SoloKenobi Thank you so much for reading! I know it's long, and badly written in many parts, so your dedication is much appreciated!

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Athena Leigh Thank you so, so, so much for continuing to read, even when it seemed like I had left this one to the dogs. I appreciate it more than you know.

Obi-One passed the small, cold lead ball over and under his fingers, weaving it through like a thread. The movement redirected the panic from his heart to his hand, and he focused his mind entirely on that task.

But no diversion could last through the tumultuous emotion, the confusion that had bombarded him without warning.

"I can't tell ya how glad I am to see you friends with him again."

Again?

Obi-One turned his hand so that his palm faced upward, and the ball rolled into the middle of it. Again? When weren't we friends? I don't recall… The frustration tightened his fingers around the cool, round object. Even now, there was such an unimpressive list of what he could recall. Over half was already returned to him, he reminded himself—but at the shore of unknown waters, with a single question rising, it was as if he were a stranger to himself all over again, and unarmed against the current.

Perhaps it would not consume him so, this strange comment, foreign to his recollections, if it wasn't for Qui-Gon's behavior afterwards. Obi-One knew his former Master was not present during his conversation with Dex, but regardless, the man wasn't the same once he returned to the table.

Jedi could sense things, Obi-One had been told from the start, from Qui-Gon himself. Had Qui-Gon sensed the renewal of a sore subject from the past?

Obi-One leaned back against the couch and searched his limited realms of memory, for the tiniest argument, the smallest difference in opinion that could have bred an estrangement.

Then, a dark tingle, in his head and roiling in his stomach.

Tahl?

The issue had seemed resolved, back on the transport. Words were exchanged, the truth was revealed and peace was made. They had forgiven each other for the mistakes of that grimly shadowed time.

But was it worse than Qui-Gon had let on? Did the death of his only love create a larger breach between he and Obi-One, a separation that Dex would lament?

He promised to be truthful. I must trust in that. His sightless eyes gleamed in the darkness of the apartment. He took care of me, when I felt nothing for him—or anything else. I can't doubt him now.

Qui-Gon sat in the armchair, finding it uncomfortable for maybe the first time in his life.

Anakin was stretched across the sofa, a data pad in his hands and his face expressionless. The room's lighting left traces of gold to tint his skin, reminding Qui-Gon of the sunburned little sprite, smudged with dirt, running beside him through the Tatooine dunes.

Which made it that more difficult to do what he needed to. He wanted to leave it alone, ignore the signs of dishonesty that made themselves known in the lower levels of Coruscant. It wasn't completely unheard of for a Master to have business in that area of the planet…it was just very unusual.

"Anakin?"

The young Jedi glanced up from his reading. "Yeah?"

"Did you complete that errand for Master Espella?"

Anakin didn't even pause before giving his answer. "Yes, Master. It didn't take that long." He returned his eyes to the pad.

Qui-Gon nodded, but the niggling feeling in the Force wasn't satisfied. "If I may ask, what did she want you to accomplish?"

Anakin shrugged. "She just wanted me to deliver something. I wasn't allowed to open it. Private, I guess."

"Oh." Qui-Gon looked away, his brows knitting very lightly. "Where did you go?"

Anakin's eyes narrowed in puzzlement. "Why're you so interested, Master?" He paused, his features losing their harder edges, "I told you I was sorry I had to turn down the trip to Dex's."

"No, it isn't that, Padawan." Qui-Gon shook his head with a small smile. "I understand that some duties come before social gatherings."

"Alright…Then what is it?"

The Master studied his apprentice's countenance for a moment, searching for something he himself could not identify. After a moment, he lifted his hand. "Never mind, Anakin. You may continue with your studies."

Anakin's gaze lingered on Qui-Gon a beat longer, than he obeyed.

Qui-Gon rested his chin on his hand, fingers framing his cheek. Sometimes, he nearly regretted the depth of his experience with Padawans. Xanatos had been corrupted in part by Qui-Gon's tendency to indulge him. With Obi-Wan, he sought to avoid that grievous mistake, and hurt the boy very much in the process.

So what was he to do with Anakin? Leave him be, as he had done with Xanatos, and refuse to recognize his errors? Or analyze the situation with a measure of suspicion, the behavior that had robbed his relationship with Obi-Wan of closeness for so long?

