Qui-Gon sighed, reaching out to rest a hand on Slade’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about Jes. She really only likes Obi-Wan anyway. She just tolerates me because I feed her.” He turned the boy away from the rankled feline, attempting to draw his attention elsewhere. “Do you want to sit down?”

Slade shrugged, moving stiffly towards the couch. “I guess.” He eased onto the cushions, pressing himself against the arm, his tail trailing onto the floor.

“I know you’re probably sick of answering this question, but are you feeling okay?” Qui-Gon asked gently, stepping over to where the boy sat.

“I’m fine,” Slade said, his gaze resting on the carpet.

Qui-Gon nodded, although he could sense Slade’s weariness through the Force. Despite his days in the Infirmary, he knew Slade would need several more days before his body healed from the aftereffects of the drugs. The boy moved too slowly, too clumsily for Qui-Gon to believe he’d recovered completely. “Would you like anything to eat?”

Slade shook his head, his arms wrapped around his chest. “No thanks.”

“Well, let me know when you get hungry.” Qui-Gon was used to Obi-Wan’s finicky eating habits, but Slade usually devoured anything within reach, including Qui-Gon’s worst attempts at dinner. Several moments of silence stretched between them, and Qui-Gon took a breath, unwilling to give up on conversation just yet.

“Maybe you’d like some tea?” he offered.

Slade’s tail flicked, and he gave a slow nod. “Well, only if you’re making some for you, Master Qui-Gon.”

Qui-Gon moved quickly to the kitchen to heat some water, relieved he could do something tangible to make the child feel better. He stuck his head in the doorway, calling out. “You like sweetener, right?”

“Um, no, not really,” Slade said.

“You don’t like it? That’s amazing,” Qui-Gon said, shaking his head. “I can’t drink tea without it.” He poured two cups, spooning sweetener into his own. “Two cups of tea, coming right up.” Walking back into the common room, he held out steaming mug into Slade’s outstretched hands.

Sitting down beside the boy, Qui-Gon watched as Slade leaned his face over the hot liquid, breathing in the steam. He held the cup close to him, his eyes closed.

“Are you cold?” Qui-Gon asked, concerned. Charr’a said he was ready to leave the Infirmary, but perhaps they’d missed something.

Slade didn’t meet his gaze, but he opened his eyes, staring at the surface of the tea. “Maybe a little.”

“Obi-Wan and I have disagreements about the temperature in here all the time. Hold on.” He leaned forward, setting his tea on the low table before him as he rose to get the boy a blanket. Lightly sweeping his hand over the boy’s head, he stopped as the chilled scales came in contact with his fingers. Realization crystallized suddenly in his mind, and he shook his head. “Slade, you’re cold-blooded, aren’t you?”

Slade pursed his lips, finally looking into Qui-Gon’s eyes. “Yeah, pretty much.”

“I’m so sorry,” Qui-Gon said, immediately removing his long outer robe and draping it over the boy. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought of that earlier. “You must be freezing in here.”

“It’s okay. The other apartment was always cold too,” Slade shrugged, pulling the robe close around him. “Don’t worry about me.”

Qui-Gon moved quickly to the thermostat on the wall, adjusting the temperature to a warmer setting. If Obi-Wan complained of the cold in here, Qui-Gon thought, poor Slade must be nearly numb. “It’ll warm up in here in no time,” he said, resuming his seat beside the boy. “I wish you’d said something earlier.”

“It’s really okay, Master Qui-Gon,” Slade said quietly, drinking his tea in quick gulps. “You don’t have to stay with me all day. I know you have other important things to do.”

“You’re right,” Qui-Gon said, nodding. “I do have important things to do. Like sitting here and talking with you.”

Slade looked away, his head resting against the cushioned back of the couch. “Oh.”

“I know it’s strange for you right now, but I want you to feel at home here,” Qui-Gon said softly, giving the child a slight smile. “You’re not just a guest, you’re a friend. You understand?”

“I don’t want to be a bother,” Slade said after a moment’s silence.

“You’re not a bother at all. We’re both very happy to have you here. So if you need anything at all, just say the word, okay?”

“Okay.”

Qui-Gon drank his tea, its familiar flavor calming him. He had the feeling he’d be drinking a lot of tea over the next few weeks. Looking over at the boy curled beside him, he watched as Slade placed his empty mug on the table, and laid his head down on the couch, his eyes closed. He frowned, unable to ignore the ache in his chest. It pained him to see Slade so despondent, and he couldn’t seem to find any words of comfort to offer. It was as though the boy’s usual exuberance had been replaced with a listless sort of hopelessness, and Qui-Gon wondered for a moment if the Slade they had known would ever return to them.

