Fear not for the future, weep not for the past.
Obi-Wan knelt on the floor. It smelled like burning flesh, and blaster-fire, and smoke.
"Not even the younglings," he murmured. He was leaning over a padawan, her braid limp against the tile.
Obi-Wan felt too heavy for his body, or maybe too light— his hand suddenly looked too large, too adult, where it was closing the eyes of the padawan.
Lying some ways away was a crechemaster who had clearly tried to get her charges to safety while the padawan distracted the clones. It hadn't worked.
Grief swelled in Obi-Wan, fear and revulsion and sudden, certain dread.
"Not killed by clones, were they all," Yoda said, next to him.
Obi-Wan was kneeling on the ground; he looked over at Yoda and instead saw someone else, standing behind Yoda. Obi-Wan startled, thinking for a wild moment that it was Anakin, or Sidious.
But it wasn't— it was Qui-Gon, looking at Obi-Wan with a look of such surprise and horror that Obi-Wan flinched.
"Padawan—" he said, and Obi-Wan recoiled, falling backwards from his crouch, onto his elbows.
Then he was on Utapau, going backwards into the water so hard it hurt, a sensation of bewildered drowning, blaster bolts following him down. He broke the surface and he was in the rain on Kamino. He spun and Satine was screaming— Obi-Wan ran into a red energy field— he held in the guts of a child on Melida/Daan— I HATE YOU—
Obi-Wan gasped awake.
Qui-Gon was crouched by the side of his bed, hand still outstretched. He had obviously reached out to wake Obi-Wan up and come into contact with his bare shoulder. Obi-Wan's shields had been down in sleep, and, well—
Obi-Wan flinched back and hit the wall. A tear was tracking its way down Qui-Gon's face, and Obi-Wan lifted a hand to his own face. Wet.
"I'm sorry," he said. "Force—"
"Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon said, voice rough. "I didn't mean to— was that the future? Are you all right?"
Obi-Wan wiped his face. "Sorry," he said, again. "My shields are usually stronger than that."
"I only came in when I heard you scream," Qui-Gon said apologetically.
It was dark outside. Light from passing hovercars slanted in through the blinds in the window; Obi-Wan liked to keep it open so he could wake up to sunlight in the morning. It meant they could see each other, more or less, which really just made things more awkward.
Obi-Wan shuffled and found a blanket he could wrap around himself like a cloak. Then he and Qui-Gon stared at each other in the dark.
"Kriff it," Qui-Gon said, and opened his arms. "Come here."
It wasn't even a choice, more like an instinct— Obi-Wan launched himself into his master's arms. Qui-Gon enveloped him immediately, blanket and all. Maybe there was a point to being as needlessly huge as he was after all. It made for a nice hug.
Obi-Wan sniffled, embarrassed but not actually willing to leave yet. His shields were back up and tighter than ever— they wouldn't fall in his sleep, nor even probably if he was unconscious. They'd been like that on some days of the Clone Wars and most of the time on Tatooine, but he supposed he'd relaxed a little throughout his time back in the past.
The smell of burning flesh still lingered in his nose, but it was slowly being drowned out by Qui-Gon's calm presence in the Living Force and the scent of fresh plants, the ones Qui-Gon kept scattered around the apartment.
"I think I see the future," Obi-Wan said.
"Oh?" Qui-Gon said.
"I do believe I see… ice cream tomorrow."
"That's a very specific vision," Qui-Gon said.
"Yes, I see it now. Two scoops."
"Two?"
"Maybe three."
"Well, if that is as the Force wills," Qui-Gon said. "Three scoops it is, I suppose."
Obi-Wan came out of his room the next morning to find Qui-Gon at the table, swiping through a datapad.
"Good morning," he said, looking up absently and then back down. Then he did a double-take. "What did you do to your Force signature?"
Obi-Wan shrugged. "Just shored up some cracks. Last night was a little… embarrassing."
