Part Three

Obi-Wan had not slept the previous night. After setting Anakin to bed he sat up until dawn in meditation on what steps he needed to take to get a job. Over the course of the long night, the former Jedi had learned - not for the first time - just how naïve he was in the ways of the galaxy. A Jedi worked for the Order for life (himself notwithstanding) and simply did not need to go through the process of procuring employment. Even the Corps: Medical, Agricultural, the areas were Initiates were sent - they were sent there because it was decided for them. No one in the order drew pay - money was a source of greed and a step towards the Darkside; all compensation they received from missions and assignments funneled straight to thinks like upkeep of the Temple or feeding the Order or other maintenance where money was unfortunately unavoidable. In the exceedingly rare occasion where there was excess, it went to humanitarian efforts.

This left Obi-Wan sheltered, as he realized he had no idea how anyone even got a job. Oh, he knew he would have to walk around and ask people, likely go through an interview or answer a few questions, but he didn't know whom to ask or if there was anything he needed to be aware of. At first he had supposed it would have to do with the line of work he was looking for - but even in this he didn't know where to start. He had skills, certainly, but he realized he could not identify what was marketable, what would make people want to hire him. He knew he had skills in mediation and negotiation, but those skills he often used for political disputes; and he loathed politics. Such a job would also likely send him gallivanting across the planet or even the entire sector, and he was hesitant to leave Anakin for that long. He was versed in many languages, but he hadn't a clue how one got a job as a translator. He had some physical prowess, but was uncomfortable with the idea of a mercenary or bounty hunter. He wanted to do well, not create more chaos.

In the end, after those hours of meditation, he had made very little progress, and when dawn arrived he simply sighed and stood up. Anakin was still asleep but not for long and Obi-Wan gave him a few extra minutes, instead favoring a window and looking out over the expanse of Theed, his new home. The Solleu River appeared in bits and pieces between buildings, the main boulevard was eerily empty of people, though the pyres were still there, one or two still wafting smoke into the grey morning light. Mist from the river clung to parts of the city - Obi-Wan realized he would need to buy a map, the latest in a series of purchases with credits he didn't have that would be critical in order for him to conform to this, his new home.

A ship rose from beneath the falls, a political cruiser, the political cruiser that had carried the Supreme Chancellor and his entourage. And the Jedi. Master Yoda, Master Windu, they were all leaving without him, then. There was no turning back. His decision was officially irrevocable.

"...Master," he whispered, desperate for counsel, "What am I going to do?"

It still surprised him when no answer came. That hurt even more, and he closed his eyes before they could water and pressed his forehead to the glass. A hundred moments flashed before his mind's eye, looks and touches and smiles and soft gazes; all marred with, "Then I will train him," said so casually as if it never occurred to him that he still had a Padawan that needed him. "You must train the boy," his last words. The hurt was unimaginable. Obi-Wan realized he would have to come up with an answer himself; and so he took a deep breath and turned away from the window. Wallowing in self-pity would certainly not help. He needed to be productive, which in turn, meant it was time for Anakin to wake up.

"Anakin, it's time to get up."

"...echuta Watto poodoo..."

... A wonderful start to the day. Obi-Wan rubbed his forehead before shaking a small shoulder. "Anakin, it's time to wake up."

"Karking koochoo loca peedunky," he mumbled, a little more cognizant.

Yes, a wonderful start indeed. "Language, Padawan," Obi-Wan said in a firm voice. "Vulgarity gets one nowhere."

Anakin's eyes snapped open and he shot up to a sitting position. "Obi-Wan!" he said in surprise. "I was dreaming Watto was making Mom work twice as hard as I ever did 'cause he was mad that he lost me in the Boonta Eve race!"

The former Jedi nodded, tugging at his Padawan braid, half listening. "Get dressed, please. I've let you sleep in an extra hour but it's time we got going; I don't want the boulevard crowded. Prying eyes have always been annoying."

