Dear Derik,

Your nose is broken. And I did it. That was bad of me. When you said bad things about my master, I should have resolved it in a different way. I should have told the teacher on you like the liar you are. I would say that I’m sorry, but I’m not a liar like you.

I am sorry for the healers who had to spend their time fixing your dumb nose and also for your friends (I think you have maybe one) who had to listen to you cry like a baby.

Maybe it’s a good thing your nose is broken. Maybe now you can’t smell how bad you smell.

Obi-Wan Kenobi, Padawan

***

“It’s funny that you think that this is an apology, padawan.”

Obi-Wan shrugged. “It’s better than the last one. I didn’t say he was stupid.”

“Well, unfortunately I think you’re learning more about the writing process than you are about remorse.” His master handed him back the datapad. “Maybe you should give it another try.”

“I have to work on that project for Simone. It’s going to take me a long time. Like maybe years.”

“Probably not that long.”

“You don’t know. I have to draw.”

“Oh. Well, good luck with your fate worse than death.”

“You don’t know.” Obi-Wan sighed, trudging down the hallway towards his room, which was cleaner now than it had been in a long time, probably since even before he moved in.

Flopping into his chair, he pulled his legs under him, sitting cross-legged. It was the only way he could work, and he figured if he had to do this project, at least he could be comfortable. Simone had asked him to do a series of sketches that narrated the time that his master had been away. Staring at the blank piece of paper, Obi-Wan couldn’t think of what to put down. Instead, he began drawing a small fleet of rather lumpy ships.

Unfortunately, only so many ships would fit on the page, and she hadn’t given him a lot of extra paper. He didn’t really want to ask his master for any more, because then his master might ask if he wanted help, which he really didn’t. His master was a very good artist, and Obi-Wan always felt sort of pale by comparison. The last thing he wanted was his master standing over his shoulder while he drew stick figures, and shaky stick figures at that.

He looked over the color selections in his pencil box, taking out the brown one first. Not using too much pressure, he colored in a square shape to be his master’s robe, the one that he’d given him right before he went away. He had worn it to his birthday party, the one that his master had missed. He drew himself, and then he drew Slade, Master Heri, and Bant. There had been other people there, but they weren’t as important and he didn’t have room for them on the page anyway.

Simone said he was supposed to name the pictures. He decided to call this one, “The Not Party.” It just hadn’t felt like a party without his master, and he hadn’t been hungry for anything, not even cake. It was even his favorite kind.

Drawing’s really not that hard, Obi-Wan thought to himself, when you’re not trying to make things look how they actually look. He picked up a blue pencil, because the next picture took place at night. The sky wasn’t really blue at night, but he didn’t like making the sky black, because then it looked like space. He drew himself sitting on his bed in Heri’s apartment, wrapped in his master’s cloak and holding the comlink his master had gotten him for his birthday. He picked up a red pencil, putting in the small dot of light that indicated no new messages had been sent. Whenever someone tried to call, the light went green. It hadn’t gone green the entire time his master was gone.

Obi-Wan flipped over a new piece of paper, biting his lip. This one was going to be a little harder. He drew in a nice lopsided table, and then put some very odd-looking food on it. Heri’s table didn’t usually look so wobbly, but he figured she wouldn’t mind if he drew it that way. He drew in himself, and then Slade, telling him the big secret about the kids in the Temple.

Obi-Wan frowned. Slade came out looking like a smeared silver S. If I get anything right, he thought, I should at least be able to draw my best friend. He crumpled up the paper and tossed it towards the trash can. He missed, but he used the Force to get it in the basket. Picking up the silver pencil with firm resolve, he started sketching Slade’s face, which didn’t usually look so smushed. He tried to make it better by adding eyes and a nose, but the nose sort of moved near the side of his head, so Slade appeared to have a very weird ear. It wasn’t working at all.

He told Simone he couldn’t draw. He didn’t know why she wanted him to do the stupid thing anyway.

“Master!” Obi-Wan didn’t want to do it, but there was no other alternative. He needed help if he was going to make Slade look like an actual person, rather than just a scary-looking blobby silver thing with a tail.

