Anakin Skywalker bit his lip as he considered his available options. The evening had started out quite promising, actually -- Obi-Wan and Master Jinn had generously vacated the apartment for dinner, granting him and Amidala a rare chance to spend time really alone, and with only a little assistance from the Force he had prepared (or, more nearly, avoided ruining) a meal of simple elegance, calculated to impress a girl who spent her life surrounded by finery but who preferred, on her own time, to be able to relax. Now, though, the dinner was finished, the dishes were soaking, they'd made a dent in the wine, the candles were guttering, and Anakin was standing in the doorway facing not one but two women in tears.

Normally, he wouldn't have answered the door at all, particularly when Amidala was in this state. They had been talking earnestly, sipping their wine; he could tell she was upset about something. He'd just asked her what was bothering her, and watched in horror as she dissolved at the very question, when the chime had rung. Nobody would answer the door at such a time.

But the chime had rung again. And again. Irritated, Anakin had glanced up and seen that the caller had pressed the "emergency" button; the chime would continue to ring until the door was opened. He had stalked to the door, intent on telling whoever was on the other side that this had damned well better be an emergency, and a pretty dire one, too, and flung the door open only to be struck in the midsection by a weeping ten-year-old.

Before he could even think of anything to say, Amidala took a deep breath, swiped ineffectually at her eyes, and tried gamely to flash him a smile. "Excuse me," she said. "I'll just -- I'll be all right. Take care of this; I'll just go into the other room." She rose from the couch, went into his room, and closed the door, leaving him alone in the living room with Sionnach.

"Uh ... all right," Anakin said, more to himself than anyone else, as he reassessed the situation.

Sionnach looked up from his ribs, where she had buried her face in the front of his shirt, and sniffled. "I'm sorry, Ani," she whimpered. "I didn't mean to ruin your date."

"Well, I hope it's not ruined," he said, cocking his head sideways. "You want to sit down for a minute?" She nodded but did not move. "Want me to come sit with you?" She nodded again. "Okay, let's have a seat. But if you're going to tell me what's bothering you, maybe you want to sit a little further away so I can see you, huh?" Sion nodded once more, and together they sat sideways on the couch, facing each other. "So. Why don't you start by telling me what you're doing away from the creche?"

"I don't want to live there any more," she said, her face crumpling as she fought to suppress a new round of sobs.

"Shh, hey, it's okay. Why not?" He took her hand in his. It was a lot easier, he mused, to figure what to do with Sionnach in this state than Amidala. Maybe because he'd once been a child, although he'd never been the ruler of a planet. More likely, he thought ruefully, because he knew Sionnach's undying devotion was in the bag. He and Amidala had been friends and -- well, close friends for ten years, but he still often felt he had to prove himself to her.

"They're mean to me. The other kids."

"Mean? How are they mean? Do you want my master to speak to Master Gallia about it?" Sionnach shook her head. "Do you want me to come down there and pick them up by their throats and shake them around until they stop?" He tickled her neck as he offered this, and it won him a watery smile. "What is it, hmm?"

"They -- they s-said I have no mother," she whispered.

"What? Well, that doesn't make sense," Anakin said.

"They said I must be some kind of unknown species."

"But Sion, listen, you know I had no father, right?"

"They said not everyone does. Everyone has to have a mother, and most people have a mother and a father, and some people, like Aly, she has three parents, but nobody can have nothing -- except me."

Sionnach burst into tears again and flung herself at Anakin; he caught her full in the chest and carefully put his arms around her as she cried into his shoulder. He heard the door unlock, but it did not open. "Safe to come in?" Obi-Wan's voice asked with a grin Anakin could hear.

"Uh, yeah, no problem," he called.

Obi-Wan stepped into the apartment and stopped. "Now, I'm pretty sure that's not Amidala," he said, only then realizing that his levity was misplaced. He hurried to sit on the low living-room table across from the couch. "Sionnach? Sion, firefly, what are you doing here? And what's wrong?"

"She's, ah, having some trouble with -- where's Master Qui-Gon?"