"But it was really scary! Mom was tired but she had to work anyway! What if that's really happening? I gotta go back to Tatooine and get her off that stupid rock!"

Patience, Obi-Wan reminded himself. Patience. "Anakin," he said slowly, rubbing his forehead down to his jaw. Force, he was tired. "I expect your mother to be fine given current circumstances. Most likely your dream was a way for your mind to represent your inner anxieties. You are naturally worried about her and your imagination is creating justifications for the worry. The dream will pass as the day wears on. Now please get changed, we're wasting the day."

Anakin frowned a moment longer, but finally crawled out of bed and started to dress.

Within twenty minutes they exited the Palace and walked a decent length of the main boulevard. Workers were disassembling the pyres, the ash having already been confiscated by families and friends the previous night to scatter over the falls.

"What are we doing here?" Anakin asked. The sun started to crest the oxidized copper roofs of the city.

"Training," Obi-Wan explained. "Every morning we will get up at dawn and come here. I will teach you some new move or kata, and we will spend the morning practicing."

"...But so early?" Anakin asked, rubbing an eye.

"Yes, so early," Obi-wan replied. "It is in the morning, just after sleep, that the mind is most open to training and the Force. Since I do not know how our respective schedules will settle down, for now it is best to do it at dawn. After this you will go back to the Palace with Her Majesty and I will find us proper lodging and work to pay for it."

"Why can't we just stay at the palace?" Anakin demanded, suddenly petulant.

Would they ever get started? Obi-Wan took a deep breath. "It would be a bad idea to stay at the Palace, Anakin, because Padme would be a distraction for you - as she is now I might add. In addition to that, a Jedi, above all things, is a master of himself. He or she can adapt to any circumstances to do what must be done. This requires a certain level of self-sufficiency. Would we be self-sufficient if we kept imposing on Padme's hospitality?"

"...No," Anakin mumbled. "But we can still visit her, right?"

"If she has the free time, then yes."

"Okay! Then what are we waiting for?" he demanded, suddenly excited.

Obi-Wan wisely kept his thoughts on the matter to himself and began the training. First they did work on the bond so they could better sense each other, then they worked on synchronizing to each other - the success of which startled Obi-Wan as he realized another facet of how talented Anakin was. Once they were both comfortable with the sensation, Obi-Wan took him through the first forms of Form I.

It felt...

It felt... good. When they finished, the workers had several pyres gone and had moved past them, further down the boulevard. The sun had climbed well into the sky, it was mid morning, when businesses opened and people were starting to fill the massive street. There was a calmness in Obi-Wan's mind he'd not felt for days, since his master's death, since that terrible time in the generator complex. The columns of energy, the red barriers, the red lightsaber...

"It's up to you, now."

Be productive.

Obi-Wan turned to Anakin. "Most likely you're quite hungry. Go to the Palace and have some breakfast. I hope to be back by tonight."

"Okay," Anakin said. "Be safe!"

"Pardon?"

"'Be safe.' It's what Mom always said when I went to work."

"I see. As a Jedi, you will say something with the same meaning: 'May the Force be with you.'"

"Okay. Then 'may the Force be with you.'"

"May the Force be with you. Oh, and Anakin."

"Yeah?"

"When I come back I want you to be able to explain why that phrase is redundant, especially for a Jedi."

"Aww!"

Once Anakin had disappeared up the boulevard to eat his breakfast, Obi-Wan inhaled deeply. He could smell the humid scent of the river, burnt fir needles from the pyres, and sunlight. It was a bright, cheerful day. Qui-Gon would have loved it.

"It's up to you, now."

Obi-Wan shook his head. Be productive!

He looked about the boulevard. Several buildings were ruined, the Federation's bombing having destroyed easily a third to half the plaza. Construction crews of some sort were everywhere, clearing away rubble and debris. The search for survivors had long since passed. Men were placing notices of refugee camps amid the thousands of holos of missing persons and lost family members. Obi-Wan did spy one or two shops still open; he walked into the closest one.

