If anyone is still reading, I regret to say that I hit a major roadblock - this story is NOT abandoned by any means, but the next chapter is still eluding me. It will continue.

Chapter 62. Oy Vey, What a Day

It was to have been a day of fresh beginnings. It had instead turned into a day of near tragedy.

And not a few "what-ifs" and "why-fors."

After making sure young Kenobi was in need of sleep far more than any other attention and ensuring it would be a restful, albeit short, one, Dooku had left the young man abed. He had promised there would be no cleaning of body or clothes and the constabulary droid left in the corner would be his proof of such.

He had then returned outdoors and studied the scene under the watchful eye of the droids, but like so much, it did not speak to him, so he had returned to the residence and poured himself a drink while waiting for the constabulary speeder. He stood behind the desk now, staring inwardly rather than to the outer world, detachedly admiring it.

Like all else in the home, it was magnificent, the workmanship top notch. The connoisseur in him appreciated what he was leaving behind. He ran a hand over the fine wood.

No regrets, he told himself sternly. Objects – things, they weren't important, but then they never had been to him. Principles – ah, those had been what he had always held most dear – sometimes to the detriment of other things, other people…how much richer his relationship with Qui-Gon might have been had he valued him more and principles less. Was it too late now? Strange, that his padawan's estrangement from his own padawan had ultimately led to this wish to grow closer.

Without this – epiphany of self-realization - he would have grown further away from him – and grown towards – what?

Arrogance? Disdain? Away from the Order, away from the Force? Insulated in a cold little cocoon of self-congratulation and sheer conceit that his principles trumped all else and perhaps, ultimately, even the Force itself?

His was a tidy mind: too concerned with the meticulous stacking of ridiculous boxes that contained what it held – standards of proper behavior, for one – into perfectly aligned, neat little piles like an academician too attuned to perfect theories to feel comfortable in and thus scornful of a world full of human foibles. Qui-Gon was untidy, spilling hither and yon, too attuned to human consequences to care what went where as it long as it found a place. Young Kenobi seemed a blend of both of them – a realist and a dreamer, an orderly man with a penchant for imaginative solutions .

Angels wings, indeed. Despite his concern, he chuckled at the memory. The young man had a streak of mirth at the center of his soul that the Jedi master envied. He and Qui-Gon had been well-matched, each contributing to a partnership the envy of the Temple.

Dooku suddenly scowled.

He had raised the man; despite the whims and fancies of a man a bit too attuned to the Living Force, Qui-Gon was not an unkind man. Living on blind faith, a leaf blown hither and yon on the shifting winds of the Force, prone to speak his mind without regard and regret, obedient to a fault to his perceptions against all rhythm or reason, Qui-Gon was, however, not a fool and not a cruel one.

He might accidentally trod upon the metaphorical feet of his apprentice but Qui-Gon Jinn was not a Jedi and not a master who would willingly cast away another for another.

Not without a reason; not without – compulsion.

The sheer enormity of this realization drew his brows together and a frown to curl his lips. What evil stalked in the galaxy? Was it the shroud of the dark side that and whom did it seek? Qui-Gon? Kenobi? Had the Chosen One truly come amongst them to purge the dark, or was the proclaimed bringer of light instead the opening sally of the dark, the covert spy meant to destroy from within?

This was just one of many reasons he was convinced there was an explanation for his padawan's behavior of late. Qui-Gon was too tied to the Living Force to behave – like his master might have – heedless of the human consequences in his single-minded march onward. Around like-minded people – like Palpatine – those who were convinced their visions trumped all, who would Dooku have trod on -

Dear Force. He had to admit he could have – might have – discarded people as easily as Qui-Gon had seemed to discard Obi-Wan.

Kenobi – so much revolved around Kenobi. Solve that mystery and find – what? Find that the Force indeed worked in mysterious ways?

With a decisive tap of his finger and a good swig of liquor, he sighed and resumed his seat where not so many hours ago he had thought his biggest concern was the ceremonial clothing. Right now he had far more important matters on his mind.

It was time to contact the Council. He had many questions buzzing around his mind. However, his first request would be to ask for the master of Force echoes to be recalled from his mission and sent here immediately. Jorak. Jorak might find at least one of the answers.

Answers he needed.

Answers Obi-Wan needed.

By Force, perhaps answers his own padawan didn't know to ask - and needed.

A nice cool drink; yes, that had been sufficient to tame the heat. Qui-Gon smoothed a hand over his boy's face, ready to send him back to his bed. "Better?"

The small head nodded. "Still feel - hear…"

A cold knot of fear coiled in his stomach. "Voices? Thoughts?" Visions?

Anakin shrugged the way children often did when they had no better way of expressing themselves. "Kinda, sorta - not words, Master Qui-Gon." He chewed his lips and shivered. "Just bad things."