His master poked his head around the corner. “Did you need something?”

“No. Never mind. I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? You can ask, you know.”

“It’s nothing. Well, maybe…no. I’m fine.”

His master took a step into the room, but not close enough to see what Obi-Wan was doing at his desk. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“I don’t want to put you out,” Obi-Wan said, and was surprised to see his master’s face fall. He looked suddenly sad, and Obi-Wan wasn’t sure how to feel about that.

“Oh. Well, okay. If you need anything …just call.” His master walked out of the room, and Obi-Wan turned back to his drawing.

***

“Will you calm down? You act like I’ve never fed you before. As if I’ll never feed you again. Honestly. Ungrateful beast.” Bel-San picked up Ar-Ion, who’d never lost his enthusiastic kitten purr despite his decade of life. The cat nuzzled against his neck, sniffing him, as if Bel-San had rinsed behind his ears with tuna juice.

Even though he fed the creature more than twice daily, Ar-Ion had never grown as large as Bel-San’s other cats, which were now threading themselves between his ankles, making pathetic sounds. “You’re not fooling anyone. I know all your tricks. You can’t get extra food out of me.”

His newest addition, a skinny gray kitten named Van, mewed a high-pitched whine that reached into the upper decibels of human hearing. Sighing, Bel-San relented, scooping a bit more out to put in their communal bowl. Van had been quite ill when Bel-San found him, and in the last several weeks, he’d doubled his weight, not to mention the fact he hissed at every one of the older cats. At least he wasn’t a pushover.

The chime sounded, and every cat but Van ran from the kitchen from the dish, rushing to greet whomever stood behind the door. Bel-San followed behind at a notably slower pace, and stretched out through the Force to ascertain the identity of his visitor.

He pressed the key, and the door slid open. “Alla.”

“Can I come in?”

Ar-Ion put both his front paws on her knee, looking as if he might jump into her arms if she didn’t reach down for him. “Looks like they’ll just drag you in if you don’t come in on your own.”

She stepped inside, taking the insistent cat in her arms. “Here. I found this on my last mission. Made me think of you.”

Turning the wrapped package over in his hands, Bel-San lifted an eyebrow. “Beware of padawans bearing gifts.”

“It’s been years since that would have applied to me, thank you very much.” She ran her hand down the length of a very satisfied Ar-Ion. “I’m not here because of him. Now take the damn present and say thank you.”

“Thank you.”

“It’s like working with five-year-olds, except I’m less likely to want to punch them in the face,” Alla muttered, taking a seat on his couch. “Go on. Open it. And please rip the paper. I really don’t have the patience for you to ‘unwrap’ it like you usually do.”

“Well, with such a kind invitation, how can I resist?” He tugged at the wrapping, pulling the paper off in nearly one piece and letting it fall to the floor, where the cats instantly pounced on it. “Ah.” He held a slim metal disc, engraved with a circular pattern, and a small carved wand. “What is it?”

“I saw a life-size version in a monastery on Tannia. The monks walk the labyrinth while they’re meditating. It’s supposed to bring about clarity and purpose, because you don’t have to worry about what direction to choose. It just looked like something you should have.”

He nodded. “Thank you. Not having about direction would be nice for awhile.”

Quiet fell between them, and Bel-San traced his fingertips over the grooves in the dics, following around the circular path. The metal quickly warmed beneath his hand.

“So,” Alla said, “What’ve you been up to?”

“You know, the usual. Not grading tests, not making schedules, not seeing students, not planning field trips, not writing exams. Same old same old. You?”

“Oh, you know. Dealing with my retarded master and his irritating best friend. Good times.”

Bel San stood, shrugging. “Well, thanks for the present. Glad you could stop by. Be sure to give Qui-Gon all the details when you’re done spying.”

A smirk graced her lips as she spoke. “Couldn’t you go into the other room first and make some tea so I can go rifle through your drawers? I brought my datapad so I could copy any of the files you’ve recently written. You know, sometimes, I stop by just to stop by. Because you’re my friend. Sometimes I find things on missions and they make me think of you, because you’re my friend. Jackass.”

