more so if he'd lived those eight years in Garen's place?

Across the medical bay, Anakin was also absorbed in thought. Bored with lying supine for the entire flight, he'd let himself out of bed. He stayed on the ground just by his bed, so that the net of tubes and wires tethering him to the monitors would remain undisturbed. MD-3 would occasionally reprimand him, but Anakin resolutely ignored her. He focused instead on R2-D2, who chirped and squawked in idle conversation with the young Jedi as he steadily worked through the bay's supply of disinfectant wipes to restore Artoo's chromium hull to an imperfect shine. It was difficult to do with one hand, but he did it anyway.

"Yeah, I know," Anakin said, not really listening to what Artoo was saying, "yeah, he's always this quiet. He's hurt though. Also as high as a kriffing starliner," he smirked, glancing up at Obi-Wan for a reaction. When none came, his face fell and he returned to his task. Artoo bleeped and blipped, and Anakin listened noncommittally as he scrubbed.

His mind began to wander as he wiped away the grime off of Artoo's sensor panels and indicators. The main indicator light on this particular astromech was one of the old-style alternator types, switching between red and blue light as the droid processed information. Red, then blue. Blue, then red. Red, then blue. It switched back and forth like breathing, blinking, humming. He could hear it in his head, and it sounded like sabers. The circular motions of Anakin's hand slowed on the droid until everything seemed to disappear.

"He and I are leaving," he remembered saying it. Or rather, he remembered hearing himself say it. Whatever had given his voice such power and authority was something buried deep inside himself. He'd never felt it before, and that terrified him. "Both of us, together." Blue, then red, then black, then—

"Anakin," Obi-Wan grumbled, and Anakin jerked back into the present.

"What?"

"Why's it screeching like that?"

Anakin realized Artoo was complaining at him, slapping away his hand where it'd caught over the droid's optical sensor.

"Oh," he fumbled, pulling away. "Sorry, sorry." Now at least mostly clean, the astromech rolled away into a corner. Anakin brushed away the used disinfecting wipes where MD-3 could clean them up later. He climbed back into bed, pulling the covers over his legs. Hyperspace was cold. He glanced over at Obi-Wan. He could tell the knight was not asleep, but he looked as if he wished he were. He was hesitant to bother the older man, but...

"Obi-Wan?" he asked quietly.

"Hmm?"

"Why… why do Sith have red lightsabers?" he asked. Obi-Wan frowned, eyes remaining closed.

"Why do you ask?"

"I just… wondered, is all," he explained, feeling childish. "I'd never seen one before." Anakin saw the knight's frown relax. Keeping his eyes closed, Obi-Wan told him:

"I've always heard it said that the Sith twist their anger into the kyber itself, so the blade seems to bleed. But that theory only works if you're a species who bleeds red. A bit speciesist, if you ask me." The knight winced as the ship shook in a spot of turbulence. "I suppose it's not unlike how crystals can produce different colors for different Jedi. Green, blue, purple, yellow."

"But red seems…" Anakin began,

"Bad," Obi-Wan finished.

"Yeah."

"It does," Obi-Wan agreed. "Perhaps it's like some sounds that are too deep or too high for most species to hear," Obi-Wan said. "Perhaps the color is produced by some other frequency, some resonance produced by the Sith's hatred, a perversion of the Force, that we can't quite see, but sense anyway."

"Do you… do you suppose, then," Anakin began, heart beating faster, "that if a Sith got a hold of a Jedi's lightsaber, they could they make it turn red?" Obi-Wan opened his eyes, pensive and taken by surprise. He blinked up at the ceiling.

"I don't know," he admitted. "Perhaps, after a while." He closed his eyes again. "Perhaps."

Anakin stopped bothering the knight after that. He lay quietly in his bed, listening to the deep drone of hyperspace and Artoo's curious beeps and whistles as he spoke with the ship's computer. After a while, Anakin brought his hand up to his mouth and began gnawing on his fingernails.

Obi-Wan slept in a daze of drugs and pain. The ache in his side led him though dreamlike memories of that morning, when the Alderaanian doctors had ordered him to walk around the hospital to ward off blood clots. Bail Organa had been there, though the circumstances of him being there, Obi-Wan could not quite recall. They'd spoken of the investigation, and the Sith, and even of Palpatine, though Bail could not have known how intimately those two things were truly entwined.