Where was he to find a middle ground?

Two more hours found Anakin preparing for sleep, tossing his clothes in a pile and moving bare-chested toward his bed. He paused to place his saber with ever-reverent hands in a wooden holder he designed specifically for the beloved weapon.

A decade on Tatooine and a decade on Coruscant had taught him to be prepared.

There was a tapping at the door. He turned around to see his Master on the threshold. "Master?"

Qui-Gon took a breath, his keen blue eyes looking especially thoughtful--even troubled. "Padawan, I have always given you my trust."

Anakin felt a strange thrumming at his fingertips. Panic? No. Never. "I know, Master." He answered cautiously.

The man walked into the lamp lit bedroom with his arms crossed. His considerable frame threw a long shadow across the ground. "And in return, I've always assumed you would give me no reason to doubt that trust."

The apprentice's lips were like chiseled stone, pressed together. "What's wrong?"

"Anakin, I want to believe what you've said about Master Espella and that errand on the lower levels. And at the surface, I do." He glanced downward, to gather the strength needed to forge on, "But there is more to consider. More that, as a Master, I must consider."

The first molten sparks of anger ignited in Anakin's chest. "You think I'm lying?"

"As I've said. I don't want to believe that. And I still trust you." Qui-Gon leveled his eyes. "Which is why I'm allowing you the chance to clear up any…inconsistencies that may exist between the story you've told me, and the one I will be told by Master Espella herself. I went to Dex's this afternoon with Knight Kenobi. I saw you, in an interesting area of town to concern business with a Jedi Master. Particularly Espella, who limits herself to lightsaber instruction and rarely leaves the Temple."

Anakin didn't avert his eyes from the intimidating stare of his Master. If he was to be revealed now, he wouldn't do so in petty surrender. "If you truly trusted me, you wouldn't have to ask." His throat was bubbling up with ire, flushing his face. "You wouldn't have to run to Master Espella to hear her story!"

"I've accused you of nothing."

"Except deception, Master. A serious accusation, I would say." His fuming stare bore into Qui-Gon. "And wouldn't a true Master, a devoted Master, already know the answer?"

Before Qui-Gon could muster a reply, Anakin had torn past him, leaving the Jedi in a cold stir of air.

He sealed his eyes. "Now I know." He whispered.

Anakin had enough wits about him to grab his cloak before fleeing the apartment, and he pulled it over his half-naked form. Every step pounded in his head. His head, spinning and shouting and crying out from the pain.

What did you expect? The deception was real. Did you think it would never come to light?

But to combat the voice was another, a voice that sounded foreign to his own, an inflection sour and cracked.

You are the Chosen One. Who should you EVER have to answer to? Qui-Gon Jinn? Qui-Gon Jinn who can think of nothing but his past? Qui-Gon Jinn who runs from his Padawan in the midst of battle…

Anakin stopped abruptly, whipping his braid behind his shoulder. The wild dejection in his face turned to a tremble of pure rage.

His Padawan. And his past.

He went to Dex's today. With Knight Kenobi.

He felt silly for the tiny burst of surprise within him. Why should he be the least bit shocked by the connection? It was Obi-Wan Kenobi that waited in the wings, the shadow in the sun that engulfed all that Anakin loved, all that he cared about.

Anakin had been on the verge of tears. Now, they dried, replaced by something far less emotional. Far more intense.

If Chancellor Palpatine had been there in body, although he was surely at Anakin's shoulder in sinister spirit, he would have recognized the expression that overtook the young countenance.

And he would have smiled.

Obi-One's head was tipped against the back of the armchair. It was odd the pieces that came back to him, when he was lounging, and his mind was floating along the lazy lines.

From soft darkness rose lyrics from a song, the name of which he, of course, could not remember. A few of the words were a haze, but the rest shone clearly in his thoughts. Not slow, not fast, and he let the music string through like a dream.

When there was an uproarious pounding at his door, he was moments away from sleep, his half-lidded eyes shut completely.

Loathe to move, the Knight wet his lips and called, "Who is it?"

"Anakin Skywalker."

Obi-One sat up. An unexpected visitor, to say the least. But not unwelcome. Every encounter with someone from his past was another chance for discovery--although, he was a bit weary for such unearthing tonight.

