Suddenly, it recently appeared(after the last two chapters) that all reviewers have disappeared (from my email inbox) and I thought this story had lost all its readers. Lo and behold, I out of mere curiosity click on reviews - and surprise. Sadly, it makes any individual responses a lot more difficult.

So, instead, a group response. Thank you for continuing to read.

Chapter 31. Overcoming Inertia

"Well, now." Blue-gray eyes framed by long, thick lashes above somewhat round cheeks and a chin with a bit of a cleft in it gazed thoughtfully right back at him. "I think I know you."

It was a wonderful revelation, proof of how far back he had fought.

Only in hindsight had Obi-Wan become fully aware of the extent of the plots to involve him back into Temple life and of all who were involved. How could he not, when he had been urged to the gardens, urged to the crèche, urged to the classrooms and the dining hall.

And he was grateful that they cared.

Unaware of just what exactly was going on, he had let himself be drawn into the plans, protests muted – not sure if he wished to protest or comply – not sure he had the strength to fight – but determined whatever was going on, it all was in his best interest. Yoda had made that all too clear to him though it had been Mace's steadfast support that had supported him through the shock of facing all his pain. He had needed to do more than just face it, but to release it and move past it, a process he was clearly now well into. "It" would no longer have the power to paralyze him because he would not allow it that power over him.

The constant encouragement, even the recent dive into his past had made Obi-Wan wish to reclaim the man he had found in holopics and mission reports. No, it was not enough to drift through his life. Drifting was not living, even if drifting had numbed the pain. There could be no growth without effort, nothing worthwhile to achieve without work.

And not a few tears along the way, he thought with a sigh, not all behind him, not yet. His grasp on his emotions was still tenuous, that of a half-trained Jedi rather than the almost-knight he was. Mace Windu had made it clear that his promotion was a formality only, only lacking the ceremony to make it official and public – but he hadn't accepted that in his mind or soul. He couldn't accept it, not until he could look into the mirror and see a knight, not the wide-eyed young man still unsure that the Padawan Kenobi he had been had yet been resurrected.

Hurdles – there were still hurdles to overcome and goals to achieve before that day arrived.

The healers told him his recovery was going well, despite the occasional mental blank spots that continued to plague him, the now nearly imperceptible tremors in his hands or the frustrating inability to "mind his feelings."

Not to mention the mental itch; a memory hidden and tapping at his mind, a "feeling" neither good nor ill as yet – was it the Force seeking readmittance to his mind, or echoes of cellular damage undergoing repair?

Healing well: despite the somewhat haunting and barely acknowledged fear that somewhere along the way he would stall: part the broken man he had been and part the Jedi he had worked so hard to be. A dread of being an object of sympathy? His colleagues would never "pity" him; pity was an emotion appropriate for circumstances, not people, according to Jedi teachings.

"Pity" was dehumanizing.

And being tossed aside like yesterday's outdated model was not?

Obi-Wan took a deep breath – and slowly released it.

He had his fair share of successful missions under his belt, even some solo ones. So he wasn't the latest and greatest model of padawan – who was?

Anakin Skywalker, his mind stated wryly.

The Chosen One should be, he argued back.

And found he believed it. Maybe – maybe the Force had truly guided Qui-Gon to train this boy. He examined the idea with some interest. Force knew Qui-Gon Jinn was not the most tactful of men when he felt the Force's will was being willfully thwarted by the combined obstinacy of the Council.

I didn't make it easy on him did I?

Did you ever?

Did you use to argue with yourself all the time? Two heads shook their head at the foolishness of that question.

Maybe he just needed to look outward, not inward for a while before he started worrying about what other Jedi thought of him – maybe start thinking about his friends and how they only wished to be his friends. Some friend he was by shutting them out.

I am a fool!

Obi-Wan made a face in the mirror, a slightly goofy face this time and one mirrored right back at him. You definitelyare a fool! He grinned, and the face grinned back – this time, his breath caught in his throat. That face reminded him of the face in some of the holopics Mace Windu had retrieved for him. Obi-Wan Kenobi's face, not some stranger's.

His face.

A pleasant enough face, he mused, no longer the mournful and hollow-eyed face that had stared at him each morning for far too long now.

"Hmm," he finally pronounced. "Well, now - that's good, very good."

His hair was getting a bit long, his braid a bit tattered – not the usual look he went for, but common enough after a long and harrowing mission. You really ought to take a bit more pride in your appearance.

Should I now? He lifted a rakish eyebrow at his reflection.

Your focus is your reality, Kenobi! He even found a smile in him at the oft-heard admonishment running through his mind.

A knock at the door had him wondering how long he'd been gazing so intently at himself. Running a hand over his now smooth chin, he reached for the door.

"Sorry, Master Windu, I didn't mean to take so long."

"As long as you didn't try to hurry," was the dry response.

Obi-Wan stared; then grinned as he caught the joke. He crossed his arms and stated, "A Jedi does not try – or at least admit that out loud. Master Yoda has very big ears."

Shaking his head, Mace took a step inside; then laid a hand on Obi-Wan's arm as he meant to exit the fresher. The Jedi master cleared his throat and coughed; then his hand caught the disheveled braid.