"I know you Jedi remain close with the Chancellor's office, and keep him apprised of your goings-on," Bail had said. "But… I do not trust him." This admission had taken Obi-Wan by surprise. Bail must've interpreted it as offense, because he was quick to add: "I will of course report all of what's happened to Palpatine's office; whatever this Thorn Moon organization or the Sith are planning, it is one step short of declaring war. But the High Council should be the one to bring this to the Chancellor's attention first, not me. If his response to the Sith is like his response to Geonosis, I do not trust his instincts. Still, I cannot argue with him. The High Council, however, can." After a moment of consideration, Obi-Wan had found his voice.

"You are a perceptive man, Senator," he'd said. "Rest assured, Master Windu shares your sentiments. I think I may speak for him and for the Council when I say that I appreciate your discretion."

Bail had taken a moment to look relieved, and then nodded. Obi-Wan leaned heavily on the Prince's arm while they shuffled down the hospital hallway, which in Obi-Wan's dream felt endless.

"Perhaps one day you will speak for the Council more officially, Master Kenobi," Bail had said. "They would benefit from your level head."

The flattery had caught the Jedi by surprise, and he'd felt his cheeks warm with a half-blush. "I appreciate your confidence," he'd muttered, feeling the sting in his right side more keenly than before. "I am not sure the Council will find the last few days level-headed in any respect."

"And yet you're standing here, with your entire team alive and well, with an action plan and a ship chartered home," Bail had replied. He'd let Obi-Wan's silence stretch out without comment. "You know," the prince had confided, "I met your uncle when I was still a young man, brand new to the political machine of Coruscant. Watching him taught me that leadership is not always about flawless execution, but about doing what is right, and protecting those entrusted to your care. You've done that, Obi-Wan."

The memory began to fade, and in his sleep as he had that morning, Obi-Wan was forced to take the compliment without protest.

"Thank you, Senator," he'd said.

"You really ought to call me Bail, you know."

Obi-Wan awoke to the dull sounds of life monitors, hospital halls, and the sound of his own breathing. He blinked open his eyes and found Ben sitting by his bedside. He was struck by an overwhelming sense of deja-vu.

"I'm not imagining that we left Alderaan, am I?" he asked groggily. Ben looked up from the datapad he was reading and gave a small smile.

"No, you're in the Temple on Coruscant, in the Halls. It's not quite noon."

"Hmm," Obi-Wan relaxed his head back into the pillows, retracing his memory. There was a gnawing empty feeling in his gut, and it wasn't the hole in his liver. He grimaced. "I don't suppose there's any chance of them letting me eat real food, is there?"

"Doubtful," Ben affirmed. "But Luna's approved you for clear fluids. Water?"

"Please."

While Ben stood to fetch the knight a drink, Obi-Wan wrestled himself into semi-seated position, grunting and groaning until he was settled. Ben came around with his glass and Obi-Wan realized rather suddenly that Ben should have been somewhere else.

"Where's Anakin?"

"In surgery," Ben explained, sinking back into his seat. "He'll be out soon. It's best for such… traumatic amputations to act sooner rather than later. Especially because of the burns." Obi-Wan blinked away an unpleasant flashback of having to sear the wound closed himself. "The Council is circling like vultures in the meantime," Ben said. "They want to speak to whoever is available first—I ought to tell them you're awake."

"I see." Obi-Wan was quiet for a moment, sipping at his water. "Have you spoken to them yet?"

"I have."

"How is everyone taking it?" Ben shut off his datapad and sighed.

"Of the twelve, Mace may be taking it best, and I think he's about ready to storm Palpatine's office himself." If Ben had meant it as a joke, Obi-Wan didn't find it funny in the slightest. "Master Yoda is unreadable. I've never seen him so quiet in Council. They're very eager to speak with... to speak with Garen," he said, the name catching in his throat. Obi-Wan swallowed a gulp of water, but his throat immediately felt dry.

"Where is he?" he asked quietly. "He's here, isn't he? In the Halls."

"Yes."

"Have you seen him?" Obi-Wan demanded.

"No," Ben looked away. "Hardly anyone has. Vokara brought him straightaway to the mind healers and hardly anyone has seen him since. He was in quite a state when we found him, I'm not surprised." After a moment, Ben said in a quieter voice, "Master Rhara got permission to see him." Obi-Wan's heart leapt with emotion. He could not imagine how she must've felt upon hearing the news. "But I was too apprehensive to even ask."