"Excuse me," he said softly, politely asking for attention.

The keeper looked up from making an inventory of her wares. "Shop won't be open for another day or so until I can see what's broke and what's not."

"I understand," Obi-Wan replied. "I'm not here to purchase something."

"Then go away, I'm busy."

"Milady, I am currently looking for employment and-"

Her eyes snapped up to him, assessing, calculating. "No," she answered, looking back to her work.

"I'm sorry?"

"No. You're hands are too big for the work, and you'd be too clumsy to do it anyway."

"You can hardly attest that if you don't-"

"Leave. I have inventory." With that, she picked up a box of material and disappeared to a back room.

Obi-Wan frowned but would not let one poor experience deter him. It was still early morning, he had the entire day ahead of him. He moved to the next shop, a store with a cavernous room filled with circular racks of clothing; they appeared to be separated by type. The former Jedi looked around at first, not seeing anyone though the door was open. "Hello?" he called out.

"Yeah?" a man in very tailored clothing appeared. "What can I do for - oh, goodness do you need help."

Obi-Wan blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

"What do you think you are? A down-on-his-luck Jedi? Hand-me-down robes, dirt and tears everywhere, you'd think you'd just been in battle. It simply won't do. You're lucky you came here. Now that we're free of the invaders we're all able to go back to business as usual. I'm letting you know right now, no discount. The economy is going to crumble in the next few days and I want to make the money while I can before I'm forced to drop my prices to unbearable amounts. And I'm sure the imports will still be off the charts expensive, how will a body make a living? So, what kind of look are you looking for?"

"I am looking for work," Obi-Wan answered slowly.

The man nodded. "Yes, yes, I can understand. Entire wardrobes were ruined with the invasion; businesses too, hundreds of people no longer even have businesses to go to, but the fashion! One can't expect to get work looking like that! I'll fix you right up, make you look like royalty! I have a lovely suit here that would be the perfect color for you and-"

"I fear you misunderstand my meaning, sir," Obi-Wan interjected carefully. "I am looking for work here. Are you currently employing?"

The man was brought up suddenly short, and he stared at Obi-Wan incredulously. "With a falling economy? Can I take on more help! Goodness no! Don't even consider it! But the suit, now that..."

Obi-Wan quickly left.

He learned very quickly that nobody seemed to be interested in taking employment; all offering different and varied reasons or just flat out refusing to even acknowledge him. By noontime he was becoming slightly discouraged, he wasn't completely certain what he was doing wrong. The Jedi was being polite, certainly, and those that were gracious enough to listen to him were exposed to some of his finest verbosity, but still they all said no. He'd crisscrossed the entire boulevard, those that were intact, and had found no one interested in taking him on. Was a Jedi that specialized? That unmarketable?

Exiting the latest shop he looked up to the bright sun. Obi-Wan was hungry, but he had no credits to buy food, and he solemnly refused to impose himself even more on Her Majesty. He would have to try a different district.

"You lookin' for work, yesa?"

Obi-Wan managed to hide a cringe at the distinct accent of a Gungan, and reminded himself that his experiences with the species were extremely limited and Jar Jar Binks was not one to use as a standard. On anything. Turning, he saw a Gungan of a deep brown color, easily a head taller than Obi-Wan.

"Were you referring to me?" he asked slowly.

"Yesa. You lookin' for work?"

"Yes. I don't suppose you are offering it?" Obi-Wan replied in a wry tone.

"No, nosa. Wesa in the same position. We lookin' for work, but no one givin' it. Now, me know why me not workin'; you Hisan not used to Gungan. But you, yousa goin' about this all wrong."

"Am I?" he asked, his wry tones slightly falling away.

"Yousa askin' the wrong people."

Now this was interesting. "... I am?" Obi-Wan queried.

"You askin' for work from long-bills. Deysa spendin' their time lookin' down their bills at ya. Since yousa no lookin' like a long-bill, deysa always sayin' no."