"That's not the word I'd use," Qui-Gon said, and Obi-Wan could feel his Force presence poking gently and curiously at his shields. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you were barely Force-sensitive at all. How are you doing that?"
Obi-Wan wandered to the kitchen for breakfast. "You can't do this?" he asked innocently.
"A Council member could maybe do that," Qui-Gon said. "You're going to hurt yourself if you don't relax your Force presence just a little, naturally talented with shielding or not."
Obi-Wan was not going to hurt himself, because it wasn't natural talent— it was long practice. "All right," he said, a little sulkily, and released some of the tight grip on his shield. You still couldn't get into his head if you took a sledgehammer to it, but his Force presence was visible to the outside observer, if a little buried. "You know, most Masters won't let their padawans walk outside if they come out wearing a risque outfit, not a shield."
Qui-Gon laughed. "You are not leaving this house dressed in shields like that, young man," he said. "There's pancakes in the kitchen."
Obi-Wan had already found them— he wandered out with a plate for himself and Qui-Gon. Qui-Gon seemed as excited to bring up last night as Obi-Wan was, which was a relief. They settled down for a companionable breakfast.
"Obi-Wan?" Qui-Gon asked, as Obi-Wan was halfway out the door for his first class of the day.
When Obi-Wan paused questioningly, Qui-Gon shook his head.
"Never mind," he said. "May the Force be with you, Padawan."
"Force be with you," Obi-Wan said.
The Healing discipline of a Jedi was a lot more complicated than just bandaging wounds or setting broken bones. A skilled Healer could actually knit wounds together in the Force, or stabilize someone bleeding out. But to do that, you had to know what it was you were repairing. A bone, Force-healed but out of place, would have to be rebroken again. You couldn't heal a gash with shrapnel in it, or reset all the delicate bones in a hand if you didn't know where they were supposed to go in the first place.
That meant a lot of studying. Obi-Wan was good at studying. He was not, however, good at any of the rest of it.
"Please, Bant," he said, walking backwards to talk to her. It was a frivolous use of the Force to make sure he didn't crash into anything, but Obi-Wan thought it was worth it because everyone thought he was just using his future powers to see what was going on behind him. "If you help me study for this test, I can help you on your astronavigation project."
"How do you know I have a—? Oh, right," Bant said. She grinned as he expertly dodged a passing Jedi Master without looking. "I don't know what you expect me to do."
"Healing comes so naturally to you," Obi-Wan wheedled. "I just need someone to help me study who actually can understand eight levels of Healer nonsense."
"What are you talking about, I've never done any kind of Healing in my life," Bant said, laughing. They reached the Kenobi/Jinn quarters and Obi-Wan palmed open the door. "How do you know I'd be good at—"
They stepped inside, and Bant let out a little squeak as she realized the quarters weren't empty. Qui-Gon and Tahl were both there, sitting on the couch, Tahl's legs under her and Qui-Gon leaning against the armrest.
"Sorry, Masters," Bant said, shyly. "We didn't know there would be anyone here."
Qui-Gon arched an eyebrow at Obi-Wan, who grinned at him. Qui-Gon nodded at Bant. "You're Obi-Wan's friend, right? Bant?"
"Yes, Master," Bant said.
"This is Master Tahl," Obi-Wan said. "I think you two will get along well."
"Will we?" Tahl asked, but stood to meet Bant anyway. "It's nice to meet you, Initiate."
"Well met, Master," Bant said, blushing. "I'm sorry to intrude. We were just going to go study in Obi's room."
"Stay out here if you like," Qui-Gon said. "You're not interrupting."
So Obi-Wan chivvied Bant towards the couch, and eventually succeeded in sweet-talking an embarrassing story of Tahl and Qui-Gon's childhood out of Tahl. Bant eventually relaxed around the masters, as Obi-Wan hoped she would.
Unfortunately, that meant that Bant was persuaded to tell an embarrassing story about Obi-Wan as a younger child, which was less appreciated by him than it was by everybody else.
