I was conferring with a colleague, in sight of the entry, when something made me look up. It was he – the Jedi was back. He paused, and looked around, and moved forward slowly, one arm unobtrusively pressed against his side. As he got closer, I saw his face was drawn tight against something. His eyes were in shadow under the cloak hood, but I had a sense that if I could see them, I would see eyes clouded with exhaustion and perhaps pain.

I dropped my datapad on the counter and started towards him with my hand out to take him by the elbow, to steady him if need be. His eyes caught mine, then, and he gave this little grin, like a little boy's grin.

"I said I would come back. How's the two men I brought in – can I see them?"

"They're recovering nicely down the hall. I'll take you to them, but you have to let me check you out first. You were hurt when you left here, and I doubt you're in any better shape now."

"I would like to see them first, please," he requested, brushing off my request.

I sighed and acquiesced; it would be the faster and certainly the easier way, if I just cooperated with the general, rather than wasting energy arguing with him. I just shook my head and gestured the way.

I held open the doorway to the Jedi's room only long enough to hear the General's warm voice exclaim in pleasure at seeing his young friend. I saw Anakin Skywalker turn his head, and the look of pleasure and relief on his face confirmed their closeness. The general sat on the side of bed at Skywalker's side and the two men exchanged hand clasps. I found it oddly touching.

Seeing two battle-scarred veterans having a quiet and touching reunion somehow surprised me, yet served to confirm what I had already begun to understand. War can make men do hard things, but it doesn't necessarily make the men hard.

I gave the two Jedi time to talk before I interrupted them. They both fell silent as I entered the room – doubtless they were talking some strategy or other to which I was not privy. As if thinking the sudden silence could be construed as rudeness, General Kenobi thanked me for taking care of his two men.

"This time, it's your turn General," I smirked. "So, what is it? A burn? A blaster bolt get you? Maybe a cracked rib?"

"Obi-Wan – you're hurt? How? Where?" the words spilled out of Skywalker. He had turned suddenly serious. The general gave one of those oh-its-nothing gestures. I knew better.

Looking at Skywalker, I advised, "He was hurt when he left here. I doubt he's feeling any better now than then. So if you two have had your talk, he's my patient now." I crossed my arms and scowled. I had to give Skywalker credit, he immediately backed me up. Good, I was pretty sure I would need an ally to get the General to allow someone to look at him. Stubborn man. I said it before, and I'll say it again.

"Come on, general. I promise not to bite."

He flushed. It was kind of cute, actually. He opened his mouth to protest, looked at me, looked at Skywalker – and surrendered. He knew he was caught between two equal and allied forces.

"Yes, ma'am," he said rather meekly. I exchanged a grin of triumph with Skywalker, but we both jumped when the general stood and his knees almost buckled under him. He regained his feet before either of us could grab an arm to steady him.

He is one tough Jedi. He was on his feet and out the door ahead of me.

"Thank you," I mouthed to Skywalker; he grinned back at me.

Once out in the hall, the Jedi turned to me and gave me this simply ingratiating grin, just trying to get out of my hands. He really didn't like to be in healer's hands, I could see.

"I've already taken care of this out in the field," he promised. "I just need to rest and I'll be fine. You really don't have to take care of me. I really am fine."

"Tough guy – you're coming with me and that's that. Field! Probably unsanitary as all get out, too. Even you Jedi aren't immune to infection, or whatever is going on with you that I don't know about but sure as heck am going to find out." I crossed my arms and glared at him.

"You don't hate me anymore," he said conversationally, a small smile playing around his lips.

"No, I don't," I allowed, "not that I actually hated you, personally, and I want to talk to you about that, if you don't mind. But later. You're not changing the subject. You're not sweet-talking me out of an examination – and don't try waving that hand of yours in some Force mind thing."

He looked a bit abashed at that.

He only protested one more time, when I got him onto a table and told him to undress. He also flushed, and I understood. The tough guy general, the Jedi, was bashful. I found it a touching sign of humanity and was careful to hide my amusement.

When he had removed his tunic – he needed my help with that – I was surprised at the old scars and burns that crisscrossed that body. The man had been in a lot of fights. If he looked like this, I wondered what his opponents had looked like, after.

"Well, general, it looks like you've got a cracked rib –"

"Two," he admitted glumly.

