Evil is not born, it is taught.


Obi-Wan was leaning on the wall, idly running a list of past-tense verbs in Bocce through his head in an attempt to keep himself from being completely bored. The ship rocked gently beneath his feet, the feeling of hyperspace as familiar to Obi-Wan as the Temple.

He heard footsteps, coming around the corner.

They were light— the soft leather of standard Jedi boots. Obi-Wan tried not to look too pleased with himself and folded his arms, leaning one casual foot on the wall.

"Hello there," Obi-Wan said.

Qui-Gon, who had just rounded into sight, jumped and startled, like a frightened tooka. "Aighh!" he said. "Wha— Obi-Wan?"

"Master," Obi-Wan said.

"Are you following me?" Qui-Gon asked suspiciously, narrowing his eyes.

"I am not," Obi-Wan said, trying not to laugh. "I'm on my way to my reassignment."

"Oh," Qui-Gon said, clearly a little embarrassed, either at his yelp or meeting Obi-Wan again. "Well, this ought to be a great adventure for you then, yes?" he said, in a buck up, kiddo kind of voice. "I'm sure you got an interesting assignment, smart boy like you. Edu-Corps? Exploration?"

"Agri-Corps," Obi-Wan said.

"What!" Qui-Gon said, flatteringly. "A farmer? That's a waste of your skills—" he cut himself off with an awkward cough. "I mean, um, congratulations, Obi-Wan."

Obi-Wan was not surprised to have met Qui-Gon here on the Monument. For one, that was how it had gone the first time. But Obi-Wan had already changed so much— he wasn't leaving anything to chance. He'd hacked into Qui-Gon's accounts almost immediately after returning to the past, though it wasn't really hacking if you knew all the passwords.

Some might have said he was paranoid for obsessively keeping an eye on those he loved; Obi-Wan would say, if anyone knew about it of course, that it's not paranoia if they're really out to get you.

Qui-Gon had been making increasingly desperate requests for a field mission since the day Yoda had decided to try to set him up with a padawan. Almost every time he'd talked to Obi-Wan he'd submitted about five more. It was cute.

So Obi-Wan knew full well that Qui-Gon had gotten his assignment to Bandomeer at the same time as Obi-Wan had. It was destiny, or, more likely, the little green hand of Master Yoda.

"Thank you, Master Jinn," Obi-Wan said, dryly enough he knew Qui-Gon wouldn't know how to take it. "I appreciate that."

"Wait," Qui-Gon said, drawing his eyebrows in. "If you're not following me around, why are you hiding here?"

"Because," Obi-Wan said, "There's a Hutt heading this way. I don't know about you, but I have soft little child bones that may be squeezed into jelly if a Hutt gets angry at me."

"That's not funny," Qui-Gon said, obviously lying. He paused. "A Hutt, you say?"

"Jemba," Obi-Wan said. "He's mean."

"You've met?"

"No."

"Ah," Qui-Gon said. "Room for me?"

"Always," Obi-Wan said, and moved aside to let him hide beside him.


Things… went. There were, somehow, both more and less explosions than the last time.

The ship didn't crash. Some people got arrested. A lot of people got shot at, Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon being some of them. Obi-Wan played wide-eyed and dumb to Xanatos just long enough to get close enough to kick him in the— er— lightsaber.

At the end of it all, with Obi-Wan's nose smeared with soot and his boots with mud, Qui-Gon's hair a mess, and a contingent of freed slaves celebrating behind them, Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon stood together.

Xanatos, bound some ways away and still whimpering slightly, didn't seem to have any objections.

"Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon said.

"Master," Obi-Wan said.

"I'm going to ask you something, and I need you not to be too smug about it."

"Of course."

"Do you want to be my padawan?"

Obi-Wan smiled like the sun coming out. "I would be very honored, Master Jinn," he said, and bowed deeply.

"There's no need to be sarcastic at me," Qui-Gon said, but he grinned and bowed back.

Secretly, Obi-Wan was smug, though. Just a little.


Obi-Wan returned to the Temple with a black eye, a prisoner, and a Master.

The moment he stepped off the transport he was bombarded on all sides by excited young Jedi, his friends driving him to the ground with the force of their enthusiastic squeezes.

"Guys!" Obi-Wan said, laughing and trying to kick his way out. "Let me go!"

"You're back!" Quinlan said.

"Good observation skills," Obi-Wan said. "It's almost as if you're a Jedi or something."

"You said you'd come back and you did!" Bant said. "I'm so happy to see you!"