Eventually they really did have to study, and they retreated to his room. Obi-Wan laid on his stomach on the floor, a holopad in front of him, while Bant hung upside-down from Obi-Wan's bed. She was quizzing him on his latest Healing homework when there was a short knock on the door and it slid open.
"Sorry to interrupt," Tahl said. "I was just saying goodbye— I'm heading home for the night."
"Good night, Master Tahl," Obi-Wan said.
Bant straightened up and cleared her throat, trying to look respectable. "Goodbye, Master Tahl," she said.
Tahl shot them both a grin, and slipped back out the door.
Obi-Wan eyed the space where she had been a moment longer. He really did miss her. Qui-Gon was happier when she was around, and she had always filled their quarters with Light.
"What are you planning, Obi-Wan?" Bant asked, poking him.
"Me?" Obi-Wan asked, affronted. "What makes you think I'm planning anything?"
"You're always planning something," Bant said.
"Hey," Obi-Wan said, but he was smiling.
"Just kill me now," Bruck said, laying on the floor.
"K'atini," Obi-Wan said, laughing, spinning his lightsaber in one hand. "You're all right."
"What does that mean?" Bruck asked, still completely flat and very sweaty.
"It means, get up, Bruck Chun, or I'll run you through with my lightsaber."
"It does not," Bruck said, but he got to his feet anyway. "You're a hard sparring partner," he said. "How did you knock me down that time?"
Obi-Wan pointed at his feet. "You stepped wrong when you went forward to attack me," he said. "It left you unbalanced, when it should have solidified your stance. If done right, it would make it very hard to push you backwards, even in a lightsaber lock."
"Huh," Bruck said, and practiced the move on his own. "You're right." He saw Obi-Wan grin and scowled. "I guess. For once."
"You flatter me," Obi-Wan said. "Again?"
"One more," Bruck said. "I'll get you this time, Oafy-Wan."
And he probably would. It was only fair that a student actually felt like they were learning something at the end of a lesson. It was a trick all Masters learned eventually, challenging their padawans without discouraging them completely.
Not that this was supposed to be a lesson— it was a spar. Maybe a peace offering.
The training salle, while big enough for most lightsaber fights, was still a confined space, and not as big as the ones used for exhibitions. It meant that Obi-Wan's current favored style, Ataru, was at a disadvantage— it always was in a space where a lot of movement was impossible.
Obi-Wan had learned that the hard way. But now he was teaching Bruck how to take advantage of it.
Bruck tried to strike out when Obi-Wan wasn't ready, but of course he was, and he caught the strike easily. They sparred. Bruck lashed out at his stomach, and Obi-Wan ducked under his saber.
Lightsaber against lightsaber, lightsaber against lightsaber. Obi-Wan leapt over Bruck but Bruck managed to unbalance him as he landed, making him stumble back. After that, though Obi-Wan put up a good fight, Bruck had him more or less beat already.
Bruck feinted low, like he'd done during their Initiate Trials fight. But this time when Obi-Wan went high, Bruck continued low and took him out at the knees.
Obi-Wan yelped and fell backwards, his head hitting the padded floor with a thump. His lightsaber skittered out of his hand. "Solah," he grumbled.
"Hah!" Bruck said. "Suck a saber."
"At least you're a gracious winner," Obi-Wan said.
Bruck, exhausted himself now, sat down cross-legged on the mat next to Obi-Wan. He was breathing hard, but looked pleased with himself and calm.
Obi-Wan turned, expecting Cody's hand passing over his fallen lightsaber, but was met with the sight of it laying on the ground exactly where he'd dropped it. Right.
He sat up and called the saber to his hand, then clipped it onto his belt.
"You do that a lot," Bruck observed.
"Lose my saber? I do not," Obi-Wan said.
"What? No," Bruck said. "That thing. Where you look up to find someone and they're not there. You see the future all the time, don't you?"
"I try not to," Obi-Wan said.
"I dream about the vision you showed me," Bruck said, steadfastly looking at the other wall. "A lot."
