The chime for the door sounded and Alla closed out of the report she was writing, shutting down her workstation. Sliding open, the door revealed Bel-San, who looked tired and not a little worn, but somehow good. He seemed to have more spirit in him than he had in the last several weeks and she was glad she’d made the decision to try and get him out of his routine of solitude. Like her master, Bel-San never did particularly well by himself.

She stepped aside, ushering him in with a smile and then a hug, because he looked like he needed it. “Thanks for coming.” Nodding to the food he carried in containers, she waved to the table in the kitchen. “And for the food. Keleran’s been getting everything set so we should be ready to eat.”

“Dinner at a real table. I can’t remember the last time that happened.” He inclined his head towards Keleran as he set the food down. “You’ll have to let me know if my manners slip.” His easy grin, which had always put Alla at ease when she was young, did little to relax Keleran.

“Healers’ schedule wearing you out, old man?” Alla had had it in mind to keep the tone of the evening light, even going so far as to plan out some stories she could tell if things got too grim. Bel-San hadn’t been the best of company recently, and Keleran rarely added much in the realm of conversation, especially of late. Since returning from her mission, she had been unable to discern what had happened during her absence that had made her already reticent padawan clam up even more. With guests like this, she thought, dinner could quickly turn into a refresher course in torture.

Bel-San snorted and helped her dish out the food he’d brought onto plates. “It’d wear anyone out, and before you go throwing around ages, you should consider I had a front row seat to some of the exploits of your misspent youth.”

“Ha. Those kinds of tales are only as good as the character of the one telling them. And we all know where you stand.” Alla sat with some relief, thinking the evening might not be quite as bad as she expected.

As they ate Bel-San relaxed into the conversation, motioning with his hands and painting vivid pictures with his words to the point that Alla could almost smell the scent of caffe and medicine in the air. She smiled, listening, her chin set on her hands, swept away by how Bel-San’s stories of the most mundane things could be more entertaining than a ‘vid. It was almost like she was ten again, sitting in her master’s common room while the two of the talked of something they’d done with such gusto that she imagined herself there as well.

During a slight lull, Bel-San turned his attention to Keleran, who had done her best not to be noticed, and patted her hand. “He’s fine, you know. It takes a lot more than a little lightsaber burn to put Qui-Gon down.”

“What? Qui-Gon got burned?” Alla sat up, looking at Keleran, who ducked her head.

“Oops.” His tone suggested apology, but his expression betrayed it as he smiled slightly and shrugged. “It’s not as bad as it seems, though I know it’s not something I would have been keen to share with my Master when I was a padawan.” Bel-San’s gaze moved from Keleran to Alla. “There was a little training accident and Qui-Gon was burned. But it’s okay. He came to see me and everything is fine.”

Alla looked between Bel-San and her padawan, torn between wanting to grill her padawan about the accident and to quiz Bel-San on how the meeting had gone. She’d been waiting longer than she cared to think for the two of them to have a civil conversation, but this certainly wasn’t the catalyst she was thinking of.

“He knows it was an accident, and believe me, it takes much more than that to actually hurt Qui-Gon. I mean, if you were trying, you should aim for the head.”

“Bel-San!”

The other man turned innocent eyes on her. “What? I’m just trying to be helpful.”

“Well, don’t! No one needs you encouraging her to hurt people. Accidentally or not.” She turned to her padawan, who sat motionlessly beside her. “Is that why you haven’t been going to class?” She’d been pretty sure that her padawan’s excuse of a slight illness had been a ruse, but hadn’t wanted to push the issue just yet.

It took a few moments for the quiet girl to find her voice, and when she did, it was little more than a whisper. “I just…I don’t know how I can go back and be in the class and pretend that everything is fine when it’s not. It’s just…I hurt him and I don’t want to hurt anyone else so it’s probably better if I don’t go at all.”

Alla sighed as she tried to come up with something encouraging and sanctioning at the same time, but Bel-San beat her to it.

