Chapter 2 - Discovery

It was noisy at Dex's. Midday meal was always the busiest time at the diner but Qui-Gon was glad for the distraction. The arguments of the two Bothans behind him, the soft words that only lovers can make from the couple in the next booth over, raucous laughter at the bar and in one corner, someone enjoying Dex's soup a little too energetically - all these things gathered into a white sound that would have been jarring to most beings but Qui-Gon found it soothing. Even the droids scampering about, with trays full of food and sloshy drinks, were a welcome diversion.

He would have happily remained there among the noise, enjoying his food and wash of Living Force energy that came from the frenetic pace of living beings around him but he was not alone. Mace Windu, one of the foremost Jedi on the Council, and sometimes Qui-Gon's ally but more often his most aggressive adversary on that august body, had insisted on coming along. To help him celebrate, he said.

But Qui-Gon was beginning to wonder if it wasn't to make his life even more difficult than it already was.

Ordinarily, he would have welcomed the company. Mace could be quite entertaining at times, with his subtle humor and inventive ideas about down-time. They had known each other since before Xanatos's departure from the Jedi Order and they were, in reality, friends - well, friends as long as the Mace left his Council persona in the Council Chambers.

He had to admit, though somewhat reluctantly, that it was not entirely Mace's fault that he was impatient and annoyed. He hadn't slept well and when he came out of his room for breakfast, ready to talk to Obi-Wan about their schedule for the day, the boy had already left. A short note stating that he would be back by fifteenth hour as ordered had done little to mollify Qui-Gon's sour mood.

But Mace had not helped.

Their business meeting had gone much longer than anticipated. It became clear early in the first hour that some of the mission reports would need further clarification - with addendums and the inclusion of such detailed minutia that it would drive even Jocasta Nu into hiding.

Much to his dismay, Qui-Gon had been volunteered for the task. Master Windu, in that clipped monotone of his, had gone on to explain exactly why he had been chosen. Apparently, according to the infinite wisdom of the Jedi Council, it was the roguish behavior of one Qui-Gon Jinn that had caused some of the problems in the first place and he should be the one to clean up the mess.

Much as he had protested, it did him little good. Windu had been adamant. And he had also been forthright and rather sarcastic, much to Qui-Gon's further annoyance.

By the end of the session, Qui-Gon was hard-pressed not to say something that might have been cause for more reprimands. But for once, his age lent him wisdom and he walked out of the meeting, seething but silent.

Surprisingly, that was not the end of it. Mace must have been feeling guilty about berating him so much on his Naming day. Instead of leaving him to spend the rest of the day alone in quiet meditation, the Councilor insisted on accompanying him to lunch and paying for it as well. It was a generous thought and gracious. Qui-Gon could not say no.

And so here they were; he was trying to relax into some semblance of muted enthusiasm while Mace finished up the last faint remnants of a large slice of Yyegar sugar cake. Watching the Councilor hunt down the final few crumbs, for a brief moment, Qui-Gon wondered if the man had had an ulterior motive for coming to the diner - besides celebration, of course. Dex's desserts were legendary.

As Mace leaned back, looking very much like a felinoid up to its whiskers in blue milk, he said mildly, "How is Obi-Wan doing?"

"He's fine." The sharp retort had been almost instinctual.

With a mental curse, knowing full well that his friend was not likely to miss the frustration in his voice, Qui-Gon deliberately turned away, glancing around as if interested in the denizens of the diner. He knew that Mace wouldn't be fooled but it gave him a few moments to try and smooth out the abrupt frown now pulling at his skin. The headache was back as well.

The truth of the matter is that he didn't want to see the questions in the Councilor's eyes. He wasn't ready to talk about it just yet. And he certainly did not want to talk to anyone in any official capacity. That would only lead to more problems.

From behind him, sudden laughter ran a shrill counterpoint to the murmurs in the room, but Qui-Gon didn't even flinch. Instead, he put on his most neutral mask, trying to feign calm disinterest.

Mace was talking again, probing for more information. His dark eyes boring into Qui-Gon's own, he said calmly, "I had expected for him to come along. I would have thought you would welcome his company."

In fact, Qui-Gon had planned on having dinner with Obi-Wan at Dex's, just the two of them, Padawan and Master, to celebrate the day. He had wanted it to be a treat for his young Learner. The boy loved to go to the diner and he had thought that they could relax into each other's company, not talking about Jedi rules and regulations but of happier things. Celebrations and the pleasure of surprises.