There wasn't a lot to say to that. "I'm sorry," Obi-Wan said. "I didn't mean to. Since then I've shored up my shields quite a bit."
"My lightsaber… it was red." He was still looking away. "I keep seeing it. Red, swinging towards you."
"The future changes with each passing minute," Obi-Wan said. "I'm sorry you had to see it, but it's not going to happen."
"But it could," Bruck said. "In the vision, you were so scared. Of me, but also for me."
Obi-Wan could remember it. Xanatos had gotten to Bruck, who was even closer to aging out then, and convinced him that the galaxy would be better off without the Jedi Order telling them who could and couldn't be Knights. Things had gone badly. Bruck died.
Bruck must have only gotten flashes, the saber and the waterfall and them two, facing each other.
"All right," Obi-Wan said slowly."And…?"
"And I'm not going to Fall," Bruck said. "I can't. I've seen what that does to me. I thought maybe you could show me how to be—" he grimaced, and finally looked at Obi-Wan. "Good."
Obi-Wan blinked.
"Maybe I'm not a good Jedi," Bruck said. "That's why no one has chosen me. But I still… I don't want to fall."
"Oh," Obi-Wan said, but Bruck was still looking at him. "Then don't," he said. He leaned forward. "Listen to me, Bruck, don't. The dark is not an inevitability, or an accident. It is a choice."
Bruck blew out a breath and nodded. "I might never be a Jedi. But I promise, I'll never be the creature from the top of that waterfall."
"He was never a monster either," Obi-Wan said. "Just scared."
He sensed the arriving younglings a moment before their excited chattering and noisy footsteps reached his ears. He stood and offered Bruck a hand up too. Bruck took it and stood.
"Good spar, Initiate Chun," Obi-Wan said, bowing.
"Good spar, Padawan Kenobi," Bruck said, and bowed back. The doors opened and a classful of younglings burst through in a whirl of enthusiasm and noise. They were all clutching soft staffs— a precursor to being allowed to work with the actual training lightsabers.
They were bright in the Force, untroubled.
Obi-Wan bowed to them, and winked when they giggled, and left.
"—and then I will take what remains of your blood, and I paint on the walls until the very foundations of the Temple bleed red."
"You done?" Obi-Wan asked.
Xanatos considered this. "Yeah," he said.
"Great," Obi-Wan said. "Where were we last time?"
"I think it was the importance of protecting the weaker members of a society."
"Right," Obi-Wan said. "The lower classes are only beings not smart enough to seize their rightful power, and thus deserve to be disenfranchised, etc, etc." He had brought his cushion again, and he sat down on it now.
"It's true," Xanatos said. "You'll see it when you're older."
"I'm sure," Obi-Wan said.
"The only purpose of the weak is to be ruled," Xanatos said. "And people like me rule them, because we're powerful enough to do that."
"Certainly, power is all that landed you in charge of Telos. Not generational autocracy, or your family's immense wealth," Obi-Wan said. "Nothing like that."
"Powerful enough to keep it," Xanatos said.
Obi-Wan shrugged. "For now." Xanatos gave him a narrow look. "You're in prison now. Regimes are meant to be overthrown. A rebellion will always rise up."
Xanatos was an interesting conversationalist, because he was smart enough to keep up with Obi-Wan and stubborn enough never to admit he was wrong. Their little debates gave them both something to do, and provided them each with opportunities to try to get the other one on their side— Light or Dark. At this point Xanatos' attempts to get Obi-Wan to Fall had become mostly token; for argument's sake more than anything else.
"And then another regime of more powerful people will rise up after that, and it'll start over again," Xanatos said. "What's the point?"
"You protect the ones you can, for as long as you can," Obi-Wan said. "That's what the Jedi do."
Xanatos eyed him consideringly. "You're wasted on the Jedi," he said.
"Yes, yes, and I should join you and let you out of this cell, I know," Obi-Wan said, rolling his eyes. "We've moved past that at this point."
