And let us not be weary in well-doing, for in due time we shall reap, if we faint not. -Galations 6:9

The universe is a scary place, yet you were willing to try, oh my child.

Why did that bring pain?

Why must we now say goodbye?

"He isn't doing well, Master Yoda," was the first thing that Yoda heard when he stepped into the room. He harrumphed, raising a brow at the young healer who had announced this before even a greeting. The adolescent Padawan blushed heavily, or as heavily as Togruta were allowed to blush, and bowed hastily.

"Forgive my rudeness, master…I thought you'd like to know. And it really is a shame," she hurried to elaborate. Yoda narrowed his eyes at the youngster but finally relented his admonishment.

She was correct in her feelings, of course; it really was a shame. It wasn't right. "Good are you to feel compassion, young one," he counseled with as much wisdom as four hundred years of life granted him. Which was quite much, too much Yoda thought at times. "But let concern cloud your mind, you should not," he said gently.

The Padawan nodded vigorously. "Yes, master. I'm sorry master. But…Well…" She trailed off, instead backing away cautiously when the doors to the intensive unit opened and her master appeared.

The Rinshoonx Jedi, one of those feral types that had tails, wore a mask of grimness on his usually placid features.

He stood several feet taller than Yoda, but if one stared at them the air of authority around the diminutive master would have been enough to convince them of who was really in charge here. Size mattered not.

"Padawan, go get our guest more tea, please," he ordered. Nodding, the girl scampered away hurriedly, eager to do whatever she could to help. Yoda waited expectantly for the rest of the diagnosis. He did not have to wait long. "He's dying," was the blunt reply to Yoda's unspoken inquiry.

"There is nothing we can do to cleanse that bile from his blood stream. We've done all we can, master, but…I do not believe his body can handle this," Yoda pursed his lips, calling out to the force for guidance; it offered nothing by way of the boy's future. He shook his head, returning his gaze back to the healer whom he had likewise raised.

"Count him out so soon, we should not," he decided, unwilling to give up on the boy so easily. The spirit within the dying body was too bold, too courageous to allow death to steal it away before the universe had even had its share of him. The healer nodded, without conviction. He saw only the facts, not what Yoda saw when he looked into deep grey eyes.

That the force belonged within this child, and by extension, so did life. For was not the force the energy field ion all living things? Between all living things? Size, age, numbers; they mattered not.

"See him, may I?" Grand Master Yoda would never stop seeing the surprise on others faces when the few times he asked instead of commanded came into play. But this was the healers domain. He had little authority here beyond that of genial respect.

"Yes, it isn't dangerous to adults, but I dare not risk him near any of the other younglings. It could be disastrous," as if releasing a plague inside of the temple.

Yoda shivered at the very thought of all the younglings inside of the Jedi temple catching this incurable ailment. "Of course. He is waiting for you," the healer bowed, just as his apprentice returned, panting. "I got just the kind he likes," she chirped, eyes wide with weary concern.

"Take it to him I shall," Yoda declared. The young girl stared at him in surprise, shocked that the grand Master would suddenly become tea bearer to a sick child, but Yoda took the small tray from her with the force delicately, and sauntered into the room with debonair anyway.

They did not see what he saw inside of this resolute child.

Inside of the sterile, white room, sitting impatiently upon the large bed which around nestled several machinations which whirred and buzzed with the sounds of keeping life alive. Some might call it piety, others sacrilege. Everything was a point of view. Sitting on the large bed was the patient Yoda had come to see. A five-year-old child.

Anybody everywhere, can you hear me crying out?

My sky is falling, the light is fading, force above, won't somebody help me?

I respond when you call, day or night, peace or war; but is anyone out there willing to hear the shout of a hero?

"Do you remember when we were, what was it…? We were eight, I think, and you used to talk us out of our classes? You never told me how you accomplished that," she said, conversationally.

Yan Dooku, barely yet thirty-five years old, scowled more deeply, his right ear pressed to the cold rock, listening for any sound.

Dammit, where was Qui-gon when Dooku needed him? His Padawan was taking all too long to arrive.

Once more, Yan tried to touch Qui-gon through their bond, but felt nothing, which worried him all the more. What trouble had the youth gotten himself into this time? Couldn't he survive long enough to come and help Dooku for once? Time was running out quickly enough.

"Be patient, smiles, they're coming," the woman below, half of her body crushed underneath the weight of a boulder replied. She was still in shock; her nerve endings numbed from the pain. Dooku had been using the force to make sure it stayed that way, but he could not do it forever.

He couldn't keep her alive forever, and that scared him. Yan Dooku, above all things, also hated to be afraid at any time in his life. "Haven't I told you not to call me that?" He demanded, harsher than he had meant too. Fear made one idle with their words. He needed to maintain control. He needed perfection. "You did," was the casual response, unperturbed.

"And I ignored you that time and every other. Not going to stop ignoring you now just because you have an apprentice. I have one too, so ha," she replied victoriously. Yan could not help but chuckle softly, shaking his head, he turned around in the dim glow of the torch he had propped up behind them to face her.

Had anyone else ever endeavored to say such a thing to Yan, they'd have ended up disfigured and/or humiliated. He did not take teasing as something to be dispersed among just anyone…Anyone but her. She was free to give it because she hardly cared whether he invited it or not.

"Yours is under the horrible influence of mine. I am not responsible if Tahl comes out slightly…Warped. Qui-gon does that to his peers. Yoda assures me he has already thoroughly ruined Padawan Windu," Yan responded.

He walked back to the Dathomiri woman who was seated uncomfortably upright, leaning against another smoother rock that combined with Yan's cloak, made for a painful bed.

They had both been trapped inside of the small cave where the tyrannical government had kept illegal political prisoners for months. The two Jedi had gotten stuck inside when, having shoved one of the women aside, Sonali had gotten her legs ensnared beneath the boulder, and probably her pelvis too.

Soon, the sore lodgings would become a deathbed; if help did not arrive soon. Already her eyes had begun to cloud over. Her pale forehead was wet with sweat in the dark. The air was sweltering, slowly baking them alive, and the wisps of smoke from the torch lent an acrid atmosphere

Still she did not complain. He admired her for it. He surely would have made the force frightened noise of a screeching rancor. Frustration getting the best of him, he scowled once more and attempted to sense Qui-gon again, but the signal stopped short.