“You can’t tell me there’s no ulterior motive to your visit at all.”

“Well, there you’d be right, because see, on the mission where I found that disc that made me think of you, Keleran found this cat. You may have noticed I’m not really a cat type of person. I like other people’s, but I don’t want one. It might claw Keleran’s wings or something, and it just makes me nervous. You want another one?”

“You’re not serious.”

When she said nothing, he pointed to Van, who sat in the corner, poised to hiss at anyone who looked at him. “I just got a new one. He’s still…adjusting.”

“Maybe he needs a companion. Ar-Ion’s too nice for him. I think he needs a mean friend. Someone he could really fight with.”

“You’re not really selling me on this, Alla.”

“Here. Just take a look.” She pulled out some printed pictures of the kitten, passing them under Bel-San’ nose. “Tell me you can say no to that face.”

Bel-San sighed, looking down at the tiny, screwed-up face of a kitten mid-mew. “What am I going to do with another one?”

“Take care of it. It’s what you’re good at.”

His head jerked up from the pictures at her words. “What?”

Alla shrugged. “You’ve always been good at taking care of things. Listen, if you don’t want the cat, I’ll find someone else. I just thought I’d ask you first.”

“No, I’ll take it.”

***

TO: MASTER DRASLIV, CHAIR OF JEDI TRANSFER

FROM: KNIGHT BEL-SAN JACOBA

RE: REASSIGNMENT

Since our previous conversation, I have given a great deal of thought to my place in the Temple and where my talents can be best utilized. Upon further consideration, I feel it is the will of the Force that I take up a course of study in Healing.

As noted in the attached file, I have a background in healing, and considered it as my field of study before taking up scholarship and Teaching.

I look forward to speaking with you about this matter in person.

***

“Loosen up. Your arm’s too stiff. You’re holding a lightsaber, not a club.”

Obi-Wan screwed up his face, moving his hands around on the hilt. “Last time you said I wasn’t holding it tight enough.”

“And now you’re holding it too tight. You have to find a balance.”

“When do I get to build my lightsaber? This is boring.”

Qui-Gon turned off his blade, slipping it onto his belt before crossing his arms over his chest. “You’ll find that building your lightsaber isn’t all fun and games either. And I’m certainly not enticed to let you start if you’re not willing to practice with the one I gave you.”

“If I had built it, then the balance wouldn’t be off and I wouldn’t have so much trouble finding a good grip.”

“Do you want to be a Jedi?”

Obi-Wan scowled. “Yes.”

“Then find your balance and we’ll start again from the beginning. First position, when you’re ready.”

It took Obi-Wan a moment to recover from his pout, but he adjusted his grip once more and moved his legs and arms into position, mirroring Qui-Gon. They’d been working together for part of the morning, and while Obi-Wan had the mechanics of the moves, he wasn’t relying on the Force to feel them.

“Eyes on me, padawan. Don’t let the others distract you.” The training area was still relatively empty, since most of the padawans were in class right now, but there were pairs of Jedi scattered around the mats, and their activity was enough to pull Obi-Wan’s attention away.

“How come we can’t do that?” Obi-Wan pointed to a pair of Knights that were sparring nearby.

“Fighting with a lightsaber is more than a series of maneuvers. You have to feel the Force while you’re moving. It has to flow through you. We’ll get there. Just not today. It would be like asking a newborn baby to do your math homework.”

“What if the baby was really smart?”

“We’re running a little far afield. How about we give it one more run through, and then we’ll get some lunch?”

Obi-Wan nodded, kicking his boot against the mats. “This wouldn’t be nearly so hard if I didn’t suck at it.”

Unable to stop himself, Qui-Gon burst out laughing. “You don’t suck, padawan. We all feel this way when we start. Sometime, maybe if you’re really good, I’ll have Yoda come over and tell you about my first sparring practices.”

Although Obi-Wan didn’t look entirely convinced, he got back into first position, and made a good attempt at running through the kata. He was surprised, actually, how well the boy was doing, and he could see the beginnings of a formidable fighter even now. After training two padawans, though, he’d learned that praise was best kept in reserve.