"No, I'm being serious, kid," Xanatos said. "They almost kicked you out? You're a better Jedi than most of them."
"I'm not as talented as you think." What little skill Obi-Wan had, he had earned through hard, toiling work, not natural skill.
"You're smart," Xanatos said. "You'd have made a good politician."
"There's no need to be insulting," Obi-Wan said, but found himself a little off-balance for the rest of the day anyway.
Obi-Wan moved his head just in time to catch a handprint of paint on his cheek instead of directly in his mouth.
"While I appreciate the refusal to adhere to traditional art styles, I would prefer if you would put the paint on the canvas, youngling," he said.
The youngling, some two or three years old, considered this gravely. Then she nodded, and slapped her other hand on his other cheek, leaving a perfect child-sized handprint behind.
"Very well," Obi-Wan said, and pulled her onto his lap so she could paint from between his crossed legs, onto the big sheet of paper spread out over the floor.
There were younglings everywhere, gleefully fingerpainting on the paper, each other, and the crechemaster. There was something very nice about visiting the creche. The children reminded him of Luke, or of Anakin, or of Ahsoka, or sometimes on the best days of nothing at all but light.
Also, it meant he got to skip out on his responsibilities.
"Obi-Wan! Obi-Wan!" a young Twi'lek said, toddling over to him. Her lekku were starting to develop, which meant that at this point in her life her head was about two times too big for her body. It was very cute.
"Yes, Pana?" Obi-Wan said.
"There's a big man here to see you," she 'whispered' conspiratorially. Because she was a youngling, the rest of the children heard this immediately and perked up.
"A big man?" Obi-Wan asked, "Or a big man?"
"Big," Pana said.
"Uh-oh," Obi-Wan said. "It's my Master. Hide me."
Too late, Obi-Wan realized his mistake. The paint-smeared younglings developed a collective gleam in their eye. Before he could flee, he found himself trapped by a swarm of children, determined to hide him with their body mass alone.
A little Miralan kneed him in the face, and he laughed. "I was kidding!" he said. "Get off!"
"Too late!" another youngling said, clambering up and over him with determination, laying his body crosswise to cover as much of Obi-Wan as possible. The other children did the same, taking care not to squish the smaller in their ranks, instead lining them up in front of the pile of Obi-Wan-and-children, like little guards.
Obi-Wan laughed, trying to squirm out of the blanketing layer of younglings without dislodging anyone too seriously.
He heard footsteps. Then slightly confused footsteps. Then footsteps, approaching again.
"Has anyone seen a wayward padawan?" asked Qui-Gon's voice.
There was a chorus of giggles.
"No," Pana said. "Maybe go check in the…" she consulted with a human boy next to her, who whispered into her ear. "Other place."
"Right," Qui-Gon said. "Obi-Wan?"
"Not here," Obi-Wan said, muffled. He was quickly shushed by several crechelings, among another wave of giggling.
"Oh, all right," Qui-Gon said.
"No!" Pana said, and then Obi-Wan felt a big hand on his collar, and he was lifted up into the air. Qui-Gon unearthed him like an archeologist digging for treasure, sending younglings tumbling this way and that.
Obi-Wan was being held up in the air by the scruff. He grinned sheepishly at his Master.
Qui-Gon let him go, and he dropped deftly to his feet.
"Why is my hand covered in paint now?" Qui-Gon asked, betrayed.
"It's finger-painting day," Obi-Wan said innocently, as if this explained everything.
"Oh, it's finger-painting day," Qui-Gon said. "You're supposed to be at the Healers, getting your post-mission checkup."
"Oh, no, was that today?" Obi-Wan asked. "Well, as you can see, I'm kind of busy…"
"Don't take Obi-Wan away!" a youngling, a little Rodian, said. "He's the most fun out of anyone to play with!"
"You'd be depriving the children," Obi-Wan said, as disapprovingly as he could while still covered in child-sized handprints.
