Jango, with the information he had in hand, had just landed on Coruscant to complete his mission. His sponsor had provided him with a description and the probable location of the item he was to retrieve.

The Senate was swarming with soldiers, trying to maintain order and calm among the dignitaries, who were getting very nervous after the last few events. Jango took advantage of the fact that most security guards were wearing his face. Jango had long kept a suit of clone armor on hand, which allowed him to infiltrate rather easily into any place where the Grand Army of the Republic was deployed. Jango would simply blend in with the troopers and look determined when he went anywhere. The Clones were characterized by their unwavering loyalty to one another. It didn't come naturally to them to doubt the intentions of a member of their extended family, and Jango exploited this weakness shamelessly.

It didn't take long for him to infiltrate the crisis center, as luckily, no Jedi or other officials seemed to be present at the moment. Quickly consulting some of the reports he saw, he realized that the object he would need to retrieve had been moved to the Jedi Temple, and that he would probably have to go there to complete his mission. Jango didn't look forward to infiltrating the Temple, and preparing for that operation would be a pain in the ass.

By including himself in some of the discussions, Jango learned incidentally that the Republic Chancellor was apparently a Sith lord, a historical enemy of the Jedi and the Republic. Though kept tightly under wraps, the information was still getting out within the military. Jango had also been able to obtain a copy of an interesting recording.

In his line of work, it paid off –and it saved your life– to have good instincts. And this whole thing screamed to him that something fishy was afoot. He really didn't like the direction things were going.

Jango would have to move quickly, undetected, to get back to Boba as soon as possible. He owed it to his boy to keep him safe, and as far away as possible from operations that might have far-reaching consequences. Doubt was growing in his mind about his role in forming an essential part of the plan to eliminate the Jedi Order once and for all. When he had agreed to serve as a Template for the Clone Army, he had been told from the start that the clones would be used to bring down the Jedi. At the time, he had thought that revenge would be sweet, to finally pay back those responsible for the eradication of his family.

He wasn't sure what he was beginning to feel, but he could sense that the cold anger that had been driving him constantly since Galidraan was beginning to be tinged with doubts and questions. In retrospect, he realized that all of them, Mandalorians and Jedi alike, had been mere pawns in a ruthless game for gaining power.

Jango had kept himself from digging deeper. He felt that if he wanted to protect Boba, he had better not alienate some of his employers.

It had been years since he took care of only accepting jobs that seemed clear of fishy implications, or outright dangerous, but he couldn't reasonably turn down specific requests without incurring the wrath of the wrong people.

With what he had just learned, he felt it was time to retire –for a while at least. He would finish this job, which happened to be just a simple item retrieval, then join Boba and disappear.

]o[

Obi-Wan's head was spinning horribly. The drop, in addition to the fatigue and psychic damage he had suffered, had made the situation dramatically worse.

They had fallen upon a relatively isolated platform, probably used as an unloading platform for an unused warehouse. Nobody was present to observe the scene.

Obi-Wan recognized, in a slightly removed part of his mind, that he was in a bad situation. Emotionally, he no longer had the strength to care.

He knew that his present situation was only the consequence of a series of bad decisions and bad executions –perhaps mixed with bad luck as well– and he was angry with himself for having messed up so impressively.

Quinlan looked like a cat who had just caught a particularly tasty bird. Obi-Wan felt strongly like he was prey, but his psyche refused to perceive Quinlan as a real threat. Obi-Wan had too many memories of Quinlan demonstrating unquestioning loyalty to those he loved, often at the expense of rules and laws. It was this loyalty that had saved him from the Empire for a time.

But this Quinlan didn't know him, and he had no reason to be loyal or accommodating to Obi-Wan.

Anyway, here he was, literally in Quinlan's hands, and Obi-Wan had no strength to fight back. Even if he could find a way to throw the Kiffar off him, he would have to run away and never come back on Coruscant as he was. Obi-Wan, deep down, knew he wasn't ready for that yet, and that was maybe why he had made such decisions that had decisively worsened his situation. Obi-Wan had, unreasonably, hoped not to have to permanently cut off the shadow of family he had allowed himself to have in this life.