Slade blew out a slow breath. “I miss my Master,” he said softly, drawing Qui-Gon’s robe more closely around him.

“I know you do. I’m sure he misses you too.”

“I don’t think so,” Slade said, his voice tight. “He wanted to get rid of me. That’s why he left.”

Qui-Gon hesitated a moment, and then dropped a hand lightly on Slade’s shoulder. “That’s not why he left. Your Master cared about you very much,” he said. “But he didn’t think he’d be able to teach you everything you need to know.”

Slade’s frame shook as he took in a shuddering breath. “I couldn’t bond with him. I tried--I tried really hard, but I couldn’t.”

“That’s not your fault, Slade,” Qui-Gon said, rubbing the boy’s shoulder. “You’re only nine. Your Master had a lot more experience with bonds, and he should have asked for help. It’s not your fault at all.”

“But what if I can’t? Maybe he tried too, but there’s something wrong with me that made it not work.”

“You have a friendship bond with Obi-Wan. You had a part in that. Bonds always take two people in order to make them work, so there’s nothing wrong with you.”

Slade scoffed, shrugging off Qui-Gon’s touch. “Obi-Wan probably did it all on his own. He’s only six, and he bonded with you even before you took him. He can do anything. He’s special. But I’m not like him.”

Qui-Gon sighed, suddenly looking at his Padawan from Slade’s perspective. At times the boy could be something of a prodigy, and he knew it would be difficult for Obi-Wan’s friends to understand. “You’re right. You and Obi-Wan have very different gifts in the Force. And that’s a good thing. If we all had the same gifts, the Temple would be a very boring place to live. But just because you have different strengths doesn’t make them any less special.”

“All I can do is fight. That’s the only thing my Master ever said I was good at,” Slade said hesitantly.

Qui-Gon shook his head, feeling anger well up inside him, like blood on the end of a pricked finger. He wanted Rian to be there, to see the damage he’d caused, but ultimately, he knew Slade needed another Master. Releasing his emotions to the Force, he edged closer to the boy, allowing Slade to use his leg as a pillow. “There is so much about yourself that you don’t see yet, Slade. So many good things, things I know are there, and that Obi-Wan knows are there, and that many others see as well.” He paused, searching for the words to explain. “There’s a lot more to being a Jedi than knowing how to use the Force and use a lightsaber.”

“I know,” Slade sighed. “But I don’t...see the things you’re saying about me.”

“You make other people trust you, Slade. People aren’t afraid to be themselves around you. You adapt quickly to other people’s quirks, and you take others as they are. You don’t try to change yourself for anyone, and you don’t expect anyone to do that for you.” Qui-Gon patted the boy’s back. “You’re a very good friend.”

“But no one ever became a Jedi because they were nice,” Slade muttered.

“True. But reading people is a Jedi trait. It’s something you do very well, and it will be very useful to you when you’re on missions and you’re not sure who to trust.”

Slade groaned, closing his eyes. “See, I hear you say this stuff, but what about my Master? I trusted him. Look what happened. I don’t think I’m very good at reading people at all. If I was, then why would I have wanted to be his Padawan?”

“I’m not saying that you’re always going to be right, Slade, I’m just saying you give people the benefit of the doubt,” Qui-Gon said softly.

Slade sat up, his body tensed, and his words suddenly came faster, edged with bitterness. “You don’t understand. You don’t understand how I feel, because your Master never left you. I trusted him, and he left me, because I wasn’t good enough to be his Padawan. I’m not good enough, don’t you get it?”

Qui-Gon released a slow breath, unable to speak for a moment. “Did Obi-Wan ever tell you about Xanatos?”

Looking away, Slade nodded. “A little.”

“What did he tell you?”

“I don’t know. That Xanatos was your padawan before Obi-Wan, and that he chose the Dark path, and that it wasn’t your fault.” Slade shrugged. “That’s about it.”

“You think I don’t know how you’re feeling right now, Slade, but I know how it feels for someone you care about to walk out of your life forever, and you can’t do anything to stop them. And even though you’re angry with the decision the other person made, and part of you never wants to see them again, you still miss them terribly.” Qui-Gon took a deep breath, running a hand down his face. “It hurts, because you feel like you must have done something to push them away, and you try to think of what it was you did wrong.”