"You are a child," Qui-Gon said.
There was another conference between the younglings, and then Pana stepped forward. She tugged at the bottom of Qui-Gon's cloak, and when he looked down at her, she gave him the biggest, most shining eyes the galaxy had ever seen before.
"Will you come play with us too, Master Jinn?" she asked. "Please?"
"Dear Force, you've weaponized them," Qui-Gon said.
"Puh-lease?" Obi-Wan asked, and the kids all immediately pouted up at Qui-Gon. Obi-Wan stuck out his bottom lip.
Qui-Gon was visibly losing all resolve. "Fine," he said. "Fine. These are dirty tactics." He sat down on the floor and was immediately flocked by children, one of them even climbing up his back.
"Aggressive negotiations," Obi-Wan said.
Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon were returning from a mission, getting lost in the comforting bustle of the Jedi ship bay as they trekked back to their quarters. They both desperately needed a shower before they talked to the Council. There was mud involved.
"You couldn't have seen this coming?" Qui-Gon grumbled, squishing slightly.
Obi-Wan tried not to smile. "I shouted 'watch out'." He had, admittedly, not seen this through the Force but because he had remembered far too late them falling into the selfsame hole in his previous life.
Qui-Gon said something else, but an odd Force presence was prickling at the edge of Obi-Wan's senses. He frowned, trying to feel it out. It was almost familiar, but not quite— like an echo of something he knew.
He looked around. There he was— Count Dooku, getting off a ship of his own.
That was what was wrong with his presence. It was Light.
"Obi-Wan?" Qui-Gon said.
"What's Count Dooku doing here?" Obi-Wan blurted. The Count was younger than Obi-Wan had ever known him, with his hair still slightly black. As far as he knew, Dooku had never visited the Temple while Obi-Wan was a padawan. At least they'd never met.
"Coming back from a mission as well, I suppose," Qui-Gon said, slightly taken-aback. "I don't know. We don't keep in contact any more."
"Oh," Obi-Wan said. "I guess that makes sense." He shook his head and continued walking. Dooku could have been in the Temple a million times, but if Qui-Gon was avoiding him— and, probably, making sure Obi-Wan never met him as well— their paths wouldn't have crossed.
"How do you know him?" Qui-Gon asked, suspiciously. "And— wait. Did you call him Count?"
Obi-Wan blinked innocently at him. "No. I called him Master. We've never met."
"You did not," Qui-Gon said. "Is Dooku going to leave the Order?"
"How should I know?" Obi-Wan asked. His ever-lengthening padawan braid was caked in mud— he busied himself with wringing it out. He'd definitely have to rebraid it.
"Right," Qui-Gon said, "Because you've never seen anything else before it happened."
Obi-Wan shrugged. He hadn't meant to be so obvious, and usually he wasn't. But Dooku had been activating a fight-or-flight instinct in Obi-Wan for years, and seeing a Sith in the Temple— well, a future one— had thrown him off. "I can see that that Council is going to be very cross with us," he said.
"That's no prediction," Qui-Gon said, herding him towards the elevators anyway. "That's just every day."
He glanced again over his shoulder, and Obi-Wan couldn't help but follow his gaze. Dooku was watching as a few flight members unloaded crates off his ship, occasionally calling out an order or saying something quietly to the captain at his shoulder. He looked stately and commanding, and, Obi-Wan realized, every inch the Jedi.
They went on to the Council.
Master Tahl had just returned from a mission, which meant that she was coming to Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon's quarters for tea.
Obi-Wan still had access to all the mission schedules, with his misused Council codes, so he knew when she was coming back and had roped Bant into baking cookies with him that day.
At the end of it they were both covered in flour but had a batch of very nice cookies, and were sitting on the floor on the other side of the caf table while the adults took up the couch.
"My favorite," Tahl said, "And still warm too. Thank you Obi-Wan, Bant."
They beamed up at her.
When she went to the 'fresher, Qui-Gon glared at Obi-Wan.