“Keleran, listen. I know you don’t know me all that well and you’re free not to take my advice, but as your master so kindly pointed out, I have been around a while and I know a few things about life and especially about Qui-Gon.” His eyes were warm and kind, and Alla watched her padawan meet his gaze. “First off, if you spend all your time afraid to do something because someone might get hurt, you’ll never get anything done, and I’ll tell you right now that accidents happen. And officially, as a Healer, we expect them. That’s why we’re here. Get your accidents out of the way now, so when the time comes, and it counts, you can do it right.” He sat back, dropping his level of intensity so that he was no longer the imposing teaching figure that Alla thought he would carry with him his whole life. “And as for Qui-Gon, the best advice I can give you is just to go to class. Just go. He won’t be upset, and he’ll probably fall all over himself making sure you’re okay.” He smiled and Keleran smiled back, some of the tension draining out of her slim shoulders.

And as much as Alla appreciated the words and the effect they had on Keleran, she couldn’t let the opportunity pass for ironic sentiment. “Just go, huh?” She made a show of looking around the kitchen. “Say, have you seen my kettle, or my pot even?”

Bel-San had half-risen before the words clicked. “Oh, very funny.” He sat back, but his grin stayed. “I’ll take my own advice when I’m ready to take my own advice.”

***

Qui-Gon couldn’t settle.

He wandered around his apartment, trying to think of something to do, knowing that he had about ten different things he should be doing, but somehow not able to focus on any one of them. The apartment felt weird, like something was missing. Two things were missing, but Qui-Gon couldn’t quite figure out when it was that he had grown so used to other people in his space, so much so that now, when they were absent, he was having difficulty concentrating.

Obi-Wan was spending the night with Slade; they had some project due for a class they shared and planned on working on it well into the evening. He’d sent Kerge off with a group of his classmates who were spending the next three days on the other side of the planet for a training class. He had the apartment to himself for the first time in weeks and he couldn’t think of a single thing to do with his freedom. Other than call both padawans under his care and he was sure neither of them would take it kindly.

It was the kind of night he would have, in the past, called up one of his friends—usually Bel-San—and they would have gone out, or he would have come over and they would have stayed up all hours talking. But Payter was off planet, Mace wasn’t fun anymore, and Force knew how Bel-San would react to a call from him. Qui-Gon didn’t think he’d get hung up on, but it wasn’t a chance he was willing to take. Bel-San would just have to come around on his own. Qui-Gon was tired of being the one who tried.

He picked up a towel, some clothes he could work out in, and grabbed his lightsaber before heading off to one of the training room where he could work out some of his anxiety on the practiced forms of lightsaber combat that had been part of his training since he was old enough to hold a pose. It was late, so he doubted he would have to vie for space in his favorite room and he could also practice in peace. Most of the time he enjoyed the attention he received whenever he practiced with his lightsaber—he could usually count on a small crowd to develop—but there were merits to having some practice time to oneself.

For someone not entirely taken with most solitary pursuits, Qui-Gon found himself pleased with the thought of spending a few hours working on his ‘saber forms. He still had some strength and flexibility to regain after his injury and it was all the better to do it without an audience. It might be nice to spend some time with just the Force and the smooth forms of the katas, where he could center himself without the chatter of two boys and a cat.

It was a surprise then, when he walked into the practice hall closest to his quarters to find it occupied. For the most part, even though Jedi came in and out of the Temple at all hours, the morning and afternoon were times when it was easier to run into someone. Qui-Gon was even further taken back when he realized exactly who was running through some basic forms.

“Qui-Gon.” Bel-San came to a slow stop, nodding to him.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were here. I thought it would be empty this time of night.” Qui-Gon took a step back, certain that Bel-San would take everything he said and did the wrong way. “I’ll just find another room.”

A dismissive hand was waved in his direction. “Don’t bother. I’m not getting very far on my own. It might be nice to spar against someone living.”

Despite the invitation, Qui-Gon hesitated. He wasn’t sure if Bel-San was really ready for this, or if he was really ready. It had always been his thought that they would talk a bit first, maybe share a meal or two. Sparring had always been a bit of a contention between them and Qui-Gon didn’t think it would be the best way to try and mend things.