Where was he? "Tahl will straighten that boy out, Yan, don't you worry," chuckled the girl's master, one of the few friends who had stayed with him since childhood, past the grueling apprenticeship underneath Yoda's wing to the circumstances of his Knighting and choosing of an apprentice.

It was not often one found a true companion to match his rare tempers and outrageous impudence. And one even Yoda approved of. That indeed was rare, and this woman was indeed special to him. "I highly doubt that, Sonali," he replied, kneeling at her side to place a hand on her shoulder.

"Are you alright?" he asked once more, frustrated at his inability to help his friend, at the circumstances her own selflessness had placed her in. She didn't deserve this.

Sonali waved away his concern. "Fine as spun silk," she chirped, causing small smile out of her old friend as his eyes traveled to her glossy black strands of hair. "Yes, spun silk," he mumbled.

Hold my hand, don't leave me tonight,

In a world where life still means death,

You are my everlasting light.

Qui-gon Jinn stood sentinel over his friend, arms crossed, dark grey eyes unreadable to those who did not observe closely. He alone, one who had already learned the lesson countless times, stood as only a witness to the unknown moments behind the hero.

The parts no one knew about, the silent times of injury and denial, doubt and deceit. The hut was sweltering in the mid-morning heat. The sky above was cloudless, the plentiful forests around the city shielding them in an air of perfect surreal beauty.

"Will he be alright, do you think?" Aiello asked softly, staring curiously at the man lying useless, unresponsive, placid upon the hard dirt floor. His surprise that Obi-wan had been injured, had not yet awoken, that Obi-wan burned with the bonfires of fever just any other being did was evident in the force.

Qui-gon dismissed it as understandable ignorance. Ignorance he was all too well aware of. Obi-wan was on the floor, this fact outraged Qui-gon, quietly, though he knew were Obi-wan awake he'd find humor in the injustice of it.

Qui-gon Jinn sighed, resisting the childish urge to pace worriedly over the unconscious man below him. He was a Jedi master in his own right.

He was far too old for such impractical emotion, and sentimentality had never been his strong point anyway, not since Xanatos.

Still, he couldn't help but draw in another lacking breath which took too long to replenish his dry reserves. He had not slept in the two nights he had been tending Obi-wan. Now almost nineteen years old, his Padawan was no longer the bright and exuberant child of his youth.

Experience and challenge had hardened him, wisdom and service had taught him his lessons well, and the overall scheme of life had decided to be particularly unfair to his heroic apprentice. Obi-wan would find all of these facts enormously over exaggerated were he awake. But alas, he wasn't.

Qui-gon was grateful for the question though. "Yes," he answered, dearly hoping that it would be true when he spoke it. "He will be fine. Thank you for your help, Aiello," a gracious dismissal, Dooku would have approve certainly, the farmer took it merrily.

"No worries, Master Jedi! My friends will never believe me when I tell them a Jedi is in my house!" the bachelor chuckled with a swig of the small canteen of some alcoholic at his side. Chuckling at the hilarity of his private thoughts, the farmer waltzed from the room, slamming the door behind him loudly.

Obi-wan cringed at the noise. Qui-gon winced at their hosts thoughtlessness before shaking his head to clear away the initial frustration. Without word, feeling a bit light headed with worry; he collapsed to his knees at the side of the feverish man who continued to be a boy in his eyes. Would always be his boy. Gently, he dipped his hand into the bucket of cool water next to him and sponged Obi-wan's face.

"Stay with me, apprentice," he mumbled tiredly, tenderly watching Obi-wan's face pinch in pain. He was bleeding internally; and what with this planet's atmosphere being unfriendly to outside communication, and their ships long-range transmitter having been destroyed, there was no one to call for help. Qui-gon was not sure how they were getting off planet at all.

At the moment, that wasn't his concern. His concern was the apprentice that lay at deaths door because of his own bravery, the man who was suffering of his own free will to save this small band of villagers, and so forth they had not done anything but congratulate themselves on having been intelligent enough to call for Jedi intervention at their bars.

No one cared to come and help him tend the injured soldier in this war against evil and oppression they fought, the person who had saved them in the first place. Why should they? Obi-wan was only a Jedi, wasn't he? They were not expected to have a lifespan, to die as cruelly and bloody as any other being in this universe they fought for so desperately…

To them, Obi-wan was merely a person who lived to serve them, to Qui-gon, he was strength, light, salvation, hope.

You say you need a hero who knows how to fight, a hero to stand up to the night,

But when the night comes, and carries off the day,

Who saves the heroes when they stumble in the fray?

Obi-wan took another long sip of his lukewarm tea, debating, his head pounding with the constant ache of it. Force, he hadn't slept in two days, even though he had returned home to the Temple four weeks before. Sitting at his side, Mace Windu sighed and also rubbed his own aching cranium.

"Master Plo?" he suggested. Obi-wan shook his head, slowly. "No, he's handling that clandestine mission on Ord Plotunia, remember?" he commented, with a soft yawn that once would have embarrassed him in the face of a master as respected Mace Windu.

Now it was such commonplace that Knights were known to yawn in the Council chambers while giving their report.

"And he's still writing those press conference release forms. They're due in a few days," he cringed. He did not begrudge his fellow council member the work. Obi-wan had been a council member no more than a year now, and already he missed the days of just being a simple master.

He was not brave enough for politics, after all, and he also had to handle the occasional predicament that Dooku saw fit to throw at his old Order. The traitor. Clearing Dooku from his thoughts, Obi-wan returned to thinking about the new dilemma.

Who in the blazes was going to handle this new dilemma with the senate? Now the utterly despicable politicians meant to ask the Council if perhaps they would consent to having two or more Jedi subject to experimentation so that potentially scientists could finally deduce what midi chlorians were. Thus, the Senate would be able to produce force sensitive clones for the war effort.

The council needed a polite way to tell them to go to the kriffing hells.

But who had the time to debate and explain, over and over again as was needed with politicians, and particularly the senate, why this was a bad idea, and why the Jedi refused and really why they would refuse no matter what the Senate voted on the matter. The Jedi were peacekeepers, not slaves.

Though at times it felt like it.