"Deep in discussion with Knight Mundi about this government-subsidized trade thing the senate's talking about," Obi-Wan answered, reaching over to smooth Sionnach's hair away from her forehead. "I couldn't take any more of it tonight. I was glad I hadn't interrupted anything, but --"

"Right," Anakin agreed. "It's the kids in the creche. Some unpleasantness. Hey," he said to Sionnach, gently setting her away from him and pointing her towards Obi-Wan. "You think Obi-Wan can help you out for a while? I've got another emotional crisis in there," he explained to Obi- Wan, nodding toward his bedroom.

"Amidala? What's her trouble?"

"No idea. I'll tell you when I know. Good luck," Anakin said as he retreated.

"And you," Obi-Wan nodded.

---

When Sionnach had quieted enough to tell Obi-Wan her story, he sat and listened patiently and displayed not one outward hint of his rising choler. "Listen, Sion, nothing those children can say to you will make that true," he said soothingly.

"But it is true. They all have mothers and fathers and tethers and I don't."

"But it's not true that you're the only one with no mother. Surely you have crechemates who have only a father? Or two fathers and no mother?" She nodded. "So, you see?"

"But it's parents, at least. You and Qui aren't my father. And nobody's my mother."

"Sionnach, look at me. Look at me. I'm here to tell you that those children in the creche are talking through the backs of their necks. Understand? Your parents were two of the best, bravest knights we've ever had."

"Why'd they leave me?"

"They didn't, firefly, not the way some of these other kids' parents left them with us. Listen." Obi-Wan inhaled deeply to steady his nerves. He and Qui-Gon had always known this day would come, when they had to tell Sionnach the truth about her parents. She had been vaguely aware, as a small child, that her favorite bedtime story had included her mother and father watching over her as she healed Qui-Gon's injury, but she had surely never known what those words meant. When she had gone to the creche, she had come into the company of many children whose families visited them as often as they were able and allowed, just as Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan visited her. The fact that she had them while other children had fathers and mothers had never bothered her before; but then, Obi-Wan thought, his jaw tightening, it had never been presented to her as though it should.

"Listen," he said again. "This isn't going to be easy for you to hear. Qui-Gon and I had planned to tell you in a couple of years, when you go to be a padawan, but it looks like I need to tell you now. I wish Qui-Gon were here to tell you with me -- no, but who knows how long he'll be, and we've got to get you back to the creche before they get upset that you're gone. So. Promise to let me tell it all the way through?" She nodded. "Right.

"Your father was named Dorim apNorill, and he was a fine, strong knight. You get your height from him, you know. He was an old, dear friend of Qui-Gon's; he helped us realize we loved each other, when I was still a senior padawan.

"Then Dor met your mother, M'Liskatha Vess, and he just never had a chance. I was there when he met her, and within an hour everyone in the room knew they were meant to be together. I mean, it was like something out of those stories you used to read. Like that." He snapped his fingers. "And she was wise and witty and I've never known a happier couple. And Dor and Liskat were a fantastic team. Negotiators, they were. They could sell eggs to a hen, Sionnach, I mean they were good. So when there was a war in Sobol, when the protectorate was fighting whether to become independent or fully under the Republic, they were one of the teams who went to mediate. It was very, very dangerous, but they were the best. And while they were there --" he tugged gently on her hair -- "you came along.

"But before you were born, the war got much, much worse. The Council knew your mother was pregnant with you, but there was no safe way to get her out of there -- and she wouldn't have come back without your father, anyway. And they both wanted to get the treaty signed, get a cease-fire in place, before they left. But Qui-Gon and I went to replace them anyway."

"You were just a padawan?" she asked, her eyes wide.

"That's right. I was only a little older than Anakin is now. But there was nobody else who could go, and it was very, very important to get your mother and father back home so you would be safe." Obi-Wan cleared his throat. It had been an ugly, ugly few days in his life, that mission to Chenya, and he liked remembering it almost as little as he liked remembering Naboo. "But Qui-Gon and I were too late. When we reached the planet, Liskat was seriously injured, and Dor was missing. We found out later that some soldiers had taken him away and hurt him very badly, and he was dead. And Liskat knew. We couldn't make her well again, but we could keep her alive long enough for you to be safe -- but she knew Dor was gone, and after you were born she went to join him." He swallowed hastily against the unexpected lump in his throat, and reached out to brush a tear from Sionnach's cheek. "Qui-Gon was with her. Her very last thought was to make sure we would take care of you.