But that was before last night.

"He has classes right now. I will see him later." He said it indifferently, as if it didn't matter at all. Then, pointing to the now-spotless plate, he forced a smile onto his face, hoping to divert attention away from the conversation about Obi-Wan and leave as soon as possible. At this point, meditation was a siren's song; Qui-Gon needed to center himself badly. "Mace, they have droids to clean the plates. If you want more dessert, just ask for it. I won't tell the Council... this time."

Mace was not fooled for one moment. Staring at him, openly suspicious, he said, "Is there something wrong with Obi-Wan?"

His own eyes narrowing, Qui-Gon looked askance at the Councilor. As he tried to think of an answer that would not lead to more questions and possible disaster, he leaned back casually in his seat, brushing at the remaining crumbs of his own lunch. The barest hint of annoyance clouded his voice. "Why do you ask?"

Mace was watching him very carefully, taking in every little nuance of his reaction, much as Qui-Gon tried to hide it. "You changed the subject. Abruptly."

Speaking in that calm, irritating way that he had whenever he was delivering bad news or else lambasting those rogue Jedi who actually followed the will of the Force, the Councilor reminded him, "Kenobi's probation has been over for almost three months. As far as I am aware, since then, he has behaved himself as befitting a Jedi Padawan. No trouble, no fighting, following the Code to the letter, excelling in his studies. Am I mistaken?"

Qui-Gon sighed out his concern. With Obi-Wan, he doubted the problem was something simple or even amusing. The teen was passionate in his desire to become a Jedi Knight but he could be led astray if he thought the reason was sound.

But he was also a serious, thoughtful student, more so since his probation. His Learner had lost something of his childhood in the last year, not unexpectedly, but Qui-Gon found that, in some ways, he missed the boy in the man he was becoming.

Whatever the cause, Qui-Gon knew he needed to discuss it to someone. His own experiences with Padawan Learners had had mixed results and he didn't want to misstep with Obi-Wan, not after the tragedy of his last apprentice. "Is this Mace talking or Master Windu of the most high Council of the Jedi Order?'

One dark eyebrow went up in surprise. "Would it make a difference?"

Rubbing at his forehead to ease the headache still trapped inside his skull, he admitted, "It might. I won't talk to the Councilor. If it were off the record, however..." When Mace sent him a sympathetic look, Qui-Gon decided to take a risk. Shrugging, he said, "I could use a friend's advice."

Mace thought about it for a moment, seeming to weigh his Council obligation against his inclination to help. "As long as it doesn't affect the running of the Order or interfere with Kenobi's duty to the Jedi, I don't see why I can't. But if it will be potentially detrimental to the Order, I won't be able to overlook it, Qui-Gon."

"It's nothing like that."

Leaning forward, frowning and concerned, Mace said, "Then what is the problem? I thought the Melida/Daan affair had settled him down. He almost lost his place in the Order with that debacle." He stopped a moment, clearly evaluating what he had heard of Obi-Wan's actions in the last few months. "It would seem that he has been working hard to regain the trust of the Council and yours. What has changed?"

Until recently, Qui-Gon would have agreed with him. There had been little indication of anything wrong other than the boy's distracted weariness. Even the ever-energetic rumor mills had not yielded one unfavorable whisper about his apprentice.

"I don't know. Lately, he's been coming back to quarters exhausted and, the last few nights, past curfew. When I asked him what the problem was, he said it was private. He wouldn't tell me anything else." Qui-Gon didn't even bother to keep the worry out of his voice.

Shrugging, Mace seemed almost relieved, as if he had expected far worse. "Sounds more like he's caught up in some kind of intrigue; perhaps a girl has been taking up his time. He's of the age."

Exasperated, Qui-Gon snapped back, "He's only fourteen, Mace. That kind of intrigue shouldn't come along for quite some time."

Mace looked at him as if he had lost his mind. "Why not? Xan was already intriguing with several Padawans by the time he was Obi-Wan's age. And getting into far worse trouble."

"Obi-Wan is not Xanatos." The deep growl of denial brooked no discussion.

Jabbing one finger in Qui-Gon's direction, his voice emphatic and very stern, Mace insisted, "Just as long as you remember that."

Caught by surprise at the blunt remark, he could only stare at the Councilor for a moment before the old memories came back flashburning through his mind - the heated arguments, the ozone-whine of a saber sweeping down towards his head, the smell of melting flesh, the churning boil of acid as Xanatos leapt to his death.