“Your left guard is weak and you’re holding that way too tight.”

“Master! Tell him to shut up.” Obi-Wan turned around, casting an evil glance at Kerge, who had walked up behind them. “My Master’s teaching me, not you.”

“He does have a point, padawan.”

Obi-Wan’s jaw dropped, and he gaped at Qui-Gon until he held up a hand. “But that doesn’t mean there aren’t more diplomatic ways to correct someone’s technique.”

Kerge shrugged. “My Master’s not teaching me to be a diplomat. But he is teaching me to keep my left guard up and to tell when other people’s aren’t. It’ll make my job easier in the long run.”

Turning off his practice blade, Obi-Wan stuck his chin out as he spoke. “If you think you’re so good, why don’t you fight with my Master? I’ll bet that would shut you up real quick.”

“Obi-Wan, that’s enough.” Qui-Gon deactivated his own blade and turned to Kerge. “Was there something you needed, padawan?”

A bit of the boy’s bravado diminished. “My Master heard that you were practicing here. . .and he thought that maybe I should come and spar with you for a little while, if you had the time.”

“I think we could arrange a little demonstration.” He gave Obi-Wan a smile, pointing to the lines around the mats. “Obi-Wan, have a seat over there, and pay attention.”

Qui-Gon made his way to the center of the mat, Kerge close at his heels. “So they must have let up your suspension? I haven’t seen you wandering the halls by yourself for awhile.”

“Yeah, well, loyalty to my master and all. I had to back him up. Besides, Payter gets grumpy when he doesn’t get his own way. Frankly, I can live with the suspension. At least the suspension doesn’t yell. I know they had to make an example out of me for what happened. It’s what happens when you defy Council members, right?” He gave Qui-Gon a half-cocked grin. “I’m cool with it. It’s not like they can suspend my master when he’s in the middle of a…well, you know.”

Qui-Gon brought up his lightsaber in a salute. “True.” He’d sparred with Kerge a few times since the day he’d been taken as Payter’s padawan and knew the boy was good, but still took the time to begin their match slowly. They circled each other, testing weaknesses and strengths while Kerge kept up his end of the conversation.

“So, you know, just because my master can be an ass sometimes, it doesn’t mean that he’s mad at you or anything.” Kerge neatly blocked a strike that Qui-Gon had thought his chatter would make him miss. “So if you wanted to come by that would be okay.”

“I’ve been busy.”

Kerge jerked his chin in the direction of Obi-Wan before ducking an overhand strike. “He looks less pale than he did when we first got back, so I guess you must be doing something.”

Not really interested in taking criticism from a padawan, Qui-Gon increased his attack. It was nothing the boy couldn’t handle, but it should be enough to keep him from talking, he thought.

Instead of deterring him, however, Kerge spoke through panting breaths. “You know, let me give you some advice about Payter.”

Qui-Gon almost laughed out loud, but instead kept a straight face and waited for Kerge’s insightful words while parrying aside his attacks.

“I used to think that when he would yell and throw things, that he was mad at me. But after a while, I figured out that sometimes he just likes doing that kind of thing. Maybe it’s because he’s a wolfman, you know, some weird suppressed instinct or something, but you just have to ride it out. And sometimes he says stuff when he’s like that, like I know he did when he went to talk to you, but you have to remember that he’s under a lot of pressure right now.”

“Looks like Payter’s doing a better job of teaching you how to talk than fight. I thought talking was the key to diplomacy.”

Kerge somehow managed to shrug without losing his guard. “Payter says I should talk to my opponents if it will distract them and give me the upper hand. He’s also teaching me how to throw dirt in people’s eyes and ways to conceal a shiv so I can use it in close-quarter fighting.”

“Charming.”

Kerge grinned and ducked another strike. “So how are things between you and Obi-Wan? I mean, are you two cool now, or what?”

