Disclaimer: I do not obviously own Star Wars or Qui-Gon Jinn would certainly have had a different fate.

Warning: Spanking and disciplinary caning involved

A/N: Pre-TPM. Also, I'm newer to Star Wars. Be kind.

"Padawan Kenobi, you will return to the ship, immediately. It is too dangerous." The voice of Master Billaba sounded stern over the voice-only commlink.

Obi-Wan looked back at the young girl and her brother. The girl's lekku barely reached her shoulders, denoting her very young age. The even younger boy chewed on his thumb and shuffled his feet uneasily, his free hand twisting in his sister's grip.

"That is…problematic."

Despite the distance between them, Obi-Wan could have sworn he felt the twist of annoyance in the Force. "And why is that?"

"I-I think the Force is telling me to do it."

Another voice sounded over the link this time, deeper and certainly sterner. "Padawan! You will return to the ship. Posthaste." The humming of a lightsaber and the whizzing sound of blaster bolts could be clearly heard over the master's link.

Obi-Wan winced. Qui-Gon rarely employed that tone of voice with him.

"I'm sorry, Master. I will do what I must."

Obi-Wan cut his commlink before either Master could respond. He turned back to the children before him, meeting their wide eyes. He held out a hand and forced an encouraging smile. "Don't worry. Just take me to your parents." He would free them and then find a way off this planet for all of them. But one step at a time. The little girl took his hand, dragging her brother with the other. They slipped in and out of the shadows, avoiding militants. The Force was roiling with danger, but none clarion clear. It moved sluggishly, the only clear sign being the feeling that he had some connection to these children.

As they slipped deeper and deeper into the city, Obi-Wan began to have his doubts. Wasn't Qui-Gon always telling him to search his feelings? But was this a feeling? Or merely a thought. Don't think, feel. He shook his head, the tugging sensation in his gut telling him that this was somehow right.

There was no further time to contemplate his decision because at that moment there was a klaxon going off in the Force, pronouncing immediate danger. A moemnt later said danger manifested itself as poisonous gas began to fill their narrow alleyway. "Run!" He commanded, now dragging the two children towards the only exit that seemed clear. Danger seemed to be on every side. They were nearly to the end now. Obi-Wan could see the holding area just ahead where the terrorist faction was holding its' prisoners. A tall blue-skinned Twi-Lek blocked the way, his blaster raised. "Stop!"

Pausing only long enough to unclip his 'saber, Obi-Wan continued onward, keeping a tightly controlled grip on his hilt as he blocked the bolts being shot in his direction. Just before he reached the shooter, a sharp flare in the Force threatened to unhinge his concentration, and before he could react, the stun bolt caught him from behind.

When he awoke some time later it was again to the sounds of battle. Two familiar voices, one deep, and the other lightly accented, barking orders to the prisoners. Thoughts still sluggish, the young padawan, shifted his limbs a bit to get the feeling back into them.

There was a familiar humming sound, and the sparks of burning metal grazed his cheek and clothing. One of the voices crouched over him now. "Obi-Wan."

"Mas'er."

"Obi-Wan. Wake up. We have to hurry."

The events that had gone before seemed to rush back all at once, and Obi-Wan groaned. "The children?"

"Gone. They were paid off to lead you here."

Something warm, not quite anger, and not quite embarrassment slithered into his stomach. It was not their fault. They were likely promised freedom or food for their services.

Qui-Gon roughly lifted his wayward apprentice to his feet, steadying him even as he pushed him through the crudely cut hole in the cage. Obi-Wan had regained his wits enough by the time they began speeding through the streets to the mostly clear site where a building had once stood and was now crumbled to dust. The repulsors churned up the debris where Master Billaba hovered the shuttle precariously over the site, the hangar door open. Master and apprentice jumped as one, barely dodging the hailstorm of bolts being shot at their backs. The door closed and the shuttle took off, but it wasn't until they were safely in atmosphere that either dared to move, their breath catching in unconscious synchrony before evening out.

They began to pull themselves to their feet, and when blue eyes met, Obi-Wan's already too-quick heart skipped a beat. He quickly lowered his gaze, but the sudden grip on his shoulders forced his eyes upwards again. The Jedi master said nothing. He didn't need to. The stony look in his eyes and the thunderously raised eyebrows spoke all too clearly.

"I-I thought they needed help, Master." The boy peeped.

Qui-Gon's eyes closed briefly. "You could have been killed," he growled, his grip tightening almost instinctively.

