Chapter 22. Ghosts of the Past

Tears prickled at Obi-Wan's eyes, but he refused to give in to them. He might be a Jedi in name only, but he knew no other way to behave than one.

He would not be weak and he would not give in to his emotions. Despite his determination the tears he tried so hard to restrain slipped unabated down his cheeks; he covered his face with his arm as if such were sufficient to restrain them but still they wet his skin.

A gentle hand touched his shoulder, as gentle as the tone in which "Obi" was spoken. Bant.

"No, please," he murmured, not caring how pathetic he sounded, but knowing any sympathy might well undo him.

Ignoring his words but not the silent plea of his heart, Bant just sat quietly at his side, rubbing his back, her silence and her touch giving him the permission he needed to let his emotions rage free. He shifted onto his side and buried his face in his pillow, shoulders shaking under the onslaught of no longer restrained tears.

"Don't be ashamed, Obi, it's okay to cry; this is a perfectly normal reaction after what you've gone through."

"W-weak."

Warm arms wrapped around him and with practiced ease, Bant shifted Obi-Wan so that he lay with his head against her shoulder. He wanted to protest, but her embrace was far too comforting to make the effort. Besides, when Bant was determined, nothing but the Force could deter her.

"Not weak of character, Obi." Her webbed fingers stroked through his hair, helping to calm his hitching breaths. "Weak from illness, believe me. Want me to show you the medical literature?" Despite the humor in her words, he thought he felt a tear or two drop to join his own. The thought of his pillow – soaked through with the tears of two Jedi – actually helped him to regain a modicum of control.

"Sick?" He lay quiescent in her embrace for a while, turning that thought around and over. Were these memories no more and no less than fever dreams – Naboo, Anakin – all that?

"Not – real. Good." Even he could hear the hope in his voice, just as he could see Bant's slow shake of her head. Hope evaporated like morning mist in the sun.

"Obi, you've been really ill in a way. Dreadfully ill. There's not a soul in this Temple who wouldn't have had some kind of reaction sooner or later – you've been battered in just about as many ways as any one being can be and it's going to be some time before you're well. So, admit it, you feel just a bit better for crying, now don't you?"

If he felt anything, it was drained. Exhausted and empty. But Bant, dear, sweet, caring Bant… for her he would dredge up a small gift from his heart.

"A bit - damper, perhaps," he murmured and fell asleep within the warm circle of her arms.

Outside the room, Mace stood listening quietly. He had not meant to eavesdrop on Bant and Obi-Wan, but he had sensed that it was better not to interrupt. Before he could retreat, the Force planted his feet in place.

Annoyed, Mace nonetheless stayed put.

What did the Force wish him to see? Or hear? Or – feel?

He squirmed a little at the last thought. He didn't need to feel, no more than normal compassion. He liked to think he wasn't a cold man, regardless of how he let others perceive him.

His eyes were drawn to the boy – man – cradled in the healer's arms. Obi-Wan had found a certain peace there, it seemed. When the Force could not comfort, it found another way. The Force always found a way.

Yes….perhaps that was the lesson it meant to show him. But to what purpose?

For some reason, Yoda's words on Naboo rose within his mind. Obi-Wan, he is strong…the Jedi of whom I spoke – lived long he did not. Too much damage to his mind there was – found a way to die, he did. Wanted peace and sanity, found it he did by returning home to the Force.

Mace shuddered. Obi-Wan had been devastated, true, but he had seemed on the way to recovery – or was it numbed shock? – until his nearly fatal fall had set him back.

Help him you will.

Of course, he answered the question irritably; then paused. "You" – he. "Will" – that sounded like a command, not a suggestion. Mace Windu was chosen to assist the Force.

He squared his shoulders, now understanding.

Mace would help, and not just because the Force wished it, but because – he also wished it.

It was several days after Obi-Wan's teary breakdown in Bant's arms when the two Council members sat down once more with al'Kim Hitori. They had taken it upon themselves to be the liaison between the Council and the healers.

Others of the Council were discreetly checking into anything that might give a clue as to Qui-Gon's uncharacteristic behavior and Yaddle had been in daily contact with the Crèche Master and now the teaching masters who had contact with young Anakin Skywalker.