“So, I saw Alla the other day,” Qui-Gon moved past Kerge, working on a weakness he saw in the boy’s rear guard. If he thought to distract Qui-Gon with personal matters, he was about to be disappointed. He’d won more than one match against Payter in their padawan days using the same technique. “She seemed concerned that Keleran might be serious in pursuing the vows of celibacy prevalent in her cultural traditions.”

He almost smiled as Kerge actually stumbled at his words, but instead moved in with more speed than he’d been using and efficiently disarmed him, casting his lightsaber to the far end of the mat. “Remember that you are not the only one who can gain the advantage with conversation.” He bowed to Kerge and stepped back.

Instead of the expected disappointment or frustration that most padawans expressed when losing a match, Kerge actually crossed the mat to retrieve his ‘saber smiling. When he rejoined Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan the enthusiasm had not diminished.

“Master Jinn, you are the coolest. I have to say, my master has a lot of style, but you kick all kinds of ass. Is it okay if I spar with you again sometime? Payter says it’s good for me to learn other styles of fighting, other than his traditional hack and slash.”

Qui-Gon dropped an arm around Kerge’s shoulders, privately basking in the praise. “He always has been a bit on the blunt side. Of course I would very much enjoy sparring with you. In the future, however, I would appreciate if you would watch your mouth. I think Obi-Wan has picked up enough language from you.”

“Oh no, not me. It’s all Slade, he’s a bad mother—uh, yeah. I’ll see you around then, don’t forget you can come by now.”

“Yeah, bye, Kerge.” Obi-Wan looked positively gleeful. “Come back any time and let my master kick your ass.”

“Obi-Wan. What’d I just say?”

Obi-Wan looked thoughtful. “For Kerge to watch his mouth?”

Taking a deep breath, Qui-Gon steered the boy towards the door with a hand on his shoulder. “That applies to you, too.”

***

Dear Teacher Bel-San,

Hi. It’s Obi-Wan. Simone said I should write a letter to someone I wanted to talk to that wasn’t here. And since I didn’t have to send it, I can say whatever I want.

I just wanted to say hi, and that I miss you. I wish you and my master wouldn’t be fighting anymore so we could be together again, and so you could make us dinner sometimes like you used to. Dinner is usually cold and burned at the same time.

I remember one time Slade and I got into a fight but after a couple hours we said we were sorry and then we were friends again. Maybe you could try this with my master and then you could be friends again too. Since you won’t see this and I can say what I want I guess it’s okay for me to tell you that even though I miss you, I’m also mad. I know it’s not good for a jedi to get angry, but even though I meditate, I still get mad sometimes thinking about it. My master went to help you, he left me to help you and now you’re hurting him. I don’t think that’ s very fair of you and maybe you should think about that. You’re supposed to say thank you when people help, not be mad at them. I know you’re sad and everything didn’t work out the way it was supposed to, but he did the best he could and, I don’t know I guess I thought it should count for something.

Everything’s just been so wrong since you got back, and I don’t know how to fix things. I thought if maybe you and master were friends again that it would make it easier, but I don’t know. Maybe you’re not a very good friend to have for him anyway. Maybe you shouldn’t’ come back if you’re just going to be mean again. But I don’t want that to be true. I just want us to be like we were before you went away.

Anyway, that’s all I wanted to say.

Obi-Wan Kenobi

***

“I thought you were good at keeping these things alive.” Obi-Wan stood with his arms crossed over his chest in a good approximation of Qui-Gon’s own stance. He stood next to Qui-Gon on their balcony overlooking the decimation of the plants that Qui-Gon had been doing his best to ignore for the better part of the week.

He shrugged. “I don’t usually have this problem. I’ve been away on missions for months at a time and I’ve come back to them in better shape than this.” Poking at one of the yellow, drooping leaves, he sighed. “I suppose there’s nothing for it but to start over.”

“Why don’t you use the Force and make them better? Can’t you do that? I though you were supposed to be able to do that.”

“Not everything can be repaired with the Force. I could use it to help them, but really I’d only be fortifying the broken cell walls and as soon as I let my attention wander they’d fall back into their previous state.” Qui-Gon picked up a potted herb that had nearly disintegrated into a fuzzy brown powder. “It’s not really helping if they can’t survive on their own without my aid.”