There was the sound of a throat clearing, with a kind of practiced authoritative feeling behind it. The younglings scrambled to their feet sheepishly, pulling Obi-Wan up with them.

Qui-Gon was still standing on the ship's ramp, looking amused.

"Master Jinn!" Reeft said. "So does that mean—?"

Obi-Wan turned to show them the burgeoning strands of a braid behind his right ear, and they cheered.

"That reminds me," Quinlan said. "Um, you might want to check the showerheads in your quarters. Like, hypothetically."

A team of Temple guards passed Qui-Gon on the ramp and went inside the ship. Some of them shot him teasing, knowing looks. There had been a pool on whether Obi-Wan would be accepted as Qui-Gon's padawan. Obi-Wan knew this because he'd just won them all.

"We should go see the Council," Qui-Gon said. "Are you done here, padawan?"

"Certainly, Master."

The guards came out of the ship with Xanatos in between them, handcuffed with Force suppressors and glaring.

"Who's that?" Garen asked.

"And why is he so pale?" Bant added.

"He's still recovering," Qui-Gon said. "He got kicked in the… lightsaber."

Quinlan sucked in a breath through his teeth, then laughed. Qui-Gon, still awkward and uncertain, drew Obi-Wan into his side, dwarfing him in his huge cloaks. He tried for a friendly pat on the shoulder. It was clumsy, but Obi-Wan appreciated the thought. "Council," he said. "They're going to have… things to say."

They certainly would.

Some of them had just lost a lot of money betting on Obi-Wan.


Obi-Wan was accepted, formally, as a padawan. Yoda laughed in the middle of Council, which Qui-Gon didn't seem to appreciate.

They moved together from the knight's quarters into the two-bedroomed Master's ones— the same ones Obi-Wan had lived in as a padawan and the same ones Anakin had lived in as a padawan. Anakin had never even gotten around to getting his own quarters. He and Ahsoka had always stayed at Obi-Wan's.

He spent a little while every day practicing his saber forms in a private salle, so he didn't lose his old skills. In public, he kept to Ataru, and hopefully any improvement in that area could be attributed to the extra practice.

Obi-Wan transferred out of most of his Initiate classes and tested into some high-level padawan's ones. That meant he was at least no longer in Master Sey's class, or having to look at Bruck Chun every day.

Ironically, he started to do worse in some of his classes— the electives.

"Do you… like the Healer's classes?" Qui-Gon asked, puzzled, looking over Obi-Wan's latest grades.

"Not really," Obi-Wan said morosely. "Did you know how many bones there are in a human's hand? A lot. And I don't even want to get started on the species with more than five fingers."

"That explains your grades," Qui-Gon said. "You know I don't require you to take classes on Healing?"

Obi-Wan was well aware of this, which was why he was doing it. Why take the same classes and learn the same skills when he could be learning new abilities that would help in the years to come? He'd never had a knack for healing, but he'd seen enough wounds in his life that it would come in handy.

"You could take Field Medic classes instead," Qui-Gon said. "It might align better with the missions we'll be taking."

Obi-Wan already knew how to be a field medic, almost solely through trial and error. Kix and the other clones had taught him too, also because of desperation. He didn't need any help on that front.

"Healing is an interesting challenge," Obi-Wan said. "I'd rather keep trying, Master."

Qui-Gon shook his head. He had given up trying to understand Obi-Wan a long time ago. "All right," he said. "Whatever you want."


Teenagers were always hungry. This was, Obi-Wan considered, kind of annoying when you were a teenager yourself.

He bounced into his and Qui-Gon's quarters, already thinking about the sandwich he was going to make with the rest of last night's dinner. It wasn't like he hadn't had lunch a few hours ago. Sometimes being a kid again was really unfair.

"Good afternoon, Master, good afternoon, Master Tahl," Obi-Wan said, dropping his schoolwork and beelining for the kitchen. "Do we still have those leftovers?"

There was an amused sound from behind him, the familiar sound of Tahl trying not to laugh at something or other. Tahl had been a fixture in much of the early part of Obi-Wan's apprenticeship, always a soft and caring shoulder to lean on. Obi-Wan missed her.

"I'm sorry," Tahl said, still amused. "Have we met?"

Obi-Wan stopped mid-stride, trying to remember. He winced, and turned around. Qui-Gon and Tahl were sitting across from each other at the table, mugs of tea in front of them with the look of two friends catching up.

"Ah," he said. "No. My apologies. I got a little… ahead of myself." His mouth twitched at his own wry joke. He bowed. "I'm Obi-Wan Kenobi. Master Qui-Gon's new padawan."