Obi-Wan considered the advice, remembering the clothes merchant who commented at length how poorly he was dressed. He simply had no other robes to utilize, but he of all people knew that presentation was often very important in negotiations. Blast, he should have been thinking about the problem like a negotiation, he would have been so much better prepared! Out on his own for only one day and already he was letting down his mas-

Be productive!

Obi-Wan worked to shrug off the negative emotions. "Well then, friend, what would you suggest?"

"Wesa lookin' for work toget'er," the Gungan replied. "Wesa have same build, and there be much workin' to pass around."

"And what kind of work would that be?" Obi-Wan asked.

"Construction."

Obi-Wan's eyes snapped to the ruins on the boulevard, the constructions crews he had simply passed by earlier as they cleared debris. Manual labor... saber training did give him the physique for it, and he would be helping rebuild the city, being useful and productive. Yes... He eyed the Gungan. "I must thank you for the suggestion; I'm afraid to admit that the thought simply never occurred to me."

"Mm. Me t'ought so. Me workin' in Ota Gunga, would still be but Boss Nass said it was time to be sayin' 'hi' to the Hisen and me likin' tryin' new t'ings."

"It would appear that we are in similar straights then," Obi-Wan said, "We are both trying new things. Shall we begin?"

"Mm. Yes."

"What is your name?"

"Augara Bow."

"I am Obi-Wan Kenobi. It is an honor to meet you."

The pair walked up to a man directing workers at one of the ruins. After a quick debate it was decided that Obi-Wan would be spokesman. "Excuse me, sir, we were wondering if there was employment for us here."

The man paused, looking at the two. "You're cloak's hiding too much," he said brusquely, "Take it off. Don't want a ninety-kay weakling thinking he can do this work."

Obi-Wan took off his deep brown cloak and a hand shot out to grip his arm. The man also made Augara perform some simple tasks before he nodded. "Good meat on you. Alright, any boulder you can carry goes into that bin there," he gestured, "And any valuables you find come to me so I can get them back to their owners. The dozers will do the rest."

"And pay?" the brown Gungan asked.

"By the pound," the man muttered, staring at a clipboard. "Not enough for standard rates yet, so for now I pay by how much hauling you do. Once the rubble's clear and we're actually building I can offer more. Rate's fifty credits a pound, shift is eight hours with half hour break for lunch in it. I don't pay for the lunch. You got housing?"

"No," Obi-Wan said, with Augara nodding.

"Only place left that's got rooms that I know of is Granpa Jafan. He ain't great but I'm guessing you both ain't in a position to complain. If not, it's the Camps. Work stops at sundown, right at curfew."

"There's a curfew?" Obi-Wan asked, remembering the late night he and many others had the previous night.

"Last night was the exception 'cause of the funeral," the man said, looking perplexed. "What, did you just get off the transport or something?"

"In a manner of speaking," Obi-Wan replied carefully. He was not in a place or position to explain his circumstances to others.

"Kay, well, a word to the new and naïve, we've been invaded for no reason by some other system and had to sit on our hands in concentration camps while they did their best to level the city and turn us into a factory planet. Now they're gone and we've got a mess to clean up; curfew is at sundown so opportunists don't loot the city and people don't kill themselves 'cause they lost everything. For the next week all businesses are closed 'cept construction so people can inventory their stock and make a list of supplies they need so we can order off planet and waste our money on overpriced aid from the Senate that will come two years too late. A third of the city is at our feet an' it's up to us to fix it; and you are wasting my time and docking your own pay if you're gonna work for me. Now get going."

Obi-Wan hesitated at first; this man had an utterly unrefined attitude and simply put, Obi-Wan didn't like him. He also understood that he didn't have much in the way of choice; there were other firms likely working, but it was late enough in the day that pay wouldn't be as much as he feared was necessary to procure lodgings. He was simply afraid that he would not find a better deal; and he just didn't know if this was a "good deal" or not.

What would Qui-Gon do...?

Be productive!

"... Where would you like me?"