"It's a bit ratty and needs to be redone; I'd be pleased if you'd allow me the honor."

Suddenly, Obi-Wan's throat was too dry for words. "I – I –"

"That's okay." It might have been the first and only time Obi-Wan had heard the Korun master at a loss for words. Obi-Wan grasped at his sleeve before he could make his escape. He bit his lip, then reached up with his other hand and undid the tie that held his braid together. He held onto it until Mace's hand came up to catch the beads and ribbons once he let go.

"Please."

With a silent nod, Mace replaited the braid. Still silent, he clasped Obi-Wan's shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze before exiting the fresher.

With eyes that were a tad bit too bright, Obi-Wan turned back to the mirror. It was quite possible the worst braiding job he had ever seen; the strands uneven and the beads off center, but at least all the loose strands were firmly back in place. A poke here and a tug there would straighten it out beautifully. Obi-Wan's hand half rose, hesitated, and then lowered to his side. It would be a shame to ruin what Mace's fingers had so carefully wrought.

Obi-Wan tilted his head - and smiled. He decided to leave this gift from one not-so-fearsome Jedi master it just the way it was.

Deft, strangely certain fingers finished weaving the braid that signified their pairing.

"A trifle crooked." He grinned and shook his head, remembering his own awed delight years back. It had been perfect, perhaps the best braid ever seen in the Temple, at least until his curious fingers twirled a little too hard. Like everything else he touched, Master Dooku had woven a precisely even, perfectly aligned braid. He had not quite managed to raise a precisely even, perfectly aligned knight to match.

He had been a trial and a tribulation to his master on quite a few occasions, as he remembered. Despite their differing personalities, they had managed to get on quite well on a professional level. He hadn't wanted or needed a father-figure nor was Dooku one to consent to such a relationship. Qui-Gon wanted to learn and Dooku wished to teach.

This one kneeling before him was already more than just student: a friend, a son in many ways. He had been drawn to the boy upon their first meeting: a charmer with an enchanting smile and an affinity for the Living Force even at such a young age. No, there would be no trials and tribulations with this one, he was convinced. Convinced to meditate on his choice for padawan, he had sought affirmation through the Force.

And how it had come, nearly crashing him to his knees with wave upon wave approval and satisfaction.

"So sure are you of what it is that the Force is rejoicing?" Yoda had voiced, echoed by Master Dooku.

He was sure. There had never been any doubt in his mind, then or now.

His fingers traced fondly through the raven locks, dropped onto the slim shoulders and guided his new apprentice to a mirror. Pride was reflected in both pairs of eyes. "What do you think, Padawan?"

"Xani…," Qui-Gon murmured brokenly and shifted restlessly in his sleep. The dream fractured and reformed.

He held the strands of the braid in his hand, incomplete as yet. He was beholden to the boy, already committed to being his master by the simple offer and acceptance of training. There was no longer any doubt that the boy had the makings of a Jedi, no doubt that his open emotions needed restraint. This pairing was ordained by the Force and so he no longer fought it. He had made peace with it and found acceptance, his denial and objections swept away by one simple gift – that of a boy preparing to give his life up to save others.

He had finally understood: this boy was Jedi.

But there was little in the way of magic in their pairing; only prosaic acceptance that this was the Force's will. He would be a good master to this boy; he would be teacher and mentor. He hadn't within him to be more.

But perhaps Obi-Wan had it within him to change things. He would not resist it, should it happen, but he would not pursue it either.

He would leave this to the Force to decide, for he did not trust himself, nor yet, Obi-Wan. Only, and always, the Force.

Carefully easing out a sigh, he slipped the final loop onto the braid and let it dangle, this fire bright stand of spun gold, and russet brown which matched the fire bright spirit.

"Well, I guess it is official now, Padawan." He smiled and tugged the braid as a smile spread over the young face that turned to look at him. It suddenly struck him that everything about this boy was bright: spirit, eyes and smile - everything except his master. He squeezed the boy's shoulder and stood, a hint of melancholy and sorrow intermixed with a dash of satisfaction and hope lurking deep within.

It was months before he touched the boy again, other than to correct a saber grip, tend a mild saber burn or replait an unkempt braid.

"And I didn't touch him again for several months…" The shamed thought accompanied his rise to consciousness. Qui-Gon groaned, turned over and dropped back to the bed.

"I have a new padawan now," he lectured the Force, his voice muffled against his pillow. "Why these dreams of those who have passed out of my life?"

The Force was silent.

Qui-Gon sighed. He knew the answer without the Force's prompting: all lives left imprints on all those others with whom they interacted. He would never be free of Xanatos or Obi-Wan.

With that depressing thought, he pulled the pillow over his head and sought for sleep.

I will reach for my future rather than let it come to me. I will stand on my own two feet and let Master Windu and Yoda only give me a hand up when I fall, rather than leaning on them all the time.

It had become Obi-Wan's mantra, a reminder that there could be no success without striving. Without the Force to guide him, he had to rely on such words. Sometimes he wasn't sure he wanted to touch the Force again; sometimes he wanted to cry at its absence from his life. It had offered solace and guidance for so long, tingled through his blood and cells offering a clarity of sight and connection that now seemed almost a dream – and had sizzled through him on Naboo with such excruciating pain as he never wished to experience again.