He stood and made his way carefully to that place in the permanent pall where he knew the door would be, then palmed it open.

A rush of cool air came at him. For some reason, especially chilly, Obi-One observed. "Is there something you needed, Padawan Skywalker?"

"I just thought we could talk."

The tone was a little sullen, but not much different than Obi-One remembered from their previous interactions. There was the risk of awkwardness, for he was not well acquainted with the young man. But, as Qui-Gon's current apprentice, Anakin Skywalker would have at least a few things in common with Obi-One. Hopefully. "Certainly." He gestured with a hand towards the living area. "Come in."

Qui-Gon knew he should go after the boy. This was no way to leave things, even for tonight. It was not his aim to upset Anakin. On the contrary, he had hoped this would bring them closer, bridge the gap that had stretched out since their mission to Naboo.

But Anakin had perceived it as a great mistrust on Qui-Gon's part.

Decades as a Master of the Order. I would have liked to have been better at it by now.

He started to leave the room, but his feet were bound to the floor, as memory and sentiment bled from every crevice.

This room. These walls. Over the years, they had housed hours of laughter, learning. For him, this space represented his life's work--and the only family he could ever truly claim.

But things were changing. He could sense it, as strongly as he fought it. Anakin was not the child he had been. Nor was Qui-Gon the same man he had once been.

Yes, things were indeed changing. Qui-Gon reached out to where his apprentice's saber was cradled, his fingers dancing on the edge.

Have I failed again?

What other choices had he? The Force was his ultimate guide, and he could not steer from that path divinely carved. And Anakin's mistake was not deadly Although, at that moment, Qui-Gon thought that maybe his heart would be the one to fail.

Ghosts wreathed his consciousness. Eyes of gold and green, a gaze of chiseled blue ice. His only lover, Tahl. And the apprentice who fell from his shelter, to the Dark chasm beneath.

Then there were the eyes of no discernable color, the shifting seas of cerulean and jade and slate. The eyes that moved aimlessly--for they saw no direction, no distance.

Obi-Wan. How can Anakin understand that I must atone for that sin? How…

Qui-Gon swallowed a jabbing boulder that lodged in his throat. Obi-Wan. Anakin.

And for some reason, ephemeral to his mind, those names brought back the moment when Anakin threw Obi-Wan to the hospital floor.

He was out the door before his loud curse could echo in the dimmed Padawan quarters.

Anakin stood in the living area of Kenobi's apartment. It was not an easy thing to do. The man's presence, a strangely prominent light within the Force, was resonating from every inch of the place. And since his first days in the Temple, Anakin had resented-even hated that presence.

He could easily explain that to himself. If ever there was a tangible enemy of his life, it was this man, who turned his back on Qui-Gon, placed Padme's life in danger due to his own ineptness. That in itself was enough to earn Anakin's mistrust. But the last straw, the breaking weight, was that neither his Master nor his wife blamed Kenobi for his severe errors. Perhaps this blindness was contagious, spreading to the minds of otherwise intelligent people.

Luckily for Anakin, he was immune to whatever draw Obi-Wan Kenobi seemed to have on the rest of the universe. What he saw when he looked at the other Jedi was a failure, a lost and unworthy cause saved from exile by the scars around his eyes. If only he realized his own inferiority, and resigned himself to the shadows of this place, where he belonged.

But then Anakin remembered-there was a long time during which Kenobi had remained a resident of the darkness here. It had made no difference. Qui-Gon found ways to reach him. Anakin had to admit it. His Master had drawn Kenobi out.

Yet, Anakin was more than willing to work with Qui-Gon as a team. Where it had been the Master's mistake to lead Kenobi out of the Temple's distant backdrop, it was Anakin's duty to put him back.

Even Kenobi would understand it, one day. He was never meant to receive Qui-Gon's tutelage. Destiny was not so difficult to attain, that there was an obstacle at absolutely every turn. Eventually, Anakin's Master would know it too.

So Padawan Skywalker studied the shadowed room and its occupant with an almost detached air. The rage was still very much alive, running thick and fiery through his veins. But acting purely out of anger had cost him before. This time, he would be calm.