When curfew came and the sun set, Obi-Wan had worked just under eight hours. While others dashed off to their dwellings and/or refugee camps to rest until the next day, Obi-Wan was left to haggle with his new foreman to get an advance on his pay so he could make a down payment on the rooms that had been suggested to him. By the time he had finally managed to win the negotiation the second moon was raising; and so he hurried to up the boulevard to secure the room and then back to the palace. One more nigh's sleep, he hoped, would not be a further imposition to Padme.

However, no sooner than he turned off the main thoroughfare that a Naboo security guard absconded him, demanding what his business was. Obi-Wan was more than happy to explain the situation, and if the officer would be kind enough to point him to the residence of "Granpa Jafan" he would no longer be a bother. Instead the officer grabbed him roughly by the arm and said there would be no trouble making on her watch and escorted him to one of the refugee camps, throwing him in one of the gates and locking it behind her. Aghast at such treatment, he stared after the woman for a moment before he decided it was simply not worth the effort. All of his muscles were screaming in protest at the work he'd performed and he was in no mood to exercise them further. Others seemed to be of similar thoughts, for everyone around him was asleep on cots or bedrolls or folded up coats and clothes. He seemed to be the only one awake.

Finding a small corner he sat down.

He hoped young Anakin would be all right; he'd promised to be back by sundown, but with the camp locked down to prevent looters he doubted he could escape until dawn when the curfew was lifted. On many levels he still didn't know what to make of the child. His presence in the Force was remarkable; he could only guess what the boy would feel like when he had more training. Anakin had the oddest notions about the oddest things, he was painfully attached to those he was close to; his mother, Padme, Qui-...

He would have to find some way to ad-hock a training saber. He knew what he needed, but he had no parts and no idea as yet whom to ask for them. It would also likely cost credits he now had but not in adequate supply. He could cobble together a stun droid and program it, and any helmet with a blast shield could do, but the training saber would quickly become an issue. Was he even allowed to have a 'saber now that he was no longer a Jedi? More often than not those with lightsabers that were not Jedi were of ill intent and Obi-Wan certainly didn't want to be misconstrued such a way, though for the immediate future he doubted he would come across any Jedi. Likely he would never meet a Jedi again... And they would make assumptions regardless...

He would have to keep an eye on the economy now, something he paid little attention to as a rule unless it affected a mission. What he'd heard from the fashion merchant and the foreman and others implied that the Trade Federation was only the beginning of a long road of tough times. Augara, the Gungan he had met, could offer little insight because his people had lived separate from the humans for eons and they did not have such a "paper-tensin'" bureaucracy. He had wanted to see the credits physically manifested, not be told that they had been transferred to an account that the foreman had set up for him while the pair were toiling away and could be withdrawn from any bank. Augara had been quite cross and Obi-Wan had been forced to pull him aside and explain what little he knew of how pay was drawn and distributed. "It makin' no sense!" Augara had said. No doubt Qui-Gon would have enjoyed the refreshingly different perspect...

Obi-Wan shook his head, determined to be productive.

The dawn hours would work well for the physical training, and the evening hours could be used for instruction and meditation - assuming the boy could sit still long enough for Obi-Wan to teach the sutras. He also needed to find another source of education for Anakin; he could not do it full time like he had hoped as a Jedi. Padme had spoken once of a Royal House of Learning. Did one have to pay for schooling? Another drain on credits. There was also the legal process of becoming Anakin's legal guardian, Padme had started the paperwork but Obi-Wan doubted such a process would be free of charge; he also didn't know what the procedure would entail. He had yet to see the apartment - it would have to be his first stop before picking up Anakin and saying his goodbyes to the queen. He needed clothes, and even furniture for the rooms, food for the next several days. He needed to assess what Anakin's splotchy education up to now had retained, datapads and communicators - though right now those would be luxury items.

Luxury items? Obi-Wan shook his head, trying to prioritize.