It had carried him through those first forays into Temple life, past his fear of being labeled as crazy, or half-a-Jedi, or whatever his imagination could drum up.

Do not let fear guide you, Obi-Wan. It had not been a reproof, but gentle encouragement from Master Yoda.

Fear had nearly strangled him at one of Mace's suggestions.

At first he was urged to the gardens; at first he had tried to demur.

"Qui-Gon won't be there, Obi-Wan."

"But – "

"Unless you bring him."

He swallowed hard, and nodded, accepting the reminder. Regardless of external forces, it was a Jedi's internal focus that governed his reactions for better or worse. It was the principle underlying many Jedi tests.

He went to the gardens.

And felt just a bit stronger.

He went a second time, then a third.

When he heard a burst of childish laughter not far away, rather than shying away as once before, he paused and turned towards them. His eyes strayed to their unseen presence, betraying a certain lingering wistfulness for the days when the biggest hurts were easily bandaged and easily forgotten.

Others watched and noticed, and were heartened.

Tales of the oft-wondered about absent-from-sight padawan slowly spread through the Temple. Whatever mysterious malady affected Obi-Wan Kenobi seemed to be moderating. Rumor once had had it that he had been left half-crippled, brain-damaged, a man unlikely ever to participate in Temple life again. Such was all but now proven false since the rarely glimpsed Jedi was occasionally in evidence, often alone or in company with a healer, Yoda, or the most unlikely of companions, Master Windu himself.

Oh, it was true, his gait was just a bit stiff, his grin just a bit lopsided if present and his eyes just a bit wary - but he was getting around without help, not like that time he was practically held upright by – oh, yes, indeed, Master Windu himself – when first leaving the healers. Well, no, he wasn't seen to spar or anything like that. He had lost his lightsaber in his duel, that was true, but he could have used a training one temporarily.

And while he had never been known as exuberant and outgoing, he had always been courteous and pleasant in manner before this. Approachable, but now he was a bit distant as it were.

And his focus and attention to the moment - he startled if one approached silently – it was like he was unable to sense anyone around him, that he had to see or hear them like those unfortunate souls who could not touch the Force.

But the invisible man was no more.

He now went to the gardens as well, every day it seemed, not just to physical therapy and not just to the mind healers. Just because he went there didn't mean anything, of course – the Council required sessions after any traumatic mission. Sure, he could be crazy, but he wasn't.

Because he was still Padawan Kenobi, even if padawan to – well, who now? But at least he was no longer the invisible casualty of Naboo.

That had to be good, didn't it?

Master Windu knows me too well!

With little conscious thought to guide him there, Obi-Wan found himself hesitating outside the crèche one morning. With a soft mental command to move, he licked his lips and stepped forward into controlled bedlam.

"Crèche Master Soletna has a few new arrivals of various ages," Mace had casually mentioned over breakfast, a datapad in his hand as Obi-Wan served first meal. New additions to the Order were usually half a standard year to two years old, though some arrived as newborns and a few as late as three.

Many were a bit scared and uncertain at first, lost amongst strangers. Bolas Soletna took charge of the newcomers; his warm manner and gentle ways usually settled the youngsters down within a day or so of arrival; his ability to wrap the Force around each to ease their transition from their old lives to the new was almost legendary.

Obi-Wan had no memory of his own arrival. The Temple had always been his home, as far as he knew. If there had ever been a mother's arms around him, he would not know. He had never inquired.

He did not care to know if his mother shed tears – or sighed in relief.

"Need another hand for a few hours, Master Soletna?" Obi-Wan diffidently inquired.

"Obi-Wan!" The smile that graced the man's face was undimmed by the years as he looked over his shoulder. "The more the merrier, I always say – more attention for the wee ones. Hey, mind little Y'ellian by your feet, would you? That child crawls faster than your friend Reeft used to shovel food down his throat."

A tiny hand clutched at Obi-Wan's pant leg as he glanced down. Before he could squat, Y'ellian rocked onto small feet and promptly fell against Obi-Wan's leg, landing with a bump on her rear.

"Trying to get the hang of standing up?" Obi-Wan kneeled and raised the child to her feet, holding onto her hands.

Solemn eyes stared back at him, and then the child promptly burst into tears. "M'mah'a," she hiccupped.

"M'mah'a is not here just now," Obi-Wan said softly, gleaning who "M'ma'a" was from the tears as well as the syllables. Mom, Mother, Mama – in all humanoid cultures the word sounded much alike. "M'mah'a thought you'd be happier here, amongst others like you. Will you let us make you happy, little young?"

As abruptly as the tears fell, a tiny nod of the head followed. If she didn't understand Basic yet, she understood she had found a friend.

"The wee ones always cure what ails you," Master Solenta said cheerfully, carefully refraining from making any direct references to Obi-Wan. The young man was grateful, though he had known the old master would not make him uncomfortable. It was one reason he had ventured here, it was a safe and small step forward.

He could let go of any worries here – and just play.

So he did.