He hadn't wanted to be alone again.

With the death of Sidious, Obi-Wan had caught himself nurturing the aspiration that his condition and life would finally improve in the affective department. But hope had doomed him once more.

He should have known better than to expect anything else. He was destined to mess up horribly. After all, it was entirely his fault that things had gone so dramatically wrong in his first life.

Whenever Obi-Wan was involved in something, it invariably ended in tragedy, and he was responsible for so many deaths that whenever he caught himself thinking about it, it put him in such a dark mood that he could hardly get out without a good deal of meditation.

Yet his natural stubbornness had always kept him from giving up. Perhaps he should have learned to let it go sooner, and entrust his responsibilities to others who surely would have handled the circumstances far more effectively than he did.

Quinlan continued to exert his strength to hold him down, applying painful pressure to his shoulders. The pain shook him out of his uncontrollably spiraling thoughts.

"You're obviously not what you're trying to appear, are you?"

Obi-Wan closed his eyes, trying to focus on the present. "And what are you going to do with this information?"

"Dunno, what should I do with it, you tell me?"

Obi-Wan frowned. What exactly did Quinlan want? The Kiffar had seemed to be enjoying himself since almost the beginning of their confrontation. Apparently, Quinlan wasn't treating him as a real threat either. What could he be perceiving about Obi-Wan that made him act that way?

"Report me and imprison me for high treason?" said Obi-Wan, boldly.

Quinlan's smile widened, showing far too many teeth for comfort when the man was so close to Obi-Wan's face.

During his second life, Obi-Wan did his best to keep away from the man. Quinlan's gifts in psychometrics made him dangerous, because it probably made him capable of picking up information that Obi-Wan wanted to keep secret. He wasn't sure what exactly Quinlan could pick up with his extra sense, when he touched an object or a person, but he preferred to play it safe and stay away from Quinlan's perceptions.

One of the aspects Obi-Wan found most difficult in his new life was maintaining a form of isolation from the bonds he had cultivated in his previous life. The end goal was to do whatever it took to keep all of his precious people alive, to prevent their lives from being blown away too soon by the diabolical machinations of a corrupt madman.

Obi-Wan had long accepted that friendships and meaningful connections would not be for him anymore.

He had needed to stay in the shadows and act freely, without ties and loyalties keeping him from making the necessary decisions. Obi-Wan was lucid, however. He knew well that his nature, whatever the trials he had to go through, flourished in the bonds of friendship. He couldn't help it, and that was why he chose a path that would keep him in isolation and loneliness.

Quinlan had been a precious friend, once. He was not today, and the Kiffar had no reason to be lenient now.

"Ah. Is killing a Sith Lord hidden in plain sight treason? That's obviously not the Jedi way, but I'm not sure if your deed can be qualified as a true criminal act."

Quinlan straightened up, without getting off him. He seemed to be getting comfortable, seated like this on Obi-Wan, who was beginning to have trouble breathing.

The Kiffar grabbed his comm, and, when the call connected, he announced: "Commander Fox, I've lost the target. I repeat, I've lost the target. I have an urgent meeting at the Temple; we'll debrief tonight. Good luck getting the barracks back in shape."

Obi-Wan was speechless. He didn't understand anything anymore. In fact, he felt as if the threads of his sanity were growing weaker and weaker, as the humming grew louder and louder and turned into a roar, to the point of drowning out Coruscant's constant soundscape. He tried to compartmentalize the pain as he always did, to try to keep his focus on the present. He had to get to the bottom of Quinlan's motives.

"Wha-" The nausea hit him hard, as if, after all those hours of keeping the pain at bay, a dam had suddenly broken. He retched uncontrollably, and a groan escaped him.

"Whoa, are you all right?" Quinlan said, getting to his feet. "You look like shit, man. Did I hurt you?"

Obi-Wan shook his head, immediately worsening his nausea. "Uugh," he said, inarticulately. He took a deep breath to clear his head, but nothing helped. Quinlan tried to help him up, but Obi-Wan had no strength left. He could feel the unconsciousness creeping into his mind, like a slow, but unstoppable takeover.