“I won’t bite you, Qui-Gon. Come in before I change my mind.” He moved to the center of the ring, his movements already limber and fluid from practice and Qui-Gon couldn’t help but feel suddenly awkward.

Still, this was Bel-San, and misgivings aside, they’d been sparring with each other for the better part of their lives. Maybe the routine of it would be nice. “All right.” He dropped his things on a bench against the wall and moved out into the middle of the room to face off against Bel-San. “Go easy on me. I’m recovering, you’ll recall.”

Bel-San snorted. “How could I not?” Bel-San saluted and they began, circling and testing as though they had never crossed blades before.

In a way, Qui-Gon thought, they hadn’t. Most of his life he’d practiced with Bel-San and he’d never seen the clean lines of movement, the slight angle with which he held his lightsaber. He was certain he’d never seen such a confident Bel-San face off against him. His friend held himself with an assurance that Qui-Gon had only seen in him when translating some forgotten language or teaching a class—never in a practice arena.

The pull from the healing tissue of his leg, by contrast, made Qui-Gon’s own movements and stance less sure than usual. He had to compensate for his loss of movement, the lack of full pressure he could place on his leg and he could see the way Bel-San’s eyes followed him, sharp for signs of weakness. It was several minutes before they crossed blades in earnest and Qui-Gon was certain it would be their most even match.

“When did you have time to learn this?” Bel-San ducked neatly under a blow and came back up so swiftly, Qui-Gon had to dance back.

Bel-San tossed his head in an attempt to brush away hair that was no longer there. “It was a trade. I taught Seph a little Basic, and he taught me a little fighting. Of course they use much simpler forms of weaponry, but you’d be surprised at how similar a style of combat they have.” Bel-San’s whole body, down to breathing, paused for an instant. “Or they did.”

Qui-Gon affected a sigh, nearly scoring inside Bel-San’s guard. “I spar with you for years and you never pick up anything, but spend a few months in the jungle and you come back ready to take me on?”

Bel-San’s eyes were dark, his expression not lighting in the way Qui-Gon had hoped. “That’s because you never really tried to teach me, Qui-Gon. You never took the time to show me how you did the moves you did. You could learn just by doing, by watching, but I’ve always been a little more hands-on.”

The words hurt more than Qui-Gon expected, partly because they were true, but they’d been taken so far out of context. “You make it sound like I didn’t have time for you, and you know that isn’t true.”

With a shrug, Bel-San swooped in and scored a mark on Qui-Gon’s shoulder, the heat of the blade scorching his clothes but not his skin. “You make time for the things that are important to you.”

“I’ve made time for you. More times than I can count I’ve put you ahead—“

A smile that was both hurt and knowing stopped Qui-Gon. “But not before Alla or Xanatos or Obi-Wan. I’ve never been more important than them.”

“They were my padawans. That’s different. If you’d had one of your own, you’d know what I mean.” Their blades crossed, sparking and hissing, and Qui-Gon pushed back more harshly than was necessary. “And if you’ll recall, I dropped everything to come get you.”

“Who asked you?” Bel-San’s shout rang across the small room, bouncing off the walls onto itself as the owner of the words stood, his lightsaber in a tight grip and the veins standing out in his forearms and neck. “Who gave you the role as Hero?” He pointed his lightsaber at Qui-Gon, their sparring a forgotten thought.

“And what do you think would have happened if I’d stayed here, sitting on my hands?” Qui-Gon powered down his own blade, thankful that they were in a closed space with no audience for this. “You’d be dead.”

“You don’t know that. None of us do, but if I had died, it would have been my part in it and no one else would have gone with me.” Bel-San swallowed, turning away, his own blade disappearing. “I fucked it up, Qui-Gon, and you should have let me go down on my own.”

He wanted to step forward, to lay a hand on Bel-San’s shoulder, steer him to the bench where they could talk, but he was afraid to move, afraid one step would be too many and Bel-San would run away. So he stayed perfectly still, and let his voice work for him. “It wouldn’t have gone that way. They had the raid planned on the tribe for a long time. If I’d stayed, you’d be dead with them.”