First: arrange for an apartment and "Granpa Jafan." If rooms were not available, he would have to stay at the Camps; he refused to have special treatment from Padme. Then, pick up Anakin for morning training and unfortunately sic him on the Queen again. Go to work and start building up credits. After his shift he would ask around for schooling for Anakin, learn what was necessary, and if he was extraordinarily lucky, enroll him to start the next day. Of course, there was no such thing as luck, so Obi-Wan knew there would be problems with this, and he cursed that he was foisting the boy on the Palace staff as much as he was. But, once both of their days had some kind of schedule he could start building up his account to make the necessary purchases. He tried to remember what kind of expenses someone might have, things he'd overheard or picked up with Qui - while he was out on missions. There would be power bills, water bills, communication bills, food, rent of course, taxes would come up yearly and Obi-Wan didn't even want to think about how many forms would be necessary to fill out for that.

Blast, forms! There would be forms for Anakin's schooling, registering them both as citizens of the planet - did his identification number still work now that he was no longer a Jedi? A Jedi didn't have a stipend, would he even have a balance on it? Papers for his employment would certainly come in the next few days, and probably hundreds of other things that he didn't even know about and he felt so overwhelmed and there was no one, no one to help him because his master was dead and he was the cause of it and there was nothing he could to do fix it and he didn't even have the Jedi and it all hurt so much and he didn't know what to do!

Looking down in the dim light Obi-Wan saw his hands shaking. His whole body was shaking, and he soon dipped his head down into his hands, curling his form almost into a ball.

Just three days ago he was a Senior Padawan with a Master and a bright future and a possible knighting on the horizon (a knighting that would have been painful because of the source, because Qui-Gon kicked him aside in favor of Anakin; but still a knighting...). His future as a Jedi lay before him: missions, adventure, the Code, training future generations, doing good in the galaxy.

In the span of twenty-four hours it disappeared. All of it. No Master, no Jedi, no Code, no future, nothing; only a boy that his master favored over him and a steadfast promise to train him that had cost him everything. Everything. Now he had so many new responsibilities he didn't know where to start. There was so much to do and not enough of him to go around and he couldn't keep asking for help - a Jedi was self-sufficient and he was already failing left and right and he didn't even have his master to give him counsel.

He was rocking back and forth slightly, his shoulders shaking.

Desperately he reached out for the Force. Help me. Please. Somebody help me. He felt guilty even for asking the Force for help.

"I will train him."

"I believe that he is the Chosen One."

"Promise me... Promise me you will train the boy."

"He... will bring balance."

"... Train him..."

It hurt. It hurt so much Obi-Wan couldn't stand it. Did he know? Did Qui-Gon know what it was going to mean to train Anakin? What it would end up costing Obi-Wan? Did he ever take Obi-Wan's feelings into account?

"No, no I'm sorry Master," he said quickly, straightening and rubbing his face. "I know, I really do." Qui-Gon was a master of the Living Force, the here and now, the life in the moment. It was the temporary things that always took his attention because he knew it would be gone in an instant if he didn't react to it at that moment. It was the lack of permanence that always made him fight so vehemently for his most recent pet or side project. Obi-Wan, he was permanent, in a way. He was a presence always by Qui-Gon's side, and because the man always knew his Padawan would be there, he didn't have to worry about him. That was how it always was. Qui-Gon didn't mean it. He didn't. He didn't. Not like that. It wasn't deliberate, it wasn't. It wasn't. Qui-Gon simply didn't think ahead. That was Obi-Wan's job. As the Padawan it would always be his jo-

Obi-Wan's hands pulled away slightly, fingers wrapped around his braid. His Padawan braid. It was made in a rush after Bandomeer, off onto the next mission. The strings, the beads, the marks of accomplishments, the milestones. It represented his life with Qui-Gon.