]o[

Ben Kenobi, a decade after the rise of the Empire, reunited with Quinlan Vos.

The Resistance was organizing around charismatic individuals like Bail Organa and Mon Mothma. These men and women refused to bend the knee, and had not given up hope. Despite a galaxy fractured by allegiances and betrayed loyalties, the Resistance was gaining strength and momentum. Citizens of the Empire were joining their ranks every day, willing to sacrifice everything to advance their cause: to regain the freedom they once had, and the confidence they once had in the future.

For the Resistance, the rare days when, with luck and sheer stubbornness, they managed to bring a Jedi into their struggle were particularly special.

The Jedi had become legends, hunted down to the last representative by the Empire's bloodhounds, of which Vader was the most infamous agent.

In the minds of the people, and with the massive disinformation campaigns the Siths had unrelentely orchestrated, the word Jedi had become an insult, a synonym for traitor of the worst kind.

The Resistance knew better, and its leaders knew intimately that they could not win the war without the Jedi, without those Force Users trained all their lives to fight against corruption and the lure of power.

Ben Kenobi had stayed in touch with the nascent Resistance from the beginning. He had helped organize and structure it, and had taken on the role of being a beacon for any Jedi in hiding or in need of guidance in the darkness that was now their existence.

It was his way of finding redemption.

Ben had contributed to the downfall of the Republic by failing to protect Anakin from the influence of the Sith Lord, even though that had been his first duty as Master to his Padawan.

He had been an utter failure as a Jedi since he had been chosen by Qui-Gon. Deep down, he was somehow convinced that the galaxy would have been better off if he had joined AgriCorp on Bandomeer. It was an old demon that had plagued him for a long time after Qui-Gon's death, for which he had long held himself responsible. With time, wisdom, and frequent visits to the Jedi Mind Healer, he had managed to make peace with his guilt.

But on the day when everything fell apart, when he felt the simultaneous deaths of so many of his sisters and brothers, the guilt collapsed into a black hole from which nothing could escape.

Ben Kenobi wore his guilt like a cloak from which he could not escape.

But hope had not yet left him, and was not quite dead. He and his team managed to track down some of the Jedi before Vader and his Inquisitors found them.

For many of them, they were too late. For the Force Sensitives in Darth Sidious' galaxy, it was die or convert to the dark side.

Still, they had managed to save some of them, former padawans or younglings who were too young to have been able to fight during the purge, and who had learned very quickly to keep their mouths shut and keep hiding.

All of them were heavily traumatized, having witnessed, through the Force bonds forged with the other Jedi, the mass murder that had fallen upon their attachment figures at the hands of people they trusted.

Faith was a precious thing, all too rare, and so dangerous.

Ben had followed Quinlan's lead. The Kiffar had disappeared long before the Purge, which had allowed him to survive when many others had lost their lives. Vos had always had a complicated relationship with the injunctions and rigid principles of the Jedi Order. He had always been a man who cultivated independence, whose morals could be flexible depending on the circumstances, and who distrusted absolutes. That had saved him. For a time.

Quinlan had settled down. He'd been a tireless traveler across the galaxy as a Jedi Master, specializing in infiltration and intelligence missions, but now he'd chosen a simple, sedentary life on a remote planet in the outer rim.

Apparently, he had managed to keep a low profile until, like all Jedi, his sense of justice overcame the need to remain anonymous.

He used his abilities to save a farm family from pirates, and in the process, word of his presence spread like wildfire.

The Resistance had fairly good intelligence networks, and had traced the existence of a Force User powerful enough to incapacitate an entire band of over armed pirates.

Ben followed the trail from there.

Ben had patiently tracked him down, until one foggy, cool morning on the planet Mapuzo, in the middle rim, he showed up at Quinlan's door.

More than a decade had passed since the two men had last interacted. When Quinlan opened the door to his modest home, his wary, hostile expression was replaced by a complex mixture of joy, fear and utter sadness, that swept Ben in an empathetic whirlwind of emotion.

That day, they fell into each other's arms, relishing in a full, long-yearned contact. Each had thought the other was long dead, along with the rest of their family.