Usually, Obi-wan was the first choice for things of this nature, being as how he was the Negotiator and all that nonsense now…. But since Obi-wan himself had several mission reports to go over, file, and receive incoming transmissions about General Grievous and Ventress, trying for the sake of the force to deduce where they would be attacking next so that maybe lives could be spared instead of wasted this time around, that was an impossibility.

They just didn't have time.

"I'm at an impasse," Mace announced after another moment of tenuous deliberation. The Jedi Master at his side, second in command only to Master Yoda himself, sat back and rubbed at his sleepless eyes.

"There is no Council member we could possibly send," he growled, frustration flashing hot splice of lightning in the force. Obi-wan sighed in agreement, mentally cursing the senate.

"A Knight, then?" he dared not suggest Anakin Skywalker. Mace glared at him as if he had suggested something evil. "The Knights are fighting on the battle fields. Master Yoda doesn't want them having to worry about things of this nature, Obi-wan," he reminded him firmly.

Obi-wan stroked his beard. "How is Master Yoda?" He asked quietly, knowing that his former Master was the reason behind Mace's surliness. The friend of Obi-wan's old mentor groaned and placed his elbows on the counter top, rubbing his eyes. "Worse," he replied grimly.

"The infection he got from Geonosis? Its flaring up again, he is confined to bed with a raging fever. He won't let me help," Obi-wan ignored the way Mace's voice had cracked with despair when he had described Yoda's cold stubbornness. Obi-wan put a hand on his friend shoulder comfortingly. He remembered well what it was like to worry about ones master.

He would never worry about Qui-gon Jinn again, sometimes in this war he believed that was a luxury. Certainly, Mace no longer had it. "You, too, need rest," he observed compassionately.

However, the Jedi master did not heed his advice. "Ah, Obi-wan," Mace chuckled darkly. "I have too much to do….As do you. The lavishness of being a leader. Let's get to work, then, hmm?" Yes….Work.

It feels like forever when I first met you,

Together two heroes have we been since then,

Is it now at an end?

"Master Yoda!" The force danced sharply with the fragmented, uncontrolled joy which only children could exhibit, and it slammed into Master Yoda's mental shields with the clumsy power of a nav-train. He chuckled. He loved the children. "Hello, young one," he greeted, shuffling inside.

The small child smiled genially down at his favorite teacher. Yoda frowned, though the boy's spirits were high, it was apparent his body was failing.

His usually pale green skin, so much like Yoda's, had darkened to a deep olive, his grey eyes were lined with red rings, and the feeble body was emaciated, for nothing would stay down. This child was slowly starving to death.

Yoda suddenly and uncharacteristically wished that there was some way that he could make the demon who had done this pay….but that was revenge.

Jedi did not indulge in such selfish wants. In the grand scheme of things, really, this child's life should mean little to him. The Light would continue; and the Order would remain, after he died. It was not a cause for grief.

Yet it was. All loss of life was a cause for grief. Yoda believed that, the different ways people did mourn was of little concern. The Jedi mourned in their own way. Quietly, in the isolation of the force's company…But now was not the time to contemplate his Orders abounding culture.

"Yes, hello," he chuffed, struggling histrionically into the bed with stubby legs and hands full of tea. The sick child giggled; pressing both hands over his mouth to stifle them as he watched Yoda labor with merriment.

His mirth bubbled in the force, creating warm pangs of light in Yoda's soul. He relaxed finally, smiling wryly as he presented the young one with his tea.

"Mason," he greeted. "Hi, master," Mason agreed cheerily, though his voice sounded as if there were shards of jagged glass in his throat, taking his cup magnanimously. "Feeling, how are you?" Master Yoda inquired, as he squeezed the young boy's leg through the covers.

Mason gave a small half shrug. "Not too good," he admitted, then looked up, haggard grey eyes worried. "Is that bad?" he asked. Yoda exhaled slowly, wondering what to tell him, if anything. To tell him that he was dying? That the force told Yoda nothing about his future?

For force sakes all the child had done was drink his milk. A malevolent temple worker had poisoned all of the milk supply, but because of his blessed ignorance, had not put the right dosage into the children's milk, and thus most had escaped with nothing more than sour stomachs. But for Masons' species….It was fatal.

This child, not even yet six, who was dying, and for what? Because he was Jedi? Because of one person who despised all force sensitive's for no solid reason other than they were supposedly 'freaks who didn't belong in normal society'?

Freaks who risked their lives every day to help those weaker within the galaxy, to lend their lives out as a service, while at home their children were poisoned?"To admit your feelings, this is not bad," he quickly assured the child, though that had not been the initial question.

"To let them control you, this leads to darkness," he pretended to study the toddler with great keenness. "Sense no darkness in you do I," he snuffled, poking the child in the belly. "Perhaps inside big belly it is, hmm?" He inquired teasingly. The little child let out a high-pitched giggle and shook his head.

"My belly isn't big, master!" Mason squealed, swatting at his hands playfully. "And there's no darkness in there! You're just silly!" Mason said, grey eyes lighting up at the gentle joke. Yoda chuckled softly.

"Must be so," he agreed. "How's your ear?" Mason pointed to the bandage that contained inside of it the shreds of what remained of Yoda's left ear.

"Growing back it is," he answered, touched by the thoughtfulness Mason had always displayed. That all Jedi likewise displayed without thought or conscious…Jedi who were sent out by the dozens each day… If Yoda could do anything to change Masons' apparent fate, if the force told him of some way, he would do it. But he couldn't. This was a fight Mason had to want to fight alone…

Just like all Jedi eventually had to fight alone.

Memories from so long ago. I can't remember a time without you,

But when you die no one will remember what an incredible life you've lived.

This is what makes it so hard to believe that it's worth it.

They guzzled down the last drop of water three hours after entering the cave. They sat in a tight bubble of apprehensive silence when Dooku upturned his canteen, and not a single drop came out from neither his nor hers. They were out of water. And it was sweltering.

"Blast it all to the…!" he bit down on his tongue before the rest of the sentence could come out. Losing his temper would not help matters, but for force sakes, he didn't want to lose her.

His last and only true friend. One of the only people he trusted implicitly, without question or fear. And what with the water gone and rescue giving no sign of being on its way…

Hope was running out. "Yan," she placed a delicate hand on his arm. "Calm down, help will come soon," she gave a promise both of them knew was not hers to keep. "Do not speak to me as if I were a child," he sneered, standing.