"Much better our young one seems," Yoda observed.

Mace grunted in assent. If Obi-Wan was on his feet and moving about, eating, interacting with others per the reports, surely he was well on his way to recovery. Neither he nor Yoda had seen much of Obi-Wan, true, as the healers had always been running all manner of tests whenever they had thought to visit.

The healer leaned back in his seat. A slight frown creased his brow as if he were deciding how best to respond.

"He's…doing well," al'Kim allowed. "He's awake and aware, responsive when spoken to, but otherwise he's largely silent. He barely touches his meals, but he does eat. But he's got a ways to go yet before we can pronounce him 'well.' He's still dealing with the residual damage to his brain, the awareness that right now he is not capable of touching the Force. He's angry and frustrated and trying hard not to be. He's trying desperately hard to be what he trained to be – and he can't. He is simply incapable of being that man – that Jedi – at this time."

Despite the seriousness of the man's words, Mace threw a glance at Yoda. "Try" was his sore spot, but Yoda let it slip. As he should.

A little thump of his gimer stick against the floor was the ancient Jedi's only response. So he had caught Mace's look and interpreted it correctly.

"He's trying to cope with too much all at once, on too many levels. Psychologically, young Kenobi is at war with himself – his knowledge of who and what he was and what he feels himself to be now. That stress alone is causing further stress which he can't release into the Force. If it were not for Master Windu…."

"He would be mentally unstable and seeking – sanity?" Mace glanced at Yoda, his lips tightening as Yoda's earlier words once again played through his mind.

"Probably. I believe that particular fate has been avoided." The healer gave a little smile. "At least psychological upheaval can be treated. Insanity is rather more problematical. I would be surprised if the poor boy was not confused as to who he is."

Yoda blinked. "Obi-Wan Kenobi is who he is. That is all he needs to be."

Only a healer would dare turn a pitying eye on Yoda – and did. "You oversimplify a complex issue, with all due respect, Master Yoda. Obi-Wan Kenobi is a Jedi who relied on six senses. He was quick-witted and resourceful, rather quiet in manner and utterly devoted to his master and the Force. He has lost all that and more.

"He isn't able to think like a Jedi or even like Obi-Wan Kenobi at this time, so of course he doesn't feel like either one either. His emotions now control him when he's used to controlling them. For an already damaged mind, all of this is overwhelming. He is not the Obi-Wan Kenobi you knew; what's worse, he knows it, too. He's withdrawn into himself for sheer protection – denying the truth protects his fragile sense of self."

"Not so much denying as hiding," Mace said with a rare burst of understanding. "He's been taught not to display vulnerability by this Order, so he hides because he has no outlet to release it."

The healer nodded, tapping a stylus against his datapad. After a moment's thought, al'Kim added, "Yes, very true, he is unable to release his fears into the Force."

"Then a new approach we must teach him," Yoda finally pronounced in his gravelly voice.

"You have to reach him first, perhaps after he recovers a bit more. Kenobi's retention of information is, well…his memory is uncertain. We find ourselves repeating things we have already told him but I suspect this is just a short term, ah, 'issue.' As he fights through the mental fog still afflicting him, I suspect he will be more amenable. He's rather weak yet, though I'm willing to release him to another's custody soon once we assure ourselves he's ready to leave our custody. He can rest anywhere, and rest is what he now needs."

"We will continue to be there for him in whatever manner seems best," Mace assured the healer. "We do not expect Obi-Wan to deal with this on his own; in fact, I'll take personal responsibility for him."

"I'm glad to hear someone will look after him. In a few days or so, you should be able to take him to your quarters, if that is what you planned?" With a soft cough, al'Kim added a warning, "However, Master Windu, I must again warn you he is quite fragile."

Mace nodded, not at all perturbed. "I am quite aware of that."

"Good for our youngling he will be," Yoda pronounced, the soft twinkle in his eyes allaying the healer's concerns, if any. "Consideration and compassion Mace Windu is more than capable of showing when he deems it appropriate."