For a few years after their reunion, they had worked to reassemble the remnants of the lost Jedi Order, with the former initiates and padawans they had managed to find.

They based their refuge on Dantooine, in the old Jedi Enclave. The planet was conveniently removed from most galactic routes.

Quinlan did not want to be directly involved in organizing and strengthening the Resistance. Keeping in touch with the younglings was good for him, and kept him away from despair. They had formed a small community that helped them keep the traditions and philosophy of the Jedi Order alive. Quinlan, who had first challenged the Order's rigid principles, had ironically become its Guardian.

When Ben visited Dantooine, a new recruit or two in tow, he made it a point to spend time in this peaceful haven. He could forget for a while about the horrors of the never-ending war in a galaxy that was growing ever darker with each passing day.

Duty demanded that he return to the fight, but for a few days or weeks, he would allow himself a break from it all, a break that had become essential for his mental and emotional health.

One day, Ben returned to Dantooine to find the old enclave devastated, the initiates slaughtered or captured, Quinlan Vos' corpse laid out unceremoniously in the courtyard, his unseeing, dead eyes staring at the endless sky.

]o[

When Obi-Wan emerged back to consciousness, foggily, the scene had changed. He was back in his quarters in the Temple, comfortably lying on his couch, his boots off. Had he been dreaming the latest events? Frowning, Obi-Wan tried to sort through his memory. His memories were muddled, and the sequence of scenes he was able to recall made no sense.

He closed his eyes for a moment, shielding them from the muted brightness of the room, to try to shake off the pain and confusion that clouded his mind.

Someone was quietly working in the kitchen, and the sound of water simmering brought him comfort. Family, his mind whispered. He stopped fighting the confusion and let himself be carried away by the chaotic surges of consciousness that came and went, pulsing with pain, but with the knowledge that he was finally safe.

His thoughts were a mess. Old memories mingled with more recent ones, blending with imagined, feared, or hoped-for scenarios. It had been a long time since Obi-Wan had been subject to that peculiar state where consciousness, losing all direction, randomly generated ideas and concepts, which evaporated as soon as they had gained consistency.

Obi-Wan had learned, early in his training, and like all younglings who spent their childhood in the Temple, to discipline his mind. His Soul-Kyber characteristics had given him powerful control over the functioning of his consciousness. The result was an organized and robust, but inflexible, crystal-stiffened state.

Obi-Wan had realized fairly quickly that the Soul-Kyber would not allow him to forge his own individuality outside of the one that had been Old Ben. So, even though they had hardly lived the same life, Obi-Wan lived as if he were a continuation Old Ben's existence.

He had noticed that new learning was difficult for him to do and to integrate. His crystallized mind could no longer grow outside the paths that had been extensively walked in Old Ben's long life. As such, Obi-Wan knew early that he would carry the weight of Old Ben's traumas, and not really be able to absolve himself of them and grow beyond them. Because, in order to move beyond trauma, one had to live and build on their foundations, and thus make sense of them through the mortar they provided for future experiences.

Old Ben's traumas were, and would remain, as raw as ever, like bloody wounds left open to the aggressions of the elements, the sand and the wind.

Old Ben's knowledge was vast, and made up for what Obi-Wan could not learn on his own, but sometimes the weight of that reality crushed him, knowing that the pain would never really fade.

In his confusion, Obi-Wan felt vaguely that his sense of self was dangerously unstable. He was returning to the state he had often experienced during his adolescence, where his psyche was fighting in vain against the insidious invasion of the alien mind of an old man who had lived far beyond his years.

Obi-Wan's senses brought him fragmented signals, which did not help him to get a clear picture of his situation. When he tried to re-open his eyes, the nausea grew stronger, telling him he had to stop struggling.

For an indefinite period of time, Obi-Wan let himself go. He could not fight any longer.

He came to his senses when he felt a cool hand on his forehead, and immediately recognized the signature.

"Bant?" he rasped.

"I knew I was wrong to trust you, Obi-Wan. I should have kept you under observation this morning."

Obi-Wan frowned. "This morning?"

"You came to see me, remember? For a shoulder injury."