"Impressions?"

Tilting his head to one side, Anakin scrunched his face in thought. "Yeah."

"Like…," Qui-Gon pursed his lips. Like disgust, rage, a strange sense of protectiveness? Emotions he couldn't decipher; a mix of dark and light both? "Like anger?

"Kinda. Yeah." The little head nodded vigorously. "Like when you were so mad at Obi-Wan there on Naboo. You wanted to hurt him for being mean to me 'cept someone had already hurt him, so I guess you didn't."

"No, I didn't," Qui-Gon agreed. He didn't, no, but he had wanted to, oh, how he had wanted to flashing back. How dare his former padawan threaten Anakin? It was the same encompassing anger he'd felt at Tahl's killer. Like a man possessed he'd stormed into Obi-Wan's room; furious, so very furious…Obi-Wan would never hurt Anakin again. Never, ever.

"How dare you…" the words had died on his lips as he reached the doorway. "Oh, dear Force, Obi-Wan!"

He had fallen to the young man's side, he remembered; lifted the limp body into his lap. Blood, there had been so much blood.

"Obi-Wan?" His fingers had been shaking, hadn't they – yes, shaking fingers had reached out; he had dipped his head close to hear the sound of breathing and found – at all.

Obi-Wan is dead.

He had held the body in his lap, numb and disbelieving, barely registering the hands on his shoulders, urging him to let Obi-Wan go. How could he let him go, his Obi-Wan? He could barely stand the thought of losing him to Knighthood, let alone the Force.

"He's dead, Mace. My Obi-Wan is dead." His voice had been hoarse and his hands atremble, red with Obi-Wan's blood. Obi-Wan's blood on his hands.

And the voice gibbered within: mourn him not. You mourn what never was for Anakin has told you what he was.

It was so much easier to bear the pain by giving in, by accepting, by believing – a belief that time had not dispelled. His inner voice had spoken true – must have spoken true – because if it had spoken false he would have been broken…

…broken – like Obi-Wan had been broken.

Qui-Gon had wept inside once; he would not weep again. He had released that pain by focusing on the lies. He had released the truth of Obi-Wan to the Force with the help of Anakin as he had once released the truth of Xanatos to the Force with the help of Obi-Wan. Each new apprentice had cleansed him of the prior. In recompense for the pain, the Force had rewarded him with the Chosen One.

His Anakin.

Anakin was rather glad he couldn't really explain things to Qui-Gon. He was so confused, especially nowadays. Love, hate – such a misery of feelings assaulted him that sometimes he just wanted to scream – so instead he sought out his master's warm comfort – his understanding, his gentle hugs that reminded him in some ways of his dearly beloved and missed mother. However sincere, however feigned, the soft words and hugs didn't banish the confusion but did soothe it.

He craved and thus accepted the warmth, but distrusted the motives behind its offering, for what did Qui-Gon truly know of hate and fear and sorrow? Of the fear entwined with the love?

His master just wouldn't understand, just couldn't. He hadn't loved anyone enough to love them despite anything they did or might do - or had already done. He'd abandoned two padawans, Knight Beebe had said. He didn't know much about this "Xanatos" person, but he knew Kenobi and even if he didn't like him much, Qui-Gon had abandoned him, even if for Anakin himself. Well, not entirely abandoned, he allowed, but he hadn't fought against the demand to abandon Kenobi; he had seemed to embrace it.

So maybe Qui-Gon didn't really care all that much – not for Xanatos, not for Kenobi and not for Anakin.

Maybe he didn't like Kenobi because, like Anakin, the former apprentice did care too much. Sometimes caring hurt, at least between men. He knew his hurt and pain as he knew the delight of he-who-called-himself-father, just as much as he knew his own joy at supplanting another in a gentle man's affections. Pain, betrayal, love, jealousy all tangled and wove amongst them, skeins of emotional entanglement, manipulated by he who was the center of the connections, a hub in a vast network known to some and unknown to others.

Every once in a while a twinge of sympathy for the former apprentice softened his heart; rare times when he imagined – no, knew – what it felt like to be treated so callously. In some ways, maybe Kenobi mirrored him, but like an imperfect reflection in a fun house mirror because he, Anakin, would never be so weak. He would fight back; Kenobi fled.

Coward.

There was no strength in retreating. No strength in holding onto caring for one who did not care back. No pain, when fighting; no pain, when angry. Only pain and hurt for one such as Kenobi, who had wept like a baby in the beginning.

He trusted nothing but a woman's love. His mother's love.

Only his mother's love was a source of no pain and all strength. For her he could be and do anything, no matter how impossible. His mother was perfect.

And so he understood why he-who-was-in-his-head hated whoever had or would hurt someone he loved, though he wondered who and he wondered why. He knew love and hate equally well, even if he had never seen or felt the love, only the hate.

