I am the first to admit that this story is a lot of flashbacks - but we all "know" the story so well I don't want to cover known ground in detail, hence the flashbacks that tie in with the current events. Even I have my doubts about the style, but sometimes the story just gets written the way you see it.

With a silent sigh of relief, Obi-Wan noticed that the suite given to them was about as far away as possible from the suite given to the Jedi just a year before. He had not slept - truly slept -one night there; the day of their arrival had been the beginning of three all but sleepless nights.

Only Qui-Gon had slept there, in eternal sleep. The healers, unable to practice their craft, had silently brought the body there, and there Obi-Wan had done his duty to the dead. He had gently cleansed the cold flesh and dressed the body in clean tunics and leggings.

What remained of Qui-Gon had seemed so much less, the mortal body no longer filled by the larger than life soul of his master, bearing its own silent testimony to the truth that the luminous being inside was the true being. It was not his master at whose side he had kept vigil that night, but it had been the shell he wore when alive in this galaxy and it had been the face of the man who had raised him.

It was the loss of that tangible reminder of his mentor that had hurt the most; the emptiness within that shell had mirrored the emptiness within himself, that cold and empty void where once a living and vibrant bond had warmed a corner of his mind.

Seeking admittance into that void had scraped and clamored all the aches and pains of a still living body – the sharp biting pain of a severed bond, broken ends sparking like broken wires, the alternately dull yet stabbing pain in his heart, and the more easily ignored aches and pains of a body fresh from a bruising fight.

Secure in his knowledge that the Jedi Council would come and take charge, that the young boy that Qui-Gon had championed was safe in the keeping of the Naboo, that Naboo was now secure and all that could be done had been done, the grieving padawan had shut himself in that first night to bear his lonely vigil, fingers twined with the limp and cooling hand that would never again brush his cheek or tug at his braid.

There he had cried his tears, and there he had dried them himself, for there was none to dry them for him. There was nothing for him for everything he cared about lay silent and still, soon to be consumed by the flames.

He had not been the only one to mourn, that night or the next. All of Naboo mourned, for those imprisoned and those killed fighting to reclaim their planet.

When he had finally slept, he had slept on his knees at the side of the bed, grasping onto the last, faint traces of the man he loved above all others, a lock of his long hair clasped in his fist just as the tail of his own braid lay pressed into Qui-Gon's palm, the intermingled grey-brown and red-brown still fused as one.

Come the morning he had wiped away all signs of his vigil, risen from stiff knees and dressed in tunics that still bore signs of the dying man he had held in his arms, and stiffly gone forth to see what assistance he could offer to those in need. The dead could not be helped; they were in the hands of the Force, but in his hands he had the Force to help those alive, those not yet dead even should they be dying.

With the Force as his eager ally, he had severed barricades and erected shelters. He had searched for healers in the midst of crowds and helped them to identify and triage those in need of healers help.

He had walked among the sick and the injured, the shell-shocked and the silent, offering hope, food and a friendly touch, until the grief of a Jedi padawan and the grief of Naboo became simply shared grief and shared purpose.

Most important of all, he had become a witness. What he saw and what he heard would become evidence.

As he had worked tirelessly those few days before the Council's arrival, he could feel Qui-Gon walking at his side. When he was about to collapse, Qui-Gon gave him the strength to remain on his feet and move forward to help one in greater need. When he returned at night, exhausted, Qui-Gon was at his shoulder.

Early in the morning of the second day Qui-Gon's body had been moved to its final resting place, the bier prepared and the body lying in honored rest. Obi-Wan could only

watch as the honor guard bore the body away. He would not see Qui-Gon again until his memorial, in the company of those Jedi soon to arrive.

Later that morning of that second day, he had found himself before Anakin's room, drawn there by both his promise and the Force. The door had opened easily at his touch to show a young boy huddled within a large bed, hope and shame shining from damp eyes now affixed on his own. With a start, the padawan had realized the boy was alone, alone just as he was.

"Come," he had said gently, kneeling beside the bed and holding out his arms.

In less than a minute his arms had been filled by a small boy sobbing against his chest. "You came."

"I came." Oh, Force, he needed me and I did not come. Now I have, and all he can say is, "you came." "I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry, too."

"For what?"

"You needed me, too, and I didn't come."

How could a heart break more than once?

Obi-Wan had sat on the floor and gathered Anakin in his arms, tucking the boy's head under his chin. "Then we shall redeem ourselves by sticking together, okay? You're coming to my room tonight where you won't be alone – but first, shall we see to some breakfast?"

At Anakin's nod against his chest, Obi-Wan had smiled. It had felt like his first smile in days. He stood, and offered a hand to the boy. It was too late to offer his heart; it had already been given.

"Let's go, then, as soon as you change into daytime clothing."

Over breakfast he had found what Qui-Gon had known from the first: this child of prophecy was just a child, and one lonely and fearful of admitting the same, with only a handmaiden to keep him company during the day past. A boy with a dream to be more than he was and a boy with the power of the Force, untamed and instinctive.

Obi-Wan had wanted to leave Anakin behind as he resumed what little he could do to help the Naboo. A boy should not be exposed to more cruelties, but Anakin had tugged at his hand when he meant to leave.

