Author: TemporaryUniverse
Summary: Twelve years after his defeat at the Battle of Naboo, Obi-Wan's greatest enemy has returned from the dead. Obi-Wan has faced Maul and lost. Now it is time to face himself.
Character(s): Obi-Wan Kenobi, Mace Windu
Word Count: 3,309

A.N. This was written for the Obi-Wan Kenobi Gen Exchange hosted over on Ao3. See the collection there for more wonderful fics by other authors!

Jab.

Sweep.

Block.

Leap.

Slash downward.

Land.

Stumble.

Grit teeth.

Start over.

Jab. Sweep. Block. Leap. Slash downward. Land. Stumble. Growl in frustration. Start over.

Jab. Sweep. Block. Leap. Slash downward. Land. Stumble. Curse.

"Your weight is too far forward," a voice says, and Obi-Wan spins, startled, to the newcomer.

"What?"

Mace pushes off the wall he was leaning against and approaches.

"You're putting too much weight on your leading foot when you land and it's throwing you off balance."

"Thank you for the advice," Obi-Wan replies, and turns away to return to his exercise, hoping that is the end of it.

It isn't, of course, because Mace is a persistent meddler who doesn't know well enough to leave alone. He's worse when he's worried, which he is now, and he's got Obi-Wan in his sights.

The Master of Vaapad steps forward again and plucks his saber hilt off his belt.

"Care for a spar?"

Obi-Wan doesn't, not really, and Mace knows that, but between them, 'spar' is code for 'talk', and until Obi-Wan agrees, Mace will continue to sit there and give unsolicited criticisms of his forms.

This is familiar. Almost frighteningly so.

So, he nods and readies himself, pulling himself upright despite the ache in his still healing ribs, and settling into his opening stance and into the Force. Mace assumes his position as well, and the energy between them tautens as they eye each other.

Then it snaps as Mace lunges, quick as a snake, and Obi-Wan shifts into a block, just as swift.

The fight is on.

Mace sighed internally as he watched Obi-Wan pick himself back up and restart the sequence for the third time. That Mace had seen, anyway. According to the reservation outside, he had been practicing for three hours already, and he didn't show any sign of ending.

He had to be exhausted.

After another three repetitions, all nearly perfect in form, Mace decided enough was enough.

Obi-Wan reset again and Mace stepped forward.

"I didn't expect to see you here this late, Knight Kenobi."

It shouldn't have startled the usually hyperaware Jedi, but Obi-Wan flinched out of his lunge and tumbled to the padded floor with a grunt. He blinked up at Mace like he was trying to process his presence in the room.

"Didn't expect to see you either," he grumbled. His eyes widened an instant later in the horror of someone who hadn't meant to say what they did.

Mace's lip quirked and he extended a hand to the Knight to help him to his feet.

To his credit, he only hesitated a moment before accepting. Mace kept ahold of his hand until Obi-Wan looked him in the eye. He could read the fathoms of dull grief behind the blue, the boy he'd known too tired to hide it. He felt a pang of sympathy. Then he let go.

"Couldn't sleep?"

"I find rest… difficult, at the moment," Obi-Wan admitted.

Nightmares, Mace would bet. It wasn't unexpected after what he had been through. Facing a Sith? Losing his Master? Either of those would be enough trauma for a lifetime but both was rather a lot.

He examined the young man closely. He looked exhausted, defeat written in the set of his shoulders, tension held tight in his spine.

"Care to spar?"

Obi-Wan stared at him in surprise, as if he couldn't believe the question.

Mace raised an eyebrow.

He watched Obi-Wan chew on his lip before quickly stopping the anxious tell.

"Alright."

Mace and he trade blows back and forth across the salle, each seeking to break the other's defense. Mace goes for his shoulder and when he deflects, goes for his hip. Obi-Wan parries and shunts the purple saber aside, then lunges forward with his own attack. His opponent blocks and their sabers lock, Mace pressing down on him, the plasma between them crackling and sparking, filling the air with the scent of burning ozone. He holds for a moment, then steps out of range and lets Mace's blade drop.

