Darth Maul stood bare-chested on the balcony of Palpatine's miniature palace and drank in the life of the world. It had been a full month to the day since he had arrived here, weak and trembling, but now he was whole again.

A small smile graced his lips as he looked down on the city below him. The Jedi Temple was within sight; he couldn't help but wonder just how much dynoplast it would take to bring the place down in one gloriously orange explosion.

Sighing, Maul turned back to his little prison and prepared to endure the day's physical routine. He had never stayed for so long in one place without so much as setting a foot outside the building before, and was feeling more than a little cramped. There was no doubt, he thought as he dove smoothly into a handstand, that he would never be a homebody. He flipped over backward and rolled, flinging himself into the air and somersaulting one more time before landing on his feet with nary a wobble. He felt wonderful. Limber, strong, eager to perform his duties.

Problem was, there was nothing to perform.

Sidious had visited him twice since that first encounter. Only twice. Each time, the conversation had been the same.

"How are you faring, my young apprentice?" asked Sidious, sounding more Palpatine and less Sith each time he said it.

"Well, my master. Recovering speedily. How may I serve you?"

"Good, good. Let me know if you need anything." And that was it. Sidious completely ignored Maul's obvious desire to get back to work. Maul had begun to feel that he were a problem with which Sidious could not decide how to deal.

His initial panic upon his arrival to Corscant had been premature, he now realized. If Sidious had truly replaced him, he would be dead now. Plain and simple. However, he was alive, well, and still being provided for by Sidious - or his rather alter ego, Palpatine. Maul grimaced. Such a fop, Palpatine. He really did not understand how Sidious could stand to be this person day in and day out. Perhaps it betrayed some inherent weakness in the almighty freaking master of the Sith.

Maul could not help but notice that he had already begun to drop the honorific "Lord" when thinking of his dark master.

Maul smiled and began practicing his jumping exercises, from one end of the room to the other. Then he ran quickly toward the far end of the room and up the wall, gaining enough momentum to make it almost to the ceiling before gravity brought him back down. Not bad. A good fifteen feet.

Sidious did not know what to do about him, that much was clear. If Maul's guess was correct, and his guesses usually were, Sidious had his eye one someone with whom he would have like to replace Maul, but there were complications obstructing the procuring of this person. That combined with the years and effort already put into Maul's training made a very convincing case for his continuation as up and coming Reigning Sith Lord of the Future.

That was not good enough.

Maul knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that had he been on death's door upon arrival to Coruscant, Sidious would have let him die. This was not disturbing - Maul would have done the same thing, were the positions reversed. However, he could not allow any competition to even enter the picture. Maul leaped face-down to the floor and began to do some power pushups, one arm at a time. He had to remove this other individual from the picture, that much was clear. But what then? Sidious had obviously come to some sort of a decision regarding Maul; he was not good enough. Sidious might keep him around for a while - many years gone to waste otherwise, and Sidious was not wasteful - but Maul would always be aware of that lack of... respect. Yes, that was it. Sidious no longer respected him.

Well, that was going to change, he thought as he put his legs in the air, balancing in a sort of upside down lotus position, and began to levitate objects around the room. Somehow he would get the respect back. Perhaps having that accursed Padawan's head in a basket would help matters.

Maul knew it would not.

And what if you don't gain back his respect, a malicious voice seemed to whisper in his ear. This happened sometimes when he was heavily immersed in the Force; voices that may or may not have been there would hold conversation with him. He liked to think that they were Sith lords of the past, returned to give him guidance, although he doubted he would be so lucky. More likely just his imagination, his subconscious playing tricks on him. Except, of course, that their advice was always right.

Case in point, they had told him not to go to Naboo.

Unlikely Sidious could have survived the injuries you did. Very unlikely indeed, the voice whispered.

Ah, but he would not have been injured in the first place, Maul argued with the voice.

He's getting old, you know, urged another voice, breaking into his concentration as he lifted, then switched the large sculptures adorning the walls.

