"The hanger," Qui-Gon prompted gently.

"One stone overhang with three docking bays. Cracks running vertically down the stone, a green vine trying to grow three meters down from the ceiling on the left, with one purple flower four meter down?"

"Six meters," Qui-Gon corrected sternly. "Open your eyes, Obi-Wan."

His eyes flew open. Qui-Gon's piercing blue gaze studied him, making him feel, as always, as though his lightsaber was dragging on the ground, or his tunic was stained.

"Are you distracted by something, Obi-Wan?" Qui-Gon asked.

"My first official mission, Master. "I want to do well."

"You will do what you will do." Qui-Gon responded neutrally. He waited, his eyes never leaving Obi-Wan's face. It was forbidden for an apprentice to lie to a Master, to conceal the truth, or even shade it.

Obi-Wan willed his feet not to shift and his eyes to remain steady on Qui-Gon's. "Perhaps I'm distracted by something more personal, Master."

A gleam of amusement suddenly lit Qui-Gon's eyes. "Ah. A birthday, perhaps?"

Obi-Wan nodded, a grin escaping.

"You would be expecting your gift, then" Qui-Gon frowned. He had forgotten, after all! But after only a moment, he reached into the pocket of his tunic. His large, strong hand emerged, concealing something hidden in his palm.

Obi-Wan stared expectantly. Masters usually thought for weeks or months about their gifts, often traveling to far reaches for a healing crystal, or a blanket or cloak from the weavers of the planet Pasmin, who wove garment of great warmth out of material so fine it was almost weightless.

Qui-Gon pressed a smooth, round stone into Obi-Wan's hand.

"I found it years ago," Qui-Gon explained. "When I was no older than you are now."