A/N: Alright, this is the beginning of a new arc in the story, and I'm going to make you read a massive author's note.

First of all, I need to recognize and thank (with a million thanks) my friend en-shaedn, who is on FFnet and on tumblr. The only reason I have gotten this far in this story and the only reason you all get to read any of it is because of her. Without her ideas and willingness to listen to my haphazard plans for this AU, it would not exist past the first few chapters. She helped me name Aola and Feemor, she helped me solve my writer's block, and she's helped me plan out the rest of this story. Thank you so much, m'dear!

Secondly, I need to clarify a little continuity problem that some kind reviewers have pointed out. Apparently I've been waffling on Obi-Wan's age a bit these days, saying sixteen one chapter and fifteen the next. So. For the record, up until this chapter, Obi-Wan is fifteen years old. I plan on going back and fixing the points where I've said that he is sixteen. My timeline is made using information from wookiepedia.

By birthdates:

Qui-Gon: 92 BBY
Obi-Wan: 57 BBY
Anakin: 42 BBY

Ben arrives in 42 BBY. Ergo:

Qui-Gon: 50 yrs old
Obi-Wan: 15 yrs old
Anakin: 1 yr old (he was born near the very beginning of the year).

In all technicality, by these dates it may be that Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon should be 16 and 51, but I am ignoring that minutia to streamline the AU.

I hope that straightens some things out.

Now, on with the show!

Days became weeks. Weeks became months. Months, in their rightful turn, became years. Suddenly, without his knowing precisely where all the time had gone, Ben Kenobi had been living in the past for a full three years.

Obi-Wan was now eighteen years old, grown as tall as Ben, ("That's it?" Obi-Wan had asked upon the anticlimactic milestone. "Damn.") and swaggering with all the overconfidence that a freshly promoted senior padawan may hope for.

Qui-Gon had changed very little, give or take a few grey hairs, but now seemed more like the Qui-Gon that Ben remembered from his youth. Perhaps it was Obi-Wan's age that prompted the shift. No longer stuck in the insecurity of childhood, Obi-Wan was shaping up to be a talented and powerful Jedi. Qui-Gon was of course the first to notice; he was also the first to remove his kid gloves and remind the padawan of the power and skills of a real Jedi Knight. The clashes of wit and saber within the Jinn/Kenobi team became a testament to Obi-Wan's own talents a much as Qui-Gon's well-earned right to teach him.

"Supernova," Aola winced, gripping the bench. Ben smiled beside her.

"He'll get up," the master reassured.

After much groaning, Obi-Wan did, gripping the boot-shaped sore spot on his stomach. "Is that..." he coughed through a smile, "all?"

"That depends, do you intend to run into my boot again?" Asked Qui-Gon with superiority, though he was, to Obi-Wan's credit, looking a bit winded.

"I had to give you some chance at victory," Obi-Wan shot back, showing only a slight wince of pain when he straightened his spine. He brought his saber to the ready. "But I see you've wasted it."

"Cheeky brat," Qui-Gon growled. He did not wait for his apprentice to catch his breath before he leapt back into the offense, landing strike on strike, pressing his smaller opponent into a retreat. Even so, for every strike that Qui-Gon delivered, Obi-Wan was ready – if only barely – with a counterstrike of his own. Blue rushed in hurriedly, barely on time to meet green, but it never once missed its mark. In years past, the fight would have been long over by now, but the dance had elongated to accommodate a budding genius. Once in a while, Ben could spot a Soresu move thrown in with Obi-Wan's Ataru-Mikashi cocktail. He felt a rush of pride.

Obi-Wan would not have been able to tell, but Ben could see that Qui-Gon was holding very little back from this duel; the proverbial training wheels had come off. Obi-Wan was fighting a true, unchecked Jedi Master and matching him stroke for stroke. For an eighteen year old apprentice, this was no unimportant feat.

Both Qui-Gon and Ben knew that Obi-Wan's ability with a blade would one day outshine his master - that already, Obi-Wan could defeat any other Jedi his age. However, they both also knew that to mention this out loud would embarrass Obi-Wan terribly and compromise his progress. A swaggering, self-confident Jedi he might have been while in the dojo or the classroom, but when faced with his own abilities (as much as his own faults) Obi-Wan was still a self-conscious young man trying to find his way in the world. Ben was reminded of his dorva vine, which only ever grew when ignored completely. He and Qui-Gon had discussed the similarities at length.