Obi-One felt momentarily for the couch, then sat on the edge. "Sit if you like." Then, he put a hand to his head, waving the other to bring up the lights. "I'm sorry about that. It doesn't come natural anymore."

"That's alright." Anakin replied, careful to keep his tone neutral.

"What was it that you wanted to talk about?"

Anakin resisted the urge to leap right to the core of his passion. It was better to begin slowly. He had waited ten years for this moment. "Do you remember Senator Amidala?" There was the slightest tremble of emotion in his voice, "Padme?"

"Yes. The Senator from Naboo."

"I've just spoken to her today. She wanted me to extend her wishes for your complete recovery. She was pleased to hear you are regaining your past."

Obi-One smiled faintly. "Tell her I am grateful for her concern. She is a fine person."

"Yes, she is." Anakin had to breathe in deep before he continued. "I guess you might not remember, but she'll always felt a sort of…debt toward you."

A few wrinkles appeared on the Knight's forehead. "A debt? You mean because of the mind wipe?"

"That," The boy agreed, "And for what happened during the battle. After all, Master Qui-Gon was distracted trying to protect her. It's only natural she would feel a little guilt, although I think you can see that it's unfounded."

"What are you talking about?"

Anakin feigned a surprised tone. "What? You know, don't you?"

Obi-One's heart was racing in his ears. "No. I don't. I don't know what you're referring to."

"Oh. I'm sorry. I thought you knew. But it's not really my place--"

"What does Senator Amidala have to feel guilty about?" Obi-One was on the verge of demanding, his entire body consumed by the cold foreboding.

"I told you, I wouldn't feel right being the one to--"

"Please. Just tell me." Obi-One wrung his hands to stall their shaking.

Anakin found he did not want to smile, although the other man would have no way of knowing the sentiment garnered from the coming words. He wouldn't take pleasure in what he had to do. It went beyond that. He closed his eyes, and the faces of his mentor and his lover leapt to the second set, the ones unblinking in his mind. For them. For me. "Well, when Padme was shot during the Battle of Naboo, Master Qui-Gon sensed it. You two were locked in battle with the Sith. When he felt that Padme was in immediate danger, he left you."

Despite the absence of sight, the blue-green eyes flickered with disbelief. "He…left me?"

"He went to find Padme. And he left you to face the Sith alone."

Obi-One swallowed thickly. "I--I was still his apprentice then?"

"Yes. Not much longer afterwards, but that day you were." Anakin waited until he knew it had sunk in, then, "I better be going. I didn't even mean to stay this long. I just wanted to pass on the greeting from Senator Amidala." He strode to the door, and paused long enough to say, "Good night, Knight Kenobi." And, let's pray, good-bye.

Obi-One heard the door close.

And inside, felt it shut him off from so many things.

The corridor was a darkened tunnel. Shadows were at Qui-Gon's back; his eyes were trained to the frail suggestion of light ahead. His mind was swarmed with morbid possibility, cold enough to freeze his body, yet simultaneously surging it with the adrenaline needed to outrun the demons at his heel.

He didn't want to believe his own theory. Gods, not when it was such a costly thing to take stock in. That he was dashing towards that apartment, in defense of Obi-Wan…Was he overreacting? Was he conjuring a dark pulse in Anakin that didn't exist?

In his mission to right his most terrible wrong, was he destroying both of his apprentices?

When the dust settled, would he be alone after all?

Qui-Gon took a breath, realizing, as his legs carried him through the silvery stretches of endless hallways, that his own fate in this mess was unimportant. He would take a fatal blow for Anakin or Obi-Wan, even if his death would ensure them but a day more.

He had harbored the image of his former apprentice not as a man, or even a loved one, but as a walking symbol of his errors. For too long, he sought out Obi-Wan in selfishness, hoping to heal his own wounds…never mind the scars marring Obi-Wan's soul, the glassy reflection of his dead eyes.

And when he reprimanded Anakin for intruding upon his personal quest, it was not to protect Obi-Wan from harm. It was to gate the boy from Dark, to save Qui-Gon from glimpsing another mistake in a student's young face.

Now, Qui-Gon knew, he never left the podium of his heart, never let himself find a new vantage point in which to view the Universe. Perhaps Anakin, intelligent, perceptive Anakin, knew that.

And maybe Obi-Wan did too.