"Do you think he'll remember?" Obi-Wan found himself asking, feeling helpless. "Remember anything, I mean. Eight years, Ben. The crash…" He had not been present on Geonosis, but had demanded to hear the story told again and again until he could reconcile himself with the truth. "The fact that he survived is a Force-damned miracle, but then the Sith? If he's not got brain damage, there's no way he's still sane. Will he remember anything about his life here?"

Will he remember me? Obi-Wan did not say it, but the need to know reverberated in the Force.

Ben glanced at the door, which was cracked open. Healers' apprentices and droids shuffled by quietly, exchanging conversation and instructions as they went. With a wave of Ben's fingers, it slid shut and left the two Kenobis in silence.

"When we got out of that Forceforsaken mountain," Ben began, "he recognized me. He called me Obi-Wan." Obi-Wan's heart seized. "He thought I was you. He asked why I was so old."

Overcome, Obi-Wan's looked down at his lap and tried desperately not to cry. Ben said nothing as the knight brought up a hand, knuckles still stinging and sticky with scabs and bacta, to cover his face.

"I can't say what he'll remember," Ben continued. "But he remembers us. Remembers you, that is. I don't know when you'll be allowed to see him," Obi-Wan's heart lurched at the very thought, "but he'll know you when you do." He let that settle for a few moments. "I do not know how much he remembers of me. Right now, he thinks you and I are the same person. It may be best if I don't see him straight away. I don't want to confuse him."

"Do you think he… knows?" Obi-Wan asked.

"No, but I would not put it past him to figure it out, if he sees us in the same room together." Ben shifted in his seat, and Obi-Wan was surprised to realize that the older man was uncomfortable as he continued, "In my past life, there was a time when I was subject to various… methods of the Sith." The master would not make eye contact. "Interrogation, indoctrination, whatever you'd like to call it. It was never for long and I was fortunate to escape swiftly. I can't speak to Garen's experience, but I can say that, even if his body has suffered damage, the fact that he's survived a Sith prison at all means that his senses will be blown out of proportion now that he's back in the Light. It's… a difficult sensation to describe." He finally looked up at Obi-Wan. "Depending on his mental state, whenever the mind healers are done with him, it may be best if we were to… well, to tell him, before he starts thinking he's gone mad."

Obi-Wan stared back, speechless. Not long after the day Ben arrived in the Temple seventeen years ago, the two had reached an accord regarding Ben's identity: no matter what happened, they would never, ever, under any circumstances, tell one of Obi-Wan's closest friends. Ben had wrought enough upheaval in Obi-Wan's life, and as a fifteen year old boy, he'd insisted that Garen, Bant, and Reeft were off-limits. As a teenager, he'd been terrified of how they would view him if ever they learned of Ben's identity or history. As an adult, he now feared how they might view his decision to hide it from them. Then Garen had died, and come back.

"Do you think he would believe us?" Obi-Wan asked, barely above a whisper. Ben took a moment to consider it.

"After what he's been through?" He looked up at his younger self. "I think he'll be able to accept a great deal more than you might think."

There was a knock at the door. Mace Windu let himself in, peering into the room before addressing the two Kenobis.

"I hate to interrupt," he said, only half apologetic. "I heard you might be awake, Master Kenobi. I would never ask so much of someone in your state, except for today." He stepped aside so that a healer's apprentice could slide into the room. "The Council is waiting."

The Council would not wait for Obi-Wan's liver to heal, but they were not without mercy. Obi-Wan sagged into the hoverchair the healers had brought him, and let Mace direct their movements as they travelled toward the Council Spire.

"Has there been word from the Chancellor's office?" Obi-Wan asked, while they passed through a deserted section of the upper levels, near the planetarium.

"Not yet," Mace told him. "But it will be a day at most, hours at least. Two senators were involved, and the longer they delay telling the chancellor, the worse it will look for them—and by extension, for us. Senator Organa is finalizing his report, Senator Amidala is doing the same." Mace stopped talking and waited while a master and her apprentice passed. "The only advantage we have is you, and Anakin, and that droid," Mace continued furtively. "The Halls will protect you both from the Chancellor's summons as long as they can, and Ben may do what he can to shield his apprentice. The droid will be held up by our engineers for as long as they need. But Palpatine will be suspicious before too long. He will come asking." Mace glanced around to make sure they were alone. "He must know the worst of it by now," he said. "He probably even knows who was there."

"And what will he have done about it?" Obi-Wan wondered aloud, keeping his voice quiet.