"So you listen to me. Your parents were heroes. The whole group of envoys to Sobol were heroes, and your parents were heroes among them. And anyone who tells you differently never met them and has probably never heard of them. Is that clear?" Sion nodded. "Good. Come give me a hug." She climbed into his lap and clung tight around his neck; he wrapped her up in his arms and held her until she squirmed away, ready to pull herself together. "Now then. You ready to face the masses?" She smiled and nodded. "Ready to hold your head up and be strong? Ready to encourage those greenies to do their research before they go spouting rumors? Tell them to do a search on Vess and apNorill at the library," he said. "They'll find all sorts of interesting stuff. And meantime, you and I will go visit the memorial in the garden, sometime soon. But before your curfew." Sion smiled sheepishly. "Now. You run along back to the creche, young apVess-Norill, and don't let me catch you believing people who can't possibly know what they're talking about again. And don't be running off after curfew, either. I'll bet the duty matron is worried crazy about you."

"Can I say good night to Ani before I go?"

"If he's not busy, yes you may. Go knock on the door -- and wait for an answer."

Sionnach scrubbed at her eyes with her knuckles and went to knock timidly at Anakin's door. "Half a second," Anakin called, and a moment later the door opened. Amidala was twisting back her hair as she emerged from the room, Obi-Wan noticed, mildly disappointed with himself for his own prurience, but both young people's clothing was undisturbed.

"I'm sorry to interrupt," Sionnach said, standing on one foot and then the other, "but I'm going back now and I wanted to say good night."

"Good night, Sithspawn," Anakin said as he crouched down to hug her. "You're feeling better now?" She nodded. "Good. Any time you want to talk to us, you come on back -- but not after curfew, right?"

"Right."

"I wish you wouldn't call her that," Amidala said with a frown.

"Sithspawn? Why?" The girl raised an eyebrow. "What? I've called her that her whole life. It's a term of endearment, isn't it, Sion?" Sionnach nodded happily. "There." Anakin stood up. "Come on, 'Dala, I'll walk you back."

"Actually -- if you don't mind, Ani, I think I'd like to -- think for a bit. I can walk Sionnach back to the creche, since I wasn't exactly good company when she got here," Amidala smiled, "but I'll get back to my rooms on my own. Need to be by myself." She laid a hand on his arm. "But I'll see you tomorrow, won't I?"

"Sure," Anakin said easily. If he was annoyed at her insistence on being alone, Obi-Wan thought, he didn't show it. His grin was genuine. "What do you say, short stuff? Will you permit the queen to see you home?" He followed them as far as the door, stopping Amidala with a hand on her shoulder and suddenly looking at her quite soberly. "See you tomorrow," he murmured, hooking a lock of hair behind her ear as he leaned in and pressed a kiss to her cheekbone. "Don't forget what I said."

"Couldn't," she whispered back, then turned to Sionnach. "Shall we?" Out of childish habit, Sion took her hand as they stepped out the door. "Good night, Jedi Kenobi," Amidala said, looking over her shoulder back into the apartment. "I hope I will see you again soon."

"Good night, Your Highness," Obi-Wan said with a smile and a wave as Anakin closed the door. "So you straightened out what was getting to her?" he asked after a moment.

"I think so," Anakin said, blowing out the remaining candles and clearing away the wine glasses. "It's not really something I can solve, I don't think. She's frustrated with herself -- I think she just wanted to talk about it." He made a face. "Girls do that, don't they."

Obi-Wan laughed out loud, in spite of himself. "Yes, they do. But she seemed to be feeling better for it."