He sinks into his Soresu, becoming an impenetrable shield that no weapon can get through, perfect in every positioning, every angle. Soresu requires him to stay grounded, become economic with his movement and preserve his energy, and he is adept at it, and yet…

It is a struggle today. His muscles tremble every time their blades clash together, his breath comes in short pants that he can't control, he feels off balance as he has since he first watched that hologram of his worst enemy slaughtering innocents in his name.

"It is not your fault," Mace says, slashing at his feet.

Obi-Wan nimbly leaps out of the way.

"I failed to kill him the first time, and now he has killed others in pursuit of his revenge. Innocents. Civilians. Dead because of me."

Mace swings for his head next, and Obi-Wan parries, and follows with a riposte.

"Dead because of the Sith, Obi-Wan. There was no reason for you to believe any being would survive being cut in half. I wouldn't have believed it."

His vision blurs.

"I failed to kill him this time, too." His ribs ache with the reminder. He shouldn't be sparring, but he doesn't care, he needs an outlet for his swirling emotions and Mace is giving it to him.

"You were caught off guard. There were two of them. It was not your fault." Mace's relentless attack puts him on the backfoot, and he leads his opponent around the salle, always giving ground.

His arms are growing tired. He will not last much longer. He has already been practicing forms for hours upon hours.

Mace's offense breaks for a moment, and Obi-Wan takes advantage, launching an attack of his own. His opponent switches to defense with swift ease and then back just as quickly. Obi-Wan doesn't react in time and his saber is wrenched from his hand with a twist of blades.

He stumbles, and trips, and somehow ends up on his back on the floor.

The tip of burning line of purple plasma is leveled at his chin.

"Solah," he pants, holding up his hands in surrender.

Mace lowers his saber, and it fizzles off. He does not gloat over his victory, but Obi-Wan feels the loss anyway. Frustration and inadequacy war in his stomach.

Still not good enough.

They retreated to their positions and settled into their opening stances. Obi-Wan in the forward guard of Ataru and Mace with his hilt by his ear, blade parallel to the ground, prepared for Vaapad.

It was Obi-Wan who uncharacteristically struck first, lashing out at Mace's hip and forcing him to move aside. Mace responded with a jab that Obi-Wan knocked away, their sabers buzzing and clashing.

Obi-Wan threw himself into the spar, trying to break Mace's defense, a strange desperation in his eyes. Mace, on the other hand, was calm and sure, batting away his attacks with ease and returning rapid-fire strikes of his own.

Through the swirl of the Force, Mace could feel Obi-Wan's unfocus and agitation, the way his connection wavered with overwhelming emotion. Tears tracked down his cheeks, but he didn't seem to notice.

The young Knight seemed to be struggling with his footing, acting on reflex more than anything as Mace took more and more control of the fight and forced him onto the defensive.

When Obi-Wan broke, Mace was quick to react, thumbing off his saber and backing up a step as he choked on tears and fell to his knees. Mace knelt next to him as he cried, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"It's alright, Obi-Wan."

"I couldn't—save him. I couldn't—I wasn't good enough. I failed him," Obi-Wan sobbed. He was radiating guilt and self-hatred in the Force, past usually tall and impermeable shields.

Mace's heart ached for him.

"No, you did not. It was not your fault. In fact, it is a testament to your strength and skill that you were able to defeat the Sith at all. There are not many Jedi in the Order who could have done so."

"You could have." His voice was full of a bitterness Mace had never heard from him before.

"Maybe so," Mace answered. "We will never know for sure, and it does no good to dwell on those sorts of things."

Obi-Wan was quiet, obviously fighting back tears.

"You sound like him," he finally chuckled wetly. There was little humor in it.

"It's okay to miss him." Mace certainly did. Qui-Gon had been a good friend.

Obi-Wan scoffed quietly.

"I have a Padawan to take care of. I don't have time to…" He shook his head.

Mace pulled him closer and he thankfully leaned into the hug, turning into the Master's shoulder in acceptance of the comfort.

Mace sits beside him as he flops onto his back with a groan. His friend raises his hand and summons a hydropak from the other side of the room, and it zips into his hand. He cracks it open, shoving it into Obi-Wan's.

Obi-Wan sighs and lifts his head to drink. The water is cool and refreshing and chases away the thirst he hadn't realized was there.

He wrinkles his nose upon realizing his tunic and hair are all damp with sweat and his skin is sticky with drying salt. Moisture trickles down the back of his neck. He wipes it away with no small amount of irritation. His ribs twinge, making him wince and press a hand to his side. Mace notices.