"Bail has already sent out his agents to scour the mountain range for whatever remnants remain—Lieutenant Rex returned to Alderaan last night to advise the team. Senator Amidala and I have commissioned Aola Tarkona to lead a dispatch to Naboo, to root out whatever might be hidden there."

"Aola?" Obi-Wan's head turned a bit too quickly, and he winced. "Did she not just return? Is she well enough to go?"

"She volunteered," Mace placated him. "As did Agent Kaminoa. I had to call in a favor for that assignment, but he insisted." Mace shook his head, and Obi-Wan could not sense if the master was truly annoyed or only weary. "They're going together, as they tend to do." Obi-Wan did not know whether or not Mace knew about the attachment that existed between them.

"They're a good team," Obi-Wan said. "I'm glad they could be spared." Mace's face unexpectedly darkened.

"There are few others I'd trust with such a task," Mace admitted. "These prisons, these Sith… acolytes." What else could they call them? For thousands of years, there were only meant to be two Sith at a time. The Republic no longer had words for Sith armies. "The walls are closing in. Surely you've felt it," Mace said.

"I have," Obi-Wan confirmed, dread pooling in his gut like tar. The galaxy had been feeling smaller and smaller by the hour. The last week alone seemed to have closed in the boundaries of reality by lightyears. He's closer than ever, and so are we, and by now he knows our names. Obi-Wan's hover chair moved across the halls slowly, and so Mace found time enough to vent his fears as they proceeded toward the lift.

"The Council has felt it too," the Master of the Order told him. "Only Master Yoda and I know about Palpatine, but they can all sense the darkness rising. All of them are worried. I need to prepare them, but I'm loath to share all that I know. If our knowledge of Palpatine makes it to the grey ones in our Order, it could betray years of secrecy and undo all of our hard work." Obi-Wan had never spent much time considering the burden that Ben had asked Mace to carry, so many years ago.

"All advantages that Ben's existence offers us are balanced on the edge of a razor. We cannot hide ourselves from Palpatine forever, but we cannot tip our hand prematurely. I do not know what Palpatine will decide to do next, but if we make the wrong move, it will all be for nothing." There was no one left in the halls to overhear them, and Obi-Wan was glad for it. "He's been desperate for years, but now we know he's desperate enough to train more than one apprentice. And how can we plan to expose him and bring him to justice, if we do not know how many he has? He might have dozens of them, by now, entire schools. We need proof of it, or else the Senate will never give us leave to hunt them down, and his army will only grow."

Obi-Wan took it all in in silence. Luna had taken him off the strongest of his medications so that he could be coherent for his meeting with the Council, but he felt as though he were still being tugged under the weight of narcotics, mind and his body dragged into a current of confusion and uncertainty that had haunted him from adolescence.

"Have you spoken to him?" He found himself asking before he consciously decided to speak up, "To Garen?"

Mace did not stop walking, but he did turn to look down at his companion.

"No," he said at length. "Master Che is still seeing to him." A long and pregnant paused passed between them. They made it into the lift. Mace waited until the car began to move before he said,

"I realize Knight Muln's discovery cannot have been easy news for you, Obi-Wan, but you need to remain focused." The Master of the Order shared a look with the knight, every crease in his brow a testament to his unease. "You have more experience in fighting these Sith than I do, more than any of us do. Ben has revealed more of his own history to you than to anyone else in this Galaxy. I—all of us—need your assistance and insight, if we have any hope of keeping our advantage over the Sith."

Obi-Wan knew that having the confidence of the Master of the Jedi Order was a privilege not afforded to many, and was deeply touched by Mace's trust. Even so, it fell on his shoulders like a burden. His focus narrowed to the lift doors in front of him, and the pain in his right side. His mind was far away, sorting through memories of Garen and the years they'd lost.

He drew on the Force, that ever-present stream, for foundation as their lift car came to a stop at the top of the Council spire.

"I will do what I can."

Anakin thought that it probably should have been strange, waking up with a new hand hardwired to his arm, but all he could think when he woke up and saw the droids soldering the final circuits was: I wish I had my toolkit, I could do this so much faster.

They finished the nerve tests and moved him back to his recovery room, which seemed to Anakin to be fairly pointless; it wasn't as if his brain was the thing that had been replaced. He flexed the new hand in starts and fits. Fist, flex, fist flex. It was a bizarre sensation; not quite like an arm should be, but so similar he couldn't quite articulate the difference. The whirring sounds were new.