Yes. That he remembered. He had the image of Sidious chopping him with his red lightsaber very clearly in his mind. Thinking about it brought back the pain, which made him feel even more uncomfortable.

"But that's not what worries me. You had a seizure again. A serious one," Bant said, her voice soft. "Fortunately, you weren't alone at the time. Master Vos took care of you and called me."

"Quin? Is he all right?" Somehow, Obi-Wan felt as if he had forgotten something important. Crucially important. Quilan was long dead. So was Bant, for that matter. There was probably a logic problem here, but Obi-Wan couldn't figure out exactly where. His frown deepened. He attempted to bring his hands to his forehead, but Bant gently redirected them to his chest. Obi-Wan let her; he was too exhausted to struggle.

"Wait-" he paused. He didn't even know what question he wanted to ask anymore.

"I adjusted the headband settings, and I think things are stable again. I forced a bit of a reduction in brain activity to give your nervous system some time to recover. You might feel a little confused and slowed down; don't worry, that's normal."

"Okay. But I still want to worry." Something about what Bant had just said didn't sit right with him. Some distant part of his mind was screaming at him confusedly that he couldn't afford to operate in degraded mode, and that he absolutely had to remedy the situation.

"How long is this going to last?"

"It's hard to say. If you behave as you usually do, not listening to advice when you're told to rest, it will significantly affect the length of your recovery. In a bad way, obviously."

"You don't understand. I can't just sit here and do nothing."

"Oh? And what is so important that it takes precedence over your health, my dear patient?"

"I- Hm, go to the Archives? Madame Nu needs me. She's going to scold me."

Bant gave a little laugh. "You'll go to the Archives when you're ready. Take time to rest a bit, I think you'll be better soon enough. I'll leave you with Quinlan, I've got some patients to take care of that I've just brought in. I'll come back later."

Somehow, that statement sounded ominous.

Obi-Wan had to act. But to do so he had to know what to do, and thinking about it was exhausting.

His consciousness did not register the departure of Bant, whose presence seemed to have disappeared suddenly. He must have faded for a few moments, preventing him from keeping track of what was going on.

"Somehow I feel guilty taking advantage of your weakness," Quinlan said. The man was sitting in the previously unoccupied chair that faced the couch. He looked perfectly relaxed and at ease, legs crossed, a cup of tea resting precariously on his knee. Obi-Wan could see him clearly from where he was sitting, without having to move his head. Fine, Obi-Wan didn't feel like moving at all.

"What are you doing here?"

"Bant asked me to watch her unruly patient." Quinlan smiled his predatory grin. "That's good timing, it lines up with my personal plans."

Obi-Wan furrowed his brow. "I'm your personal plan?"

Quinlan laughed outright. Obi-Wan winced, the sound causing a wave of pain radiating in his head. "Let's just say that since yesterday, I've rarely been so well entertained in my life." Quinlan suddenly looked more serious. He placed his cup on the coffee table with his gloved hands before leaning forward. "You know things. Important things, that caused you to go behind the Order's back. I want to know why. And I want to know how."

Obi-Wan didn't appreciate being pressured. He felt too bad to take any more stress than he was already feeling. He waved his hand as if trying to swat away a fly. "Leave me alone."

"No chance. You're stuck with me, Kenobi. I'll get my answers, one way or another. If you're cooperative, I'll keep your secrets, since you seem to care about them. I need to know if you pose a threat to us Jedi, and if you're involved with Darksiders."

Obi-Wan pouted in disgust. "I'd rather die."

"That's what I thought. So, can you explain to me where your skills come from? You seem awfully proficient as a warrior. And what I have seen with my own eyes does not match what is in your file. Who helped you build your cover?"

"Quin, you bother me. I'm in no condition to think."

Quinlan tilted his head, his expression unreadable. "You're a real puzzle. So be it. But I'm not done with you yet. Know that you've gained a shadow that won't let you go, friend."

Quinlan was spouting nonsense, and Obi-Wan was too confused to decipher the meaning of his words.

"Quin, my dear, would you be so kind as to pour me a cup of tea? The scent is lovely, and it would soothe my poor, needy soul."

Quilan snorted, apparently taken aback. "But seriously, who are you really?"