Qui-Gon froze, his spine stiffening. He swallowed quickly as the door to the turbolift slid open. “That’s a very big question with a very long answer.”

He kept Obi-Wan’s hand in his own as he led the boy out of the lift and down the corridor to his apartment. Through the mindlink, he could feel anxiety circling in the boy’s consciousness. Qui-Gon felt like breaking Guod’s nose. He’d done it once before as a Padawan, and although it sentenced him to scrubbing the Rock Garden for months, there was a certain satisfaction in wiping the condescending look off Guod’s face, even if Yoda had nearly disowned him. Turning back to look at Obi-Wan, he watched the boy chew on a fingernail. “I think we should go sit down and get something warm to drink, and then we can talk.”

Obi-Wan didn’t look up. “Okay.”

Qui-Gon was taken aback by the child’s quiet tone; it was unusual to see him try to hide his emotions. Mentally releasing his anger towards Guod to the Force, he keyed in the sequence to open his apartment and led them inside. Qui-Gon went into the small kitchen to retrieve some callomint tea and brought out two cups for them both. “You like tea, don’t you, Obi-Wan?”

The small boy nodded, and he sat down heavily on the couch next to Qui-Gon. He gave the child a half-full cup, and he met Obi-Wan’s worried gaze. “Even though I would rather not tell you about this, I don’t want to lie to you, Obi-Wan.”

“What’s wrong, Master Qui-Gon?” Obi-Wan’s voice kept its same quiet quality, except this time Qui-Gon could hear the concern fueling it. “You’re sad.”

Qui-Gon nodded, taking a sip of tea before he spoke. “This is a very sad story.” He took a deep breath, unsure where to begin and how much information to impart. “You learned about the two sides to the Force in class.”

Obi-Wan wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “The Light side and the Dark side. We learned that.”

“Well, every Jedi has a choice to make. Although it is the hope of the Temple and the Teachers and the Masters for every Jedi to choose to follow the Light path, not every Jedi does so.” Qui-Gon paused, trying to read understanding in Obi-Wan’s expression. “Sometimes, a Padawan or a Knight or even a Master will decide not to follow the Living Force anymore and will choose the Dark side instead.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes grew large, and Qui-Gon felt a small surge of disquiet rumble through the boy. “But the Dark side is bad,” he said, voice barely a whisper. “Why would anyone do that?”

Qui-Gon brushed a hand over the child’s head, blinking slowly. “The Dark side can be very persuasive. But we don’t need to fear it. We have the Force with us always, and we can depend on it, as long as we seek its guidance.” He took another breath, and he let it out quickly. “Xanatos chose to leave the Light and chose the Dark side. He was a Padawan here, and he was close to taking his trials of Knighthood when he made the decision.”

“But why didn’t his Master tell him not to?” Obi-Wan asked.

“His Master tried to bring him back, to change his mind, but Xanatos wouldn’t listen. He betrayed his Master and he betrayed the Jedi.” Qui-Gon forced himself to control the emotions rising in his mind; Obi-Wan would surely feel them through the link, and it would only frighten the child.

“He shouldn’t have done that. He should have stayed a Jedi,” Obi-Wan said, leaning in over his teacup. “What happened to him?”

Qui-Gon shoulders lifted in a small shrug. “No one is really sure. He has never tried to make contact with the Temple.”

Obi-Wan put his teacup on the table in front of the couch, and then sat back against the cushions, his eyes trained on Qui-Gon. “That man. Who was mean. Why did he talk about Xanatos to you? Were you friends?”

A moment of silence passed before the Jedi Master let the words escape his mouth. “I was Xanatos’ Master, Obi-Wan.”

He heard the child let out a tiny gasp, and he looked away from the boy’s open-mouthed stare. “That’s bad,” the child said a last.

“I know.” Qui-Gon rested his chin in the palms of his upturned hands, looking intently at the wall across the room. Quiet stretched between them, taut like string, until he felt a movement beside him.

Obi-Wan climbed down carefully from the couch. He stood in front of Qui-Gon, looking up at him with hands clasped in front of him. “I think I need to go back to the Creche now.”

Qui-Gon closed his eyes momentarily. He could sense the fear emanating from the child, and he knew he was the cause. Reaching out tentatively through the bond, he suddenly drew back, shocked. Somehow, the child had managed to throw up a shield as a defense mechanism. Qui-Gon’s mouth opened, but he couldn’t find any words to explain. “If that’s what you want, Obi-Wan.”