"There are children in the camps, aren't there?" At Obi-Wan's silent nod, Anakin had reached up to touch the padawan's cheek, the tear betraying a memory. "I can help them, Obi-Wan. I can."

"But Anakin….."

"I was a slave, Obi-Wan," the boy had confessed, not willing to meet the Jedi's eyes. Only later had Obi-Wan realized how hard it had been for Anakin to admit that. "I've seen a lot of bad things in my life. A few more won't hurt me – and I can help them."

And he had.

He had lifted their spirits in play and kept the children occupied while the adults labored on. He had brought hope to the children and in so doing, to their parents as well.

That night, when Obi-Wan had tucked him in, in the untouched bed that had been meant for him, Anakin had yawned and whispered, "I know it still hurts, Obi-Wan, but you've got me, now."

"I've got you now." He had touched the boy's cheek as Anakin snuggled into his hand. I've got you now– it was a promise.

Once Anakin's breathing had slowed into the rhythm of sleep, Obi-Wan had moved over to and curled up in a nearby chair. The Council would arrive the day after next, and the boy's future was in doubt. If they denied him – he would just have to find a way to keep both his promises, that to Qui-Gon and that to Anakin - even if that meant giving up his own dream to be a Jedi Knight.

With Anakin at his side, the padawan knew he would find the strength to face what would come next – greeting the Council with the stoicism and acceptance of a Jedi. After that public greeting would come the private: facing the Council and confessing his brush with the dark side.

Wiping a mask of Jedi serenity onto his countenance as he had earlier brushed crumbs from Anakin's face, the Jedi padawan saw that the Trade Federation prisoners were handed over to Republic custody and greeted the members of the Jedi Council. All had come to pay their respects to Qui-Gon Jinn, each and every one. Duty done, asked to remain in his guest quarters, Obi-Wan had settled into a kneeling meditative posture that was more exhaustion than meditation. The Council would send for him to present his full report at a later time.

Anakin was once again with the handmaidens; Obi-Wan's need for solitary reflection easily accepted.

He had not moved, not until a feather light touch brushed his head.

"Young one." The gentle hand slipped from his head as Obi-Wan stirred underneath the touch. "Alone you are not. Here at your side I am and here I will stay a while."

Master Yoda stood before him. The gentleness of his touch brought forth the tears Obi-Wan had thought were all shed.

"I'm sorry."

"Sorry we all are, yet rejoice for Master Qui-Gon's return to the Force we do. Soon you will rejoice as well."

"I can't." The denial shamed him. "I can't."

In response, that three-fingered hand again rested on his head and Obi-Wan could feel the Force gently wrapping around his bruised mind and heart. Obi-Wan continued to kneel, eyes closed, afraid to lean into the touch yet craving it desperately. As if in response to that thought, the fingers gentled through his hair and fingered his braid.

"Do what must be done, you can, Padawan."

"I can't, Master, I cannot do it, not yet."

"You can. Within you is the strength to do what you think you cannot, to do what must be done. Your gift from the Force it is. Much strength within you; call on it soon you must. Not now, young one, too busy you have been to seek the Force. Too tired to find the strength you are. Busy helping others you have been. Help you the Force can. Here I am as well."

Soothing calm washed through him, softening the grief and blanketing the pains. He drew a long, shuddering breath, the first full breath without pain since greeting the Council.

"A burden you carry within you, a burden lessened if you share it," the little master said, rather gently for him. "Unburden yourself, young one."

"I'm no Jedi," burst out of him. "I failed him, and I have failed my training. It is my fault, Master. Mine."

"Failed to be perfect, you did, only that. Run ahead of you did Qui-Gon not? Failure is his as well. Perfection you will never find except in the Force. Let it go, young one. Too many burdens you take upon yourself; burdens that are not yours to bear in addition to your own. Pain and grief, as well – let them go. Master Qui-Gon, let him go. Remember your lessons you must."

"It is hard. I look for him without thought and I find him not."

"Then for him look in the Force," Yoda replied quietly. "Luminous beings we are, have I not taught you? Find the strength to let go and find your master you will, young Obi-Wan. When grief is gone, live again he will inside you. Make room for him, young one, as you made room for the one who was the cause of your hurt at your master's words - as you made room for the Force to burn away your hate."

Obi-Wan's head shot up at that.

"Know details I do not, sensed it I did. Silence you may keep until the Council convenes, or share with me now you may. Speak of it you must at some time, for a trial that was that all face. Face the dark all do, touch it many do as well, those who know it and turn away from it, the strongest of all in the light they become."

It felt like the sun burning through clouds, a dose of cold water onto an out-of-control fire.

"I fought with the dark as my ally," Obi-Wan confessed. Yoda's eyes prompted him to continue. "I killed, but I did not kill as I fought. I did not kill in anger, or in hate. I am not tainted?"

He laced his fingers together, awaiting the master's pronouncement. Yoda's eyes held only compassion, but no answers. He would be forced to find his own answers, as was the Jedi way.

"Tell me you will, tell you I will not. Tell me, is that burden lifted from you? Wish, do you, to touch the dark again, let it give you power and strength to live when otherwise you would die?"