But he is still more powerful than I, Maul answered, wincing - he'd knocked one of the statues on the head trying to place it in a cubby hole too small for it. Tiny chip. No one would notice.

Not for much longer, whispered a third. Since your brush with death, your connection with the Force has been ten times as strong.

No argument there. Maul slowly lowered his legs back down to the mat and sat upright in the lotus position, careful to keep the various pieces of furniture stationary in the air as he did so.

If you keep growing at the rate you are now, you will be his equal in two years, maybe three. And then where will he be?

Maul snorted. Where will I be, for that matter, he wondered. Nothing in his future seemed too sure at the moment as he sat, atrophying his muscles in this glorified hotel room.

You will be him, maligned a voice. Maul froze, the five-hundred pound bureau suspended precariously above the sedan.

Replace him, chorused the voices as one, and Maul dropped the bureau.

"Damn," he muttered, and began to pick up what was left of the sedan.

Replace him before he replaces me....

There was an idea.

***

Anakin straightened up slowly, ignoring the cracking protests from his knees, and surveyed his handiwork. Woe betide the foolish mortal who deigned to set foot on this clean floor. He replaced bucket, scrub brushes, and soaps in a side closet, and made his way gingerly toward the lower feasting hall. He had as of today completed the first month of his "sentence," and had only one more month to go. He wasn't sure if his knees could handle much more.

The night he had arrived home after his misadventure, Anakin had been told to go straight to bed and worry about everything in the morning. Kenobi had explained that leaving the temple without permission was one of the most serious mistakes he could have possibly made, one which would probably be used against him in the future. Control, obedience, and patience were such important traits to the Jedi that something like this - running away without permission - was not tolerated. He, Kenobi, would deal with Anakin's punishment himself, and no one would ever need to know about the boy's great breach of etiquette.

But Anakin had not been able to sleep. It did not seem right to him that his disobedience should be hidden, justice to be mollified in private. His mother had always taught him to own up to his mistakes. Ani wrestled with his conscience most of the night, but by morning, he knew what he had to do. Dressing quietly so as to avoid awakening his Master, Anakin had tiptoed out the door and made his way up to the Jedi Council tower. There he confessed his actions.

And for the third time in as many weeks, Anakin Skywalker found himself at the center of a heated debate among Jedi.

"The boy did not realize the seriousness of his actions," urged Eeth Koth. "He has only been in training for a week. I suggest we lighten his sentence."

Yaddle, of the same race as Yoda, nodded her agreement. "Too immature he is to bear the full brunt of the code," she said.

Mace Windu was having none of it. "And yet you still maintain that he is mature enough to handle Jedi training." His voice was hard. "The boy is a Jedi now, for better or for worse. He is a nine-year-old Padawan, and as such he should receive exactly what any other Padawan in his position would..."

"So then you agree that the boy's sentence should be light," interrupted Ki-Adi-Mundi, his gaze remaining steadily locked on the boy. "A Padawan in his position - on the level of a fourth-year Padawan learner, I estimate - would receive a month's worth of sentencing. That is what I suggest for him. " Mundi did not mention why he felt inclined to tread lightly with the boy; never in a thousand years would he have expected Anakin to come up here and confess on his own. It showed true goodness of character, something he wished to encourage.

Depa Bilba spoke up. "I agree with Master Windu," she said, which was no surprise. Windu had rescued her as an infant and raised her himself in the ways of the Force. "Anakin may only be on the level of a four-year, but he is nine years old, not four. His punishment must be more severe. Six months, no more, no less."

And then finally everyone had fallen silent and looked to Yoda who, as often as not, would be the deciding vote. Yoda sighed.

"Punishment the boy shall receive," he said, "but to either extent it shall be not. Nine years he has lived, yet only one week of training and barely level four of understanding in the Force has he. Not enough to warrant either extreme . Medium ground we shall reach." Yoda looked searchingly at Anakin. "Two months of punishment shall he do - enough to make him regret his ways, yes, but not enough to discourage learning. My judgment, that is."

And that was that. Anakin had been very worried at first; he was not at all sure what was meant by "months of punishment" and "severity." This was soon made clear to him.