It had only been six months since that appalling suicide but still the razored rush of grief haunted him. He should have recognized Xani's problems somehow in the beginning, stopped the cycle of hatred before it had begun all those years ago. He should have been a better master to his young apprentice, a better example of what was expected of a Jedi. He should have known - somehow.

He tried to shake off the remembrance. But it would seem that knife-edge of guilt was still as sharp as the day Xan had turned on him, still cutting him in a way that blinded him to the realities of this moment. He had thought it was all behind him now that Xanatos was dead; he had thought that he had let it go, but apparently not.

The sickening realization that he was starting down that path of blame and burden again only made him more determined to put it behind him. Wallowing in grief was not the way of the Jedi and certainly not the way a Jedi Master should behave. He would not do this. Obi-Wan deserved better than some old fool of a Master ignoring him for his own pain or, more importantly, believing the worst of the boy because of past experiences. He would not.

Breathing out his doubt, Qui-Gon said distinctly, "I do remember that."

"I wonder sometimes." Mace sent him a sharp look, probably seeing all the signs of guilt and remorse that were surely mapped across Qui-Gon's face. But instead of acknowledging his sorrow, the Councilor just ignored it. His old friend knew him very well. "Obi-Wan may have had problems with his poor choices in the past, but they were always based on compassion and the need to help others. If nothing else, he is a little too enthusiastic. I could never say the same for Xan."

As Qui-Gon looked away, out into the soothing clamor of the diner's crowd, Mace just huffed regret. "He was my friend for a very long time but, in the end, he chose greed over the Jedi Order. And he had always longed for power, even as a child. It cost Xan everything. I can't see that happening with Obi-Wan."

Qui-Gon shook his head slowly, "Nor I."

"Yet Obi-Wan does have a tendency to fall headlong into rash decisions and, when confronted with the situation, he is rather stubborn about it - just like a certain Jedi Master I know." Mace stared at him, pointedly, as if daring him to disagree.

Qui-Gon could have argued but instead he shrugged at the accusation. Besides, it was useless when Mace was right anyway. Both he and Obi-Wan were stubborn, sometimes ill-advisedly so, and it had gotten them into disagreements with one another when a softer approach would have worked with far less discord. Again, it was his own fault. He was the master after all and should be the example, not the crux of the problem.

Pressing his hand absentmindedly against his temple, trying to will away the still-aching headache, he felt both very old and not a little concerned. He had done so much wrong with Obi-Wan. From the very beginning, he had kept the boy at arm's length and it had caused problems with Obi-Wan's confidence and his ability to trust him. The Melida/Daan fiasco had only deepened their difficulties, putting their partnership on shaky ground.

But the doubts had faded over time. Obi-Wan's unfailing drive to prove himself worthy during his probation and Qui-Gon's own determination to put things right had made their relationship strong and steadfast - until now.

Now, all the old doubts had returned with a vengeance. "I must admit, my friend, that sometimes I have misgivings." Shifting uncomfortably, he frowned down at the table and then straight into Mace's concerned eyes. "It is my flaw, I know. For some reason, I can't seem to strike the right balance with him. I'm either overly-strict or not... enough." Almost ashamed, he murmured, "He takes everything I say to heart."

Mace nodded thoughtfully, "It's very clear that he wants to please you. Almost too much so, in my opinion."

Much as he wanted to agree, he couldn't help but rush to Obi-Wan's defense. "Padawans are supposed to obey their Masters."

Skewering Qui-Gon with a glare of unblinking skepticism, something that the Councilor had deliberately cultivated in the years since he became a member of that most august body, the Jedi High Council, Mace said bluntly, "Obey yes, but he's too attached. He seems to absorb your every word and think it Force-guided. It's unhealthy."

Qui-Gon drew himself up, his eyes boring into the steady gaze of his friend, daring him to disagree. "I am his teacher." But when Mace refused to back down, just sat there, one dark eyebrow raised in challenge, it was Qui-Gon that capitulated. "Besides, he didn't obey me on Melida/Daan."

"And he paid for it."

Accepting the rebuke, Qui-Gon nodded slowly, "Yes, I know. He has been doing better. Until this problem, I thought that we were in balance at last." Lifting his hand to ease the ache that still pulsed behind his eyes, he said, "But now..."