"Two, you're right," I agreed cheerfully.

"Does that please you?" he muttered. His head was bent forward. He had been avoiding my eyes, but he had brought up his own to look at me through a lock of hair that had fallen over his forehead.

I smiled at him, nodding my head, much to his surprise. "Yes, that does please me – two is better than three, or more. So, general, are these new injuries, or what?"

"Well, they're not new since I was here before," he admitted reluctantly. I knew his next sentence was said with some difficulty. "They, ah, do hurt more than they did before."

Of course they did. He had been somewhere, doing Force knows what, and aggravating those ribs all along. He had done a creditable job of binding them up, but he should never have left here without time to heal. Were all Jedi this – stubborn? If so, I wondered that there was as many of them alive as there still were.

Well, if he was being honest with me, maybe we would get through this examination without major argument.

I nodded at his leg and calmly asked that he remove his pants. I was right; we would get through this exam without argument. He just blushed and wouldn't budge. No, not an argument, for he would have had to speak for there to be one.

"General, either you remove your pants, or I cut them off you," I said severely, and grabbed a pair of scissors to make my point. He glared at me, I swear he did, but I faced that stare down with my own until he dropped his eyes, then his pants.

His legs appeared to be one part of him that wasn't battle-scarred, that is, all except for that nasty bruise surrounding that bleeding hole in his leg. It was pretty appalling, and I almost wanted to whistle, but the poor man would have been embarrassed, considering his bashfulness, and would have probably misunderstood.

He was really rather nicely built, I noticed with part of my mind – the part that I scolded pretty severely – but that leg wound was what really grabbed my attention. I honestly didn't know how he managed to walk on that leg, or how he hoped to hide it from me. It was going to need stitches, once it was cleaned out. I told him that, and advised that I'd give him a shot to numb the pain.

The look of alarm in his eyes startled me; I was going to tease him about a big, brave Jedi being scared of a little needle until he advised me about his intolerance to most drugs. While this was not unheard of, though uncommon, most folks like him were in a different line of occupation, one not requiring frequent medical care. This did complicate matters.

Strangely, now it was he doing the reassuring. He told me to do what I needed to do; he could handle any pain. I stared at him: didn't he know this was deep and it was going to be painful? He just gave me this look and I shrugged my shoulders. Fine with me; I'd just be sure he was already lying down so when he passed out, he wouldn't fall over.

I got everything ready, and before starting, looked at him. He lay with eyes closed, his face a mask of serenity. Just wait, Jedi, that famous emotional control is going to leave you shortly, I thought.

I cleaned the wound and felt no reaction. I looked to his face; his mouth had tightened into a straight line, but that was the only change I saw in his face. I went deeper; this time he winced, but still, he said nothing. I didn't know whether to respect him, or pity him. Were all Jedi like this?

"Does that hurt?"

He said nothing for a minute; I thought he was not going to reply. Then he said, very quietly, "Yes, it does."

The man might be a stubborn fool, but he was an honest man and wouldn't lie. Oh, I knew, he might try to conceal things, but he wouldn't actually lie. I now knew his way of ducking the truth, and I knew how to call him on it.

"Are you going to pass out?"

"I hope not," he said wryly. He tried to grin, but it was more like a grimace.

"Well, general, stronger men than you would have already passed out, so feel free. No one will think any less of you if you do – besides, I promise not to tell anyone."

It was a weak smile he returned at me, before he simply relaxed and his head rolled to one side. I was strangely touched; we were barely more than strangers to each other, yet he accepted my suggestion without struggle. I wasn't sure if he had fainted, willed himself to sleep, or sunk into a meditative trance, but I really didn't care; I just wanted to finish cleaning up his leg wound before he awoke.

In repose, he looked even younger than before, his face unlined and no creases of worry radiating from his eyes. It was impossible to reconcile this man with the feared general I had so despised such a short time previously. I wondered if my family – those dead on Delex IV – forgave me my long-gone hate. Letting go of my hate was – liberating, but was it disloyal to those long dead? I was still so very confused.

I took a deep breath, and got to work. Just as I finished, I felt his eyes on me. I didn't turn to meet them.

"You're awake. Just in time; I finished."

"I know," he said softly. "When did you stop hating me?"