Obi-Wan winced. "I'm sorry, Master."

The Jedi Master held his padawan's gaze for a long moment before sighing. "Get some rest. We will speak of this later. The council will want a full report upon our arrival."

Obi-Wan nodded sheepishly, turning for the small sleeping berth. "Yes, Master."

When he awoke sometime later, Obi-Wan was feeling less weary, hungry, and the stirrings of guilt. Qui-Gon sat cross-legged in the aisle between the two inset bunks, eyes closed, hands resting lightly on his knees, meditating. The padawan slipped out of bed and knelt beside his master, tentatively nudging the taller man's mind. The mental shields yielded to his touch, revealing a less than serene Jedi master beneath. Obi-Wan winced, but forced himself to accept the influx of concern, anxiety, and fear the master had endured when, through their bond, he'd felt Obi-Wan being struck by the stun bolt. Likewise, the young boy also made himself remember the fear and anger he had experienced, which was now replaced by shame and sorrow. Both Jedi sucked in a gasp, and then released it as one, releasing also their emotions to the Force's ever-flowing currents.

At some length, they both surfaced, their serenity mostly restored, for the present moment. They breathed the artificially recycled air deeply. Qui-Gon was the first to speak, "I trust I need not illuminate the gravity of your offense."

"No, Master."

"Good. Then I would have your side of this story now, Padawan. Including what in stars' end you were thinking?"

Obi-Wan chewed his lip, wincing inwardly at Qui-Gon's tone. The tall master was as seemingly peaceful outward as ever, but beneath his calm inquiry there was a not quite gentle growl of warning.

"I'm truly sorry, Master."

Qui-Gon's lips thinned. "Yes," he said wryly, "We're getting there, Padawan."

Obi-Wan understood the unspoken warning and knew better than to make Qui-Gon prompt an explanation from him a second time. He drew a deep breath and explained all that he remembered from finding the children and listening to their story, to the point at which he'd been hit with the stun bolt. "And…you know the rest, Master," he finished lamely, studying the less than gleaming surface of the opposite bulkhead. The Republic shuttle was an older model and had seen many years of use.

Qui-Gon was silent for a moment, digesting all that he had been told. His padawan had explained as best he knew how the promptings he'd felt, and had tried to explain his thoughts. But the boy was young, and he had much to learn. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, reaching out for the promptings his apprentice had felt, and that he, perhaps, had missed. Their gifts were different, and he would indeed be a fool to ignore Obi-Wan's own insight.

Finally, Qui-Gon opened his eyes and released a rueful half-chuckle. Oh, Obi-Wan. "I do believe, Padawan, that you were meant to play a part in the liberation of the prisoners."

His apprentice looked sharply to him, eyebrows drawn together in confusion. Qui-Gon continued, "By following the children back to the terrorists' headquarters, Master Billaba and myself were forced to track you there, where we would liberate the prisoners and it would result in the death of the terrorist leader."

Obi-Wan perked up, nearly smiling now. "So I did listen to the Force's promptings."

Qui-Gon held up a hand for silence. "Somewhat. You said you knew you were meant to do something, but you didn't know exactly what. Had you perhaps been more focused, you might have realized that you should have obeyed our orders, bringing the children with you, then we could have proceeded to learn about these headquarters from them. Or you might have simply understood that they were important, informed us, and allowed us to take care of this problem without unnecessarily risking your own life."

As he spoke, Obi-Wan's head drooped lower, his face flushing faintly. "I didn't think," he said meekly.

"No, you didn't listen." He gave his padawan's braid a mild tug.

"But-but the Force—"

"Yes, the Force may have prompted you Padawan, but are you so sure that the Force prompted you to do exactly what you did? You said you felt a connection?"

"Yes."

"But did the Force prompt you to go with them specifically?"

Obi-Wan frowned. "No, not exactly. It was a little confusing. I just knew that they were important, and I was supposed to do something, and that's all I could think to do."

The taller man sighed and admonished gently, "Feel, don't think, Padawan."

"Yes, Master." The boy sullenly intoned. "I-I thought I was feeling."

Qui-Gon's lips twitched, and then he sighed, reaching out to finger the near shoulder-length padawan braid. "What you did was disobedient, reckless, and above all, dangerous. I cannot, nor will I, protect you from the Council's censure."

There was a faint shudder that may have run through the padawan's hands or the Force itself. Qui-Gon met his young apprentice's eyes. "Nor does their correction count in the place of my own."