"You already have a master," he said. "Ease up, you little brat."
Obi-Wan made an exaggerated who me? face and ducked out of the way of the throw pillow Qui-Gon tossed at him.
Bant looked horrified; Obi-Wan nudged her. "It's how he shows affection," he told her. "Don't worry— your Master will be nicer than mine."
"Is Qui being cruel to you, poor Obi-Wan?" Tahl asked, returning to the couch, ruffling Obi-Wan's hair and running a hand gently over Bant's head in turn. "Poor dear. Someday I will have to steal you away— I find I miss having my own little one to boss around."
"I can only wish I could boss Obi-Wan around," Qui-Gon said. "Sometimes I think he only follows my orders because it amuses him."
"This is slander," Obi-Wan said.
Bant laughed.
Obi-Wan ate another cookie.
"Boys," Tahl said. "Not sensible like you and me, right, Initiate Eerin?"
"Right," Bant agreed.
"Now hold on," Qui-Gon said. "I seem to remember a certain mission, Tahl, in which you decided—"
"Get him, younglings!" Tahl said, and Obi-Wan and Bant hardly exchanged a glance before tackling Qui-Gon.
"Oh, now you follow orders?" Qui-Gon said. "Oh, come on, it's not fair—"
They were in the Senate.
That was, Obi-Wan could admit, a little unnerving.
Qui-Gon had been summoned for some handshaking of some politicians, from some world that wanted to thank the Jedi for some good deed or another. Obi-Wan was shaky on the details, because Qui-Gon wanted to be there almost as little as Obi-Wan did.
Qui-Gon had also decided to drag Obi-Wan along. He claimed this was for the learning experience but they both knew it was because misery loves company.
They were done with their meeting. Obi-Wan had been twitchy the whole time, itchy under his skin. He'd never returned to the Senate after the Purge, for obvious reasons, but he'd been able to feel the darkness of it all the way across the galaxy, and he'd been able to catch sporadic news reports as it was converted into the Imperial Center and then dissolved entirely.
And, of course, it was where Palpatine was.
But they were almost out now, without incident. He'd considered faking illness— making Qui-Gon go alone— but the idea of his master encountering a Sith without him was much worse.
Obi-Wan had his senses cast out around the Senate, gently, sensing for danger. So when he actually encountered it, he slammed his awareness back into himself with such force it actually almost hurt. He caught a glimpse of Palpatine only after he'd already sensed him, walking, untroubled, to some meeting or another.
Qui-Gon was walking, as ever, a few steps ahead of him. He turned around, absently making sure Obi-Wan was following him, and frowned.
"Padawan, lower your shields," he said. "I can barely see you, and that's when I know you're there."
But Obi-Wan was busy, drawing in his Force presence to almost nonexistence, trying to avoid attention. He did not want Palpatine taking special notice of him— he'd seen how that went with Anakin.
"Can we go home?" Obi-Wan said, faintly. "I don't feel very well."
"Kark," Qui-Gon said, "Obi-Wan—" and he was over just in time to catch Obi-Wan as he started sinking towards the floor. "Your nose is bleeding," he said, alarmed.
Obi-Wan had watched the Emperor's speech on Empire Day once and only once, and then he'd gone out into the desert and gotten so drunk he'd somehow awoken on Beru's couch, with her glaring down at him and spoon-feeding him water tablets.
Palpatine had looked different then, of course, after whatever the hell it was that happened in the Chancellor's office that day, but at the same time he had looked the same as he did now.
Christophsis. Geonosis. Ryloth. Mortis. Planets were flashing behind his eyes, planets ravaged by war and seeped in pain because of something that man had engineered to wipe out the Jedi and gain control of the government at the same time.
People should have been staring by now, but they weren't. Almost everyone's eyes just glazed right over them as Obi-Wan's shielding grew, and grew to encompass his master as well. Someone actually stepped over them on the floor, not appearing to notice anything different. The smarter ones glanced over for a moment or two, blinking, or sometimes even starting over before being distracted by the busy life of the Senate.