“Doesn’t seem like it’s worth much, then.” The wind picked up across the city, sweeping dead leaves off the balcony and into the air.

Qui-Gon eyed his padawan carefully. “Do you mean the Force or the plants?”

Obi-Wan shrugged, turning away into the wind.

“There’s something to be said for using your own brains and your own two hands to make something better without using the Force. The Force is our ally, not our crutch. If there’s something we can do without it, well, sometimes we should.” Qui-Gon bent down, breaking off a bit of a brown plant’s branch. “See? This one is still green inside. It only looks dead on the outside. If we give it some water and a little attention, it may grow back just as green as before.” He brushed his palms on his pant leg. “Do me a favor? Run inside and get me some water. Use the pitcher in the kitchen.”

Obi-Wan sighed, walking slowly back into the apartment. Discouraged, he watched his padawan vanish from sight, and he rubbed his eyes. He had hoped that by this point in the week that their relationship would have improved, but whenever it seemed like they took a step forward, the ground opened up and they had to leap back six feet.

Focusing his attention on the plant, he ran his hands along the branches, finding ones that still had greenwood, and those that would have to be pruned. Unfortunately, he thought, this particular plant was going to be rather bare by the time he finished with it.

Calling on his bond with Obi-Wan, he sent the boy a message. Can you bring me the shears on your way out?

Instead of the affirmative answer he was expecting, and the calm presence he’d come to associate with their bond, a wave of sound and confusion crashed over him. The voice of his padawan talking, asking, screaming, pleading words that he hadn’t heard, words that he’d been blocking, tried to reach him all at once.

Like a sea bird storm-tossed in a gale wind, the roaring sound picked up his consciousness and swept him along.

It was over quickly. In the space of no more than a minute, he experienced every furtive whisper, each plaintive cry, all the unspoken words his padawan had sent his way, none of which he had acknowledged, because he hadn’t heard a word of it.

When the noise ended, Qui-Gon found himself breathless and on his knees, not remembering having fallen to the balcony floor. He could still feel the echoes of his padawan’s thoughts, and each one sliced into his psyche, double-edged razors of guilt and hurt. He’d never known his bond with Obi-Wan to be painful before, and his first coherent thought was to ensure his padwan hadn’t experienced the same thing.

As he struggled to his feet, leaning on the railing of the balcony, Obi-Wan came through the door, his shirt front soaked from clutching the pitcher as he ran. “Master! Are you okay?”

Qui-Gon managed a nod, although moving his head sent miniature shivers of pain through his mind. “I will be.” Pulling the Force close to him, he prepared himself to send a message back to his padawan. Are you all right?

Startled, Obi-Wan’s gaze fixed on his face, looking as if he hadn’t seen him for days. You can hear me now?

Chest heaving, Qui-Gon knelt in front of his padawan, his hands on the boy’s shoulders. Obi-Wan?

I called you and I called you and I called you, but you never answered. But you can hear me now?

Although conversing through their bond still sent periodic shocks of pain through Qui-Gon’s mind, he ignored the discomfort, more concerned with re-establishing their connection. How long has it been like this?

For a long time. I don’t know…I thought it would get better when you got back.

Why didn’t you say anything?

Obi-Wan’s gaze wandered over his shoulder, fixing somewhere on the cityscape beyond. I tried to ask you, through the bond, but when you got back it was like you couldn’t hear me anymore. I thought maybe it was because you were hurt and I shouldn’t bother you, and then I thought maybe you just wanted me to stay out.

Stay out? Qui-Gon drew in a ragged breath, his hands tightening on Obi-Wan’s shoulders. I never wanted you to stay out. I blocked our bond when I went away to keep you safe…there was a lot going on and I didn’t want you to bear the burden. When I came back and I didn’t hear you, I thought you were angry with me because I’d gone away.

Why didn’t you say anything? I thought you were supposed to not let me be mad, help me release it to the Force or something.