Memories flooded his mind. Qui-Gon's rejection of him when he fought Bruck Chun, his reprisal on the transport to Bandomeer, Obi-Wan offering his own life to save the planet, the Young, Cerasi, Qui-Gon taking him back as an apprentice, fighting Xanatos, Bruck's death and Qui-Gon's determination to stop Xanatos, Qui-Gon's words about Siri Tachi, Tahl and her death and Qui-Gon's dangerously dark actions, the mind-wipe and how Qui-Gon found him, missions, battles, adventures, dangers. But also there were quiet moments: morning tea, a massive hand on his shoulder, an approving glance, sweat and lightsabers, debriefings on transports before a mission, "pathetic life-forms," watering plants and healing wounded animals, planting seeds and meditations. All of it swept over him and the emotions threatened to even further overwhelm him.

If only he had been faster, just that much faster. Only one blasted barrier faster, he would have been at his place by his master's side; and really, he was the apprentice, the one with the least experience, it should have been he who died and not Qui-Gon. What he wouldn't give to reverse the positions! Qui-Gon would have been so much happier that way; he would have had Anakin and Obi-Wan would not have been in the way and the two were a perfect match. If only he hadn't fallen so many levels, if only he hadn't taken that blow to make him fall. He wasn't even a Knight and he was going to train a boy too old to be trained in the ways of the Force? In the ways of the Jedi? Whom was he kidding? On top of that he had to find lodging and pay bills and work who knew how long to make ends meet in order to even keep Anakin lest some service realize the truth that he was unfit to do any of this and take Anakin away and he didn't think he could survive if his one last link to Qui-Gon - however painful - could be taken away from him.

... Where was he? Where was he? Where was his master when Obi-Wan needed him most? The former Jedi looked left and right but only found the darkness of full night, the moons so high in the sky they could not even cast dim light into the tiny and overcrowded room he was in, surrounded by people who, like he, had lost everything.

He was a Jedi, he should have been better than this. He yanked at his braid. What was wrong with him? Qui-Gon had rejoined the Force, he should have been happy, like he'd told Anakin; but he wasn't, and he couldn't turn it off. Grief overrode everything, he couldn't concentrate, couldn't meditate, couldn't anything, but he had to do something, had to be productive or else it would have all been for nothing.

Help me!

Nobody answered.

The emotional tidal wave was too much, and he couldn't stop shaking.

Please! Anyone!

"You ever gonna shut up?" someone mumbled.

Startled, Obi-Wan looked up but could see no one in the darkness. He could feel the conscious, or half-conscious, mind a little to his left, against a wall. "... I'm sorry," he whispered. "I did not intend to disturb anyone."

"We're all grieving, pal. Get through whatever stage you're in and get over it."

"... Stage?"

"Five stages of grief. Now shut up an' let a man sleep."

"Here and now, Padawan. What have I always told you?"

Exhausted, Obi-Wan took a deep breath and wiped his face with his sleeves, then his hands. Inhaling through his nose, he slowly exhaled through is mouth. His body was still shaking, but he forced it to be still, to relax one muscle at a time. He did not know what the five stages of grief were, but he knew the five steps to releasing emotions to the Force. Every Jedi worked through it in different ways, and sometimes meditation helped a Padawan along. Force knew Qui-Gon had helped Obi-Wan enough times. The first three stages, Obi-Wan knew, he had gone through very quickly: Denial when Qui-Gon was impaled, his declaration of "Nooo!" Anger when he had faced the dark creature, fighting desperately to avenge his master until it had nearly cost him his life. Bargaining, when he promised his master anything he wanted in his last words, focused as Qui-Gon was only on Anakin, even in death pressed with the here and now and unable to see Obi-Wan himself. That had lasted for several hours, until he had questioned Anakin and saw beyond his bargaining and to the potentiality that the boy possessed. That meant he was in depression.

Of course he was; it was the stage he most often got stuck in, the stage he most often needed meditation for, the stage he most often called to Qui-Gon for help.

Only Qui-Gon wasn't there anymore to help him. He had to do it himself.

He had to do all of it himself.

He took a deep, shuddering breath, and tried to relax again. He had to reach acceptance. He had to. He had to move on from this so he could do what was needed of him, what was expected of him, what was his duty. Obi-Wan reached up and touched his braid again. The memories that filled him... they would do no good. They had to go.

