Beloved Daughter – Yes things are picking up.

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Chapter 17

Two more days had passed. Crion had spoken to Obi-Wan once during that time. His master had looked exhausted, but it was very good to hear his voice. Crion had not mentioned the holopic of Xanatos, the resemblance he had to the fallen Jedi, or how it continued to gnaw at him. Having never hid how he was feeling from his master before, it was difficult, but he didn't want to be a distraction to what apparently were more trying negotiations than his master had expected.

It was disconcerting how much of an effect one holopic was having on him. For some reason, he was unable to dismiss it all as coincidence, release his unease into the Force, and move on with life. Qui-Gon kept eyeing him suspiciously, probably thinking he was cracking at being in such close quarters with Anakin. It wasn't far from the truth.

As they cleared away dishes from the evening meal, Qui-Gon finally approached him. "Is something wrong, Crion? You've not been yourself for a couple of days."

"I could really use some personal space, that's all." He shrugged, trying to brush off the Jedi master's concern.

"I understand that Master Eerin has a late shift tonight and could use a hand," Qui-Gon suggested.

Hmm, his choices were a couple of hours of mindless data entry and file organizing, or more quality time with Anakin bugging him to see the holopic he was trying to forget one more time. "Would you mind if I went there for the evening?" he asked.

"As long as you are back before 2200," the Jedi master replied, offering a slight smile.

"Thank you, Master."

Collecting his robe, Crion hurried from the Jinn/Skywalker quarters. Questions kept racing through his mind, and he thought they would overwhelm him. Why had no one ever mentioned his resemblance to Xanatos? He could see why Qui-Gon may not want to broach the subject, but surely his master noticed. After all, he had met the fallen Jedi on Bandomeer. The more he considered the question, the more he didn't like where his line of thought was going.

"I've been expecting you." Bant was working at her computer terminal, back toward the door, but turned as he stepped inside to offer him a sympathetic smile. "You lasted longer than I thought you would. I have everything ready for you here. I will be down the hall if you need me." She stood, offering him the place behind her desk.

Crion lost track of time while filing requisitions for new supplies, organizing files, and various other tasks. Bant returned a couple of times and they talked. It was always fun to hear more about his master's childhood exploits, and Bant was the holder of that sacred knowledge. Finally deciding his brain was about to turn to mush, he decided to call it quits for the night. He had to be back in half an hour, anyhow. He pulled the holopic out of his robe pocket and activated it.

Despite being tired, Crion knew his thoughts would continue to swirl when he lay down for the night. He spun around in Bant's chair a couple of times. Why was he so obsessed with Xanatos Marojni all of a sudden? It was just a stupid holopic. He reached up to rub his forehead, his gaze coming to rest on the terminal in front of him again. There was a way to find out anything he wanted, to settle this all without having to upset his master and Qui-Gon. He was logged into the Healers' Ward network under a healer's name. Yes, Bant had warned him about being nosey, but he was only looking at his own file, after all.

Crion brought up his file, scanning down until he found a header for family. Being related was the most reasonable explanation for looking like someone, besides it being pure coincidence, which this was. Clicking on the link for family information, he grimaced when prompted for authorization from a Council member. That was rather ominous. Everything else in his record he knew. Backing out of the dead end, he hesitated before bringing up Xanatos Marojni's file, shocked to still find it there. There was an image, as with his file, which did nothing to settle the butterflies that had returned to his stomach. Now that he had the file open, he wasn't really sure what he was looking for. He brought up the information on Xanatos' parents – father – Crion Marojni. Seeing someone who shared his name under Xanatos' file sent a shiver down his spine.

"What exactly are you doing?"

Crion quickly spun around in his chair, cursing that he had been too focused to sense the healer walk up behind him. He chose to stay silent, though inside he was bursting with questions he thought she could probably answer.

"Crion, don't make me pull rank on you," she pleaded. "I know the last few days have been rough, but this isn't like you."

"I'm looking for answers," he finally said. "I'm sorry for snooping and assure you it didn't go beyond a couple of files."

"What sort of answers?" she asked gently.

"I know it's probably ridiculous, but when we were cleaning his room, Anakin and I found this old holopic. I'm a bit shaken by how much I look like Master Qui-Gon's former apprentice."

Something worrisome flashed in large silver eyes. "If you have questions about Xanatos, perhaps you should talk to your master about him instead of snooping around."

Something about her voice alarmed him. It was the Jedi healer distraction technique, the soothing tones they used when trying to get someone to do something they didn't want to do, like look the other way right as a big needle was coming toward them. Jedi younglings learned to pick it out at a very young age.

"Master Eerin … just tell me it's all a big coincidence," he begged, letting loose the desperation he felt for this to be true.

"Crion," she began firmly, but gently. "This is something that really needs to wait until your master gets back …"

"Seriously, how bad can the truth be?" he blurted out, his mind latching on to the most unbelievable, worst-case-scenario he could come up. "Am I his son or something?"

"Crion …"

The teenager realized he had left her at a loss for words, something difficult to do to a Jedi healer. Unfortunately, her reaction told him all he needed to know. "I am," he said in a shaky, horrified voice. "I'm his son." Suddenly, he felt numb. "Oh Force," he mumbled. "I have to get out of here."

"Crion, don't go anywhere," Bant said softly. "You need to talk this out. I will call Qui-Gon…"

"No!" He didn't mean to yell, especially not at his elder, it was just that he felt everything closing in on him and needed to get away. "Please … I just need to be alone."

"I don't think it is good for you to be alone right now," Bant urged. "You are very upset."

"You think?" he spat out, reaching up to tug at his padawan spikes. "I just found out I am the son of a man whose name is synonymous with betrayal and the Dark side, who hurt my master and his master. I think I have a right to be just a little bit upset."

"Yes, you do," she agreed. "How about you find an empty room in the ward here …"

"No." She was trying to distract him again, and he wasn't falling for it. Turning, he fled the Healer's Ward. Quick steps carried him away, though he wasn't sure where he was going, just away. Nausea rushed over him, only the thought of how undignified it would be to vomit in the Temple corridors helping him to keep his dinner down. He let out a content sigh when he finally found himself staring at the door to the quarters he shared with his master. Palming the door open, he quickly sought out the refuge of his own room and threw himself on his sleepcouch. Staring up at the ceiling, trying to calm panicked breaths, he could feel the sting of tears in his eyes. Jedi didn't cry, and he was a bit ashamed that he was. Then again, this was a lot for even a Jedi to handle. He knew that the Force could help him make sense of this, if he could just find his center, but there wasn't a chance in hell of that happening right now. He needed his master. Unfortunately, Obi-Wan was worlds away.

Qui-Gon palmed open the door to the quarters shared by Obi-Wan and Crion. After Bant had told him what happened, it hadn't taken any great deductive reasoning to know this is where the boy would come. Opening the door to one of the rooms, he found Crion fast asleep, sprawled on his stomach, holding onto his pillow. Dried tear tracks stained pale cheeks, reminding him that although Crion was a mature and gifted Jedi padawan who often acted older than his age, he was still a sixteen-year-old boy who had learned a hard truth. Right now, sleep was best for him. Qui-Gon slipped off Crion's boots before covering him up with a spare blanket.

Returning to the common room, Qui-Gon sank down to the sofa. Now came a big decision. Did he send the transmission that would inform his already exhausted, former apprentice that the day he had been dreading had finally come? Slipping off the sofa, he knelt down and opened himself to the Force, allowing it to wash over him. Whatever he decided, one thing was true. Crion would wake up with questions, and he was the one with answers.