"Yes, Master." Blue eyes glistened, but bravely met his own.

"However," Qui-Gon's voice softened slightly, "Barring the circumstances, I am proud that you attempted to listen to the Force's promptings. That shows the beginnings of wisdom. However, you should have also listened on how to act on those promptings, rather than formulating your own opinion. Or you should have trusted Master Billaba and myself to know what was best." Here he paused, holding his padawan's eyes sternly for a moment before continuing. "We will continue to work on your understanding of the Force's promptings."

Obi-Wan sighed inwardly, knowing that he had a lot of strenuous meditation in his future. "Yes, Master."

The Jedi master quirked a rueful half-smile. "I am also proud that you showed compassion, if not for the way you went about it. Disobedience is still disobedience, Padawan. As a Jedi, you must look for the path that follows the Force's will and the mandates given to you by others be they the Council or myself. And you must look to the Force for this knowledge."

Obi-Wan dipped his head in understanding. "Yes, Master."

Qui-Gon gave the padawan braid a gentle tweak. Before he could say anything further, Master Billaba appeared in the doorway. "We've been cleared for landing. The Council wants to see the two of you immediately upon our return."

To think that Qui-Gon would live to see the day that his padawan would openly question the council's sound judgement and stand before the aforementioned council to accept censure.

Obi-Wan stood in the center of the Council chamber, head bowed slightly in what to others might seem like humility as he recounted his actions. Once he had finished, he waited meekly for the Council's judgement.

"You were not to get involved. This was a reconnaissance mission to gather information. Now we may very well be forced to act in a conflict that was not our business."

Obi-Wan didn't raise his head as he answered Master Windu's reprimand, "With all due respect, Masters, I followed the will of the Force."

Qui-Gon's brows rose. His delightful, impertinent young light was positively simmering. Though there was no outward sign of perturbation amongst the council members, the Force's currents carried heavy displeasure and annoyance at these words, and also some amusement. No doubt Mace and a few select others found it darkly humorous that these were the same words so often used by Qui-Gon himself. Qui-Gon frowned. Laugh while you may, Mace.

Master Windu's eyes narrowed darkly. "And you presume to say that you can read the will of the Force better than Master Jinn or Master Billaba?"

That was a tricky question, and the crux of this interrogation.

Obi-Wan colored deeply. "No, Masters."

There was a long stretch of silence, at least in the physical realm. The Force fairly roared with the unspoken that passed through the gathered Council members.

It was Ki Adi Mundi who spoke aloud first, "But the boy's instincts paid off. By being lead to the headquarters, Masters Jinn and Billaba were able to intercept the terrorist leader and free the prisoners."

"Hmm, true that is, Master Mundi. But disobedience still, is this padawan's offense."

Obi-Wan dropped to one knee, really falling more than kneeling, as his face blanched. "Forgive me, my masters. I sought only the way of compassion and the Force's will."

"We know. And that is the only reason that we have decided against disciplinary probation or expulsion."

Obi-Wan's eyes widened at that, but he did not flinch.

Master Windu continued, "Instead, we've decided to issue an official caning."

Two tremors rippled the surface of the Force, one of apprehension from the padawan in question, and the other of shock from his master. Junior padawans were rarely given official canings.

The tall Jedi master stepped forward now, leaning down to place a bolstering hand on his apprentice's shoulder. "My masters, is there truly a need to make this an official affair?"

Mace met his eyes squarely, not giving quarter. "Yes, Qui-Gon, he will be punished formally."

The young boy's shoulders were taut beneath his hand. Qui-Gon's mouth thinned. "What if I carried this punishment out? The official way, as it were."

Corporal punishment was common discipline among all Jedi children, but official punishments involving physical chastisement were typically administered by a member of the Council with another in attendance, along with the child's master. Initiates and crechelings were not considered old enough for official reprimands. But Jedi Padawans had different responsibilities.

Mace frowned, but before he could speak, Yoda held up a clawed hand. "If Master Qui-Gon's wish this is, then grant it we will." Yoda addressed the rigid boy before him, "What say you, Padawan? Submit to Master Jinn's censure, you will? In whatever way the council demands, hmm?"

Obi-Wan blinked in shock. In a way, it was still an official punishment. It would still mark his record, true. But surely his master would not be as harsh? Then another thought occurred to him. His master might actually punish him more. Perhaps Qui-Gon was more angry and disappointed than he'd led his padawan to believe. But his master had never harmed him, and he trusted him with more than just his life. He sucked a deep breath and answered, "Yes, Master."