They had to go.

It had to go.

He was a Knight now, technically. He didn't even need it anymore.

Really.

He didn't.

Fumbling slightly, Obi-Wan reached into his utility belt for his pocket blade. His hands were still shaking; he cut himself trying to open the knife, just another scratch in the myriad he had produced in his long hours of manual labor. The droplets of blood were meaningless anyway, as one fist gently wrapped around the base of his braid, holding it out from his temple. The blade was cool against his skin, and Obi-Wan ran it across his temple one quick jerky motion. His ear started to burn, not doubt he had cut it as well, but the braid fell loose in his fist, and he stared down to where it should be in the dark. One part of his mind didn't quite believe it, that it was gone now. Only it wasn't, it was still in his hands, still taunting him.

"Master," he whispered, "... I'm sorry."

And he tossed it blindly across the room, gone into the darkness, gone away from him. He heard no impact, had no idea where it landed.

A clean break.

Hours later, when false dawn started to breach the room, Obi-Wan left the Camps with a mind-trick or two to acquire a room with Jafan and gather his new Padawan.

He knew if he lingered any longer, he would loose his resolve and go looking for that braid.

"Here and now," he murmured to himself, shoving all his turmoil aside. He needed a strong face to greet his Padawan.

He hoped he hadn't worried Anakin.

Author's Notes: So much to say for this chapter. There were a couple points of inspiration for this chapter. One (which may or may not be obvious) was from a certain fic called "Shadows of the Future" that, if you've never read it, you must stop and go do now. There's a scene there where Qui-Gon, in meditation, watches a grieving Obi-Wan cut his braid. That was recycled to this with our own spin.

Another source, much more personal, was when, a couple of years ago, our parents were both in ICU in the hospital within six months of each other. Our mother for suddenly contracting an infection and entering a diabetic coma for ten days; our father for a heart that was only working at five percent capacity and needed quintuple bypass surgery. It was a rough year, and over the course of it we were literally in charge of everything: their finances, their doctors appointments, paying their bills and drawing their paychecks, fixing major appliances that had the horrible sense of timing to break down in the middle of it, feeding and dressing them when they came home, giving them their medication, and being emotional crutches for both of them while the other was in the hospital. We were overwhelmed on all levels. Tack on that Obi-Wan is grieving over Qui-Gon's death and you get his angst ridden headspace where he's trying to hard to be productive and conquer all the problems that have suddenly assaulted him and making mistakes as he does.

Obi-Wan spends a lot of time in stage four, depression; and he has a lot of reasons for that. We're walking a very fine line because of this, and we tried really hard to pair it down to a bare minimum, but these scenes when they do pop up will be necessarily heavy. Consider yourself warned. This chapter, by far, is the heaviest in the angst and we have a love/hate relationship with it as a result. Both of us dislike angst-only fics were things only go wrong and there's no escape from it. In our opinion, the reader will always need a lighthearted scene as a breather to regain emotional balance before getting ready to sink into depravity again. This chapter doesn't really have any levity to it and amounts to pure angst. Thankfully, Obi-Wan won't sink to this level again. But he will reach for it and we hope it won't be as strong as this is.

And why construction? Well, why not? After a lot of idea germination, we really liked the idea of Obi-Wan doing minimum wage work. He's so over qualified for it, but he's naïve enough that he doesn't know where to start. His training at the Temple has made him very knowledgeable, but not about certain things, and the idea of him not knowing how to get a job entertained us to no end, and we will play this joke on him a couple of times over the course of the fic as "real life" suddenly springs on him. It's true to life, in some ways, we've been out of college for years and we still will be pulled up short for something we didn't realize (er, should we be admitting that...?) like the price of health insurance and how it all adds up when you're on substitute pay.

Next week is our last "week off" and after that we'll put this story on pause and go back to Simple Steps.

Next chapter: A home. I guess...