Despite himself, the padawan shuddered. "I had that choice – only the choice was to die in the light or to die in the dark. I chose the light. I would rather save my soul than my life."

"So, my question you did not answer. Tainted do you feel?"

"There will always be a small part of me that will feel tainted," Obi-Wan admitted. "Perhaps that is good. As long as I feel shame at that, I will know I belong to the light."

"The answer of a Jedi knight that is," Yoda said approvingly. "After 800 years still the shame is there. That shame, Obi-Wan, tuck it away. Need it you do not, not until such a time as you might need to call on it, then strengthen you it will."

"Yes, Master."

A clawed hand rested on his head. "Grand-padawan of mine, suffer you do from severance of the bond and an excess of helping others. Rest now you should, gather your strength to face the Council alone with no master at your side."

"The boy – Anakin – he -."

"Yes, yes, know we do of his part. Spoken to many we have, spoke to the boy I did myself. Much – sorrow in him, but much affection as well – for you. Not for a Jedi are these emotions, not so untamed and powerful.

"He is untrained. He needs to be trained."
"Spoken to the boy have you?"

"I – not of Qui-Gon's last words." Obi-Wan bowed his head. "I had to tell him – he did not wish to see me at first. He – blamed me."

"Hmm, perhaps, but blamed yourself you have as well. Yet longs for your company he does – few friends he has, alone he feels for the Queen has her own duties to attend."

"We have made our peace."

"This, too, I know." A gentle smile graced the impish face. "In grief you became united, in helping others, each other you have helped. Good that is. The boy, yes, needs you he does," Yoda murmured. "Perhaps, more than rest, together you should be, yes, alone with each other and alone neither of you shall be."

Together they had been until Obi-Wan faced the Council. Together again afterwards they were, until Obi-Wan was summoned to the room lent to the Council, to find only Yoda, and the bestowal of his rank. Together they were still, now master and padawan.

A hand on his arm and a soft, "Does it hurt to remember, Master?" caused Obi-Wan to realize he was still staring down the long hallway, deep in his memories.

"Not the part that resulted in your braid, my Padawan, not at all. As to the rest…what I feel is more like the echo of pain," he said, twisting about and smiling. "I remember the hurt and the grief, yes, but I don't experience it as I did then. I am not about to break down and cry, if that is what you are asking."

"You don't cry, Master."

The absolute certainty in that voice startled him. He knelt down to look the boy in the eyes. He had heard the boy's cries in his sleep, the tears he always denied and the tears he could never wipe away for the tears would always be brushed away before he could even get to his homesick padawan's side.

"Everyone cries, Padawan."

"I've never seen you cry."

No, he had never let Anakin see his tears. Anakin had his own tears in those weeks to deal with; he didn't need his master's as well. His tears came in the lonely hours of the night; somehow, his tears were much too far away when in his padawan's presence.

Only Siri had seen his tears, and just that one time. Her shoulder had been just what he had needed, and he would be eternally grateful for that.

He touched Anakin's cheek and admitted, "No."
With the logic of a child, Anakin decided his point was made. "That means you don't cry, Master."

"That is poor logic, young one. Have you ever seen me, I don't know, kiss anyone?" He stood to lead the way down the hallway, to be stopped by a question he had not thought to face.

"No. Have you?"

Now he was in for it, balancing openness and privacy. He supposed he came up with that example of "kissing" because of his earlier thought of Siri. "Yes."

"Who?"

"A girl." He laughed at Anakin's indignant scowl.

"What girl and when?"

"You're inquisitive. A girl and it was a long time ago, and just the one time." Please, just leave it at that. I want to leave that in the past where it belongs.

"Why? Did Master Qui-Gon catch you? Did you get in trouble?"

"No, we weren't caught, and I might have been in trouble, yes, had we, uh, kissed more than once. We didn't, because we decided," forced, more like it, he thought, but forced into the right decision, "we were too young even if we were of legal age and not meant to be kissing. Jedi and kisses don't make a good combination - unless, of course, it's this kind of kiss." Obi-Wan touched his finger to his lips, then to Anakin's forehead and winked.

The boy giggled, and the young man sighed in relief. If he'd been forced into more details, he would have spoken of that time he was perhaps five and planting his first ever kiss on a girl. Four-year-old Siri had rubbed a hand on her cheek and stared at him, wide-eyed and solemn, then quietly said, "Ick" and planted one on his forehead before giggling and running away from him.

Childish kisses on the cheeks didn't really count as kisses, but that last kiss would be forever burned in his heart as it had then burned on his lips. That had, indeed, been a kiss, his first and last real kiss.

"Can I kiss Padme like that?"

Obi-Wan blinked in surprise, then remembered his finger kiss demonstration. Really, there was no harm in such things at such a young age.

"Ask her later tonight." The young Jedi tousled the boy's hair. "I don't think queens kiss, but Padme might – for you."

"Padme will let me kiss her," he said with absolute certainty. "And because I'm cute, maybe even more than once."

Despite himself, Obi-Wan grinned and held up one finger. "One only, Padawan. Only one kiss."