"Oh, I know who you are," Tahl said. "I've been off-planet for a few months. But lately I've been getting a lot of holo-messages about you."

"Good ones?" Obi-Wan asked, with his most charming smile.

"Amusing, at least," Tahl said. "Though I suppose some aspects of Qui-Gon's whining are true. You do seem to have a gift for seeing the future."

Qui-Gon scoffed. "I do not whine." Obi-Wan and Tahl exchanged commiserating and knowing looks. "Hey, don't do that!" Qui-Gon said. "I don't need to be outnumbered here."

Tahl laughed. "Oh, this," she said, "Is going to be very interesting."


Despite his very best efforts, Xanatos du Crion was just not scary.

The Council had put him in the prison in the bottom levels of the Temple, with an orangish forcefield exposing his entire cell to the hallway.

Obi-Wan showed up with a datapad and a little meditation cushion to sit on.

Xantatos snarled when he saw him. "It's you," he said. His dark hair had grown out, slightly lanky but really edging into mullet territory. His clothes were drab Temple garb. "Love the new hairstyle, padawan. I will take great pleasure in ripping that braid from your head and feeding it to you once I get out of here. Then I will rip out your heart and feed it to my dogs."

"Okay," Obi-Wan said cheerfully. "Hello, Xanatos."

Xanatos scowled. "Why are you here?"

"I needed some help on my homework," Obi-Wan said.

"I—" Xanatos said. "What?"

"I'm taking a Rights of Sentients course," Obi-Wan said. "I have to write an essay on transitioning societies from slavery-based economies to free labor."

"Slaves are just beings not smart enough to stay out of bondage in the first place," Xanatos said stuffily.

Obi-Wan looked at the jail cell. "… I'm not going to say anything to that, only because I feel it's cruel to kick a man while he's down."

Xanatos huffed. "And you, somehow, think that because I owned slaves, I'm the right person to help you write a paper on their liberation?"

"It's certainly an interesting point of view," Obi-Wan said brightly, and settled down on his cushion.

"I'm not going to help you with your homework," Xanatos said. "I hate you."

A dark Jedi he might have been, but he was no Sith. No yellow eyes, no Force-lightning, no evil cackling at inopportune times. He was practically a loth-kitten.

"All right," Obi-Wan said. "I'm having some trouble with these population reports— I figured that you would probably know how to read them since you grew up among this sort of thing."

"You know, none of this will make your Master proud of you," Xanatos said. "Qui-Gon Jinn is incapable of feeling emotion, as are the rest of the Jedi. They want to keep the power of the Dark away from you, so that you won't surpass them in strength. Let me out of this cell and we will escape together, away from the oppression of this Order."

"You're going to have to try harder than that," Obi-Wan said. "Do you know how to read a population report or don't you?"

Xanatos folded his arms. "… I do," he admitted. "But first, you make them give me a kriffing softer blanket."

"Deal," Obi-Wan said.

Obi-Wan ended up doing very well on his report. He came and told Xanatos his score when he brought him his blanket. Xanatos pretended not to be flattered, but he definitely was.


All the padawans in the Healer's classes had to take a few rotations in the Halls, even if they weren't planning on taking Healing as their main concentration. Obi-Wan knew that they wouldn't let him out of it, because he had asked, a lot.

So now he was in the Halls of Healing with his sleeves pushed up at his elbows, taking care of minor scrapes and everyday wounds.

It wasn't that Obi-Wan hated the Halls themselves. It was more that he had spent much too much time staring up at the ceiling or the inside of a bacta tank, and that the Healers never seemed sympathetic to his bargaining, bribery, or the simple fact that Obi-Wan had much better things to do with his time than convalesce.

"They told me you were bad at this," Master Che said, to the general alarm of Obi-Wan's most recent patient.

"I am," Obi-Wan said. He patted the Jedi who'd come in for a lightsaber burn on the shoulder. "Don't worry, you'll live. The padawan at the front desk will give you some bacta cream. In the meantime, turn your training saber down."

The Jedi gave him a sheepish smile and shuffled off to the front desk.

Master Che was giving him a very judgemental look. "You're a good Healer, Obi-Wan," she said.

"Not really, Vokara," Obi-Wan said. So far he had been doing very minor things— checking IVs, taking down stats, bandaging up wounds until one of the real Healers could see to them. "This is all just… first aid. Not real Healing."

"You expect to see worse wounds than training accidents and kitchen burns?" Vokara asked.

Obi-Wan looked away. "We need to get back to work."

She studied him for a moment longer, then nodded. "If you ever have an interest in a particular field of study, you come talk to me. I'll brush up if I have to." Then she dusted her hands off on her robe. "Next patient!"