He was worried to desperation. One he loved was threatened by another.

And they all felt it, somehow.

Because he knew he, too, would do anything and brave everything to protect his mother with every ounce of his being, his perfect, loving mother, Anakin didn't really blame him for the overwhelming terror and rage that raged like a storm but he still wondered: how could a man be so cruel and horrible while willing to take on the galaxy for love?

"Poppycock," Yoda said sharply, ignoring Mace's start of surprise at his choice of words. Dooku didn't react at all, after all, he had been raised by Yoda and no one was more familiar with the oddities of a master than his padawan. Yoda scratched his chin and then glanced at his fellow councilman before turning his attention back to Dooku. "Padawan, Master Windu was able to slip in under Obi-Wan's shields on Naboo – let him speak, I will, shed some light on this he might."

"Well, he did briefly draw on his anger after Qui-Gon was downed," Mace said, clearing his throat. Why did he seem to think Dooku should find that surprising? Both knew it would be a rare Jedi, especially an unknighted one who had not yet faced his trials, to be unaffected by such a sight. "Until he lost control of it, he managed to use his anger somewhat effectively, too, at first." A thin smile turned into a cough and shake of his head. "Paid for using it, as well."

Yes, Yoda had spoken of all that, Qui-Gon's fall, Obi-Wan's anger-enhanced battle, the fall into the pit and the yielding of his anger and surrender to the Force. Dooku nodded to indicate his understanding.

"Obi-Wan proved what we had long suspected: his last trial might come late compared to his peers as we suspected it would be hard to push him as far as that day's events did. We were sure that when that time came he might do more than just face the dark road but roar down it until he hit the crossroad of choice. A more thorough renunciation of the dark we could not dare hope for. Yes, Jan, Obi-Wan finally faced the test we all face; he stepped beyond his fear and anger and he more than accepted the Force, he surrendered to it." A rare smile crossed his face as Yoda grunted in agreement, a smile that Dooku had long expected to see on Qui-Gon's face, a paternal and proud smile. "We could not have devised a better trial for him."

No, no they could not. To move beyond the Dark to Light, one had to pass through the Darkness. All knights did. Some, like Obi-Wan, needed the clarity that came with distance to see the victory rather than the almost-lapse. Such clarity Obi-Wan had not been granted – no, the young man had promptly been repudiated and the living bond wrenched from him.

"So why does Qui-Gon insist he Fell?"

Yoda's ears curled back against his head at the blunt question. "Mmph."

"Don't grunt at me, Master. I know what you told me. I also know what Obi-Wan told me."

"Told you?" Yoda perked up. He looked pleased. Scratching his chin, he added, "Earned his trust you have. Very good, very good. More of what he told you I would hear."

"He harbors deep doubts and he doesn't want to believe Qui-Gon but he trusts the man. Still. Over his own self-knowledge; it's been shattered anyway due to what he's been through. My padawan was dying and my grand-padawan was pouring out his own life force to save him – and he was mentally slapped with that; all through the bond. What was Qui-Gon – what?"

The two Councilors looked at each other. Dooku frowned; what did they know or suspect? He sifted through the words, the expressions and the non-expressions on their faces.

"Jorak!'' both exclaimed at once.

Ah, yes, the healer; one of the reasons he had called – he wanted the man to come help with the more esoteric side of the investigation into the assaults. He knew – the Force all but insisted – there was a connection, well-hidden though it might be.

"Sorry I am to say that all contact with Jorak has been lost," Yoda reported, leaning forward on his gimer stick. He squeezed his eyes shut, but before he could add anything, there was a click and Mace was turning back to the hologram projector with a datapad in hand, his fingers flying over the buttons.

"I remember the preliminary report mentioning what seemed to be spontaneous bond regeneration in Qui-Gon's mind that was not echoed in Obi-Wan's. What if this bond came from someone with ill intentions?"

"Towards Qui-Gon? Obi-Wan it is who was most injured by this."

"And how could such a bond be formed without Qui-Gon's knowledge…"

"Are you thinking the same possibility I am?" Mace asked Yoda. He glanced at Dooku, his face stern. "I think it best that Yoda and I speculate and all that is associated with that while you concentrate on Obi-Wan; see if you can get some more information out of him. You're returning shortly, aren't you?"

"We were leaving today."

"Good." Mace was curt, something Dooku recognized as the Councilor about to leap into action. "You've the experience to guide Obi-Wan through this; don't let him evade talking about it. He has a tendency to brood, thinking he's sparing those around him his burdens. He just makes those around him worry more than is necessary."

Ah, Mace had firsthand experience, it seemed.

"It is my job to worry about my Jedi," Mace huffed, catching Dooku's smirk.