He still had to complete his daily eight-hour training sessions with Master Kenobi, but every single spare moment - from the time he awakened until the time he went to bed - was spent scrubbing floors, cleaning dishes, dusting antiques, shelving books, and any other "to do" item on any Jedi Master's list. It was almost like being a slave again, only worse. He was at the beck and call of every single Jedi Master in the temple, and so every single one of them knew he had done something wrong.

Anakin didn't mind too much, though. It was less than he deserved. And at least Morru was around to keep him company.

***

Morru handed the platter of baked fish to Obi-Wan, studiously ignoring the way his hand "accidentally" brushed hers. She was still here, a month after her initial arrival, although it was not at all where she had intended to be. Fate had a funny way of doing that to a person.

After they had seen Ani safely to the Jedi temple, Obi-Wan had led her to one of the outlying homes around the temple premises; apparently there were many families who faithfully contributed time and money to the Jedi and were therefore granted permission to live in the temple's very shadow.

Conversation between them had been pleasant. That was an understatement; it had been delightful.

Obi-Wan had questioned her suspiciously at first, trying to ascertain whether or not she was a threat to him or any he loved. She chuckled even now to remember it. He was so young inside - if she had chosen to lie to him, he would not have known the difference.

She did not lie, however; she saw no need. The people she had stayed with were lovely, kind and generous; they had given her food, a bath, a warm and soft place to spend the night, and even washed and dried her clothing for her before the sky grew light again. And the next morning, when Obi-Wan had shown up on her doorstep and invited her to come to breakfast, she was in such a good mood that she did not turn him down. He took her to the lower feasting hall, usually used to receive visitors.

And then Ki-Adi-Mundi had shown up. The moment he saw her he had come over to her with wide eyes and grasped her hand as though she were an old friend. Morru was not used to such treatment, and she didn't really know how to respond. Mundi, however, would brook no reservations, and between his and Obi-Wan's friendly gestures, she had felt at home in minutes. Through conversation, they had ascertained that she really did not have any place to stay, no destination in mind, no more money, and that the clothing she wore was all she owned in the world.

And then it seemed they simply would not let her go.

Before the day was out, they had secured a place for her stay and a job for her as a temple worker. There was no obligation - she could stay or leave as she pleased - but at least she would be taken care of for the time being, earn a little money, and have a chance to call someplace "home."

Morru had almost cried with gratitude.

Upon thinking through the events of that fateful morning, she was sure that there were things going on behind the scenes that were hidden to her. Trusting her instincts, she concluded two things about each of her two saviors: Ki-Adi-Mundi was keeping her around because there was something about her that greatly puzzled him, and also because he found it amusing that Obi-Wan thought her attractive. Obi-Wan wanted her around because he found her attractive, though he had absolutely no idea what Mudi wanted with her. If Mundi wanted it, however, that was good enough for him.

Morru sighed. What had she gotten herself into?

She smiled as Obi-Wan turned to ask her something, met her steady gaze, and completely forgot what he was going to say. There were definitely worse shores upon which she could have washed. Most definitely.

And here, at least, she was safe.

Morru excused herself from the table and went to perform her evening duties. She gathered her basket, her list of supplies requested by Council member Saesee Tiin, and went to the market. She passed Ani on the way out, and was sure to give him a big hug as she went by, which he desperately needed. Poor, lonely boy.

Wrapping a temple worker's cloak about her face, Morru stepped out into the evening light and toward the marketplace. If she had known what was going to happen in the next hour, she would have stayed home.

***

Wrapping his Sith cloak about his face, Darth Maul stepped out into the evening light and toward the marketplace. Lord Sidious did not know that he was going out; and quite frankly, he did not care. Maul needed to stretch his legs, to walk among people again, to have a cheap, stiff drink at a disgusting bar and perhaps beat up some lowlifes afterward. All behaviors of which the great Dark Lord Sidious did not approve.

Maul could not wipe the smile off his face.

Of course, he had no idea he was heading toward his destiny.

No one ever does.

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