He pushed lightly upon the rock trapping them inside. Perhaps he could move it with the force. He was the master of force levitation after all. He had taught classes on it since he was in those classes himself. He knew. Sonali had never let him forget it.

"Yan, you have to let me go…" Sonali began, but Dooku twirled, his heart skipping beat at the implied suggestion that he would ever abandon her fate to someone other than himself, as if anything, even the force, could possible hope to keep her safer than he could.

"Do not begin with me, Sonali. I will not give up. There must be a way out of this force forsaken prison, even if I have to ram through the rock myself," he growled, pacing along the walls like a trapped tiger, which he felt like.

Sonali sighed, recognizing stubbornness when she saw it, and relaxed, staring up at the ceiling with glazed eyes.

"You'll take up all our air," she scolded, as a last means of reason. "So hold your breath," was the cold answer. "Why can't you hold your breath? I'm the lady," she snorted. Dooku sighed and turned back to her, scowling, but upon seeing the crease in her brows at his uncharacteristic behavior, he sighed and returned to her side where he belonged.

"Forgive me," he murmured, keeling beside her. "I've been allowing my emotions to cloud my judgment. How are you feeling?" he asked. She gave a small half shrug, both dismissing his behavior and the concern in his voice.

"Rather helpless. You know I do not like to sit idle, either, smiles, and truthfully I do not fancy the idea of dying this way but," she shifted.

"If it is the force's will, well then it is for the best. Do not cling to me, Yan Dooku. You are stronger than that. You are above love," her voice hardened as she turned to him sternly. He nodded obediently. "And you?" He whispered.

She snorted. "I am not above love. I am above loving you. You are so out of my league," she snorted. Dooku chuckled softly. She was beautiful when she was arrogant. "Witch," he countered, using her nickname of their youth.

"Smiles," was the obvious retort, a brand of shame she had slapped him with day in and out in their youth, before they had learned to get along.

How things changed with time…Suddenly, Yan frowned, gazing down at his childhood friend somberly. "Will anyone ever know, Sonali?" he mumbled contemplatively, eyes haunted in the dim light.

"Will the woman you saved be grateful for the gift of your life, if the force does take you today? Will these barbarians understand even a blimp of what was sacrificed here? Or will you be just another Jedi who died doing what they do?" he growled darkly.

"Who knows?" was the calm reply. "But whatever reaction they might take, it matters not. We are not in this for glory, Yan," she asserted strongly. Yan did not answer that. "But The Jedi mourn all life. We save every life we can," his eyes burrowed into her own. "Shouldn't someone mourn yours? Shouldn't someone care about saving yours?" he demanded.

Her eyes narrowed back at him. "Such thoughts are a path to the Dark Side," she replied. Yan did not look away, his own cobalt pupils blazed. "Maybe so…But I cannot help but wonder, Sonali, why their lives were worth yours?"

Such Light in the universe, being snuffed out without a word,

Child, hang on, just for the night.

If save you could; I would fight. But this is one war which I can't win that way.

It was nearing afternoon when Obi-wan finally found some semblance of consciousness to cling too. "Master?" he asked softly, chapped lips barely opening to let the passage of air in and out. Azure eyes blazed blearily at Qui-gon from behind stunted eyelids.

Qui-gon smiled feebly. Obi-wan scowled at him accusingly. "Haven't…Slept…have you?" He demanded. Qui-gon refused to answer that question.

"Good afternoon to you too," he chirped, gently squeezing Obi-wan's arm. The young Jedi did not cease his suspicious look, but nonetheless played along if only to make Qui-gon feel better.

If only he did not have to make Qui-gon feel better. If only these things did not happen. Yet they did, it was one of the things that Qui-gon could not change no matter what he would have given.

"How do you feel?" he asked, but Obi-wan had not the energy for such a conversation. Eyelids already drooping, he asked hoarsely "the people?" meaning the hospital full of sick and injured children and the elderly that Obi-wan had held up during an groundquake for the sake of the people inside.

Qui-gon had hustled everyone out as fast as he could, but the strain of heaving up an entire establishment himself, during a groundquake, was phenomenal. An apprentice as young as obi-wan should not have been able to do it, but he had. He was a man of many talents.

"Everyone is alright," he assuaged Obi-wan's fear. Nodding weakly, Obi-wan drifted back into a feverish slumber. Qui-gon sat back on his own heels; and, with some difficulty due to the long hours of sitting and the affects of old age, rose and walked to the small window.

These people lived in the most primitive way Qui-gon had yet seen. They used bare to no technology, not even electrical farming supplies. They lived on the land, creating wooden huts and growing their food on their back porches.

Because of this, the Living force was strong here. Inhaling deeply, he struggled to release his fury that Obi-wan had gotten hurt again, and no one seemed to care at all, worry for his Padawan's health and guilt that he himself had not gotten there in time to have been the one holding up the building. He would do anything to change places with Obi-wan on the ground.

At barley nineteen years old, Obi-wan was a hero. Like all Jedi, he had dedicated his life to serving others…And this was how he was treated, with indifference and worthlessness?

Would it matter if I told you that he means the universe to me? Qui-gon asked the elderly man sitting on the porch across from their small hut, grumbling that he wondered if those blasted Jedi had a cure for his aching knees, since they could do everything else perfectly well.

The Jedi did not fight for glory or recognition, if you did you'd be sorely disappointed many times. But just because one did not fight for the fame of it did not mean that they should be treated as if they were mere passerby good Samaritans? Roaming nomads who occasionally entered life just to defeat the bad guys and go?

If Obi-wan dies, no one in this village would even remember his name, revolted by this thought, Qui-gon turned his back to the people outside and went back to attending his apprentice. His apprentice who had several new scars and internal bleeding because of his heroism and selflessness.

"Hold on, apprentice," he said, when a quick examination of the force revealed that Obi-wan's fever was only worsening.

Did his body have the strength to fight off the sickness that came from exhausting one's self to the ultimate limit? With a long exhale, Qui-gon released his anger into the living Force, which picked compassion and gratitude over indifference and lack of sympathy.

The Living force, which sheltered Qui-gon within bubble of Light as he once more bathed Obi-wan in cold water to keep his temperature down. His own Light; his very reason for existence, and he was suffering.