Therefore, it was no surprise when, upon Qui-Gon's inevitable victory, the master said nothing of the massive amount of pride pressing on his chest nor of the fact that his own apprentice had just fought him to the point of breathlessness. Instead, he held his saber steady at Obi-Wan's collarbone, checked his breathing into a calm, effortless tempo and said,

"Would you like to run into my boot, or surrender?"

Obi-Wan groaned and deactivated his saber. "Solah," He griped. Qui-Gon deactivated his blade and stepped back. Obi-Wan promptly flopped to the floor, arms and legs melting in exhaustion as his chest continued to heave.

"Well done," was the nugget of praise Qui-Gon offered the boy. He nudged him in the ribs with a booted foot. "Shower before you leave."

Obi-Wan was basking in motionlessness. "Yes, Master," he huffed, and stayed lying down.

"Quite the performance," Ben commented when Qui-Gon came over to the sidelines. Their eyes met and they looked as one to Aola, who was swinging gangly teenaged legs off of the bench. Noticing the masters' attention, she smiled.

"Aola, fetch some water for him, would you?"

"Yes, grandmaster," She rose, silka bead braid swinging against her shoulder.

"She has to call me that," Qui-Gon complained as he lowered himself into a seat next to Ben. "Makes me feel a hundred."

Ben chuckled. "Personal vanities? For shame, Master Jinn."

"Ugh," the taller man groaned, drawing up a tabard end to wipe sweat off his face. "You were never called as such, were you?"

"No, mine wasn't so fond of it."

"Lucky bastard." Which made Ben chuckle. "There is only one troll under this roof meant to bear that title." Qui-Gon drew away from his makeshift towel and leaned back against the wall.

"There's always room for growth, master," Ben counseled. Qui-Gon kicked him in the ankle. Ben only laughed. They watched Aola animatedly reenact her favorite parts of the duel while Obi-Wan looked on from the ground.

"He's improved a great deal since I got here," Ben said quietly. Qui-Gon glanced at him. They rarely mentioned Ben's beginnings nowadays. It raised less questions.

"Yes, he has."

"Do you think he'll ever be able to beat you?"

"Oh," Qui-Gon shook his head, sad and proud at once. "Sooner than I'd like to think about. He'll be as good as you, one day."

Ben shook his head at the praise. "Perhaps. But not the same as me. He'll be different, thank the Force."

"You always say that."

"I always mean it."

They paused to listen to a burst of conversation from their younger companions. The details of words were lost in the echoing walls of the dojo, but Aola had said something that made Obi-Wan laugh heartily, reach up, and yank her to the ground. After a short wrestling match, he ended up sitting on her back, sipping at the cup of water she'd brought him. She smacked and elbowed at him from behind, screeching angrily all the while, but he only crossed his legs and raised the plastiform cup to his lips as if it were fine porcelain. Eventually, Aola reached up and, using Obi-Wan's propped leg as leverage, yanked him off of her and threw him to the ground. Water splashed everywhere. Obi-Wan cursed. Aola leaped on him, twisted his arm around to his back and sat on it. Obi-Wan cursed again. "Ha!" cried the twi'lek triumphantly.

"He still has some ways to go," Ben said sagely.

Qui-Gon rose, sweaty and long-suffering, to fetch his defeated padawan. "Yes, I daresay he does."

They took their lunch together in the Jinn/Kenobi apartments, as had become their custom whenever one was freshly returned from a mission.

Ben, Qui-Gon, and Aola had already been enjoying their meal when Obi-Wan, now showered and finally done with his homework, joined them. The apprentice heaped his plate with food and sat across from Ben.

"Kind of you to appear at last," Qui-Gon said mildly. "Are all of your assignments done?"

"Done enough. How's Senator Organa, Ben?" the boy asked, digging into his meal as soon as the last syllable was out.

Ben shrugged, chewing pensively on his bite. "As well as can be expected. His bill is still dead last on the order of consideration and he's rightfully miffed about… uh, about it…" Ben was watching in horrified fascination as Obi-Wan inhaled half a plate of Ghoba rice as he spoke. "He, uh…. Thinks Senator Thane might be… behind it. Force, surely I was never this bad."