"I never hated you, only what you did."

"And what did I do?" The funny thing is, he really did want to know.

Unwillingly, I turned to face him and I searched his eyes, all too ready to back off, but those eyes showed nothing but curiosity and reassurance that I could speak freely.

"You…the war – Delex IV," I didn't know where to begin. "I hate war." It took all I had to smother the quiver of my lips. I looked away; he wasn't going to see the unshed tears in my eyes. This was really most unprofessional, I thought. He put out a hand and touched me on the arm, and somehow, that simple gesture made me turn back to face him.

"You lost someone there?"

"My family," I nodded.

"I'm sorry."

Sorry, was all he said, but somehow it was the most comforting thing he could have said. He didn't say it as an easy platitude, or out of common courtesy. He really was sorry, and that straightforward acknowledgement of my grief and acceptance of his own role in contributing to that grief blew away the last remnants of my anger.

"I hate war!" I burst out.

"I do, too."

"But – you plan battles, lead them - ."

He closed his eyes for a minute; then opened them to look directly into my eyes. "I do. I wish there were another way… the Jedi were never meant to be soldiers in any war. We are supposed to be guardians – the Senate - the Chancellor himself – has asked that we lead this fight to protect the Republic. We serve the Republic."

"And murder innocents," I murmured. I almost missed the flash in his eyes, those eyes that expressed every emotion in the man.

"You're talking about Delex IV?" he asked, quietly enough. I nodded. He sighed and passed a hand over his eyes, not like he was evading my statement, but trying to find the truest answer he could give me.

"Delex IV should not have happened. The fighting should have been contained where it started, away from the population centers. War should be between the combatants, not the innocents." He was speaking as if to himself; I wondered if he had forgotten my presence. I saw the pain in his eyes as he remembered how the battle had unfolded; how in such a short time an entire coastline had been obliterated.

"You bombed the cities," I accused him. How dare he hurt, when it was my family that had died.

"No," he contradicted me with just that one word.

"No?!" I thought, I really had thought, he wouldn't lie to me. I raised my eyes to his, to let my scorn at his lies blaze back at him, only to see the truth of his words in them. "No?"

"No one bombed any city, that I know of. Two huge ships – one of theirs and one of ours – collided high above the coastal cities. The two ships fell as one to the planet – and exploded right over the power plant. The worst case scenario happened; you know the result. It was a terrible, horrible accident. It wasn't battle tactics. It should never have happened. I tried to resign my commission, then. The Chancellor refused to accept it."

The pain in his eyes mirrored that in my mine, only I mourned a handful of people and he mourned the thousands.

I closed my eyes against this knowledge; swayed on my feet and pressed my fists to my eyes. This was almost worst than believing the Republic's army had deliberately wiped out three cities. I had hated the armies, the Jedi, as long as I had believed that. But an accident – who was there to hate for that?

I heard, more than saw, the Jedi reach out tentatively to touch my shoulder. That simple gesture, from the man I had once thought I had hated, made me turn around, and the sympathy in those eyes was my undoing. He hesitated, then let me lean against him and cry silent sobs. He patted me awkwardly; I doubt he had much experience in holding weeping women in his arms, and that thought brought a faint smile to my face. No, I was pretty sure that Jedi didn't go around embracing women as a general rule. Too bad; those arms are pretty comforting when one is distraught as I was.

I pulled away, a bit reluctantly, I'll admit, and tried to smile at him.

"I promise not to tell," he said and winked at me, echoing my earlier words to him. I had to laugh, and realized I had regained my professional composure.

"War is hell," I stated.

"It is. It is indeed." His tone was sober, and I knew, finally and fully, that it was just as hard for those who waged it, as for those who were victimized by it.

The Jedi left a few days later. I never heard the story of what brought them to our medical center, or what transpired when General Kenobi left his wounded comrades behind. The war never came close to touching me so personally again, but I followed the General's exploits with a hope that he would survive it. He had taught me much in just two short encounters.

I never forgot him, and I mourned, years later, when the Jedi were declared traitors to the Republic they had so bravely served. I never believed one word of what they said, for I knew better. Not just of that one Jedi, but of them all. Because I had met Jedi General Obi-Wan Kenobi.

Because, I had seen into his eyes.