He held his breath as he walked over to the door, trying to take the boy’s hand, but Obi-Wan ignored his gesture. They passed into the corridor, where the ceiling lights betrayed the hour; when he checked his chrono, he saw it was nearly seven. He noticed the child’s pace was somewhat faster than normal, and Qui-Gon dipped his chin. Although the journey from his apartment and Heri’s rooms in the Creche took only a matter of minutes, the Jedi Master felt as though he was crossing a galaxy. Obi-Wan kept in front of Qui-Gon, not looking back, and not even stopping to make sure he stepped only on the red tiles. Afraid to remain silent, he tried to communicate with the child. “Obi-Wan, why are you in such a hurry?”

He called back without turning around. “Time for bed.”

“But you never want to go to bed,” he protested, moving up to keep stride.

“Want to now.”

“Are you upset because of what I told you?”

The boy didn’t answer, but instead took off in a run down the corridor to Heri’s room. Qui-Gon shouted his name, but Obi-Wan didn’t stop. Shaking his head, he jogged up towards the door as he watched Obi-Wan dash inside.

He heard Heri’s questioning voice as he approached her room, and heard Obi-Wan tell her he was tired. The sound of a slide door opening and closing followed. Qui-Gon stepped heavily outside the door and cleared his throat, and Heri appeared in the doorway.

“What happened?” she asked, her forehead creased with concern as she gestured for Qui-Gon to enter.

He walked into the chamber and looked apologetically at Heri. “I made a mistake. I should have talked to you first.” She stood silent, listening, and he continued. “We ran into Master Guod earlier, and he made a comment about Xanatos.”

Heri let out a small sound, and she touched his arm for a moment. “And he wanted to know who that was.”

Qui-Gon stared at the tiled floor. “I couldn’t lie to him, and I knew he was going to find out eventually. I just didn’t expect--”

“The Dark side is a very frightening thing for the children. They don’t understand it, and they naturally fear anyone who has had dealings with it,” Heri said simply. “One of the hardest things for us to teach them is not to be afraid.” Her gaze rested on his face, and Qui-Gon finally looked up to meet it. “Obi-Wan just found out that the person he loves the most in this world isn’t perfect.”

“He never thought that.”

“Yes, he did.” Heri tucked her hands into the deep pockets of her tunic.

Qui-Gon sighed. “He put up shields as soon as I told him. He blocked the bond. I didn’t even know he could do that yet.”

“He needs a little time for himself right now, but don’t worry. He’ll come around. They always do,” she said, rocking a bit on the balls of her feet. “They’re really fickle at this age.”

Qui-Gon raised his folded hands to his lips. “I don’t like leaving with things the way they are. We’re supposed to meet with Yoda tomorrow, but if he’s still blocking me out—”

“Yoda will know what to do. I’ll talk to Obi-Wan; there’s no way he’s asleep already. Just try not to be too hard on yourself, Qui-Gon. It’s not your fault.”

“Are you sure I shouldn’t try to speak with him myself?” Qui-Gon asked helplessly, his hands falling limply to his sides.

Heri nodded slowly. “I’ll bring Obi-Wan to Yoda’s Garden in the morning. Just try to relax and get some rest, Qui-Gon.”

The Jedi Master conceded, and he turned to go when Heri’s voice stopped him. “Qui-Gon?”

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry.”

***

Qui-Gon sat alone in his chambers, staring out the window at the darkness over the city. He could already feel the beginnings of a headache pricking at his temples, but he welcomed the effects of the drink in his hand. He knew he wasn’t supposed to consume alcohol while on the Temple grounds, but a diplomat had given him a small flask of Burgonian wine the last time he visited the planet, and he figured a night would come when he needed a drink.

Swirling the amber-colored liquid around in his glass, he took another sip of the bittersweet drink. He’d been checking the link for the past several hours, but Obi-Wan’s shields were still in place. Of course, if he’d fallen asleep, they would remain throughout the night, but somehow he doubted the child was sleeping. Clenching his left hand in a fist, he suppressed the urge to break something. Guod’s careless words had cost him far more than he could have imagined.

The shrill sound of his doorcomm beeped loudly, and Qui-Gon turned around quickly, nearly spilling his glass. Moving to the kitchen, he placed the wineglass in the cooling unit; there was no use getting caught when his drink was so unequivocally deserved. Walking slowly to the door, he pressed the comm button. “Yes?” His voice sounded more tired than he anticipated.

“Qui-Gon, it’s Demeron. Can I come in?”

Qui-Gon ran a hand over his face, grimacing, but then pressed the switch. The older Jedi bowed, and then stepped through the doorway, his expression passive. “Good evening, my friend. I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

“No, you’re quite welcome to sit down,” he said, indicating the empty couch.