"Hope so. It seems to be a sort of crisis of conscience. She's up against Chancellor Palpatine's idea for centralized regulation of trade -- which I know you didn't want to hear any more about tonight," he said with a grin. "She's always been opposed to that sort of thing, to too much centralized control of anything -- trade, culture, whatever. But she can't seem to come up with an argument against it. She finds herself agreeing with the chancellor, no matter which angle she takes. So she feels -- and this is just when she gets going -- she feels like she's becoming the sort of person she's always tried to avoid being." He raised an eyebrow. "Or else she feels like she's losing her drive and she isn't fit to rule her people any more." He shrugged. "She cried on my shoulder and I massaged her scalp and it looks like she's feeling better now."

"That it does. Sometimes that's the best thing, Ani. Reassurance. You can't fix the problem for her, but you can stand behind her and hold her up throughout it. She'll love you even more for that."

Anakin blushed and looked at the floor. Quickly, he picked up the bottle of wine and hurried to the kitchen with it. He began rinsing the pots in the sink. "So, ah - did you get Sion sorted out with the thing about her parents?"

"I did," Obi-Wan yawned, stretching out on the couch. "I wish I knew why kids that age feel the need to try to make their friends miserable."

"Weren't you ever a teenager? They want to know someone else is more miserable than they are. Or fits in less. That way they seem happier by comparison, or like they fit in more. They don't mean to hurt her; they mean to make themselves feel better." Obi-Wan propped himself up on his elbows and looked at Anakin, still busy in the kitchen. He was stunned at the casual insight of the boy's remark. "Of course, a lot of the time hurting someone else is the only way they know how to feel better about themselves."

Where had Anakin come to such understanding of the nature of young people? And when, and how? Obi- Wan silently berated himself for not paying close enough attention to Qui-Gon's training of the boy. Anakin had certainly had friends on Tatooine, and had evidently been a happy and friendly child in spite of his life as a slave. When he had become Qui-Gon's padawan, upon their return to Coruscant and Obi-Wan's knighting, there had been some disquiet among the children in the creche, but Obi- Wan had thought nothing of it. There was always a rumble of disappointment among those still unapprenticed when one of their own left the creche; it wasn't surprising that Anakin should weather a bit of resentment as well. Of course, he hadn't grown up in the creche, as all other padawans did -- and Obi-Wan remembered hearing Qui- Gon pacify a much younger Anakin with the old standby, "Pay them no mind; they're just jealous," suddenly realizing that Anakin had heard the words and found the truth in them. Perhaps the other children had been jealous of Anakin, being, as he was, everything they were not. He had come to the Jedi Order from a life of mystery and adventure, and to cope with their own jealousy toward him, they had -- consciously or not -- reassigned negative attributes to the ways in which Anakin was not like them. But Anakin, apparently without discussing it with anyone, had seen through to the basis of their insecurities, and found what was real. Obi-Wan recalled that, while the quiet ostracism had still persisted, Anakin had soon seemed genuinely unperturbed by it; he had shown no evidence of struggling not to let it bother him, and had further refused to turn the tables and dig at his peers in the same manner. The inevitable result was that, within a year of his assignment to Qui-Gon, Anakin was as popular as he had been outcast when he had arrived.

"I mean," Anakin went on, "isn't that why it's normally in early adolescence that kids leave the creche and go as padawans? Get the pubescent mood swings out of there?"

"Good point," Obi-Wan laughed. "They'd have us believe it's because it isn't until that age that an initiate is mature enough to make an informed choice of specialization, but it certainly can't hurt to separate the teenagers from one another. And from the younger children."

"Looks like Sion's about ready," Anakin commented.

"She's a bit young yet," Obi-Wan replied automatically.

"You think? I think she's in pretty good control of her skills. And this evening was nothing if not a demonstration that she's at what I believe Master Gallia calls 'that age,'" Anakin said, returning to the living room and handing Obi-Wan a cup of tea.

"Thank you. Yes, I guess there's something in what you say -- but she's only ten, Ani."

"I was nine when Master Qui-Gon found me. Padawan Kwahl was only eleven when Master Windu took him as his apprentice. There's no set age limit, as you've often told me."