Slade’s eyes had grown large as Qui-Gon spoke, and he could tell the boy was listening. “You basically end up with two choices when someone hurts you like that.” Qui-Gon crossed his arms over his chest. “You can work through your pain and your loneliness with people that care about you, or you can pull inside yourself and pretend that nothing happened. Or, you can run away. There’s always that. That’s what I did after Xantatos left.”

“Did it help?” Slade asked quietly.

Qui-Gon shook his head. “No. It was very lonely, and it made me forget about all the people who cared about me here at the Temple. I didn’t come back for three years, you know, except to talk to the Council once in awhile to get my next mission.”

“Three years?” Slade’s expression was incredulous.

“Three years. I came back one night from a particularly bad mission, and I ended up in the Creche for some reason. I had no plans for coming back to the Temple at all, but oddly enough, I met Obi-Wan that night, and well, since then, my life’s been a little different.” Qui-Gon met the boy’s gaze. “I didn’t plan on ever being a Master again after Xanatos left. I thought I was a pretty terrible at it.”

“You’re not,” Slade said, his voice soft. “Sometimes I wish you could be my Master too.”

Qui-Gon reached out, giving the boy’s hand a squeeze. “I would be very honored to have you, but I know there is a Jedi out there who needs you even more.” He gave the boy a small smile. “Besides, I’m not sure if Obi-Wan would appreciate it if I took another Padawan.”

“Probably not. He doesn’t like to share his toys, let alone you,” Slade said.

Qui-Gon nodded, thinking for a moment that having Slade as a roommate for awhile might help with that. “But I hope you will be a smarter Jedi than I was at the time, and that you won’t forget how special you are to the people that love you. You’re still a Padawan, and you’re going to be a fine Jedi someday. When the time is right, we’ll find you a new Master. But until then, you have a home here with us, okay?”

Slade swallowed, hunkering down further into the warmth of Qui-Gon’s robe. “Okay.”

“Hold on. I’ll be right back.” Qui-Gon moved quickly to his room, pulling out a small bag from the bottom of his closet. Returning to the common room, he placed the bag’s contents on the low table. “When I’m feeling bad, it always seems to help if I draw for a bit. Do you draw too?”

Slade’s eyes lingered on the folder of charcoals, and he nodded. “Yeah, a little. Master Dermin let us draw for awhile, but we kind of got carried away, and then they had to repaint the walls, so he wouldn’t let us draw anymore.”

“Well, if you think you can keep it on the paper, then maybe we could draw for awhile,” Qui-Gon said, giving the boy a smile as he handed him a small drawing pad.

“That would be cool,” Slade agreed, and Qui-Gon noted with satisfaction that the boy’s expression didn’t seem nearly as drawn as before. Whether it was the prospect of drawing or the fact Slade was no longer freezing, he didn’t know, but he was relieved to see Slade taking an interest in something else besides staring at the carpet.

They sat together in silence for a while, with only the scratches of charcoal against rough paper to disturb the quiet. Qui-Gon sketched out a drawing of Slade, wrapped in a Jedi robe. Curving the charcoal across the paper as he drew Slade’s tail, he suddenly looked up to see Slade watching him.

“You’re really good,” Slade said, his gaze resting on Qui-Gon’s sketch.

“It takes years and years to learn how to draw, and every time you do it, you learn something new. But what’s important is that you enjoy it. That’s why I draw,” he said, craning his neck to see Slade’s sketchbook. “Can I see yours?”

Slade hesitantly tilted the book in Qui-Gon’s direction, and he wiped a charcoal-stained hand across his face, leaving a black smear on his scales. The drawing was an outline of the Temple itself, and Qui-Gon followed the clean lines of Slade’s work, a smile curving his lips. He could make out the five Towers, and saw the boy’s clear understanding of perspective in the drawing, not to mention the careful detail on each of the Towers. Qui-Gon met Slade’s expectant gaze. “This is really beautiful, Slade. What’s wonderful is that you were able to capture the Temple so well in your mind that you could reproduce it on paper. That takes a lot of skill.”

Slade nodded. “I thought about the Temple a lot, while I was gone. I wondered--if I would see it again.”

Qui-Gon looked down at the drawing again, pleased. None of his other friends pursued drawing as a hobby, and it made him happy to think he might be able to share that in common with Slade. “You should draw more. I think you should keep that sketchbook and some charcoals. Just make sure you keep it off the walls, that’s all I ask,” he said, smiling.

“But Master Qui-Gon, I--”

“No arguing on this. I want you to have it.”

Slade nodded reluctantly. “All right. But only if you don’t need it.”

“Just promise me you’ll use it, and it’s yours. How about that?”