I was blind, Obi-Wan, and I didn’t realize how much you were hurting. I thought we’d be able to work it out. The pieces of the puzzle that had somehow eluded him were slowly coming into agonizing focus. This is why you’ve been fighting so much, isn’t it?

Obi-Wan shrugged, his slim shoulders drooping beneath Qui-Gon’s hands. Everybody knows you went away. Everybody knows and they kept saying mean things, like you wouldn’t come back or that you weren’t a good Jedi and I tried to ignore them and I did for a long time but I just couldn’t do it anymore. Because you came back but you still weren’t here. And then I was afraid they were right. So I punched Derik in the face. And then he didn’t say anything anymore.

There were times that Qui-Gon questioned some of the precepts of the Order, but it still managed to surprise him how many times their problems could come back to the most basic ones: fear leads to anger. It also never ceased to amaze him that a group of telepaths could have such unbelievable communication issues.

Master. Obi-Wan’s voice was quiet, even in his head. Why didn’t you come for me right away, after you got back?

That’s sort of a complicated question.

Qui-Gon paused, feeling more exhausted now than if he’d been sparring for hours. It took me longer than I thought it would to heal, and I didn’t want you to have to be with me until I could take care of you, the way a Master should.

But you didn’t even see me. You went back to the apartment without me.

Sometimes there’s more to healing than just the physical. I was very sad about what happened, and I didn’t want to make you sad.

Obi-Wan pressed his lips together, and it occurred to Qui-Gon that it was no longer a youngling child that stood before him, but a boy who grew in awareness and intelligence each day.

But not being with you makes me sad. At least if I’d been with you, one of us wouldn’t have been sad. And maybe I could have helped.

Maybe you could have, but there are times when even the people who love us can’t help.

The boy nodded, and Qui-Gon leaned forward, wrapping his arms around his padawan. Obi-Wan fell against him, his small frame wracked with shivers. The pain of their bond had eased, and Qui-Gon wasn’t exactly sure how he had missed its absence. Even though he knew they still had much to talk about, and despite the ringing migraine he was sure would accompany him for hours, Qui-Gon hadn’t felt better since before he’d left.

***

Knight Bel-San:

Upon receipt of your request, and the review of your records, it is the decision of this committee to assign you to work in the Healer division of the Temple for further training. You will be contacted by one of the Masters who will complete your subsequent education. Times and dates will follow. You will be provided with a schedule when your training shall begin.

May the Force be with you.

Master Drasliv

***

“Master, I don’t want it.” Obi-Wan kicked his feet underneath the table, accidentally hitting the table leg and causing everything on the surface to jump slightly. “I’m not hungry. I just want my juice.”

“You should really eat something before you go to class, Obi-Wan. You’re going to be hungry.”

“But it’s okay because Slade brings me snacks. So I’m not so hungry until lunch.”

Gesturing at the plastic container of cereal, he smiled, trying to sell the meal on his padawan. “You could just eat now, and then you wouldn’t have to have a snack.”

“I know you liked having me here this week, Master, but if I eat I’m going to throw up, and then I’ll miss more class, and I think maybe I should go back.” Obi-Wan drank his glass of purple juice, smacking his lips at the end. “Until I can find a smart baby to do my homework.”

“Right.” Qui-Gon sighed, lifting his mug of overly sweet tea to his lips. “At least it can’t be said I neglected to ask you if you wanted to have breakfast.”

“You can keep asking if you want, but I’m not going to change my mind.” Obi-Wan hopped down from his chair, and Qui-Gon saw the boy’s bony wrists poking out from his tunic.

“Remind me that I need to call provisions for you. Looks like you’re about ready for a new set of clothes.” He gave his padawan a small smile. “You must have grown while I was away.”

He saw the pleased expression on Obi-Wan’s face. “Pretty soon you won’t have to bother getting me my own clothes. I’ll just be able to borrow yours.”

“Oh, sure. Won’t be long now.” Qui-Gon followed him out of the kitchen as Obi-Wan gathered up his things. “Listen…if you need me today, or if anything happens, I want you to call me. I won’t be far away.”