Obi-Wan recognized the discomfort he felt as the unpleasant realization that he was faced with a truth he had been trying to avoid. Children grew up -- there was no denying that. He and Qui-Gon had been sad and reluctant to hand Sionnach over to the creche when she was two; from having her about constantly to seeing her very occasionally was a long, unhappy step. Now she was close to, if not actually, ready to become a padawan. Every time he let his guard down, it seemed, some power -- doubtless the Force, he realized with a grimace -- took her a little more out of their lives. This must be how masters felt when their padawans were knighted.

Obi-Wan sighed. "I suppose you're right, and she is ready," he said, trying to keep the note of defeat from his voice. "Assuming there's someone prepared to take her."

"What about you?"

Obi-Wan choked over his tea. "Oh, gods, no," he said, chuckling and coughing. "What a bad idea that would be." At Anakin's puzzled expression, he explained. "We're far too close, Sionnach and I. We don't have a teaching relationship. I know both of us well enough to know that as a padawan, she'll certainly make mistakes -- errors in judgment -- that will call for correction and even discipline, and that if I were her master, I'd always be reluctant to exercise it. My job is to comfort and spoil her -- and that's a great thing from whatever I am to her, a godfather or an uncle, but not from a master. In the first place, it would set a bad example for other padawans who would see that she rarely got punished, no matter what she did; and in the second, it would be no great service to her. She'd never learn a thing; we'd merely be prolonging her childhood until her knighting."

"Well, there must be someone," Anakin started to say. They heard the door unlock, but not open, just as it had when Obi-Wan had come home, and grinned at each other. "Come on in, Master," Anakin called.

Qui-Gon came two steps inside the apartment and leaned against the door once it closed behind him. His eyes were bloodshot and his shoulders sagged. "Why do I do that?" he asked. "Why do I persist in -- in --"

"Picking fights?" Obi-Wan offered.

Qui-Gon made a face by way of ignoring him. "In taking the bait when someone lays down a challenge I know I'll never win? All I do is wear myself out. You can't argue with people like Mundi. I've never known anyone so unwilling to concede to superior reasoning -- myself included." He made to push himself up to a standing position, and grimaced in pain. "And it just aggravates my shoulder."

Obi-Wan was immediately at his side. "Here, shall I --"

"Thank you," Qui-Gon said, balancing himself on Obi-Wan's arm and straightening up. Together, they moved toward the couch, where Obi-Wan seated Qui- Gon comfortably and climbed up on the sofa back behind him to work the knot out of his shoulder. "And could you -- ah. Perfect." Qui-Gon hung his head forward as Obi-Wan dug at the sore muscle.

Over his former master's head, Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow at Anakin. The discussion with Knight Mundi had been tiresome but not thoroughly unpleasant, if Qui-Gon was cranky enough to play the tired-old-bones card -- Obi-Wan could think of no one, of any age, in better physical shape -- but calm enough to sit still for a neck massage rather than sparring or meditating. 'Follow my lead,' Obi-Wan mouthed soundlessly. Anakin nodded with a smile. "Anakin and I saw Sionnach tonight, Qui- Gon," Obi-Wan said conversationally. "Pity you missed her."

"Indeed."

Obi-Wan and Anakin exchanged puzzled glances. They had both been stunned that Sion was out so late; they'd have expected Qui-Gon to be equally surprised at the very least. "It was only a few minutes ago that she left," Anakin added. "She was upset about some things her crechemates have been saying."

"Mm-hmm."

This was too strange. "But it seems," Obi-Wan went on, "that what she really needs is to leave the creche and become a padawan. She's definitely ready."

"Yes," Qui-Gon replied, still not raising his head. "I've been thinking the same thing myself lately."

"You have?" Anakin didn't bother trying to mask his surprise.

"Oh, sure. And you know, I think I know who the perfect master would be for her."

"Who's that?"

"Isn't it obvious? There's only one choice. Knight Phrel."

Anakin's jaw dropped. Obi-Wan smiled. Clever, clever, he thought. Not going to give us the satisfaction, are you, Qui-Gon? He raised his eyebrows at Anakin, forming the words 'He thinks we're joking' slowly and deliberately. Anakin nodded again. "That's a good point," Obi-Wan said, glancing at Anakin. "We hadn't even considered her."