Sometimes Qui-gon wondered if it were worth it.

No matter what they call us, whatever we may seem to the rest of them,

No matter what we do, or say, no matter how many mistakes we've made,

I hope you know I'm proud to have them with you.

"Obi-wan, what did you do to yourself this time?" Bant demanded upon catching sight of him inside of her wicked domain. Obi-wan, making no attempt to hide his distaste for the healers ward, gave her askew smile. "It's good to see you too Bant," he quipped. She only glared more profusely.

Seeing that she obviously suspected him of villainy, a many people did nowadays, Obi-wan spread his hands in an appeal for peace. "I am uninjured, Bant," he assured her.

His old friend, arms crossed, narrowed her wide eyes to dangerous slits. "Uh, huh?" She continued, sure that there was a catch. Obi-wan was stung by her not totally unwarranted suspicion. "I'm here to see Master Shaak Ti," he finally explained.

Bant's expression softened immediately. "Really? Can you get her to rest, then?" Bant asked, hopefully. Obi-wan nodded and gave her a wry grin.

"I shall do my best, though you know she has much work to do Bant. No use in putting it off," or, that was what he always said when he was injured and likewise never rested enough before he was pushed back into work.

"She just woke up from a two week coma, Obi. She needs her res or she'll exhaust herself right back into one," Bant harrumphed, uncaring of his excuse. Obi-wan had to admit that it was a rather unfounded one, even if it were more true than he would have liked to believe for himself.

"Speaking of which," Bant continued before he could reply to her statement. She turned, motioning for him to follow as she led the way through the abnormally full medical ward. Obi-wan pretended not to hear the muffled moans of pain and the stench of acceptance in the force.

He was not brave enough for healing. "Have you gotten any rest lately?" Bant demanded over her shoulder, snapping Obi-wan out of his brooding. "Of course," if one counted two days earlier as lately. It certainly was lately as far as Obi-wan was concerned.

Who knew how long it had been since the other council members had slept. So forth, half of them were in their dorms to escape the cosseting of the healers, however good the intentions may have been.

Sometimes Obi-wan wondered if this war were worth all the trouble being put into it. Sometimes he wondered if the lives out there were worth the dark storm clouds of pain and anger he saw in Anakin's eyes. Was the fear he saw in the younglings eyes worth it?

Was the anguish he felt dulling the once tranquil Temple worth all of this death and destruction? Were their morals worth war?

He wondered if their lives were worth anything if they were only serving others at the expense of themselves. Selfless, maybe…

But was it right, even? If all life was equal, if everyone deserved an equal chance at happiness, then why did the Jedi always seem to fall short?

He sighed, deciding that master Yoda would have broken both of his shins if the diminutive master would have hear d the tenor of his thoughts. Jedi did not think this way.

They did not wonder such selfish thoughts. A life of service, saving others at the expense of oneself was always worthy…

Obi-wan walked into the small room which housed Master Shaak Ti and struggled not to cry put in horror when he saw that one of his favorite teachers now had both of her arms replaced by prosthetic ones. And she was doing paperwork.

"Master," he breathed, horrified, shocked. Shaak Ti looked up and gave him a wan smile. If he hadn't slept in two days she had never slept a day in her life.

Upon seeing his expression, her own face fell, and she shook her head slowly, the force around her darkening. "Don't tell Yoda?" She teased hoarsely with a crooked smile, voice trembling.

Obi-wan did not answer. Instead he quietly closed the door behind him and gently moved the paperwork from her lap without a word. She did not stop him.

Nor did she stop him when he gently grabbed both of her mechanic hands in his, just the way he held Anakin's, and softly sang her to her to sleep as she had done for him that century ago.

Rest now my holy child,

May your dreams be well. Your life was not in vain.

Because you taught me something today.

"Master Yoda?" Opening his eyes, the grand Master of the Jedi Order blinked slowly at the small child limply prostrate below him. He had been meditating, on Mason's bed, albeit, but still trying, struggling to get an answer out of the force.

Some might say that it was attachment that drove this endeavor, though Yoda's opinion was different. Not giving up because you cared about something and refusing to accept the force will because you loved something were two different things.

Or so he told himself.

"I can't feel my legs," the child's voice quivered as large grey eyes stared at Yoda with confusion and fear. Yoda exhaled slowly, and nodded. He considered calling in the healers, but decided it would be a fruitless gesture. The boys force signature around him was flickering, like a light bulb that had only minutes left to absorb electrons.

"Hmm," he grumbled, shuffling over to sit beside the ragged boy. Mason's breathing was coming in shallow, wispy breaths. The time was not long from now.

"Yes," gently, he reached out and swiped some of the child's dark hair away from his face. "Dying are you, young one," there was no nice way to say it.

Mason's eyes widened.

"I…I am?" he croaked. "To the force, you will go. Become one with it," Yoda gave a small smile, he had see many friends die throughout the ages, but it never got easier. "Leave old Yoda behind to suffer wrath of your friends, you must?" he tried to tease, if only to hide the way his heart quivered in his chest with sorrow.

This bright boy did not deserve to die. Mason did not smile back. "I'll never see my friends again?" he mumbled tearfully. Master Yoda sighed deeply, wondering how he could say this to a child. "Yes, you will," he decided. After all, many of the morals they clung too were common child's place, logic intensified by the heart. It was why the Sith believed them naïve.

"Watch over your friends, will you, in the force. And in their hearts, you will always be. Leaving us, you are not, Mason, merely going home," though it was a pre-mature homecoming. "Oh," Mason relaxed a trifle.

"I guess….Will you stay with me?" he asked softly. Yoda nodded, gripping one tiny hand in his own, tightly. Yoda could feel each bone in the small limb; he could see every haggard line in Mason's face.

"Yes," he whispered to the boys sensitive ears. Mason's eyes fluttered, the force flickered. "Master? You know I told my friends I was gonna be the best Jedi ever…You believe me, don't ya?" he mumbled.

Yoda swiped another piece of hair away. "A great Jedi, you already are," he pointed out. "But a better one. Do you think I could have done it?" Mason insisted, quiet as murmuring wind chimes.

Yoda thought a moment, remembering the compassion and strength he had always seen in Mason's grey eyes. He nodded confidently.