Duty in the Halls was light, especially for trainees, and Obi-Wan was sent off just before lunchtime. He was on his way out when he felt a shy presence poking around the entrance of the Halls.

Expecting a youngling, or someone injured doing something egregiously embarrassing, Obi-Wan swung around to check it out on his way out.

He was taken aback when he saw Bruck Chun there, but he didn't show it. Obi-Wan had made a point of never seeming surprised since he came back in time. It added to the mystique.

"Bruck," he said. "Are you all right?"

Bruck turned to look at him and grimaced. He was holding his shoulder awkwardly, cradling it with his other hand.

"Did you get in a fight?" Obi-Wan asked.

"No," Bruck said, slightly sulkily but a little abashed. "I was trying a new lightsaber move. It… didn't go well."

"I can see that," Obi-Wan said. "What were you trying to do?"

Bruck scowled. "I was trying a Juyo move I saw Master Drallig practicing in the salle the other day."

"And Juyo is forbidden to Initiates," Obi-Wan concluded. Thus the hesitance. Well, there was nothing for it. "Come on. There's an examination room that'll be empty."

"Really?" Bruck asked, scrambling to follow him anyway. "You're not going to tell on me?"

"Not this time," Obi-Wan said, letting them into the room. "But if you come in like this again, I will. Sit up here."

Bruck did. He looked awkward, which Obi-Wan supposed made sense. Only a few weeks ago, they'd been at each other's throats almost constantly. "I didn't know you were gonna be a Healer."

"Oh, I'm not," Obi-Wan said absently, prodding at Bruck's shoulder. "I'm just doing some basic training."

"Oh," Bruck said, then winced as Obi-Wan had him roll his shoulder. "Is it broken?"

Obi-Wan sent probing tendrils of the Force towards Bruck's arm, but besides sensing pain, he couldn't feel anything specific. "I don't know," he said, poking it again. "Let me go get a scanner."

"Master Che can usually tell with the Force," Bruck said pointedly.

"I'm not an expert, Bruck," Obi-Wan said. He found the scanner and powered it on. "I told you I'm just starting out."

"That's not reassuring," Bruck said.

Obi-Wan grinned at him. "Was it supposed to be?"

Bruck grinned back, but it didn't look like he had meant to.

The med-scanner didn't reveal anything concerning. "Looks like a very mild sprain." Obi-Wan found a hyposyringe in a locked cabinet, which was easily unlocked with the nudge of the Force. "You shouldn't be practicing Juyo on your own."

"I know," Bruck said. "I just wanted to learn something that could counter some of the moves you were doing at the tournament."

"The reason you're not supposed to do Juyo until you're older is because you need a basis in the other Forms first," Obi-Wan said, and injected the hypo gently into Bruck's arm. "So you don't end up landing on your shoulder instead of your feet."

"And if I had years to learn, I might do that, Obi-Wan," Bruck said. "But I age out in a few months."

Obi-Wan had to stand on his tip-toes to reach the cabinet with the cold packs. That was embarrassing. He didn't stoop so low as to use the Force to get it, but it was a close thing. "You need to learn to be patient, Anakin," he said. "Knowledge of the saber forms cannot be downloaded into your head. It requires hard work and a good teacher." His fingers finally caught the cold pack and he cracked it in half, activating the cooling inside.

He handed it to Bruck and positioned it on his shoulder. "Here. Does that feel better?"

"Yeah," Bruck said, eyeing him oddly.

"You should start smaller. I think Makashi would be a good fit for you. Djem So, maybe. Then you could build up to Juyo, if you still want to." Obi-Wan missed teaching saber classes. There were few things in life that could cheer a person up like watching a class full of very small younglings fumbling around with their first sabers.

"Makashi?" Bruck asked, making a considering face. "That's a fancy form."

Obi-Wan laughed, thinking of Ventess using Makashi mostly to throw her skirt at his head or them doing fancy flips around each other to show off when they were supposed to be fighting. "I guess so," he said. "I think you'd be good at it, though, Bruck."

"Maybe," Bruck said, holding the cold pack to his own shoulder. "If I ever get the chance."

Obi-Wan shrugged. "Well, you'll live to fight with the floor another day," he said. "Just be careful with your arm for a day or so."

"Okay," Bruck said, then looked like he was trying to grind something out between his teeth. Obi-Wan watched with a mixture of concern and amusement. "…thanks."

"You're very welcome," Obi-Wan said. "Just be more careful."

Obi-Wan went to put the med-scanner back.