Aola and Qui-Gon laughed. Obi-Wan, cheek full, looked up in bewilderment. "What?"

Aola giggled again, covering her mouth to avoid being rude. Qui-Gon was unbothered by his apprentice's ravenous shoveling as he picked at his own meal. "He's eighteen," He told Ben. "You must remember what that's like."

"I don't remember it looking like that," Ben gestured with distaste.

"What?" Obi-Wan asked again, mouth full and not understanding what he'd done wrong.

"You look like a rancor when you eat," Aola clarified. Obi-Wan swallowed and glared at her.

The door opened with a hiss. "Well, if it isn't the terrible twosome himself," Feemor joked upon seeing the Kenobi duo. Obi-Wan made urgent eyes at him, a silent code. Aola leaned into view.

"Ah," the incomer recovered, hoping she hadn't grown wise to the joke. "So this is where my wayward apprentice has gone off to."

"I was helping Obi-Wan train," she explained.

"Help is not the word I would use," The senior apprentice complained. Her eyes twinkled with a smile, adolescent freckles camouflaging the fact that at just fourteen, she was already a wicked wit and fully aware of the fact.

Qui-Gon gestured to the table. "Please, Feemor, join us. There's more than enough for you, assuming Obi-Wan doesn't eat it all first."

"Hey!"

"Oh, don't mind them, Obi," Feemor said, squeezing a chair in between Qui-Gon and Aola, "you're a growing lad. You have to catch up. Put some length on those bones so one day you can tower over your old uncle," Feemor teased, a knowing light in his eyes. Obi-Wan glared at him from under his brows, shoving a forkful of rice into his mouth.

"I resent the 'old' comment," Ben deadpanned in a tone to match Obi-Wan's expression. Feemor only chuckled at the humor of genetics.

"Take a joke, Kenobi. I meant to say sooner: welcome back. How is the Senate treating you?"

"About as well as anyone might expect."

"That bad, eh?"

"Mmm. Senator Organa sends his regards."

"Next time he's on Coruscant you really must introduce us," said Qui-Gon.

Ben raised an eyebrow at him. "When he's on Coruscant the same time as you, you mean."

"You're gone as often as we are," Qui-Gon reminded him.

"Oh," Feemor snapped his fingers. "That reminds me. Ben, while you were away, a call came in for you at your apartment."

"Oh? From who?"

"Acquisitions."

Ben frowned, letting down his fork in surprise. "Acquisitions? What did they want?" Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan mirrored his surprise, but the latter did pause to stop eating.

Feemor shrugged dispassionately. "Apparently your name came up in conversation and they were hoping you could solve a dispute." The explanation only made Ben frown.

"Dispute? Over what?"

"That, I shan't guess. I was just watering your plants when the comm came on. They recorded a message, if you haven't checked it already."

"I haven't. I'll do that." Ben suddenly lost his appetite. Acquisitions? He'd never had any dealings with them – in this life or the last. What on earth do they want with me?

"Is there any more left?" Obi-Wan interrupted, craning his neck to see the pot, empty plate in hand. Qui-Gon sighed. Aola laughed.

BEEEEEP

"Hello Master Kenobi, this is Moira Wool, head officer of Acquisitions. I understand that you are on assignment at present, but I would like to speak with you to clarify an internal dispute; it is official Jedi business. Please contact me or another Acquisitions officer at your earliest convenience. I will attempt to contact you again when you return to the Temple. May the Force be with you."

BEEEEEP

Ben frowned at the recording and replayed it. Not knowing what else to do, he dialed the frequency of the message and waited. The line clicked open.

"Master Kenobi, I was about to call you."

"Master Wool, yes, I heard that you wanted to speak with me."

"Indeed I would, we've had the file on hold this whole time. There is some paperwork involved. Would you very much mind coming down to my office to discuss it?"

"Um… of course, but Master, what exactly will we be discussing ?"

"The intake of a Force sensitive youngling from Alderaan. We have no record of him in the Kyber, but the mother swears that you were the Jedi who detected his sensitivity. I was hoping you could confirm a few details before we consider the boy's candidacy."