They were chained to their Master's conscience, treading and re-treading grounds made soft by overlapping footprints, helpless to their shackled existence. For only he, Qui-Gon, could forge the key of release, so at last, they could all let it go.

CAN I let go?

The miles shrunk to inches, and he was standing at Obi-Wan's door, reaching with Force fingers to touch upon the signatures contained within the rooms.

One. He sighed, in partial relief. Anakin isn't here.

The door disappeared in a blink, and the Master saw the Knight sitting solitary, rigidly, among the bleak furniture.

"Was there something you wanted, Master Jinn?"

Qui-Gon knew the younger man had sensed his arrival, and tried very hard to be pleased by the progress, though the voice was strained by weariness. "I--" He wiped the clammy sweat from his forehead, "I wanted…I wanted to see how you were doing."

"Hm." Obi-One's lips compressed slightly to allow the sound. "I'm not so sure of that myself."

The tips of Qui-Gon's boots were at the threshold of the room, but he didn't take the few steps inside. The light had been leached from the familiar face, so that he nearly melded with the shadow of the walls. The eyes were fastened to a faraway world reserved for the sightless, and the Master didn't attempt to understand just what Obi-Wan was glimpsing.

"Does Anakin speak often with the Senator?" The question rose in monotone from the taut surface of silence.

Qui-Gon swallowed. "The Senator?"

"Amidala." Obi-One elaborated softly. "Does he speak with her often?"

Qui-Gon ignored his confusion long enough to reply, "I don't believe so." His brow furrowed at the unchanging vacancy of the face, "Obi-Wan--"

"He spoke with her today. She sent her regards for my full recovery."

Qui-Gon's towering figure suddenly slumped, and pain was scrawled over the blue canvas of his eyes. "Anakin was here?"

"Yes. He left a few minutes ago."

"What did he--"

Obi-One exhaled heavily, bringing tinges of gray to his pallor in the process, and whatever motive he might have had at the beginning of their conversation deflated "I'm very tired, Master Jinn." His inflection remained quietly unaffected, "Would you mind helping me to my bed?"

Qui-Gon frowned at him, at the core of the musty shroud that had inexplicably fallen over the room. "What was Anakin doing here?"

Another weighted sigh was heard from the Knight. "Could you please help me to my bed?"

With frightened reluctance, Qui-Gon walked into the depths of the strange gloom, everything awash in a clouded palate. He stopped in front of Obi-One and looked down at the bland cast of the features. "Obi-Wan…"

Chilled fingers wrapped around his arms, and Obi-One pulled himself to his feet, as if crippled by the wear of decades of years, yet unlived.

Qui-Gon waited for him to move in the direction of his bed quarters, but he stood with the drunken patience of exhaustion-although the Master was certain the mind was not caught in the same kind of stupor as the body.

He rested a hand on Obi-One's elbow. "Tell me what's wrong."

And Obi-One's head turned away from the whisper. "Can you help me or not? I don't… I don't think I can find it on my own. Before, I had gained clarity about this place, I could steer through the rooms without grazing a table corner o-or slipping on a holopad." He shook his head, "But now, I just don't know."

"I could take you to the Healers'."

"No," He said, half-heartedly, "I'm alright.

"The fog will lift."

Qui-Gon nodded, although the other couldn't see him, and started towards the room, Obi-One leaning against him.

The bedroom was engulfed in black. Obi-One didn't bother to change its state, not even for the convenience of his guest.

"Are you feeling sick, Obi-Wan? I could contact Bant, and you wouldn't have to leave--"

"I'll be fine." Obi-One interrupted, transferring the bulk of his weight from Qui-Gon to his sleep couch, laying on his side and closing his eyes.

Qui-Gon pulled a thick quilt over him; his touch stayed a moment longer. "Will you?"

Obi-One's profile was barely there, lost in the pall of unimpeded night. It was his voice that shone through, a tarnished, sober sound. "I can't talk anymore."

And then Qui-Gon could feel the weariness overtaking the huddled form; he still couldn't resign it to a physical sense. The fight fled him. "Then sleep." His fingertips were faint against the smooth temple. "And maybe the fog will leave you."

The Knight's grinding cognizance slipped away then, to isolate Qui-Gon in the shadows.