{This series has become, quite unintentionally, far more sad and reflective than I'd intended when I began. I choose to blame the time of year, myself. I don't do well in February, on the whole.
Hootie and the Blowfish's "Only Lonely", this time.}

She looked smaller than he remembered, and stood on the covered platform away from the rest of the crowd of people, waiting for the transport to dock and release its passengers. Beside her, with a proprietary hand on her shoulder, stood a tall youth with dark hair, whose height cleared hers by a good foot. Even from inside the transport Obi-Wan could feel the sorrow and the anger which emanated from the two people who were waiting for him. He did not need to turn his head to see if Qui-Gon was there behind him; he could feel his Master's steadying presence now, as always.

The transport doors opened and the deck slid out, smoothly. Droids appeared to carry belongings and direct passengers to speeders for the short trip into the city. They could have been anywhere; this could have been the end of any trip, the beginning of any sort of new mission. But it was not to be that.

They waited until the ship was nearly empty of its passengers, when all the women and small children had taken leave, and then Qui-Gon indicated that they should disembark. Both held their own small bag of belongings in hand, eschewing the helpful droids, who were used to the self-sufficient ways of the Jedi. Qui-Gon walked ahead, with Obi-Wan just to his side, and slightly behind. For some reason, although his head was raised Obi-Wan kept his eyes down, watching the sway of his Master's cloak as he walked.

Qui-Gon stopped in front of the small woman, and bowed. Obi-Wan was surprised at the gesture, and then again not - it was natural for Qui-Gon to behave with this woman as he would with any world's Queen, or the Chancellor himself. She allowed him to take her hand. "I am sorry for your loss," he said, sincerely. She nodded at him; her eyes were kind, if stricken, and hollow.

Obi-Wan stepped forward, struck again at the sight of her. He wondered if this new sorrow had shrunk her, somehow, if it bowed her down - only, it couldn't be that, because she carried herself straight, with all the self-possession that he always remembered in her. The boy beside her looked at him with anger and fear - he was taller than he had been the last time, so Obi-Wan supposed that meant he, himself, had grown as well. "Mother," he said, finally, and she grasped onto him, and looked at him without really seeing him, as if she was trying to figure out who he was. He stooped down into her hug, and closed his eyes.

/Mother./

**********

There were more than a dozen people in the house when they arrived, milling around, talking quietly amongst themselves. There was food, as always, spread across a wide table in the kitchen. The arrival of the Jedi caused a small stir, and Obi-Wan wondered if it was because of who they were, or the fact that they were the only ones there not clad in black. It hadn't occurred to him to request anything to wear other than his normal clothes; Jedi tan and brown had been his costume almost since he was born. It was a comfort to him that would have caused him unreasonable panic to give up. One look at Qui-Gon, however, and he breathed easier, knowing, again, that what he *wore* did not matter.

The windows and doors in the house were all open; it was an especially warm spring, and all of the extra people would have made it unbearably humid otherwise. The rain poured down outside, dripping from the eaves like waterfalls in some places. Obi-Wan couldn't help but think that his father had picked a poor time of year to die; they wouldn't be able to bury him until after the rainy season ended, which would be another month at least, and then not until the ground had a chance to dry. He would stay out back, in a specially-constructed hut in the garden, until then. They would have the ceremony there, tomorrow. Obi-Wan's eyes were drawn to the spot again and again, even as he introduced himself to all of the visitors in the house, his mother and his father and his brother's friends, as if *they* were the strangers and he belonged here, instead of the other way around.

Finally, when introductions and small talk had all been made, and with Qui-Gon deep in conversation with the Rubvari, the man who would perform tomorrow's ceremony, Obi-Wan slipped away into the back of the house, and looked past the streaming rain to the hut where his father's body lay. Little more than a wooden roof and floor, with waterproof material for walls, it wasn't far from the house, but the heavy rains had turned the garden into a river of mud; even the wooden walk that stretched from the house to the hut was filthy and coated with tracks of the light brown mud of the garden. The seasons were so extreme, here; in a few months the garden would be full of flowers and ripening fruit, and a few months previous everything was ice- and snow-covered.

It wasn't until she spoke that he realized that his mother was standing beside him, looking out, as he was. "I thought for sure he'd see the summer," she said. Her voice was flat and indistinct, and sounded as disconnected from everything as she appeared. "It seemed so odd that he lived through the harsh winter we had and died now. He was going to fix the trellis for me."

Obi-Wan looked where she pointed; one corner of the flower-trellis had broken, probably bent under the weight of the past winter's snow. /I could do it, Mother./

"I suppose Owen will do it, though," she said, as if she'd heard his thoughts. "He's good with his hands, like his father."

Obi-Wan nodded, and said nothing.

She grasped on to his hand. "Come and have something to eat," she said, and her hazel eyes looked just past his. "You're so much taller than the last time I saw you. You must be hungry, and we have so much food. Everyone has been so kind." Her hand lost his, and she wandered back into the kitchen, where he could hear the others, still talking.