"I thought you were healed."

"Just lingering pains." He waves a hand dismissively and his head thunks to the mats. "They were only cracked."

"Obi-Wan…" Mace has perfected his repertoire of exasperated tones. This one is: "you've done something stupid but it's too late to do anything about it now, so I'll just have to scold you."

"I don't need a lecture, Mace."

For once, there isn't an argument, even though Obi-Wan can feel his friend's displeasure.

They sit in silence for a few minutes, even though they should probably be stretching to cool down. Obi-Wan will most certainly be sore tomorrow, and not just his ribs. He still has some lingering bruises from the beating he took, although the bone knitter Master Che used on him worked wonders, but a spar on top of practicing katas for hours will do his muscles no favors.

He stares up at the ceiling.

"He's alive," he says to no one, but ostensibly to Mace.

"He is."

A beat.

"Do you think Qui-Gon would be disappointed in me?" His voice sounds young to his own ears.

"Not at all. I think… he would be incredibly proud of you, Obi-Wan."

"Will you teach me Vaapad?" Obi-Wan asked.

Now, that was an unexpected question.

Mace was quiet for a moment, though his fingers still absently ran through Obi-Wan's hair. The young man didn't seem to mind.

"No."

"Why not?"

"Why do you want to learn?" Mace countered.

Obi-Wan inhaled slowly.

"I need to be better," he said, and Mace felt a pang of sympathy for him. Having watched Obi-Wan grow up over the years, he knew well that the young Jedi struggled to see his own self-worth and skill, and that he often thought he had to prove he was good enough to be valued.

"I already told you that what happened on Naboo wasn't your fault."

"The Sith are out there, Master Windu. I may have killed the one on Naboo, but there is still the Master, and I need to be prepared. I barely defeated the Apprentice, and Qui-Gon…" He closed his eyes, a shudder going through him. "My current skills are not enough."

"You think you would have to face him alone?"

"That's what they're calling me. The Sith-Killer," he muttered, sounding bitter again.

Mace sighed.

"You are still young, Obi-Wan. Only recently a Knight. It is not your job to defend the galaxy against the Sith. Especially not all by yourself. We are Jedi. That duty falls on all of our shoulders, together."

Obi-Wan pulled away from him, blue eyes looking up at him beseechingly.

"So, why won't you teach me?"

"Vaapad is a form that requires you to walk the line. To use your emotions without giving into them. I do not think it is the form best suited for you." He could do it, no doubt, and he would do it well, but Mace had another option in mind.

"Then what is?" A little bit of a whine slipped into his voice that Mace was sure he didn't intend.

"Have you ever considered Soresu?"

"He brought him up. Qui-Gon. Taunted me with his death. And it was like I was there again. Watching him kill my Master." His hand clenches around the hilt of his saber, metal edges indenting his palm. "I lost control. Gave into my anger."

Mace lays a hand on his shoulder and squeezes, but says nothing.

"I guess that was where I lost," Obi-Wan adds. "I don't feel very in control right now. I can't… let go."

"Have you meditated?"

"I've attempted it. Haven't quite been successful." Every time he tries, he is thrown back to Naboo. Back to watching his Master die through a shield of red.

"Would a joint meditation help?"

He shrugs, tunic tugging as drying sweat sticks it to the floor.

"Might be worth a try."

Obi-Wan doesn't bother to sit up, simply closes his eyes and falls into a meditative breathing pattern with the ease of practice, letting his senses spool out into the Force. Mace greets him there, their breaths syncing as they link their minds. His friend's warm presence bids him to relax, attempting to coax him deeper into the Force, onto a level that he could not reach on his own at the moment.

But something is preventing him from going any further, some thorn in his mind that tethers his concentration to the physical world. He grows more and more frustrated the longer he can't reach that state that should be like second nature to him, and his frustration only makes things worse.

"Stop," Mace says.

Obi-Wan opens his eyes, glaring at the ceiling.

"Obi-Wan."

"I know, I know, just… give me a moment." He focuses on calming himself down, releasing his annoyance at himself as he relaxes his body. That, at least, is easy.

"What is on your mind?" Mace asks.

There are a few things he mulls over, the easiest of which is…

"Why Soresu?"