“I don’t want to trouble you,” Demeron said, holding up a slender-fingered hand. “I just wanted to speak to you for a moment.”

Qui-Gon held his breath for a moment. “You want to know about the bond. With Obi-Wan.”

Demeron blinked slowly. “Mace told me a bit about your situation. It is most unusual.” He folded his hands neatly in front of his waist. “But I wanted to know what your intentions are in light of this development.”

“I’m not sure I know what you mean.” Qui-Gon leaned back on his heels. “ If you’re asking if I am going to seek to train Obi-Wan, then I can’t answer your question. I barely know anything about this forming bond; Yoda has agreed to work with the child and I. More than that I can’t tell you.”

Demeron nodded, but his gaze held more than questions. “I understand. But you know I have been working with a number of the children, Obi-Wan included, in the efforts of choosing a Padawan. I have no intention of withdrawing interest at this point on any of them, and I wanted us to be clear on that point.”

Qui-Gon tried to remove the look of surprise from his face, but he feared Demeron could already sense his discontent. “There’s no reason why you should withdraw. Much time remains between now and next year.”

Demeron gave him a slight bow, and then turned to leave. “That is all I came to say,” he said quietly and then pressed the switch on Qui-Gon’s door. “I know you are in no mood for company. I’ll take my leave.”

Qui-Gon moved to say something, but the sound expired in his throat. He watched Demeron’s slim back exit through the doorway, and then watched the slide move back into place.

Returning to the kitchen, he retrieved his wine. Staring into the liquid, he watched small bubbles make a ring around the edge of the glass, winking in the low light like stars. Grunting softly, he drained its contents, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

***

A violent shake ripped Qui-Gon out of dreams, his entire frame jolting on the sleep-couch. Instinctively rubbing at his eyes, he laid on his back, breathing quickly. Groaning, he leaned over the edge of the couch to check the chrono by his bedside. Tiny green numbers flashed the time; it was the middle of the night. Sticking out his tongue at the foul bile taste in his mouth, he smacked his lips, trying to get rid of the flavor. When his efforts failed, Qui-Gon hauled himself unsteadily to his feet and staggered into the kitchen, pouring himself a glass of water. The Jedi Master drank quickly, coating his parched throat with the cool liquid. Moving slowly back to his sleep-couch with the empty glass still in hand, he sat down heavily, dipping his head, which pounded with each pulse of his temples. The wine hadn’t been a good idea.

Reaching out through the Force along the bond with Obi-Wan, his mind recoiled when it struck the child’s still-intact shields. He hesitated for a moment, knowing he could supercede them without much trouble, but he pulled back. Such an intrusive act might only frighten the boy more. Yoda wouldn’t allow a breach of that nature without due cause, and at this point, he had none.

Dropping the glass to the floor, it gave a dull clink as it hit the tiled floor and rolled under the couch. Qui-Gon fell back onto the blankets, breathing slowly. Staring into the darkness of his room, he debated getting up and reading something, since he knew sleep wasn’t going to return, but the thought of deciphering any sort of word pattern right now made him feel even more queasy than he already felt. Closing his eyes, he replayed the conversation he had with the child earlier, chiding himself again for his choice of words and his inability to make things right.

Suddenly, a brutal series of images assaulted his mind, slashing through his consciousness with all the delicacy of a left hook. Quickly raising his shields, he felt another tug on his mental defenses. The images still came, sliding in on themselves like holovids played concurrently, but he could control his mind’s reaction to them. It took several moments of intense concentration, but he suddenly realized the images were part of a dream. Through the fuzzy haze, he could see distorted pictures of himself and Obi-Wan, followed by Guod’s laughing face and other shadowed forms.

Qui-Gon opened his eyes, fighting back the effects of the vision. Feeling along his mental strands, he realized the bond’s shields were completely destroyed. In the next second, he understood the tug on his own shields; Obi-Wan was trying to use the Jedi Master’s in order to protect himself from his dream.

Getting up quickly and then regretting the sudden movement, Qui-Gon reached for his long brown robe at the end of his sleep-couch. Slipping its familiar shape over his shoulders, he tied it loosely over his tunic and pants as he stepped into his boots. Not allowing the state of his somewhat stupor-hazed brain to hinder him, he pressed the slide door open and ran towards the nearest turbolift. Entering in the coordinates for Master Heri’s chambers, he paced inside the lift until it reached the correct floor.

The lift beeped softly, and he didn’t even wait for the doors to open completely before he slipped between them. Walking swiftly to Heri’s chamber, he only hesitated for a moment before he pressed the doorcomm.