"A wonderful Jedi," he finally consented, unwilling to believe that Mason was anything less than a great Jedi now, facing death with such tranquility. Mason nodded and let out a breath of a laugh.

"Told 'em," he grunted. "I told them that I could do it. I would have been a good Pad-wan…" Yoda chuckled softly at the mispronunciation, his heart breaking. "I would have stopped wars, and rescued people from burning buildings…I would ha' saved little girls, and helped persons when they were sad…" Mason's breath hitched.

Yoda squeezed his hand. "A very good Jedi are you. Only a great one aspires to do these things," Master Yoda whispered to him approvingly. "But do you know why, master?" Mason demanded, so soft Yoda had to perk his ears up to hear the thought.

Before Yoda could wonder, Mason began again, with an unexpected wisdom, with a finality that meant the words were from the force itself. "Because if I got to help one person-just one-in the name of the Light, then ten more will do the same. Because it's worth it."

This life has been hard and cruel,

Now it releases you,

And I am alone.

"Is it raining outside?" Yan, who had since then been quietly studying the beautiful woman before him, cocked his head simply, listening to the small patter of rain outside of their prison.

"Yes, I suppose it is," he replied, wondering why she asked. Sonali let out a small laugh. "Didn't you read the preliminary report, Gundark brains? It only rains once every three years here. This must be a special occasion," unless that special occasion was Qui-gon finally showing up, Dooku didn't care.

"If Qui-gon has stopped to bask in the glory of the rain and Living Force again…" he grumbled, thinking that this seemed exactly like something his apprentice would do. Sonali chuckled brokenly. "Ah, Yan, stop. He is a good boy, that child of yours. You' re honored to be his master, admit it," yes, well, that hardly qualified to anything.

"I am," he sighed anyway, just to appease her. There wasn't much he wouldn't do to make her happy. "He is a brilliant child…He is just so odd, Sonali. So different from me I'm not sure what to do with him sometimes," Dooku admitted, though fondly.

Sonali chuckled, than the chuckle turned into a raucous cough. Yan turned to her, alarmed by the violence of it as he urgently wrapped his arms around her shoulders, trying in vain to help her sit up.

"Sonali. Take a deep breath. Calm down, breathe," he soothed. But the words did nothing. Choking, blood foamed at her mouth. Panicking slightly, the Jedi Knight pounded her on the back, until after a tense moment, the coughing subsided into mere gasps for breath past the blood bubbling at her lips.

"Are you alright?" Yan asked, gripping her hand tightly within his own. "Yes," Sonali gasped, shaking her head. "I'm sorry. The heat and the air, I suppose…Yan, if anything happens to me, I want you to look after Tahl" Sonali I told him, firmly, her fixed eyes serious in the dim light of the dying torch. "Nothing is going to happen to you, Sonali…."

"Promise me, Yan Dooku,"

"I will not," growled the other, stubbornly. "I will not assuage your fears, Sonali. That'll only make it easier for you to let go," he squeezed her hand again, softening his tone.

"I am sorry. But you aren't going to die. I am not eager to be the one to tell Tahl her master is dead; you know how much I dislike failure," he said softly. All of a sudden, the force pitched with Qui-gon's wail of heroism through their bond. Well, it was about time.

"The Padawans are coming," he breathed, unreservedly relieved. "No one compares to you, my dear," he continued, considerably more cheerful now. Cheer made his tongue run. "The people we saved today, what will they do to repay the kindness? Go on with their small lives, never doing any good for any but themselves? No. You will not die for people like that. They are nothing compared to you and I. They are weak, and we are strong. The strong should not die for them," Sonali snorted, staring at him sternly.

"Have I ever told you that your thoughts border on malicious and/or sadistic? Yan, that isn't right. That is the opposite of everything we have been taught…" She began.

"If there is anything I have learned from Qui-gon, it is that not everything we have been taught is right," wordlessly, Sonali gave his hand a tiny squeeze, her glazed eyes staring at the ceiling sightlessly.

"I worry for you," she whispered. Dooku's heart skipped a beat. Hurry, Padawan! He called urgently through the bond. "Sonali," he began, shaking her shoulders a bit. "Don't give up, Sonali. I won't let you," he ground out between clenched teeth, hands trembling.

"Oh, smiles…" Sonali let out a breath of a laugh. "You never did… Like letting anyone else…have control," she said, words muffled around the blood still frothing around her lips, such large pert lips that he had dreamed about so often.

"You've got…To let me go, Yan….Help Tahl…Tell her I'm proud…Proud to have been her master," Sonali whispered. Qui-gon! "I won't. You will do it yourself. They're coming, hold on a moment longer. They're coming," Dooku persisted. Sonali's eyes drifted closed. "Dear idiot…" she mumbled, and then went limp in his hands.

She was gone.

We've felt much pain in this life, you and I,

But we have survived,

And we will survive, so that we may encounter joy in this life, you and I.

Obi-wan had close to one hundred and fifty scars on his back alone. Qui-gon had counted them, when he was undressing his Padawan from the light but numerous layers of clothing Jedi were subjected to wear.

That was less of a quantity than Qui-gon had had at his age, but also higher a amount than a number of other Padawan within the Temple. "It's because you are a magnet for trouble," Qui-gon grumbled to his apprentice, still unconscious, though he had woken up a few more times since the day before.

They had yet to see their host since then….Or see him sober anyway. The townspeople were still celebrating their victory. Suddenly, Qui-gon sat up, his senses keen enough even without the luxury of sleep to sense a small being outside of the door.

Curious, he stood and walked to open the door before the tiny being could pull up enough nerve to knock. At least several feet below him, standing unsurely in the cold was a small girl, no older than seven or eight years old.

She was holding a small bowl of pastries; and something else to her chest possessively. "Hi," she squeaked, thoroughly terrified. Qui-gon smiled gently and went on one knee so that he was eye level with her. "Hello, little one," he responded, lowering his voice so that it was smooth and assuring.

"How may I help you?" he asked. She glanced down, and shifted in soft moccasin boots. "I was in the hospital," she explained shyly.

She thrust the bowl of food at him, nearly breaking his nose. "You and that other man, you got me out…Me and mommy made you cookies. She had to stay home with my little brother, he's still sick…But I wanted to come say thank you," she hastily explained.