Yoda's eyes narrowed as he considered the pair before him. He nodded. "Good."

Master Windu's own contemplating gaze met Qui-Gon's now, as though wondering if his old friend really would go through with this himself. He must have believed what he saw there because he nodded also. "The typical punishment for something of this nature and for one of this age would be fifteen strokes." He looked back at the younger of the pair, "Would you like a witness?"

"That won't be necessary." Force, this whole conversation made his face flush with heat. "I-I trust my master."

The very corner of Master Windu's mouth twitched imperceptibly. But before he could answer, Yoda again waved a dismissing hand. "Then no witness needed is. In the Force, you will show us after, Padawan, that done this has been."

Obi-Wan dipped his head, in the hopes that it might conceal the steady blush there. "Yes, Master."

"Master Jinn, this discipline, to be carried out in your own quarters, is it?"

"Yes, Master."

"Then no more to say, have we. May the Force be with you."

The tall Jedi master and his padawan bowed deeply and took their leave, the younger nearly stumbling on suddenly weak knees. Obi-Wan pressed a hand to his belly, a sudden bout of nausea washing over him. Qui-Gon paused outside the council chamber. "Obi-Wan." When the younger man's pale demeanor didn't change, his steered his apprentice over to a bench and gently forced him down onto it. Kneeling in front of him, the tall man took his padawan's chin in his hand and lifted until artic blue eyes met his own. "Breathe."

The boy did so shakily. "I'm sorry, Master," he mumbled.

"I know."

They stayed there for a few moments more, while Obi-Wan steadied himself and found his center. Then, by mutual silent consent, they began the long trek back to their own quarters.

Discipline was to follow upon their return, and both Master and Padawan were eager and reluctant to have it through. Qui-Gon set a measured pace, slower than usual, even enough so as to allow his young apprentice's legs to keep up. Obi-Wan walked the respectful few paces behind and to the left of his mentor.

The Temple was silent, a contrast to the too-quick beating of the boy's heart. They passed a few knights and masters during their trek, nodding respectfully as they passed, the older silently prompting the younger into remembering to do so, distracted as he was. They eventually exited the last lift and stepped out into their own dimly lit corridor. Qui-Gon continued to lead the way to the doors marked Jinn-Kenobi, his younger counterpart lagging significantly.

Standing upon the threshold to their shared apartment, they both took a deep centering breath. Of course, there had been numerous times when Qui-Gon had readily hauled his impudent young brat over his knee. But that had often been to reign in an impending tantrum, or a too-quick wit. This was something far more grievous, and his apprentice was already far too repentant for the deed. Pushing his own anxiety aside, he gestured inside. "Remove your robe and boots. Then go to your room and wait for me."

A sharp intake of breath followed by a too willing, "Yes, Master." He watched his Padawan move woodenly into the room, hanging up his robe before also removing his boots. A moment's hesitation then, before the young boy bowed his head and scurried away to his room.

Breathe out. Qui-Gon sighed, moving inside and removing his own robe now. He moved about the room, pretending to tidy up. Once he had summoned the courage, he returned to his own bedroom to retrieve the long, wicked cane he had stashed in the back of the closet. A caning was a traditional Jedi punishment. Qui-Gon saw it as a last resort. He remembered receiving canings on several memorable occasions during his own apprenticeship, and he had caned Feemor twice for varying infractions. Though Feemor had been much older than Obi-Wan, and Qui-Gon hadn't been as experienced with such punitive acts, at least from the giving end. And Xanatos had never courted discipline with the cane, and indeed, he rarely seemed in need of more than a sharp word to bring him to heel.

Qui-Gon would not have chosen now to introduce the youngest of his lineage to such a harsh implement, but a Jedi does not always choose how the Force prescribed lesson is to be learned. Granted, this was also an official punishment, prescribed by the Council. Qui-Gon scowled. He recalled that on many of the memorable occasions his own master had left him at the mercy of the Council's reprimand. And there were countless more where his master had taken a strip out of his hide.

Official canings were also notorious for leaving welts, bruises, or even cuts. Qui-Gon had no intention of this being the case. He wondered if his young apprentice understood the entirety of the mercy he'd been granted. Though it was not forbidden for a master to request to carry out an official caning, it was certainly not often done. But then, rarely was a padawan so young given such a sentence.

Qui-Gon released a long, low breath of dark amusement, pausing outside his padawan's half-closed door. Obi-Wan never did anything by halves. He waved the door open and stepped inside.