**********

"He didn't believe in the Force, you know. He thought it was all just tricks and nonsense."

They were in bed but not asleep. Obi-Wan had his arms tucked under his head on the pillow, and was listening to the rain dripping down off the eaves outside the bedroom window.

Qui-Gon had folded himself into the couch in the corner, somehow, after having assured Obi-Wan's mother several times that it would be fine, and no, he wouldn't dream of taking her bed instead. Stretched full-length, the greater part of his calves and feet hung over the edge of the couch, but he'd managed to tuck himself almost fully onto it, and the blankets were warm. "A great many people don't," he said. "Unless you have first-hand knowledge of it, the Force is difficult to understand. You know yourself that there are people who experience it every day of their lives and never actually *believe* in it."

Obi-Wan nodded. He was in his brother's narrow bed, having no room of his own in this house. There was no point; he visited only once or twice every year or so, and it had been the same since he was a baby, and had been found and taken away by the Jedi. Owen had finally spoken to him an hour after they arrived, and they were almost on friendly terms, now, almost like brothers. Obi-Wan wondered if they would have been close; there were only a few years between them, and in some ways Owen *seemed* the elder, even at seventeen. He was determined to take his father's place, keep the small farm going and provide for their mother. There were other options, but everyone seemed determined not to let Obi-Wan speak any of them. "He let me go," he said. "Even though he didn't believe in it."

"That says a great deal about him," Qui-Gon said. "About both of your parents. We've lost a great many children, over the years, to fear and disbelief."

"He believed in something," Obi-Wan said, thinking of the Rubvari minister, and the religious ceremonies he had witnessed on previous trips to this place. The funeral ceremony tomorrow would be short, but spiritual. No-nonsense, just like his father had been. It seemed a fitting way to lay the man to rest.

"Yes," Qui-Gon agreed, as he closed his eyes. "He believed in you, Padawan."

Obi-Wan watched the rain fall for a long time, and listened to his Master's even breaths, until the combination of the two lulled him to sleep.

**********

To Obi-Wan's surprise, more people arrived for the funeral than the hut could accommodate; many stayed in the house, and the flaps were lifted so they could hear the words of the minister, or at least see the ceremony. It still rained steadily, but no-one had expected anything else from the weather.

His mother wept through the ceremony, without really seeming to notice it. The tears fell from her eyes and she made no attempt to wipe them away; they were just there, like the rain. Owen was pale-faced and stoic with glistening eyes, standing beside his mother, ready to comfort her or console her or whatever he thought that his father would have done, in his place. He even looked like a younger version of their father, while Obi-Wan took after their mother in every feature except height. Obi-Wan watched the two of them without really listening to the words of the ceremony, and stared at the closed coffin that held his father. He'd known death all of his life - from the devastating accidents of his childhood friends, the old age of a few of the Masters, the faceless victims from missions that he'd been a part of. There was no death, there was only the Force; he *knew* that, and believed it, and still some small part of his mind wondered if his father knew something else - really *believed* it, and what that was.

Obi-Wan tried to listen to what the Rubvari was saying - he felt almost as if the man was speaking directly to *him*, at times - but the words wouldn't penetrate the fog in his brain. The only thing that he could hear with any clarity was the rain, and the echo of his mother's silent tears.

The ceremony was short, fifteen minutes and they were inside the house again, and there were more people in black clothing there and more food, and his father was left alone in the garden. People asked him questions about the Jedi that he couldn't make himself comprehend or answer with more than a word or two, and, seeing that, told him endless stories about his father. It was what they seemed to want to do, so he listened to them, politely, thinking all the time that this person they spoke of was some other man, especially when they told him stories from his youth - when he had been Owen's age, or Obi-Wan's. He remembered the wedding pictures he'd seen, of his mother as a young, fresh-faced bride, and his father, still serious, yet with something in his eyes that made you smile instinctively - as if he knew that there was a joke to be found in all of this business.

Many people asked him how long he was staying, but no-one asked if he wasn't going to stay forever, and take care of his mother. The word 'Jedi' seemed to float around the room, on everyone's and no-one's lips. They all treated Qui-Gon with the sort of quiet awe that the Master Jedi was long used to, and Obi-Wan was the prodigal son, home to bury his father and then leave again. Men who had been his father's colleagues talked to Owen with the familiar camaraderie of a peer, slapping him on the back, and Obi-Wan watched his brother grow taller as the afternoon passed and his new mantle shifted and settled on his shoulders.

Something about the place *this* day made Obi-Wan sadder than he had ever been, coming here, and it had nothing to do with his father's death. It was twenty-one years since he'd left, as a baby; twenty-one years that he lived in the company of others of his kind, those who understood him and loved and nurtured him and watched him grow, just as his parents had done for Owen. He had said his good-byes a long time ago, and there was nothing that he would have done differently, if given a chance, so Obi-Wan was at a loss to explain the overwhelming feeling of loss that pressed up into his throat.