Ben's heart was in his throat. "What is the mother's name?"

A pause, tapping on a screen. "Shmi Skywalker."

Ben was glad to have received the news in private. His face was sure to be a sight. After he recovered from the wave of emotion, he said, "I'll be right down. Are you in your office now?"

"Yes. I'll be waiting."

Click.

Ben ran a hand, now shaking, over his mouth and beard. He collected himself, donned his cloak, and walked to the nearest lift as quickly as he could.

"So you did meet this woman, and her son."

"Yes, he was exceptionally strong in the Force," Ben said, scanning the transcript of Shmi's call to the temple. Across the desk, Master Wool looked annoyed.

"And you didn't think to tell us?"

Ben blinked at her. He'd forgotten how anal retentive the acquisitions officers could be, before the war. This world never ceased to surprise him. "It was not my place. It is the mother's decision."

Moira looked unimpressed. She sighed, paging through a barebones file on the young Skywalker boy. "Did you get a midichlorian count, at least? It'd help if we had something to say about him before we make an entry in the Kyber."

As her words faded into the history of that grey office, as the two Jedi sat across from each other surrounded by paperwork and mundane minutiae of the most quotidian sort, a rare moment appeared in the continuum.

The feeling that descended upon Ben's consciousness was thick and silent like the arrival of morning dew. He had not felt it in years. Ever since he'd begun his work with Bail, changing the future had been a matter of legislation, of missions, of reports and carefully worded clauses. But now, here he was in the thick of things again, a familiar name on his lips, a call to return home. It was a home he'd never been to, a home that neither he nor his progeny had had. Finding it would require action. Action now. Change. Balance. Urgency. Tea leaves shifted ever so slightly against a galaxy of porcelain.

"Yes, I did actually," Ben lied with momentous clarity. "Did I not send it in?"

"If you did, I can't find it. Do you still have the record?"

"Yes."

"Right. Well, you can send it to me as soon as you get the chance – and I mean as soon as you get the chance. For now, sign here to vouch for the boy and we'll send someone to pick him up."

Ben pressed his thumbprint to the scanner and it thanked him for his signature. "Master Wool," He said, "Perhaps I should be the one to retrieve the boy? Seeing as I was the one to locate him."

"I appreciate the offer, Master Kenobi, but there is another Jedi stopping on Alderaan on his route home later this week. He will retrieve the boy. You needn't worry yourself over it – just send me that midichlorian sample."

Thus brushed aside, Ben shifted his focus. "I see," he nodded carefully, mind already outlining the details of his next steps. He squared his jaw and gave Moira a smile. "Thank you, Master. May the Force be with you."

"And also with you – don't forget that sample!" she tossed after him as he left.

"Good morning, Vokara," Ben's grinning face appeared in the doorway. The Head Healer did not budge from where she was sewing up a padawan's bleeding chin.

"Whatever it is it can wait, Ben."

Ben stepped quietly into the room to wait, and frowned when he recognized the patient. "Padawan Muln?"

"Hullo, Master Kenobi," Garen smiled, teeth bloody.

"What's happened to you?"

"Reeft and I were practicing those new forms you showed us last class."

Ben suddenly had a bad feeling. "Which ones?" He asked, foreseeing the answer.

"Those sand-dune ones."

Ben closed his eyes and sighed. He propped his hands on his hips. "Garen, that was meant to be a demonstration, not an assignment. You're lucky you didn't hurt yourself more than this."

"That's what I told him," Vokara said, hand bobbing in and out of view, a pink suture in tow.

"Oh," the boy winced as the anesthetic began to wear off. "It was Reeft's idea, really-"

"Stop talking," Vokara reprimanded, forcing the boy's mouth closed so she could work. Garen looked at Ben with apologetic eyes.

"Sorry, 'aster Kenodi," he enunciated through closed teeth. Ben only shook his head.

After the reprobate was stitched back together, lectured, and released into the custody of a stern Master Clee Rhara, Vokara finally turned to her visitor.

"What did you want, Ben?" She asked, cleaning her hands.

"I need to talk to you."

"About what?"

"About… things."

Her eyes darted to him in suspicion. He smiled. She squinted. "What kind of things?"