Qui-gon felt his heart melt at the consideration of this small child. He took the bowl from her and inclined his head, curious about the other item in her arms. "Thank you, young one. I appreciate the gift, and your thanks. It was kind of you to come," he said softly.

She smiled timidly and nodded. "Is the other man okay? Is he in there, too?" inquisitively, she peeked past his shoulder. Qui-gon's amused chuckle startled her. "Do you suppose your mother would mind if you came in and had a peek yourself? I'm sure my comrade would love to meet you," Qui-gon invited.

The girl stared at him as if he had just told her she could have the universe's supply of candy. "She wouldn't mind," she answered excitedly. "She told me Jedi are nice people…Is he awake?" She wondered, as Qui-gon stood and stepped aside to allow her in.

"Not yet," Qui-gon admitted, nudging Obi-wan's mind to see if it would arouse him. He received a weak signal as Obi-wan struggled back to awareness.

"He's sick!" the girl gasped upon sight of him. Tentatively, she stood over Obi-wan, watching him anxiously. "It's a good thing I brought cookies," She told Qui-gon helpfully. "Cookies are good for sick people," she informed him. Qui-gon's mouth quirked at the corners.

"Are they? I had no idea," he retorted. "They don't teach that at Jedi school?" the girl inquired curiously. Qui-gon shook his head. "I'm afraid not," he snickered. Their guest obviously thought this a great shame.

"No wonder he looks so bad. Give him a cookie, he'll feel better," she commanded. "I'm not sure he'll eat it just now," he explained amusedly. "He's sleeping?" Another nod. "Not anymore," Obi-wan contradicted huskily, opening his eyes a slit to peer at the young girl. His pained features relaxed a bit. "Hello," he croaked. "Hi," the girl reasserted much less bashfully.

"My name is Myra. You helped me get out of the hospital," she introduced herself. Obi-wan nodded weakly. "I remember," Qui-gon sensed he remembered no such thing, but the girl didn't need to know that.

"You do? Mommy says Jedi have good memories…But she says Jedi are good anyway. I brought you cookies. They'll make you better, so you don't have to be scared," she assured him.

Obi-wan's chest rattled with a wispy laugh. He did not fear death. "Thank you, Myra," he whispered. "You're welcome," hugging the small object to her chest, she continued. "And you know something? I brought you something else," she stated.

Obi-wan opened his mouth to object, but before he or Qui-gon could explain the Jedi custom of not accepting gifts, she thrust a tiny, crude book at him, made from scraggly pages of papyrus. The cover had the crude drawing of a crumbling building on it, but with a stick of a man holding the building up while another giant carried people out.

"I like books," explained the child, unaware that books had not been used in at least two thousand years. "So I made you one out of paper. I wrote a story," she informed him proudly. "It's lovely," Obi-wan croaked, struggling to hold his emotions in check.

Qui-gon smiled and put a gentle hand on Myra's shoulder, grateful beyond measure, somehow placated with ease. "Thank you for the gifts, Myra. We will forever cherish them," he said, despite Obi-wan's unspoken protests of protocol.

"You're welcome," the little girl chirped, with a bright smile at him, then, glancing pointedly at the door, she said, "I think I should go. My little brother is still sick, and mommy needs my help to take care of him," she said. "Perhaps when my friend gets better, we may be able to help," Qui-gon offered, walking her to the door.

"I can show you to make cookies for when he's sick next," Myra agreed. "He does tend to get sick a lot," Qui-gon chuckled, with an impish glance back at his apprentice. Obi-wan returned the look innocently.

"It's because he doesn't have enough cookies," Myra told him exasperatedly as he opened the door for her. "Will you be able to make it back alright?" he asked worriedly, noting that the village was silent and completely dark as usual, except for the boisterous noise coming from the tavern.

"Sure, I live right there," she pointed across from them, where Qui-gon could sense if not see a small hut. He nodded. "Of f you go then, and thank your mother for us," he told her.

"I will. Bye, Mr. Jedi. Remember the cookies!" She called over her shoulder as she dashed into the night. Qui-gon chuckled softly a she gently closed the door behind him and turned back to Obi-wan.

His apprentice was sitting up, book in his lap as his eye skimmed the scrawling and sloppy handwriting with fondness.

"Master?" he croaked. "Hmm, apprentice?" Qui-gon said, still pondering over the warmth he now felt in his chest because of one being's kindness. Obi-wan chuckled softly. "I love my job."

And no matter what happens, or where this life leads,

I want you know that if I die tomorrow,

I lived a life worth living.

Obi-wan Kenobi did not encounter many times in his life where his legendary patience and faith in the Light faltered, but after nearly a week and a half of sleepless nights, straight work and visiting his fellow Jedi in the healers or helping those who needed him, he didn't very much care whether he fit the proper description of Jedi Master.

Perhaps that was why Anakin would not stop grinning. "Anakin," Obi-wan finally sighed, twirling round to face Anakin, who was staring at his back with that signature smirk while he followed him way too passively, walking behind instead of beside him as was now customary since his Knighting.

"What is so amusing about my frustration?" He demanded, perfectly aware that Anakin could sense it. After all, they had one of the strongest bonds in the Order, and after spending several nights together on the battlefield, they could read each other like open books.

Anakin halted in mid-step, opening his mouth to quip some joke that Obi-wan would frankly not find very funny right now. But though sometimes Anakin was thoughtless, he did possess some self-preservation skills, and both of them knew who had the sharper tongue when provoked. He cleared his throat. "Nothing," Anakin admitted, suitably chastened.

"I'm sorry. What's wrong with you anyway?" he asked. Obi-wan cocked a brow. "What makes you think there's something wrong with me? Why can't it be something wrong with the universe in general?" he demanded mildly. "Fine. What's wrong with the universe?" Anakin leaned against the sterile white walls of the lower levels of the temple, the halls where barely anyone traveled.

Except for them because they were weird that way. Obi-wan sighed, trying to release his bundled emotions of frustration and helplessness into the force. "Well, there is this small detail going on right now. It's called the Clone War. On the other hand, maybe it is the fact Grievous or Ventress could be murdering on a grand scale and we have no clue where they are or how to go about finding them. The fact that Jedi were never meant to be war generals in the first place is a big one. The fact that we have created clones for the sole purpose of dying, the amount of Jedi now M.I.A or otherwise," he stopped, considering.