"Soresu?" His friend hums inquisitively.

"The first time we sparred together, after Naboo. I asked you to teach me Vaapad. You refused me." He had been highly disappointed at the time, although he had accepted it. The only person Mace had taught Vaapad was Depa.

"I remember."

"You recommended Soresu instead. Why?"

Mace tilts his head, studying him.

"Do you not already know?"

"Soresu. The Way of the Mynock. It relies on defensive tactics and the combatant's endurance to outlast and wear down the opponent until they make a mistake. You said it suited me. And I'm good at it, but…" He sighs. "Ataru was aggressive. To go from that to a purely defensive form was quite a change. I worry that I still have too much of that aggressiveness in me to truly master Soresu. I always thought you guided me toward it because, well, I had a Padawan to protect and needed to work on my defense."

"Oh, no, I was not worried about that," Mace chuckles. "You have always been an excellent swordsman. No, I guided you to the Third Form, because to me, you have always embodied the two essential qualities of Soresu. Resilience and control. This time, you may have lost your composure when you faced Maul, but I know that next time, you will keep it. When you falter, you come out the other side even stronger than before. I saw it then and I see it still. Soresu is the form of survival, and you always survive."

Obi-Wan considers this. He remembers the duel on Naboo, losing himself to his anger after watching his Master take the fatal blow. He remembers being defeated, falling into the pit and clinging to the side. He remembers calming himself, reasserting his control over his emotions. Only then was he able to kill—no, not kill, he is still alive—Maul.

"I think I see it, too."

"Soresu? Why?"

"I think that is a conclusion you must come to through your own reflection," Mace said. "But suffice to say that I think it suits you. Try it. Maybe you'll prove me wrong."

Obi-Wan's eyes narrowed at the provocation, in an expression so like Qui-Gon it hurt. The members of his lineage had never been ones to back down from a challenge, so it was no surprise when he agreed.

"Alright," he said. "I'll try it."

Mace smiled.

"Good luck, Kenobi." He patted the young Knight on the shoulder, then groaned and stretched his limbs. He would almost certainly be paying for sparring without his warm-up or cool-down tomorrow, but for now his muscles were simply pleasantly sore. With his Council duties, he did not get to spend nearly as much time as he would like practicing his forms. "Now, I don't know about you, but I have a Council meeting in the morning, and it is well past the hour I am meant to be in bed. I suggest you head home to your Padawan and get some sleep, too."

"You're probably right, Master Windu. Thank you for the spar. And the advice." Obi-Wan stood, and then offered a hand to help Mace to his feet.

"You are quite welcome. If you ever are looking for a sparring partner again, I would be happy to oblige."

"I might just take you up on that, Master."

The two of them attempt meditation again, and this time Obi-Wan sinks into it easily.

There, it is safe to examine the howling maelstrom of emotions that batters away at his shields, and he begins to untangle the threads of it.

Guilt.

He failed to kill Maul and left him free to terrorize the galaxy. A Sith killed innocents in his name.

Mace already convinced him that he was not to blame, so the lingering emotions are not too difficult to examine and release.

He moves to the next.

Anger.

The anger he felt when Maul taunted him about Qui-Gon. The unparalleled rage that the monster who killed his Master dared speak his name after what he took from Obi-Wan. Maul irrevocably altered his life in a single blow.

Anger at himself for giving in to Maul's taunts, for his inability to adhere to the Jedi Code in that moment.

That is the easiest to let go, isn't it? Because it isn't really anger he is feeling, that is just a cloak for his true emotions.

Fear.

Fear of Maul. What he could do. The evil he could accomplish. Fear for the innocents he would kill. Fear that he would kill someone else Obi-Wan cared about. Fear of his own helplessness.

The fear is the hardest. It sticks. Digs claws into his mind and holds on as he tries to release it.

Let go.

The Force is with him. As long as the Force is with him, he does not need to be afraid. He lets go.

When he surfaces from his meditation, Mace is waiting.

Obi-Wan groans as he sits up, his sore, tired muscles protesting. But he is much calmer now than he was when he entered the salles, and that is entirely due to the man next to him.

"Thank you, Mace," he says as he stretches his limbs. He finally feels as though he'll be able to sleep.

"Anytime, my friend."