The boy pulled on his boots, giving him a nod. “Okay.” Picking up his bag, which bulged with data readers, he smiled innocently. “So let’s say that maybe the teacher might give a test and I don’t know the answer. Can I call you for the answer then?”

“You can call me if you want, but I won’t be giving you the answers.”

“It was worth a try.” Obi-Wan ran his hand down the cat’s back, who nuzzled against his ankles. “So I guess I’ll see you later.”

“Yeah, the odds are good.” He reached out, ruffling the boy’s hair. “Have a good day, okay? Say hi to Slade for me.”

“I will. Bye.”

The boy tore off through the open door, racing to the lift until he was out of sight. Qui-Gon stood in the hallway for a moment longer before turning back to the apartment. He busied himself, cleaning up the breakfast dishes and catching up on the accumulating piles that had somehow gone unnoticed over the past week.

When he’d cleaned everything he possibly could, exhausting all avenues of procrastination, Qui-Gon ambled across the room to pick up his comlink.

He took a deep breath, flicked it on, and punched in the code that was more familiar than his own.

“Bel-San.”

“Hey. It’s me.”

A surprised silence met him, followed by a sigh. “Oh. Well.”

“So this is awkward.”

“Mm-hmm.” Bel-San cleared his throat. “So was there something you needed, or did you just call to state the obvious?”

A retort was on his lips, but Qui-Gon forced himself not to say it. “I just wanted…I thought that…would it be all right if I came over?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea right now. I have some things that I need to take care of.”

“Oh. That’s okay, I—“

“We’ll talk. Just not right now.”

“Okay then. Call me when it’s a good time.”

“I will.”

Qui-Gon knew the conversation was over, but he wanted to stay on just a little bit longer. It had been so long since he’d talked to his best friend. “I was just thinking that—“

“I’m sorry, Qui-Gon, I really have to go. I’ll contact you later.”

“Okay. Bye.”

His comlink sounded the tone of a dead line, and he shut it off. The silence that followed filled the apartment like the oppressive fog that often surrounded Coruscant, almost making it hard to breathe. He stood, walking over towards the balcony. Through the glass he saw the remnants of his garden, noting that nearly half his plants had been casualties. A few still lingered, their soil damp for the first time in weeks. He and Obi-Wan had done the best they could; it was now out of their hands.

Checking his chrono, he sighed. Only five hours until Obi-Wan came home.

***

Qui-Gon,

There’s so much that needs to be said, but I’m not even sure I can say it in this letter, so I know I’m not ready to talk to you yet.

I remember when I first decided I wanted to go to Was-4, and how much you supported me, and I know what you went through to get me there. You tried to keep it from me, but I know about the series of Council meeting, the petitions, all the people you roped in to get me there. I appreciated it at the time, and despite how it’s all turned out, I still am grateful for that. I wish that my time there could have ended with the same joy that I felt when I began. I wish that my memory of the entire experience wasn’t tainted with the events of the last few weeks. So much happened there…there’s so much that I learned, and I wish there was I way I could tell you about it all. But even now I’m not sure what everything means to me. I’m not sure if I’ve learned all my lessons yet.

I know you want things to go back to the way they were, and I think that’s why I’m not ready to see you yet, because they can’t go back. Too much has happened, I’m not the same person that I was, and neither are you. I thought that going to Was-4 would teach me to appreciate the things that I have, but instead it made me realize the things I need to let go. I don’t expect you to understand my decision to quit teaching and take up healing, but maybe you will. The point is it’s not really about what you think.

I would like your support, I would like your friendship, but I can do without it, if it means that you need to see me in the way you’ve always seen me. Much more than the symbolic act I passed years ago, I’ve truly gone through my Trials.

There’s so much more I need to work out in my own head, and when I have a clearer understanding of it, then we can talk.

Yours,

Bel-San

Bel-San saved the letter, but didn’t send it. He’d never intended to. The door opened to Healer Lidophyl’s office, and she beckoned him inside. He stood, tucking the datapad into his bag, and ran a hand through his newly shorn padawan-short hair before stepping through the doorway.