His mother was right about the people who came to the house; they were all so kind, and yet he had to focus very hard on the moment to nod and smile gravely and prevent himself from screaming aloud in their midst.

**********

It took him a few moments to figure out what had awakened him, everything seemed so silent in the house. Qui-Gon was asleep, snoring softly from the couch, but other than that the only noise to be heard was a low rumbling from outside - probably the promise of another storm in the distance. That's when Obi-Wan realized that the rain had stopped for a moment, and that silence was what had awakened him.

It was just before dawn, but the sun wouldn't rise to signal it, just a lessening of the clouds. They were leaving this afternoon; there was nothing for them to stay on for, and although Qui-Gon had told him there was no pressing urgency for them to go back to Coruscant if he wanted to stay longer, Obi-Wan merely replied that he thought Owen would be glad to have his room back, and he and their mother both needed to try to get back into a normal routine. That meant that he couldn't *be* here; his presence always disrupted their day-to-day lives.

He lay there and tried to get back to sleep, but he was over-warm in the blankets and found no comfort in the noises that had sent him to his rest. Finally, despairing of getting back to sleep, he put on his clothes and got up, stepping silently through the room and through the rest of the house without waking anyone, past the closed door of his mother's room and the couch in the front-room where his brother lay asleep, into the back room of the house. The thunderclouds rolled and crackled, and lit up the sky at irregular intervals, but didn't break.

He'd left his cloak in the bedroom, at the foot of his brother's bed, and thought of going back for it, but decided not to. The wind had picked up, and whipped his thin braid around as he walked the mud-caked route out to the hut; a single lantern inside blew out when he unlaced one of the flaps to gain entrance.

The glass case that preserved the coffin opened at a single touch, a small woosh of air released as it raised. Inside, the wood was polished and smooth like glass; Obi-Wan ran his fingers the length of it, trying to feel for something inside, some life. There was nothing - whatever had been there had long dissolved into the Force, or whatever it was his father believed. He rested his fingers on the edge of the lid, tempted to take a last look, but couldn't raise it. It wouldn't be him inside. There was nothing left of him but a husk, and it would be better just to look at Owen and see his father there, when he needed to.

Something outside started a loud, insistent banging, and he went out to see what it was - probably something blown free in the wind. He scanned the garden in the half-light of the lightning flashes, saw the broken edges of the trellis, and realized that one of the boards was the culprit. His boots slipped and squished through the mud, and he tested his weight on the lowest cross-hatch, hoping that it would be strong enough to hold him. He climbed up to the top and looked at the break; he had no boards to fix it, no hammer, but he found a length of twine in his belt and wrapped the broken ends of the board, tying them firmly together. It might not hold in the storm, but it was all that he could do. It would have to be good enough, until his father woke up and came out to fix it properly.

/Owen,/ he thought. /Until *Owen* can fix it./

Obi-Wan was halfway down to the ground when the clouds broke and he was pelted with raindrops. Instead of hurrying into the house, though, he turned his face up to the chill morning rain. He was soaked inside of a minute, but he didn't care. He leaned back as far as he could, so that his body made a long curved arc, holding on to the trellis with his hands and feet. The rain was wonderful - it washed away his tears, and his runny nose.

He stayed there for a long time, until his clothes were drenched and he was chilled through. He would have stayed longer, except for his mother's voice, calling out to him.

"Ben."

'Ben'. It had been his nickname since he was born. By rights, their father's name ought to have been Owen's, along with his features and his place in their family, but Obi-Wan had been the first-born and had been named after his father, and his father's father. After his birth, his mother gave him the nickname, to differentiate the patriarch from his newborn son, and it stuck in their family for the rest of his life; whenever he came home, he was Ben.

"Ben, come in from the rain."

Qui-Gon was there at one of the windows, with a blanket thrown over his arms, and Owen was beside him, and his mother, all watching him.

Obi-Wan jumped down from the trellis into the mud, feeling like a boy caught at something naughty, and squished his way back to the house. He left his boots on the porch to drip off, and let himself be wrapped in the blanket by his Master, and led to a chair by the window, where it was warm. Qui-Gon stepped back into the shadows, silent, watching.

Obi-Wan's mother sat on the arm of the chair and looked at him, running her fingers through his dripping hair. "You're so much like him," she said. "You may look like me, but you're just like him - he didn't know when to come in out of the rain, either." She wiped his face, and squeezed his hair and the end of his braid, tentatively, as if she didn't know if it was her right to touch her son. He leaned into her touch, to re-assure her. "So much like him," she said again, and rested her cheek on his wet hair. Her other hand came to rest on Owen's shoulder, where her youngest son knelt on the floor beside them.

They sat there for a long time, until it was light out, watching the rain.

The End
MonaR.