"Ben, if anyone finds out about this I'll be put under censure," she whispered to him.

Head hovering over her shoulder, Ben shrugged in a cavalier manner he'd picked up from Qui-Gon decades ago. "No one will find out."

Vokara's head swiveled around to glare at him with indignance. "Do you know how many people have said that before landing themselves in massive trouble?"

"Vokara," Ben said, gravely serious now. "This is important. Very important. You have to believe me."

She snarled as she turned back to her work. "Changing things?"

"Yes."

"For the better?"

"As the Force prompts me to." He turned around to sit on the desk next to the computer. He rolled up his right sleeve and held it out towards her.

"The Force must work in damned mysterious ways," she grumbled, digging through her medic's bag and tearing open a blood sampling kit. She jabbed his arm more violently than she had to. As the computer scanned the sample and auto-populated the results into the computer, she rubbed away the damage to Ben's arm with a disinfectant.

"Force or no, if I'm going to do this, you need to tell me why."

"That is… problematic on many levels."

She sighed and scrolled through the results. "Type O negative, high iron counts, healthy platelets… And your midichlorians have seen a boost."

"Have they?"

"I'd say. Obi-Wan's got around ten-thousand, from what I recall. You've got a full twelve thousand," She eyed him appraisingly. "Impressive."

"Not too impressive, though?"

"How do you mean?"

"If someone, say, an acquisitions officer, were to see that number, would it cause a stir?"

Vokara shrugged. "Well, not exactly, no. Half the council hits around this mark, but… they'd never turn you down as a recruit. I'd say they'd fight rather strongly to take you on."

"Excellent. Now, just change the bloodtype, the name, and the date, and I'll leave you alone."

"Ben," Vokara groaned, typing out the information he'd written down for her, "What is this about? You aren't trying to sneak in a non-sensitive into the Temple, are you?"

"Don't be absurd. This is entirely the opposite."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

He ignored her question and pointed to the screen where she was typing. "It's A negative, not A positive."

She corrected the typo. "How do you even know his bloodtype?"

"My memory is not so far gone."

"Your memory?" She looked over her shoulder at him. Their eyes met, and an understanding passed between them. "Oh," she said. She finished punching in the surname, given name, date. Her tongue burned to ask the obvious questions, but she restrained herself. Clandestine this forgery may have been, but they were still in a public space. She couldn't risk asking about his past – the future – out loud.

When the falsified record was on his datapad and Vokara wiped the computer clean of her incriminating record, she turned to him with barely restrained curiosity shining in her face. "I hope you know what you're doing, Kenobi."

"I try to." He hopped off the desk. "Tell me, when new younglings come to the Temple, they go through your office first, do they not?"

"They do. Vaccinations, examinations, the like."

"When this boy arrives here, will you tell me?"

Vokara crossed her arms in a show of defiance "Why?"

Ben crossed his arms in a mirror to her. "I don't have to explain for you to know that I have a lot invested in this boy. I want to see him." His expression softened somewhat. "Truth be told, I didn't think his mother would give him up. I need to keep an eye on his progress."

"Need to?"

He glared at her. "Yes."

They held a staring contest. In the end, it was a draw. Vokara bit her lip and stepped down first. "Fine," she said, "but you owe me big – a drink and an explanation at the very least."

"You are an absolute angel, Master Che," Ben praised, taking up her hand and kissing it. She rolled her eyes.

"Flattery will get you nowhere, Kenobi, now get out."

He smiled winningly at her, dimples visible over his beard. "Until later," He charmed. After he left, Vokara stormed back to her office.

"Politics have ruined him," she grumbled to the air, wiping the back of her kissed hand on her trouser leg. "Sycophant."

"Growing well, it is," Yoda commented when, days later, he found Ben in the gardens admiring the now sizable woosha plant that had once grown in Ben's living room.

"It is, Grandmaster."

Yoda made small hmmph noises as he hobbled over to his great grandpadawan. "Good it is for it to be rid of you. Never at home you are. Busy in the Senate, hmm?"

"Busy enough. Senator Organa has been experiencing… setbacks of late."