"The corrupt senate, which, by the way, wants to start experimenting on us now as if we're lab rats, the magnitude of work I have to finish today which I hope you never have to face…" he decided, with a definite nod. He hoped no one would ever be piled with so much magnificence ever again in all of history.

"Or, maybe the universe is seriously kriffed up" –Anakin's eyes widened at his profanity- "Because Master Yoda is sick and ailing, Master Shaak Ti lost both arms and a leg and just woke up from a coma, Master Mundi has microscopic insects in his side eating him alive, Master Windu hasn't eaten in four days because he's struggling to fill in Yoda's place, I have to watch as friends and teachers around me every day are exhausted past their limits, knowing there is nothing I can do about it," he huffed, finally ending the list.

Then, cocking his head, he added, coolly this time "or maybe it's just the fact that you wouldn't stop smiling that irked me. It may not be the universe at all," he considered calmly. Anakin, with an expression of surprise bordering on sympathy, gave a curt nod.

"That's a pretty kriffed up universe right there, master," he agreed, simply. "I know," Obi-wan sighed, running a hand through his hair with stress. "And don't you dare repeat any of that to anyone," he ordered. Anakin raised his hands pacifically. "I won't," he promised.

Then, pursing his lips, he said. "But ya know, Obi-wan, for someone who's universe just sucks right now…You've done every plausible-and implausible-thing you could about it. You have been visiting just about every sick Jedi in the Healer's ward, teaching younglings classes, helping Padawan's with their homework while their masters were busy, my own included. That and what with trying to tell the Senate to kriff off and build those refugee camps, yes I know about that, doing everything you can to make the clones lives easier, leading battles, coming up with other people's battle plans, and trying to make sure that pirate Hondo does what he's supposed too and smuggles in the supplies you hired him to sneak past enemy lines to those who need it, including the slaves on Tatooine?" Anakin cocked a brow at him.

Obi-wan was momentarily at a loss for words, an emotion he did not feel very often. Finally, all he could manage was, "how did you know I was doing all that?" he demanded.

Anakin eyes twinkled teasingly. "Because I know you, Obi-wan. You're very good at being private and mysterious…With everyone else," he said. Obi-wan snorted and crossed his arms. "You have a camera hidden on my clothes somewhere, don't you?" he demanded. "Irrelevant," Anakin decided, with a wave of his mechanical hand.

"It is too relevant…"

"Listen, master, all that matters is the people we save out there. The universe might be really…Turned around, and I know the Council was forced to make some tough decisions, but torturing yourself about it isn't going to help….We can only try to save as many people as we can, isn't that what you always tell me? We can only do our best, and if it isn't enough, then it wasn't the will of the force. You have to be the one to follow those examples, because you know how opposed to all forms of authority I am," Anakin interrupted him.

Obi-wan, quite tired of hearing the same platitudes he had told himself day in and out for the past few months, only nodded. "You're right," he sighed. "But Anakin-all this suffering, is it worth it?" he asked Anakin, just as he had asked himself.

Anakin gave the question serious thought. "No," he decided. "It isn't. When you really think about it, for every person you save, for everyone you help, Dooku's armies are just going to kill another ten, and someone else is going to get hurt. Things are just going to get worse. People will only see the things we haven't done instead of the things we have. To fight in the face of that fact is stupid," his point exactly.

"But you know master…If you ask the little slave girl who doesn't have to worry about her brothers getting sick anymore because she finally has the medicines someone went to great pains to have smuggled in to her, she might tell you that it isn't so stupid. Or if you ask those dozens of people you've visited today who smiled because you bestowed some of your wit upon them, I don't think they'd find it stupid. If you ask Padme or Bail, the ones who suggested the refugee bill only to get rebuffed until you stepped in, if you asked Ahsoka or the other Padawans who weren't around to learn the materials they were supposed to learn because of the war, or the younglings who now believe they'll have chance to build their first lightsaber because you told them so, or the clones who know that to someone, they're not just objects but people too…I think they'd tell you it wasn't so stupid," Obi-wan stood rooted to the spot, touched by the faith in Anakin's voice.

"Anakin..." he said softly, at a loss for words.

"And if you ask me, Obi-wan, I'd tell you I don't think it's stupid but I think it's what makes you my hero. I'd tell you that I couldn't be more proud of you. I'd tell you that I think Yoda oughta just step down and give you the job because you're doing it anyway. I'd tell you that I think you're the most selfless, strong, compassionate man in this kriffed up universe…And wherever Qui-gon is, I hope he realizes just what an honor he did me introducing us all those years ago," Anakin finished, with reasonable calm, as if he couldn't see the blush that had crept up Obi-wan's neck and infested his entire visage. As if he did not notice the tears in Obi-wan's eyes.

Damned man.

"Anakin…" his voice cracked. He had no clue what to say to that. How did one respond to such words? How could he ever explain to Anakin just how much that meant to him without breaking into tears of gratitude?

It hardly mattered because Master Skywalker then continued as if he did not see any of this, though he was smiling in that knowing way of his that just knew what Obi-wan didn't say. There had never been a person who had been able to read the silences of the Negotiator so well.

"So. Now that we have established that. Can I have a new starfighter?" Obi-wan couldn't help but laugh. He had not laughed in a long time. "What did you do to your last one?" he asked, trying to sound stern.

In the end he only sounded amused. Anakin rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "Well…I…It blew up. But it wasn't my fault, per se…It was Snips' fault," he settled upon. "It is Ahsoka's fault you crash every ship we hand you?" Obi-wan teased. Anakin nodded confidently.

"Absolutely. Can I have my new ship now? Please?" Blast him, he knew there was little Obi-wan would not do for him when he flashed that charming smile and his eyes twinkled like that. "Flatterer. How am I supposed to say no to you now? Fine. Let's go see what we can scrape up in the hangar bays," he waved Anakin after him.

"And then you're getting some sleep, right?" Obi-wan snorted. "Don't push it, Anakin," he warned without much threat, but Anakin only grinned again and slung his arms around Obi-wan's shoulders companionably.

"I'm proud of you," he repeated. And with it reaffirmed, Obi-wan's shoulders finally unwound a bit, and despite how kriffed up the universe might get-or was- if it made Anakin proud of him, then Obi-wan knew it was worth it.