"How do you feel, Padawan Skywalker?" asked a gentle voice. Anakin looked up to find a healer's apprentice—Biala, he thought he'd said her name was—coming in the door, carrying a tray of food. The teen continued flexing his new hand.

"Fine," he said. "Weird," he added. Biala smiled and set the tray on a table near his bed.

"I imagine it must be." She watched the new hand twist and bend as Anakin fidgeted. "Does it hurt, at all?"

"Only here," Anakin pointed at the seam between flesh and metal, still unfamiliar on his left arm. "It… itches, a bit."

"That will pass in a few weeks."

"Otherwise, I'm just… tired, I guess." He said it hoping it might get her to leave him alone with his thoughts—of which there were many—but instead she moved the table closer.

"You were under sedation for several hours, your blood sugar will be low. So," she gestured to the assortment of fruits, cereals, and juices before him. His stomach grumbled, but he found himself feeling puzzled instead.

"This looks like breakfast." He realized suddenly that he had no idea what time of day it was. "Is it morning?"

"No," said a new voice, and Anakin and Biala looked as one to the door. Ben Kenobi stood there, looking tired. "It's actually closer to dinnertime than breakfast. Unfortunately, you may want to eat quickly, Padawan." In the heartbeat-long pause that followed, Ben and Anakin's gazes met and Anakin felt what his master was going to say before he uttered the words. His shoulders sagged.

"The Council is waiting to speak with you."

Obi-Wan was spent. Physically, emotionally, mentally, he was past the point of being tired. Sleep would not be enough; he needed to be fully unconscious. He was tangentially aware of someone escorting him from the Council chambers. It took him a long moment before he realized it was not Mace Windu, but Kit Fisto.

"-very sorry to put you through all that," the older man was saying, strolling alongside Obi-Wan's hover chair and speaking kindly. Obi-Wan did not have the energy to look up at the master, so he only hummed his acceptance. Master Fisto continued, "I wish your homecoming could have been under better circumstances. Bant has missed you, you know, since she's been back."

This made Obi-Wan frown. Last he'd heard of his childhood friend, she'd been lightyears away, assigned a long-term mission off planet.

"Bant's back?" he asked.

"Yes, been back for about a year, now." Obi-Wan felt his eyebrows rise. How had he not known? "Do you think you'll stay this time, Obi-Wan?" Kit asked. Obi-Wan sighed, because he was too tired to laugh.

"I don't think Master Che would let me leave if I wanted to." He glanced down at himself. How he'd had the strength to walk on Alderaan, he had no idea. He looked back up and found they'd emerged from the base of the Council Spire into a mezzanine that overlooked the huge entryway of the Temple. Dusk light poured in from outside, illuminating the hall and making the air smell warm, lived-in, like home. Obi-Wan breathed in deep. "And truth be told, I don't want to." Beside him, Kit Fisto smiled. He didn't see it, but he heard it in his voice when the master said,

"I can think of one or two people who will be happy to hear it."

When they arrived back in the Halls, Luna was there to take him to his room, where Qui-Gon and Feemor were waiting for him.

"Don't you dare laugh," Obi-Wan said upon seeing them. Feemor's smile faltered.

"Why on earth would we do that, lad?" Luna was helping Obi-Wan out of his hover chair. She slung his arm around her shoulders and helped him take the few steps. He grunted in pain as he twisted and fell onto the bed.

"Carted about the temple like an old man," Obi-Wan explained, trying to salvage an airy tone through grit teeth. "I'll have you both know I was walking this morning."

"Well you aren't now," Luna hoisted his feet up onto the bed and began to pull the covers up over him. "Three days in bacta doesn't mean you can run laps around the Temple, no matter what the Council says. Now lie back and try not to rupture anything important. I need to replace those bandages." Obi-Wan did as he was told. While Luna busied herself with the bacta-infused bandages and IV, Feemor watched the knight from the foot of the bed, arms crossed and eyebrows raised in an expression that read of both pity and humor.

"Three days? That has to be a record, Kenobi."

"Oh, shut up," Obi-Wan snapped, though there was no real venom in the words. His eyes were screwed shut against the pain.

"And that," Luna stood and fixed him with a look that was so like Vokara that Qui-Gon almost wanted to laugh. "Is why you need rest." She looked up at the two masters. "If he moves from the bed in the next four hours, tell an apprentice."