The young Jedi turned from where he had been meditating in the corner of his room and moved into a full kowtow, forehead resting neatly upon his folded hands. "Forgive me, Master. I will accept your correction and counsel, and I am sorry to have shamed you and your teachings."

The words were formal, but the regret within them was genuine. Qui-Gon placed the cane at the foot of the sleep mattress and sat down, patting the place beside him. "Come here. I need to make sure you understand some things first."

Once the boy had perched beside him, the older man reached out and placed a hand upon the younger's knee. He centered them both in the Force, preparing master and apprentice for what was to come. After a long moment, he asked, "Why are we here, Padawan?"

The spark of insouciance in the Force was quickly smothered and his apprentice answered dutifully, "Because of my disobedience, Master."

"Correct." He hesitated a moment more before sighing, "Let's have this over with, shall we?"

"Yes, Master."

Qui-Gon's mental shields went up, just enough that he would not be affected by his apprentice's distress and pain, but he could still monitor it. He bolstered the boy with a hand on his shoulder and directed his steps to the tidily cluttered desk. He pushed a few holovolumes aside. "Lower your pants and bend over."

Obi-Wan hesitated now, his apprehension and guilt playing out over his face. He fumbled with the lacings of his trousers, pushing them down. That was the easy part. Most of Qui-Gon's spankings were bare. The more awkward part came when he tried to figure out just exactly how to bend over the desk. It was too low to bend straight in half at the waist, so he was forced to hunch over it, resting his weight on his forearms. He looked straight down, studying the grains in the synth-wood. His braid brushed the surface of the desk, a reminder of his duty and his oath. A surge of shame washed over him, and he suddenly longed to have this over with so he could start again and regain his right to wear such a mark of honor.

The hand that rested warmly on his lower back made him jump. "I realize it's rather hard, but you must try to relax. The more tense you are, the more likely it is you'll bruise."

Deep breath in. "I thought there was no try, Master?" Came the quip, delivered in a shakier than usual voice, a desperate plea for some sort of familiar comfort amidst this very unfamiliar kata.

Qui-Gon snorted. He lifted the hem of his apprentice's tunic out of the way, effectively baring the boy's bottom. The cane rested lightly on his backside. Obi-Wan flinched again and the hand tightened its' grip. "There is not. There is only do, my insolent padawan." A light tap. The soft shifting of clothing as Qui-Gon's arm came up. And then back down.

The sting took a moment to set in, aching instantly. Obi-Wan sucked a huge breath. A kata. That's all this was.

Breathe in. Center. One. Breathe out.

Breathe in. Two. Breathe out.

Breathe in. Three. Breathe out.

In. Center. Master. Four. Sharp gasp out.

There was no reply to the involuntary mental exclamation except a tightening of the hand on his back as the strokes moved lower.

Choked breath in. Five. Half sob.

Pause. Breathe. In. Out. In. Six. Seven. Eight. Faster now. Heaving breath.

Center. Master. Nine. Ten. Strangled whimper.

Breathe.

Yes, Master.

Breathe in. Eleven. Twelve. A cut off cry. Gritted teeth.

Breathe out. Thirteen.

Center. Stinging eyes clenched shut. Fourteen.

Suck in. A sob. Fifteen. Breathe out. Release.

"We're finished."

Relief flooded his limbs. The knot in his throat loosened and gave way to earnest sobs of repentance. Qui-Gon's gentle voice soothed the frayed edges of his nerves. His bottom stung something fierce, throbbing in time with his heartbeat. Qui-Gon tossed the cane aside with a silent grimace of disgust. Angry red lines crossed his padawan's bottom from the point where the cleft started to the middle of the boy's thighs. He had placed as many as he could in a straight horizontal row, but, inevitably, there were still many that crossed over others. Still, Qui-Gon had been careful. None of the stripes bled, and any bruising he would take care of later. After all, discipline was meant to be painful, and the recipient was to take what they were given and learn from it. But that did not stop the contributor from providing a certain amount of healing.

At his master's gentle urging, Obi-Wan slowly rose and turned. The boy trembled slightly beneath the steadying hands that Qui-Gon had placed on his shoulders, but he stood, face upward to meet his master's eyes.

"Thank you for this correction, my master. I am sorry for my behavior, and I will strive to do better in the future."

The words were rote ceremony. Bitter tradition that Obi-Wan often held so dear.