Someone dropped to their knees in front of Obi-Wan.
"Are you all right?" asked a familiar voice. But not the one Obi-Wan had feared.
"He's fine," Qui-Gon snapped. He slapped the side of Obi-Wan's face, gently. "Where are you right now, padawan?"
Here. That was the problem.
Did you know my father? I knew him— promise me you will train the boy— remember, my dear Obi-Wan, I love— YOU WERE MY BROTHER I LOVED YOU I HATE YOU—
"Haar'chak," Obi-Wan muttered. He moved up a hand to try to stem the flow of blood from his nose with a sleeve. Two sets of hands steadied him; Qui-Gon's familiar long fingers and a set of darker and smaller hands.
"Oh, dear," said a new voice. "Is the boy all right?"
Obi-Wan looked up. It was exactly who he'd thought it would be— Senator Palpatine, of Naboo, hair a little darker and with only soft wrinkles around his eyes. He reached for Obi-Wan.
Obi-Wan, who wasn't exactly thinking clearly, tried to kick him. "Get the kriff away from me!" he said.
Palpatine rocked back. "Goodness," he said.
Qui-Gon hauled Obi-Wan back bodily. "He's fine," he said. "It's a… Jedi thing. Please go about your business."
"All right," Palpatine said, backing away slowly. "I was only concerned for the youngling."
"Let's go," Qui-Gon said, "Back to the speeder." Obi-Wan eyed Palpatine as he backed into the crowd and disappeared.
"You can use my Senate codes," said their second companion, a young Senator with black hair and soft hands. "It will let you take off faster."
"Thanks," Qui-Gon said, only a little warily. "Come on, Obi-Wan, up you go." Together the two of them heaved Obi-Wan to his feet.
"Pfff," Obi-Wan said, and drooled blood into his sleeve, which seemed to inspire alarm for some reason.
"By the goddess," murmured the senator. "Are you sure you shouldn't go to a medcenter?"
"The Temple can handle it," Qui-Gon grunted. "This has happened to him before."
Obi-Wan still had his shields up as high as they would go, and possibly higher, but he could still feel that little stain of Dark, somewhere across the Senate.
Seeing Palpatine had brought all kinds of things back, Cody and Rex and Waxer and Boil and Trapper and Wolffe and so many others—
"All right. It's just over here."
Then they were outside, with the smell of the Coruscant polluted air, no sand in sight and no battlefield. Obi-Wan's head cleared a little.
"I'm fine," he muttered.
Qui-Gon laughed. "Okay, Obi-Wan," he said. He lowered Obi-Wan gently to sit on the ground. "Stay here— I'm going to pull the speeder around." He looked at the Senator. "Watch over him."
"I will."
Then Obi-Wan was sitting on the landing platform, holding his sleeve to his nose.
"Are you all right?" the Senator asked once Qui-Gon was gone. Obi-Wan glanced at him questioningly. "Your teacher— he's telling the truth? You're all right? You can tell me if you're not. I'll help."
"It's very kind, Senator," Obi-Wan said. "But Qui-Gon is not the trouble. He's the best Master I could ask for, even if my abilities can be a little… alarming."
He passed over a handkerchief, and Obi-Wan pressed it to the bridge of his nose gratefully. The sound of a speeder, going definitely over the speed limit, rocketing up to the platform reached them and Qui-Gon poked his head out.
"You're a good man, Bail Organa," Obi-Wan said, to the surprised Senator. "May the Force be with you."
"Um—" Bail said, and Obi-Wan grinned at him, and tipped himself sideways into the speeder.
"By kriff, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon said, hauling Obi-Wan into place and activating the restraint system. "You're going to be the death of me."
"I hope not," Obi-Wan said.
They sped off.
Chapter header from TCW - 2X13 Voyage of Temptation
Mando'a translations:
K'atini - it's only pain/suck it up
Haar'chak - damn