Bel-San shook his head, and was quiet for some time. “I don’t think so. I think I set them off, made them think the Sentili were more important, or more dangerous than they actually were. What where the Upanis supposed to think when a Jedi came all the way from Coruscant to be a part of their tribe?”

“That’s not why you were there. We sent that information to the government when you went.” He felt like he was walking on ice, and he could see some of the thin places, where the water was still rushing close to the surface, but knew there were others that were deeper and more dangerous that were hiding.

“That might have been what we sent, but it sure as hell isn’t what I did. I wasn’t an observer.” He spat the word like a curse. “If I had been, they might still be alive.”

With a deep breath, Qui-Gon ventured a step forward. “Bel-San…”

The other man spun, fury and grief etched in every breath of his body. He pulled at his tunic, ripping the fabric from his torso, exposing his chest. “Did you even see this?”

His eyes were drawn immediately to the cross work of scars, some still pink with healing, and it took a moment for Qui-Gon to realize what it was Bel-San was speaking of. Bel-San had his arm stretched out, his right hand wrapped around his upper arm, just below the dark ink of an interwoven chain that looked to encircle his arm. The ink of the tattoo was so dark Qui-Gon wondered how he’d missed it during their escape and the many times afterward.

“Is that, what I think it is?” He took a few more steps forward, raising a hesitant hand to touch the pattern, the flesh beneath the ink slightly raised.

Bel-San nodded. “They gave it to me, when they made me a part of their tribe.” Bel-San’s mouth tightened into a painful line. “I’m the last living member of the Sentili tribe and I don’t even know what their word for sunshine is.” He let the remains of his shirt fall to the floor. “It’s not enough, Qui-Gon. It never is.”

“What isn’t?”

“Time. I needed a lifetime, two lifetimes and I got a few months. And there isn’t anyone left to answer the questions I still have. I never got to see their harvest festival, or a wedding ceremony. They wait for the winter for those and do them in a group. I’d just missed the last one when I arrived.” Bel-San took a deep breath, and Qui-Gon could feel all the negative emotions pour from him, an offering to the Force. “It hurts so much sometimes, knowing that I’m the one that lived when I can’t do them justice. I can’t live the way they did, or practice the things they knew. It was such a beautiful culture, filled with amazing people, I wish you could have seen them the way I saw them.” He turned away for a moment, and when he turned back, the placid look of detachment was back, but Qui-Gon found he hated that more than the anger that had been there before. “Anyway. The thing is, I’m sorry. I spent a lot of time being really angry with you, and Payter, and Mace, and the Council...with Seph, even, when really the only person I wanted to be upset with was myself. I know I said some things, and, well, I apologize if they hurt you.”

“But not that you said them?”

Bel-San took a moment to look at him. “The way they were said, perhaps, but I…I’m not the same person who left this Temple, Qui-Gon. And it’s more than just a new job and a haircut. I feel like I have to learn to do everything over again, like someone who’s been gravely injured and has to remember to walk and speak again. Only this time, I know how I need to walk and speak, I just need the people around me to understand that it’s going to look and sound differently than before. I’m not funny scholar Bel-San with his cats.” His gaze turned, sharp and hard. “And I won’t let you or anyone dictate to me how I need to live my life. I’m done with that now. I’m here and centered in myself.”

“So I see.”

Bel-San blew out a breath. “Damn it, Qui-Gon. I’m serious.”

Qui-Gon walked to the side of the room, gathering towels for them both, handing one to Bel-San. “I know you are, and I can’t wait to see what comes next.”

A little of the tension left Bel-San’s frame, but Qui-Gon knew it wasn’t as much as would have passed from his words of understanding just a few months ago. “All right then.”

“So how about we get cleaned up and you take me with your new found independence and we go get a drink. I’d love to hear about the Sentili. Especially how anyone managed to convince you to get that tattoo.”

Bel-San nodded slowly. “That involved a good bit of alcohol, too.”

“Did it help?”

A grin, reminiscent of the one that had crossed Bel-San’s face for more than forty years peeked out of hiding. “Nah. It just made me easier to hold down.”