Mace seemed to understand and, more surprisingly, sympathize. "Perhaps you should talk to Yoda. He's has a fondness for young Kenobi. He might be able to ferret out why the boy is having problems." With a knowing gleam in his dark eyes and the faintest ghost of a smile on his face, he said lightly, "And Obi-Wan might tell him things that he would be embarrassed to tell you."

Sending back a mock glare, knowing that Mace was trying to reassure him and failing miserably, he said, "I'll..."

From the hidden depths of the kitchen, the sharp, unexpected clash of breaking dishes exploded outward, shattering the conversations of a dozen beings into surprise and silence. Curses, both profane and inventive, seemed to fly into the stillness that followed. It was very clear that the owner was not pleased.

As the customers' queries and speculation as to what was going on behind the scenes grew in volume, the rapid barrage of accusations in the Besalisk's deep voice and the sharper tones of his head waitress could be heard above the chaos. The off-key clatter of crockery only added to the noise.

The door slid open and Dex was backing away from the cooking area, his four hands waving in annoyance. He wasn't paying any attention to the customers as he roared, "You'll have to clean it all up. The kid isn't back yet with the nerfsteaks and I..."

But the huge cook stopped dead when he turned toward the booths and spotted Qui-Gon sitting there. His massive hands rubbing nervously against the messy apron, his eyes flicking toward the back door as if he were expecting someone and dreading it, Dex stood rooted to the spot.

It was odd. Usually the Besalisk welcomed them with open arms, even in the midst of an apparent labor dispute.

Trying to put him at ease, Qui-Gon said calmly, "Hello, Dex."

That seemed to bring him out of his stupor. His jowls swaying as he quickly glanced behind him, Dex frowned and then deliberately smoothed out his concern. But his face was as friendly as a skittish womp-rat about to be eaten by rancor beasts or a guilty Besalisk with something to hide.

Pulling out a rag, he began to wipe at his hands, appearing to clean them thoroughly. "Master Jinn, Master Windu, what are.. how long have you been here?"

Qui-Gon pointed to the now-spotless plate and then at Mace. "We were just finishing up. It would seem that Master Windu has a weakness for your desserts."

The Councilor shot him a look of pure annoyance, saying calmly. "I appreciate the finer culinary arts."

But Dex wasn't listening. His eyes kept flicking toward the back door and his hands were knotted in the scrap of cloth. "Sorry, Master Jinn but I'm very busy." He quickly nodded toward the kitchen, "With the staff. I have to get back before she ruins me."

"Is there any way we can help?" Qui-Gon could feel the concern rolling off the Besalisk.

With alarming swiftness, all four hands came up, palms outward, warding off the idea of Jedi help. The cleaning rag was forgotten as it slowly floated down to his feet. "No, no, I don't need..." Then he stopped, frowning. He must have seen Qui-Gon's reaction because, in the next moment, his hands lowered and he seemed to be flustered. As he bent down to pick up the dirty cloth, his eyes flicking toward the back entrance, he said hoarsely, "No problem. I'm sure you have more important things to do at the Temple. Don't let me keep you."

Qui-Gon was alarmed now. The cook was never this rude without good reason. "Dex, is something wrong? You seem on edge."

The scowl etching into his wattled skin, his huge body half-turned away from the Jedi, Dex sputtered, "No, it's nothing. I'm very busy and..." But the whine of an opening door and the soft sound of a young familiar voice stopped the conversation cold.

As the boy stumbled into the diner, his hands overfilled with supply boxes, he panted out, "Dex, I have your nerfsteaks. Where do you want... Master?" And Obi-Wan Kenobi stood there, swaying with fatigue, staring at Qui-Gon Jinn.

For a moment, no one said a word. Even the other diners seemed to understand that this time was meant for silence. Everyone was staring at the young Jedi or the scowling Master.

Even from a distance, Qui-Gon could see the grimy leggings and scuffed boots of his apprentice, the twisted braid, beads of sweat on the young boy's face, the way the boxes trembled in his hands. The fluster of not knowing what to do was clearly written in Obi-Wan's green eyes.

Then the boy blinked. And a spasm of guilt swept across his face before the stoic facade dropped into place. Head held high, Obi-Wan said, "Dex, I'll put these in back and then I believe I will be leaving... with Master Jinn."

To say that Qui-Gon was furious was an understatement. The boy should have been in class at the Temple, not standing here covered in dirt and other noxious stains, sweating and shivering with fatigue; he should certainly not be delivering supplies for Dexter Jettster. Obi-Wan had lied to him again.