“Okay. I promise.”

***

Obi-Wan jumped up to hit the switch of his apartment, and he heard Master Alenor sigh behind him. “I could’ve gotten that for you, Obi-Wan.”

“That’s okay,” Obi-Wan said as the door slid open. “Um, thanks for walking me back.”

“Not a problem. Tell Slade I hope he’s feeling better, okay?”

“Okay.” He stepped inside, waving a quick goodbye to his Teacher. “Hey! I’m home!” he called out, dropping his pack beside the door. He pulled off one boot, hopping as he struggled to pull off the other. “Where are you guys? I said I’m home!”

“We’re out here, Obi-Wan,” his Master said, and Obi-Wan followed the sound of his voice into the common room.

Obi-Wan looked out to see his Master and Slade kneeling by the low table, each of them working on some sort of drawing. “What are you doing?”

“Slade and I thought we might draw for awhile. So how was your day?”

Obi-Wan walked over to the couch, throwing himself down on it in a sprawl. “It was terrible. Class was so boring.” He looked over at Slade, catching his friend’s gaze. “When are you coming back to class? It’s awful when you’re not there. I don’t have anyone to talk to, and nobody wants to do their projects with me.”

“Did you try asking anyone yourself, Obi-Wan?” his Master asked, and Obi-Wan rolled his eyes.

“Yes. They already have partners. That’s why you have come back, Slade.” Jes suddenly appeared on the edge of the couch, and Obi-Wan smiled as she dropped lightly onto his chest, purring. “Well, at least someone’s glad to see me.” He ran his hands down the length of the cat’s short fur, scratching her under the chin.

“You’re the only person she’s glad to see, Obi-Wan,” Slade said, making a face at Jes.

His Master stood, rubbing his palms together to try to remove some of the charcoal from them. “You guys hungry at all?”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan said quickly, holding his stomach for emphasis. “I’m starving.”

“I could eat,” Slade said.

“Okay. I’ll go and see if I can find anything in the kitchen.”

Obi-Wan watched Slade add a few more dark lines to his drawing, and Slade finally looked up to meet his gaze. “So did anyone give you any trouble today in class?”

Obi-Wan looked back at Jes, nuzzling her under his chin. “It was pretty much the same as usual.”

Slade sighed, putting aside the charcoal. “So it was Talis and Eithur again, huh?”

“Kind of.”

“I think I can probably go to class tomorrow. They won’t bother you again.”

“If you say so. It really was boring without you there.” Obi-Wan shrugged, still petting Jes as she curled on his chest. “You know, it’s really warm in here.”

“Oh yeah. Your Master turned the heat up. I was cold.”

“What? I’m cold all the time, and he never turns up the heat for me!” He suddenly sat up to look at Slade, Jes mewing as she tumbled into his lap. “Are you wearing his robe?”

“He didn’t know I was cold-blooded. He felt bad.”

Obi-Wan scoffed, laying back down on the couch. “I’m supposed to wear his robe when I’m cold,” he said, his voice dropping down to a whisper, “not you.”

Slade looked up, moving from the floor to sit beside Obi-Wan on the couch. “Look. I’m not trying to take your place, or your Master, or your robe.” He blew out a breath. “But I don’t have anywhere else to go. I don’t know what to do.”

“Oh,” Obi-Wan said softly, sitting up again. “I know. I didn’t mean to get mad at you.”

“You’re really lucky, you know,” Slade said, wiping his hand across his forehead and smearing more charcoal there. “Your Master really cares about you.”

“I know.” Obi-Wan looked over at his friend. “You’ll find a good Master too. I know it.”

“I hope so.”

His Master stalked out of the kitchen, a slight scowl on his face. “You know, guys, I’m thinking...making dinner may not happen tonight. What do you think about ordering in?”

“You mean you’re not cooking?” Obi-Wan cried. “Yes!”

“There’s no need for that,” his Master said, rolling his eyes. “Obi-Wan, you need to set a good example for Slade and at least pretend you enjoy my cooking.”

“But Master, I’m not supposed to lie.”

“It’s okay, Master Qui-Gon. I already know you’re a terrible cook.”

His Master walked over to the couch, settling in between them. “You burn one dinner, and you pay, and you pay, and you pay...” He set a datapad on the table in front of them, bringing up the menu for the Temple’s takeout service. “Here. Pick whatever you want.”

Obi-Wan began to scan through the long list of choices. “Hmm. This is going to take awhile.”

“There’s a big surprise,” Slade said, a slight grin on his face.

“Hey!”