Qui-Gon nodded once, solemnly. "You are welcome, my padawan." Then, breaking tradition, he reached out and tugged on the boy's learner braid gently, murmuring, "Come here, brat."

The boy allowed himself to be tugged into strong arms. Forgiven and cared for. After a moment, Qui-Gon led them over to sit on the boy's low, spartan sleep mat, pulling his padawan down with him. Obi-Wan hissed and fidgeted at first in his master's lap, pain and embarrassment warring with his desire for comfort, but he eventually found a tolerable enough position where he could bury his face into his master's shoulder, thereby sparing himself the further humiliation of meeting the man's eyes.

Breathe out. Center. Qui-Gon tightened his hold on quivering shoulders, one hand going to rest on the top of his padawan's head. They stayed like that for a long stretch of minutes, Obi-Wan's breath shuddering into soft hiccups and finally to only mild hitching. The Jedi master shifted slightly, rousing the boy from his light daze. He pitched his voice low so as not to startle his young protégé, "Are you alright?"

Obi-Wan seemed to think for a moment. His voice was hoarse when he spoke, "I think I would have preferred to become one with the Force, Master."

Blessed black humor. He was fine. "Brat. Never force me to do that again."

"…'s, Master." The padawan nuzzled his chin sleepily into the bundle of robes at his master's neck.

He rested his hand on the boy's head. Obi-Wan had stilled into sleep long ago, his head turned and lips parted with childlike innocence. Qui-Gon kissed his temple gently, a benediction and a promise. He waved the lights to dimness and soon followed his apprentice into slumber, even knowing he would regret the stiff neck come morning as a result of his current chosen sleeping position.

When morning came, they shared a brief meditation on the balcony, Obi-Wan wincing when his bottom touched his heels. The Council room was only half full when the two Jedi were permitted entrance. Though this meeting was considerably less strained, it was still embarrassing for the youngest member. He knelt before master Yoda, placing his hands palm to palm with the ancient Jedi and showed him what he would never have wanted to voice. The council members smiled encouragingly as he left, Master Billaba even winking at him as he passed.

Their day was busily spent in post-mission medical examinations, a trip to the quartermaster to return supplies, compiling the mission report with Master Billaba, a quick hour spent dueling in the salles, and a brief meditation in the arboretum. Master and padawan finally returned to their quarters after last meal. Tomorrow, Obi-Wan would return to his routine academic studies that he had missed while they were away, and their lives would return to as normal as they ever were at the Temple.

Obi-Wan had become increasingly quiet during supper and now he lagged in the common room, fiddling with his tunic sleeve. Qui-Gon was accustomed to the random bouts of brooding his padawan would set into, but he sensed something more behind this. Seating himself on his own meditation cushion, he gestured for his apprentice to do the same.

Once Obi-Wan had knelt, wincing as he did so, Qui-Gon stated bluntly, "Out with it, Padawan."

Obi-Wan clasped his hands in his lap, studying the threadbare fabric of the cushion beneath him. "Um, yes, Master. Well, you—you sort of promised. I mean, you said that the Council's, um, discipline did-didn't count as, um…"

One of Qui-Gon's brows quirked upward at this spout of incoherence. "Padawan."

Obi-Wan squirmed for a moment more before kneeling at his master's feet, head bowed. "I accept your correction, my master."

Both of Qui-Gon's brows rose then, and the faintest of wry smiles quirked at his lips. "Very well, padawan." The Jedi master patted his knee. "Come here."

Despite the flush creeping up the boy's neck and ears, he managed a contrite bow as he stood and a mumbled, "Yes, Master."

The spanking that followed was short but thorough. Only a few smacks in and the young Jedi was twisting and gasping beneath the tight grip of his master. Qui-Gon limited the number of blows to fifteen. The same number as strokes of the cane. But it was enough. Obi-Wan lay over his knee in the aftermath, breath hitching with sobs, hands twisting in his master's trouser leg as Qui-Gon smoothed his hands over the boy's shoulders. When the tears had mostly dried to soft hiccups, the tall master placed his apprentice on his feet.

"We'll work on your understanding of the Force's will. For now, do not ever disobey me again."

"Yes, Master."

A short time later, Obi-Wan sank into his master's side, legs tucked under him, sipping at proffered tea. He felt the present moment settle peacefully over the two of them, the currents of the Force washing the past away into its' ever-flowing currents. And tomorrow they would learn again whatever lessons the Force had deemed necessary to teach. But today, in this moment, they would rest.