But instead of venting his ire, Qui-Gon was all stone, letting nothing of the fusion-heat of his anger show through. Moving out of the booth, he slowly stood up and stared for a heartbeat at his wayward apprentice.

His voice ice-sharp and so cold that it seemed to fill the room with frost, Qui-Gon growled out, "Wait here when your task is completed, Padawan Kenobi."

The boy flinched back, his liquid eyes filled with dread and the certain knowledge that he had made a very great mistake. Blinking rapidly as if to hold back tears, he looked very much like a trapped skritmouse. But he must have seen that there was no sympathy in Qui-Gon's wintry glare. Nodding once, with shoulders slumped in regret, he turned, silent and alone, and walked back into the kitchen.

"Master Jettster, a word, if you please." If anything, the temperature in the room plummeted further; the cold in Qui-Gon's eyes could have frozen a planet.

Dex merely shrugged nonchalantly, two of his hands lifting in apology and a third pointing toward the back of the diner. "My office, then?"

A sharp nod and both Jedi followed the Besalisk into a cramped room filled with 'pads, bits of broken crockery, and half-opened boxes. Grunting in annoyance, Dex swept off one chair, tumbling datasheets onto the floor - a waterfall torrent of white flimsiplast, and then he collapsed into the seat. In the small alcove, there were no other places to sit that were not covered with junk. "I can't tell you anything, Master Jinn."

Grinding out the words, trying not to throttle Dex in his fury, Qui-Gon said chillingly, "Why not? It would appear that Padawan Kenobi has been working for you for some time." He stared pointedly at the cook. "Without permission of the Jedi Order or my own consent."

But Dexter just shook his head, frowning up at the Jedi. "He said he needed the credits."

"Why? The Order gives him everything he needs." Qui-Gon tried to keep the frustration out of his voice, without success.

"I can't say. I promised him I wouldn't tell." Dex waved one of his hands in the air, trying to make a point, and his eyes were sympathetic. "He's a good kid at heart. A little intense at times but I saw no reason not to help him out."

If anything, the explanation just made Qui-Gon angrier, with Dexter and with Obi-Wan. How the Besalisk could not see that this was a very serious infraction was beyond him. He stepped forward, over the layers of flimsiplast and trash, and leaned forward. "This isn't a game. He's deliberately disobeyed me. After all the trouble he's been in. It's not... he will have to suffer the consequences of his actions."

Dex just shook his head, his voice quiet and sure. "It isn't what you think."

Drawing himself up, standing there tall and straight and frustrated, Qui-Gon crossed his arms over his chest into immovable stance and said in a voice as cold as frozen nitronium, "You have no idea of what a Padawan must face. The discipline, the sacrifices. He was supposed to be in class, he was required to be so. Instead I find him here, earning credits for some mysterious private reason instead of focusing on his duty."

Qui-Gon bowed his head for a moment, trying to keep the heartbreak from tearing his throat to shreds, "He's broken his word to me." Closing his eyes against the pain, he murmured, "Again."

But when Dex tried once more to defend the boy, Qui-Gon waved him off. "Enough. You've helped him quite enough."

And he turned away, leaving a sputtering Besalisk in his wake, and stalked out of the office.

Mace followed close behind and grabbed at his arm to slow him down. "Probation does not seem to have had any impact on him, Qui-Gon. A few months and again he's in trouble. It does not speak highly of his commitment to the Order."

Stopping abruptly, Qui-Gon swung around and said clearly, "Councilor Windu, I know you mean well but it is my problem and mine to rectify. I will talk with my apprentice and mete out his punishment."

The Councilor drew back, looking his friend straight in the eye, calm and cool, reminding him, "Master Jinn, I can't overlook this."

"Let me handle this." Qui-Gon stood there in the narrow hallway, boxes and garbage piled high around him. Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, he tried desperately to find his center amidst the chaos. "Mace... it may be something simple. You don't know. I don't know." When the Councilor started to protest again, he said, "I promise that if it does need to come before the Council, I will do so."

Mace bowed his head in acknowledgement. "Very well, I will rely on your discretion. But if you need help, you have but to ask."

With a curt nod, Qui-Gon turned back, stepping out into the diner's main eating area. There, by the door, a penitent and subdued Padawan Learner stood. Sweaty, grimy and disheveled, the boy looked tired - and so young. But he pushed that thought aside.

"Come."

And he didn't look back to see if Obi-Wan was following.

The ride back to the Temple was long and very, very silent.