More than a minute passed before a rather mussed Master Heri opened the door. Her brown hair spiked from her scalp, and her eyes sagged from the lateness of the hour. “What are you doing here?” she asked, voice cracking.

“Obi-Wan, he’s having a nightmare—he’s wrapped up in my shields.”

Heri stepped aside to let him in, and she yawned. “I didn’t feel anything; are you sure?”

Qui-Gon followed her towards the room where Obi-Wan slept. “Yes.” He considered what she said for a moment. “You can’t feel anything because he’s drawing from me now.”

Heri turned to look at him, her expression puzzled, but she pressed the button to let him into the child’s tiny room.

Qui-Gon felt the insistent tugs on his shields more strongly now; whatever the boy fought off in his dreams, it had him spooked. Leaning down close to the child, he started rubbing his back lightly, feeling the birdlike bones of the boy’s shoulder blades under his fingers. “Obi-Wan, wake up. Wake up.”

A strangled cry leapt from the boy’s throat, catching as Obi-Wan gasped. His entire frame shuddered, shaking uncontrollably as his consciousness returned. Qui-Gon reached down to gather the child in his arms, but Obi-Wan pushed him away, shrieking and burying himself in the blankets.

Heri turned away towards the door. “The others are waking up. I’ll be back in a minute.”

Qui-Gon didn’t even nod as he tried to send gentle Force waves through the bond. A few moments later, Obi-Wan’s form shifted, and finally his head poked out from underneath the blanket, blond hair disheveled and sweat-plastered to his forehead.

“Obi-Wan…” Qui-Gon trailed off, unsure what to say next. He placed his hand tentatively on the boy’s back again, and the child didn’t push him away. “You had a bad dream, didn’t you?” he asked softly.

Obi-Wan nodded, still trembling.

“It’s all right,” he whispered, blinking in the darkness of the room. “What did you see?”

The child shuddered under his hand, and he felt him take a breath. “Bad things.”

“What bad things?”

“You. And Xanatos.” Obi-Wan buried his head underneath the blankets again.

Qui-Gon sent him another calming wave, relieved that their bond was finally unblocked, but saddened that it had taken such a horrible nightmare to shatter the child’s defenses. “He can’t come back here. It’s all right.”

“But he might.” His voice was small and muffled by fabric.

“No,” Qui-Gon soothed, trying to reach out to pick up the child, and this time he didn’t resist his touch. He gathered up the boy in his arms, holding him close. “I’m sorry you had such a bad dream.”

Obi-Wan stared up at him, his eyes wide and glistening with tears. “But he’s bad. I don’t want him to get me.”

Qui-Gon ran a hand over the small boy’s head, swiping away the sweaty hair from his temples. “He will never come here. And I will never let him get you. Don’t worry.”

He finally sensed the fears that wracked the boy’s mind begin to subside. He rocked slowly back and forth on the edge of the sleep-couch. “Obi-Wan?”

“Yes?”

“You’re still using my shields, Little One. You need to build yours back up again, all right?”

“Oh,” the boy said, as if it had completely slipped his mind. In a moment, Qui-Gon felt the constant tug on his mind fade as the child allowed the Jedi’s to fall away and became dependant once more on his own defenses.

As he reached out to the Force to send the child a wave of encouragement, he suddenly noticed that Obi-Wan had shielded their bond again. Looking down at the child, he asked quietly, “Why are you blocking me out, Obi-Wan?”

The boy’s expression was sad. “Because I have to.”

“Why would you think that, Little One?”

Obi-Wan shifted in Qui-Gon’s arms, pulling away slightly. “I don’t want to be bad too.”

“But this mindlink isn’t bad, Obi-Wan, it’s perfectly all right--”

“But I don’t want the Dark side to get me.” The boy’s frame shivered.

Qui-Gon sighed, dropping his chin. “Obi-Wan, I didn’t have anything to do with Xanatos going to the Dark side. He chose to do that on his own.”

“Are you sure?”

“Very sure.”

“One hundred percent sure?”

“One hundred percent sure.”

The boy was silent for a moment, but then finally spoke. “Okay.” He closed his eyes, but nothing happened. He looked up at Qui-Gon, his eyes tearing slightly. “I can’t fix it. I broke it.”

“No, no, Little One,” Qui-Gon said, giving the child a hug. “It’s not broken. You can’t break it. You just need to learn how to use our bond. Yoda’s going to help us do that, all right?”

Obi-Wan sniffled, leaning in close to Qui-Gon’s robe to wipe his nose on the fabric, making a shiny smear across his chest.

Qui-Gon looked down, narrowing his eyes, but he smiled despite himself. “We really need to get you out of that habit.”