"You'd rat me out to an apprentice?" Obi-Wan said, peering up at Qui-Gon.

"Even children could see that you need rest, Padawan," Qui-Gon spoke at last, moving close to where Luna stood authoritatively by Obi-Wan's bedside. "Thank you for your service, Luna," he told her, "you are a credit to your master's teachings." Luna took the compliment with a coy smile and saw herself out. Obi-Wan remained in bed, eyes closed and brow taught, while he waited for the pain medications to take effect.

Feemor thanked Obi-Wan for keeping Aola safe, and they shared whatever brief details they'd gleaned about her new assignment on Naboo. At length, however, the elder man sensed that what Obi-Wan needed was sleep, so he thanked the knight one last time and took his leave. Qui-Gon remained. They've given Obi-Wan a small but private recovery room, and aside from the bed, machinery, and supply cart, there was only one chair in the room. Qui-Gon pulled it over to the man's bedside and sat down.

"The Council shouldn't have pushed you so hard," the master said quietly, watching the slow rise and fall of his pupil's chest.

"Not their fault," Obi-Wan told him. "They're only working with what time we have, which I'm afraid to say is not a lot." Qui-Gon chuckled.

"Defending the High Council? You're beginning to sound like one of them, Obi-Wan. Has Mace nominated you yet?" Despite his pain, Obi-Wan managed a snort.

"No need for that, Jinn, they've not corrupted your lineage. He only asked for my help." Eyes closed, Obi-Wan frowned at something Qui-Gon had said. "And I resent the 'yet'."

"You'll make a marvellous Councilor, Obi-Wan, you ought to know that," he said. "If anything, perhaps you will corrupt them."

"Again with the definitive," Obi-Wan finally cracked an eye open, just to glare. It made Qui-Gon smile.

"Here," the elder said, and hauled something up and onto Obi-Wan's bed. It was soft and smelled of familiar detergent. Obi-Wan fought the desire to raise his head to look, he knew it would hurt.

"What's…?" Obi-Wan rubbed the umber wool between his forefinger and thumb, bringing it up closer to his face. It was a cloak; his cloak, if he had to guess.

"You left it on the back of my sofa," Qui-Gon told him. "You said you'd come back and get it, and yet here it's left to me once more." At this, Obi-Wan smiled, weak but happy.

"Sorry, Master. You know how life gets in the way."

"Only for you," Qui-Gon helped Obi-Wan arrange the cloak over him like a blanket. "Dooku told me to stuff it down the incinerator to teach you a lesson."

"Did he?" At the mention of his grandmaster, Obi-Wan's smile faltered. He tried to remember what exactly he'd told the Council about the Sith he'd fought. It was a blur. He highly doubted that portion of his report would be made public any time soon, but Dooku was extremely well connected. It would only be a matter of time before he heard. "Is he on planet, by any chance?"

"Who, Dooku?"

"Yes."

"He rarely leaves," Qui-Gon said, as if this should have been obvious. "The man is nearly eighty, Obi-Wan. We can't all roam the galaxy forever," he added pointedly, watching Obi-Wan's expression. "Why do you ask?"

"I… ran into someone on Alderaan," the knight said cryptically, eyes open now but not looking at his old master. "Not in a good way. She knew Dooku. He's going to hear about it eventually, I was hoping I could break the news to him before he hears the full report."

"She…?" For a split second, Qui-Gon could only think of Asajj, Dooku's recently-knighted apprentice, but he knew that she was nowhere near the Core, out playing arbiter for a trade dispute near Felucia. He scoured his memory for anyone Obi-Wan could be talking about, and suddenly froze. He locked eyes with Obi-Wan, and the two didn't need to speak it aloud.

"Oh," Qui-Gon said, sitting back. They were quiet for a long time. "I'll make sure you can speak to him soon," the master said, clearly surprised by this revelation but unwilling to dwell on it. "In the meantime, you need sleep." Obi-Wan nodded, and shifted in an attempt to become more comfortable. Qui-Gon was standing and moving for the door when Obi-Wan said,

"Qui-Gon." It was rare that Obi-Wan actually used the name, so the master turned and looked down at him with careful attention.

"Yes?"

"I think I'm done roaming the galaxy," he said, then tacked on, "for now, at least," to make himself feel better. Qui-Gon smiled at him.

"You know my door is always open."

A/N: I'm happy to report that the next chapter is already finished. Still, I may wait a few days to post it so I can make sure I didn't forget anything.