"Just keep that knowledge to yourself!" Mace admonished with a growl. "I do have a reputation to maintain."

Doing his best to restrain a twitch of amusement, al'Kim nodded gravely. Mace just knew that inside the healer was chortling with glee, oh, he could well imagine his thoughts: Mace Windu, Council disciplinarian – and old softie?

One thought rang loud and clear through the Force, however: Maybe Mace Windu was just what Obi-Wan Kenobi needed right now – no nonsense caring.

Mace hoped so, too.

"There," Qui-Gon said with satisfaction. All of Obi-Wan's things were now boxed and ready to be moved out so that Anakin could move in. He stood with a hand on the boy's shoulder.

"Qui-Gon, sir," small eyes peered up at the big Jedi with a bashful grin. "I've never had a whole room of my own like this or – or anyone besides Mom who thinks I'm special."

A sudden sniff and Qui-Gon kneeled, wrapping the boy in a hug. "You are special, Ani, very special. Don't worry; everyone will see, in time, just how special you are."

"Even him?"

"Obi-Wan?" A genuine frown of puzzlement creased the noble face. "Why do you even care what he thinks? I don't care and you shouldn't either." With a bit of difficulty, Qui-Gon tried to release the anger and frustration that washed over him at Anakin's obvious distress. Why did the shadow of Obi-Wan loom so large over this boy?

"I don't care what he thinks – but you do," Anakin burst out. Tears came to his eyes. "I'll never be like him, no more than a prophecy, no matter how hard -"

Qui-Gon blanched at the thought that this small boy believed he was not wanted for himself, but for something he represented. Long ago had he not allowed Obi-Wan to feel accepted not for himself, but out of gratefulness for the boy's actions – and look how that had ended up! To be rejected for who one was and accepted for what one was, was a terrible, terrible thing to do to another being.

"Oh, Ani, child, shush. I don't want you to be like him – you're far better than he." Even as the words left his mouth, Qui-Gon frowned. Better? Since when had he classified any being on a scale, ranking them by some arbitrary criteria? Worth was a measure of degree, but all – all – were worthy to some degree. Even – even Obi-Wan.

Is he? the Force reminded him.

"Yes, Ani, I cared for Obi-Wan, once, but my disappointment in him runs deep. It turns out I didn't know him half as well as I thought."

"So you don't want him back?" Anakin's lip quivered.

"Force, no!" Qui-Gon's eyes went wide at the thought – and the unwelcome recognition that some part of him wanted to weep for what had been lost. That was the part that blindly clung to a desperate faith that things were just all wrong, that whatever the whispers of the Force said, his heart knew they spoke not truth. "I want nothing to do with him after the way he's treated you."

Or the way he treats the Force – his arrogance and defiance of its Will.

"We both discovered he hid a vengeful, nasty streak deep inside and," he blinked, a tendril of remembrance surfacing, of anger and fear and a padawan charging to the attack. "I fear he was not as anchored to the light as I thought – he succumbed to his darker emotions far too easily."

His allegiance is in question, is it not?

"I fear – I fear he's tainted."

There it was again, that fear that scrabbled deep inside. Just when had that fear awoken, what knowledge or suspicion?

He slew the Sith – fueled by hate. The Force knew that; it told him that, told him that he must be sure the Council knew that.

Love fueled his hate – and love had surmounted hate. Some part of him clung to doubt of the Force's whispers, clung to a desperate wish that ten years together were not ten years of deceit.

"The dark?"

Such innocence – of course, Anakin would know nothing of the dark side. He was, however, only human. Not matter how good-natured, how generous the boy was, he could be hurt and he could be angered – he would need to know how dangerous such emotions could be for a Jedi, if not recognized and released.

Qui-Gon gently grasped the boy's forearms and gazed into his eyes. Here, he started here with the most important lesson he could impart. He would not lose another apprentice.

"A Jedi does not act on emotions, Anakin, only on the Force's will. When a Jedi lets anger and fear control his actions, he is slipping down a path one should not travel. Obi-Wan fought – and I suspect killed – the Sith out of revenge for my supposed death and fear for his own life."