"Who's Anakin?" Bruck asked, and Obi-Wan dropped the scanner.

Bruck caught it at the last moment with the Force, hovering a mere inch above the floor, but Obi-Wan didn't bother to pick it up. "What?" he said. "Where did you hear that?"

"Um," Bruck said. "You. Just a few minutes ago— you called me Anakin."

"Ah," Obi-Wan said, trying to calm his racing heart. He was sure he was white as a sheet. "Sorry. I didn't mean to."

"That seems clear," Bruck said dryly. "Who is he?"

Obi-Wan picked the med-scanner up. "No one." Bruck gave him a very unconvinced look. "Um, yet," Obi-Wan said, feeling more than a little rattled.

"Oh," Bruck said. He stood up and made to leave. But he paused in the doorway. "Do you wanna spar?"

"What?" Obi-Wan asked.

"Not now," Bruck said. "Sometime. After my shoulder's better. You can show me how you got your Master, and I can show you how not to be so clumsy all the time."

"All right," Obi-Wan said, taken-aback for the second time in as many minutes. "I would like that."

"Don't get too excited," Bruck said, and slipped out the door.

Obi-Wan grinned at no one. Time travel was weird.


Soon, Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon were going on missions. Because it was them, the missions usually started to go awry sooner than later, but at least it was usually fun— and if not, interesting.

Qui-Gon was still incredibly awkward, which Obi-Wan had chalked up to mysterious Jedi stoicism last time. Somehow it was reassuring to find out Qui-Gon had absolutely no idea what he was doing.

Things were going well, if anything in life could ever truly go well for Obi-Wan Kenobi. Including his little side-projects.

He was in his bunk on the latest transport, in hyperspace back to Coruscant. The crew had given Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan separate bunkrooms, because they all seemed to be completely charmed by Obi-Wan.

Possibly this was because he had just helped to liberate their planet. Unfortunately, he thought it was more likely it was because he had dimples. He'd gotten a lot of pats on the head today.

He opened up his comm— one he'd bought in CoCo town on Coruscant, not a Temple one— and dialed in a familiar frequency.

It only rang for a minute. Jango Fett was a professional, after all. He wouldn't keep a client waiting.

They only ever spoke over voice, no picture, but still, Obi-Wan had no idea if Jango knew if he was a child or not. If he did, he probably didn't care. The Mandalorians had strange ideas about what constituted appropriate activities for children, most of them involving weaponry.

Then again, so did the Jedi, come to think of it.

"Any luck?" Obi-Wan asked in Mando'a.

"No," Jango said in the same language. "Not on Tatooine or Zygerria. There's a couple more slave markets I can check, but then I might have to move on to Nal Hutta. I hope I don't have to tell you how dangerous that would be."

"A big strong Mandalorian like yourself can't handle it?" Obi-Wan asked, teasing.

Jango grunted. "I can do it," he said. "It'll just cost you."

"I'll pay," Obi-Wan said.

Padawans received a discretionary allowance, usually for buying small trinkets on missions, or outings with friends on Coruscant. Obi-Wan had supplemented his budget during a lull on their last mission. He was, after all, very good at sabacc. Qui-Gon didn't know about this particular adventure but Obi-Wan thought he would have no room to throw stones if he did.

"Who is this woman, anyway?" Jango asked.

"You have the dossier," Obi-Wan said, amused.

"Shmi Skywalker," Jango said. "28, 29 years old. Possibly not named Skywalker, possibly older or younger. Possibility of someday being sold to Gardulla the Hutt, home planet unknown, parents unknown. Almost definitely a slave, but not certainly."

"That's the size of it," Obi-Wan said.

"That's not a dossier," Jango said, "That's a shot in the dark. I suppose I was just wondering who she is to you."

"I do believe that's my business," Obi-Wan said. "Or am I getting the concept of bounty hunting wrong again?"

"All right, all right," Jango said, with an amused huff. "You can't blame a man for being curious."

"How soon do you think you might find her?" Obi-Wan asked.

"Impossible to tell," Jango said. "Slavers keep their cargo moving around for this reason. I don't mind messing up their supply lines a bit while I'm on your little mission. Demagolka, all of them."

Obi-Wan couldn't disagree with that. "Comm me if anything comes up," he said. "I'll send your next payment along presently."

"Ret'urcye mhi."

"Oya," Obi-Wan said, and Jango laughed and hung up.


Chapter header from TCW - 3X13 Monster

Mando'a translations:

Demagolka - monster, worst kind of criminal

Ret'urcye mhi - until we meet again/goodbye

Oya - let's hunt