"Mmm. Inconsiderate of his ideas they are. In their eyes too young he is. Too idealistic." The grandmaster peered up at Ben like the nuisance he was. "A mentor he needs. A master diplomat, hmm? Know not how to negotiate, young Bail does. Knows only how to fight, yes. Learn to compromise he must, if wishes to win future battles he does."

"Yes, I know, master," Ben said. It was not the first time they had discussed Bail's youthful naivety. "He is too headstrong to take my advice to heart."

"Hmm. Sound familiar it does." Yoda 'accidentally' hit Ben's toes with his cane as he walked around him. "Headstrong, children often are. But know this well you do. Taken up an interest in new younglings, you have. Most curious it is, considering how little patience for stubbornness you have." The troll chuckled at his own idea of a joke.

Ben fell into step with him. How Yoda knew everything that went on in his life, Ben would not guess. "I was contacted by Master Wool for paperwork purposes."

"The boy," Yoda's tonal shift was instantaneous and familiar; his next comment would bear no jokes at Ben's expense. "The one from Tatooine he is."

"Yes, Master."

"On Alderaan, he is."

"With his mother."

"Hmm." The elder Jedi's expression softened despite their proximity to Ben's polarizing history. "A better life for both it is." He turned his face up to Ben. "But still here you are. Why? Fetching this youngling you should be."

"I offered, master, but Master Wool claims another Jedi is already en route to Alderaan, a stop on his way home."

"Oh?" Yoda seemed genuinely curious. Then, his eyes squinted slightly and his ears fell. "Oh," he said again, in flat recognition. "Alderaan. Yes."

"Do you know the Jedi, master?"

"Mmm. Know him I do." Yoda did not seem altogether enthused by the fact. "But worry yourself do not. Tell me more about young Organa's plans, you will."

Ben and Yoda spent the rest of the afternoon distracting each other from their mutual anxieties, but near the end of the afternoon, Vokara Che interrupted to comm Ben the news he'd been anticipating and dreading all day: Anakin Skywalker had arrived at the Jedi Temple.

When Ben went down to the healer's wing, his heart leaped upon hearing Anakin's high, babbling voice speaking with Vokara. Before he could make it into the room, however, another voice caught his ear.

"Qui-Gon?" Ben called in confusion. Master Jinn turned to him in equal surprise.

"Ben," he said, his voice lacking its familiar confidence and composure. "What are you doing here?"

"I've come to see the newest recruit," he explained, gesturing to where Anakin was obediently breathing in and out while Vokara listened to his heart. He found it hard to look away. As he had been three years ago, Ben was suddenly struck by how small the boy was. But here he was, whole. Young. Smiling, even. Ben's heart ached and he realized he had no idea how to reintroduce himself. He added, in a wistful tone: "I was actually the one who found him, years ago."

"Really?" Interrupted a new voice. The spell over Anakin was broken. Ben turned to face the newcomer, a primal sense of protectiveness washing over him like ice. Qui-Gon was looking anxiously between the two as the speaker continued: "When they sent me to Alderaan I thought I'd be going in blind, but I've never seen anything quite like him. You must be proud of your discovery, Master…?" He reached out a hand and smiled, a perfect shine that never quite reached his eyes.

Ben stood stock still, unable to move or react. Qui-Gon stepped in.

"Ben," he offered, latent hangups of his youth injecting the slightest burr into his voice, "this is Jedi Master Yan Dooku. Master, this is Ben Kenobi."

Ben did not remember offering his hand, but suddenly Count Dooku was shaking it with a smile and using that haunting bass voice of his to say: "Kenobi?" He glanced briefly at Qui-Gon, and smiled wider. "My, the galaxy is full of surprises today."

A/N: The name "Yan" for Yan Dooku was coined by the wonderful Ruth Baulding. Her Lineage and Legacy series were what drew me back into the Star Wars fandom after years away, and woke me up to just how far I have to go in terms of improving my writing. I love her stories, and there are some snippets of her AU that, no matter how I try, will never quite leave me. Yan's name is one of them. Ruth, if you're reading this (at which I would be utterly shocked but honored), I am very sorry for appropriating your idea. I tried for weeks to come up with a suitable first name for the great Count, but nothing ever sounded quite right. Maybe it's a cop out, but I hope that in borrowing the name I can pay homage to your fan favorite saga rather than embarrass myself in trying – which is a very real possibility.