Had dark side energies aided Obi-Wan's life-saving efforts as well? Could he himself have been inadvertently contaminated with tendrils of dark because of Obi-Wan's actions – could that be why he was sometimes so easily irritated?

He quickly quelled the panic. It would be easy enough to find out and deal with now that he was aware there was a possibility of such. Not now.

"Ani, from now on, you are not to worry about Obi-Wan. He's not part of your life or mine. You are my padawan – because I want you. You are a kind, selfless and generous soul and you'll make an equally kind, selfless and generous Jedi."

He was rewarded with a bright and shy smile. Anakin reacted so well to positive reinforcement – he would a joy to teach. All it would take was praise for a job well done and the boy would go out of his way to do even better.

"I'm going to learn lots from you, aren't I?"

Qui-Gon smiled at the enthusiasm in his young voice.

"I'm going to be the best Jedi ever and the most powerful ever – and all because of you, Master Qui-Gon."

Gratitude towards this boy engulfed him. Yes, Anakin would be strong and wise. He would be a most worthy servant of the Force and an inspiration to the entire Order – and he already thought to credit Qui-Gon for the success to come. Such devotion, so freely offered, nearly brought tears to his eyes.

"No, child – all I can do is to help you unlock your own strength. Greatness already lies within you; my task is only to guide you to its fullest expression. You are already truly powerful, my padawan – you just need to learn how to access the Force so that it flows through you without impediment."

"And then I'll save everyone, even," Anakin bit his lip, suddenly whispering. His eyes darted to Qui-Gon, to his hands and he spoke in a pained whisper, "even my, my mom."

Tears shone in his eyes; little hands scrubbed them away. Pain such as Qui-Gon had never yet encountered shimmered in waves off the boy. He was the "Chosen One" – and yet he was also a homesick young boy, taken away from a mother left in virtual chains.

Qui-Gon squeezed the boy's shoulder and smiled, a tear in his own eye. He knew the Force would protect Shmi Skywalker; it told him to leave her in its hands. "I should have done this before now, but I wanted to make this special." I want to make you feel at home, here. "Follow me."

With Anakin trotting behind, Qui-Gon went to the doorway but rather than leading his padawan somewhere, he stopped outside the door and with a flourish produced a shiny nameplate. Q. Jinn with A. Skywalker below it.

"Why don't you do the honors?" He held out the nameplate.

With a quick flash of his hand, Anakin yanked off the once equally as shining nameplate. Qui-Gon tossed it with a flick of the Force into the nearest trash receptacle as Anakin affixed the replacement.

"Wonderful." Qui-Gon stood with his hands on the boy's shoulders as both stared proudly at it.

"Welcome, my padawan." Master Dooku nodded formally and led the way into his quarters – no, their – quarters. Qui-Gon was proud. He was a padawan now. Master Dooku might be all formality, but he was a good Jedi. He might never become a true friend, but he would be a good master.

"Welcome, my padawan." Such a smile there had been on his padawan's face. Qui-Gon had vowed to be a friend as well as a master to this one. That had, perhaps, been a mistake. He hadn't known it then.

"Welcome, my padawan." The words were a bit stilted; after all, they'd already been master and padawan for several months. It seemed awkward to have this little ceremony at this time. It would be more awkward to skip it entirely. Obi-Wan hadn't seemed to mind. He had run his fingers over the nameplate and his shining face had said it all: he belonged, he was home. Qui-Gon wondered then why it had taken him so long – had he really held the boy aloof, testing him, uncertain of him or was it the lack of time from all the missions they'd been on?

"Welcome, my padawan." After the ceremonial utterance, he urged Anakin inside, but the boy refused to budge. He ran a proud hand over the nameplate.

It was a proud moment, for them both. He sensed that his padawan's heart was overflowing with happiness, just as his was, confirmed just a moment later.

"Wizard!" Anakin beamed up at the tall Jedi.

Blue eyes – sapphire eyes - stared at him.

Once, they had been blue-gray. Qui-Gon blinked. Why had that image popped into his mind? He banished the eyes from memory, just as he had already banished the owner of those eyes from his heart.

That one no longer existed to him.