"But we should have," Anakin agreed. "I mean. They're friendly, but they're not close; they're both Adepts; they're stubborn enough to take each other on."

"That's true," Obi-Wan rejoined. "If any master can put up with our Sionnach, Joma's it. And if any padawan can stand up to Joma Phrel, it's got to be our girl."

Qui-Gon finally snorted with barely-suppressed laughter. "Can you imagine?" he said, sitting up and leaning easily against Obi-Wan's knees. "The two of them together? Nobody would ever go near them!"

He thinks the joke's over, Obi-Wan realized. Oh, poor Qui-Gon. "They'll be a formidable pair in combat," he said.

"Forget combat. They'll be a formidable pair in the mess hall," Qui-Gon chuckled.

It wasn't long, though, before he saw that his bondmate and his padawan weren't laughing. "Come, now, you two, I don't mean to denigrate anyone," he said. "Tell me, seriously, now, Ani, how was your date?"

"Not bad, Master," Anakin said seriously. "But it was interrupted when Sionnach got here."

"She was upset," Obi-Wan repeated, "about some things her crechemates have been saying."

"What?" Qui-Gon's smile had disappeared; his eyes had grown wide.

"But it seems," Obi-Wan went on, "that she's ready to leave the creche and become a padawan."

"What? No!" Qui-Gon twisted around to look at his bondmate.

"And now that you mention it, Joma Phrel is the best suggestion we've heard for someone to be her master."

Qui-Gon was on his feet. "I WAS KIDDING!"

"I'm sorry, love, but it's true. I didn't see it at first either, but all the signs are there. It's time."

"Have either of you spoken to anyone else about this? To Sion, or to Knight Phrel?" For someone he professed to like and respect, he bit her name off quite harshly, Obi-Wan thought.

"No, Master," Anakin assured him.

"Well, don't. I don't want this idea in any more heads than it needs to be."

"Qui-Gon --"

"Stop it, Obi-Wan! I'll not have you explaining to me the fine points of apprenticeship, nor the drama and intrigue of the creche, nor the mysterious personality of my own godchild!"

Qui-Gon's eyes were wild, his voice harsh. Obi-Wan spoke calmly and evenly. "Of course not, love," he said. "But we believe that --"

"And don't patronize me!" Qui-Gon howled. This couldn't all be about Sionnach, Obi-Wan thought. The trade discussion with Mundi must have gotten to him more than he'd realized. "I am a Master of this order and a senior negotiator. You won't best me with rhetoric."

"Nobody's trying to best you, Master," Anakin began.

"Quiet, Padawan!"

"Qui-Gon!" Obi-Wan said sharply. "It's true. Nobody's trying to defeat you at anything here. We made an observation, and mentioned it to you because we thought you'd be interested. But none of us is Sionnach's guardian any longer, and it isn't for us to make any decisions about her future. The Force has to guide us -- you know that. Now stop behaving as though you've been personally attacked!"

Qui-Gon walked a couple of directionless circles around the living room, concentrating on some point just in front of him, tugging at his hair, reaching back to try again to soften the re-knotted muscle in his shoulder. "I'm going to find an empty salle," he said finally. "Unless one of you would like to join me, I'll be shadow-sparring. Page if you need me." He stalked out, the door seeming to shut a little more forcefully than usual behind him.

Obi-Wan and Anakin looked at the door, then at each other, eyebrows raised, shoulders tense. Obi-Wan glanced back at the door and puffed air through his cheeks. "I think that went well," he said. Peripherally, he saw Anakin's eyes widen, and he chuckled. The boy had known Qui-Gon for ten years, and was well aware of his temperament -- but Obi Wan remembered the first time he'd seen Qui-Gon in an irrational fury, and it had been worse than this by far. Still, though, seeing someone you love become, even for an instant, someone you barely know -- well, it took a little getting used to. But once all the ruffled feathers were smoothed down, everything would return to normal. It always did.

---

Comments always welcome!