Auto da Fé 3: Ashes

by WriteStuff

Title: Auto da Fé 3: Ashes
Author: WriteStuff (Writestufflee@mindspring.com)
Archive: Certainly on M&A. Others please request.
Pairing: Q/O, occasionally O/Other
Category: AU, Series, Drama, Action-Adventure, Non-Con
Rating: Adult

Warnings: SQUICKY FIC. NOT FOR THE FAINT OF HEART OR WEAK OF STOMACH. NOT KIDDING! Life-like situations and sometimes nasty surprises. You pays yer money and yer takes yer chances. No spoilers. Not much sex.

Disclaimer: George's Boyz, George's Universe. Not only not making money, I'm hemorrhaging it in this endeavor.

A couple of characters from the YA Jedi Apprentice series appear or are mentioned here: Bruck Chun, Obi-Wan's tormentor; and Qui-Gon's failed apprentice, Xanatos. I don't own them, either.

Notes:

Huge thanks to Mrs. Hamill for her wise suggestions and comments on the first part of this story. It would be in much worse shape than it is without her. All errors are still mine.

Part three of the tenth installment in The Long Shadow series, in The Warrior's Heart universe (which can be found in the archives and in order (eventually) at http://home.mindspring.com/~writestufflee/index.html).

The Long Shadow Series runs as follows, so far:

Love Letter I
The Long Shadow
If Memory Serve Me
Padawans and Lovers
The Amazing Adventures of Ass Master & Slut Boy
Love Letter II
Ships in the Night
Love Letter III
Spare the Rod
Auto da Fé 1: Faith
Auto da Fé 2: Fire
Auto da Fé 3: Ashes

Summary: Some old business comes home to roost in a painful way.

Feedback: Any sort is a pleasure to receive if you care to give it.

He'd lost his boots somewhere, if he'd ever put them on, but he still had his cloak, though there was no warmth left in it, even with the hood pulled up. He'd been walking for hours and he was footsore and weary, his mind an unquiet turmoil of emotions he could not quell or release to the Force. He'd wandered far from home into an area that was only vaguely familiar, somewhere in the lower levels, though he was only peripherally aware of his surroundings. Wherever he was, there was no one else here, which was just as well. His head was pounding and he couldn't think, didn't wish to think, to speak, to have any interaction with anyone, least of all Qui-Gon. Because Qui-Gon was the crux of what had driven him out of the rooms he'd called home for more than half his life, and there was no peace to be found there now.

So he walked.

Around him now was a long and ancient stone-lined corridor that looked as though it should have been lit by torches rather than the soft ambient light that filled it. The floor beneath his bare feet was worn smooth and grooved in the middle with the passage of thousands of others over thousands of years, something that was somehow a comfort. It was like following an old riverbed in a dry season, knowing it still sustained life at other times. He walked with his head down, eyes on the floor, seeing nothing but the stones beneath his feet.

At least that was what the light reflected into his eyes. There it stopped, the signals from his optic nerves forming images in his brain that carried no meaning whatsoever. The only awareness he possessed was of pain—the physical pain in his hands, and the ache in his chest that was heartsickness—which had filled him the way water fills a glass. It spread through him, reducing his world to the size and shape of his own body. It was a wonder he sensed the end of the corridor before running into it.

But he did sense it, and looked up into a dark metal mirror a few steps away, seeing a barefoot and disheveled figure reflected there, shadowed eyes gleaming in the recesses of its hood. He was at the portal to the Hall of the Heroes. Force, what impulse had brought him here again? He had come here once before, for the vigil before his knighting. It had not been a pleasant experience.

As he looked, another figure appeared in the mirror, a bent old man with a cane wearing long robes, who stopped just behind him but remained silent. For a few moments, they gazed at each other in the dark surface until Obi-Wan turned around, intending to go back the way he'd come. But the old man was blocking his way.

"What do you seek here, Ben-Zhao Lars of Dannora, third Padawan of Master Qui-Gon Jinn, First Son of House Kenobi and ninetieth scion to bear the name of Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi?" the old Jedi said. This was the Kirtan, the keeper of the Hall, who knew by sight, or seemed to know, everyone living in temple and the long dead as well.

"Nothing, My Master," Obi-Wan murmured, turning again—to find his way still, impossibly, blocked.

"What purpose have you here?" the Kirtan repeated. "No one comes here without a reason, Knight Kenobi."

"I—I was wandering, Master. Just walking. Not paying attention."

"Lost."

"Yes," Obi-Wan whispered.

"You come dressed as a hinrei." A ritual seeker, a pilgrim. Barefoot, cloaked, weaponless.

"A, a mistake, Master. In my haste—"

"No mistake. Your feet brought you here."

"Yes," he replied, almost voiceless.

"Then come." The old Jedi gestured toward the door with his cane and the portal split in two, opening inward on a vast darkness. Obi-Wan knew there was a stairway there that led down into the root of the Temple, to the surface of Coruscant, and a well of still-sweet water that was also a powerful wellspring of the Force. Millennia ago, this had been called the Wellspring Temple, the Mother House of all the Jedi. But he could see nothing but darkness. "Come," the Kirtan said again, taking Obi-Wan's elbow and ushering him forward, into the shadows.

Qui-Gon knew better than to go after him. Like other battles Obi-Wan had fought with himself, this one would have to be won on his own terms, with his own weapons and skills and intellect. But it was a hard wait. And an interminable one, especially without the bond.

It hadn't just been dampened this time, but closed, the way Qui-Gon had once closed their training bond when they had first become lovers. For the first time in many years, they were once again two separate people. Qui-Gon found he did not like being quite so alone anymore, though there had been a time when he had craved this kind of solitude, after Xanatos's turning. Flayed by his own conscience, he had not been able to bear anything approaching intimacy then, certainly not the intimacy of a bond. So he understood Obi-Wan's need for solitude, though perhaps not its cause.

He settled himself in his usual chair and went back to grading exams. It was soothing work in some ways, requiring just enough concentration to keep him occupied while leaving him alert enough to sense any change. It was long after midwatch by the time he finished, his eyes grainy with staring at his datapad's screen. And there was still no sign of Obi-Wan. No glimmer of his presence, no sound at the door. He had, by now, been gone for hours. Qui-Gon was starting to worry.

Sleep seemed unlikely, if not impossible, so he busied himself with making tea and finding a snack then consumed them, letting his mind drift. He wondered if he should alert Tianna to what had gone on this evening, and then wondered what he would say, beyond that Obi-Wan had begun to remember everything. That it had left them both deeply disturbed. That the young man was gone and Qui-Gon did not know where to find him.

Well.

The hour was late enough that Obi-Wan's absence was becoming worrisome, if not alarming. There was no guarantee that he had not left the Temple, though it seemed unlikely any of the porters would have let him go barefoot and as clearly distressed as he was. But it was a vast complex, and padawans on curfew had been sneaking out of it for generations. If he were truly determined to leave, there would be very little to stop him.

But for some reason, Qui-Gon did not think he had. If meditation was the core of a Jedi's serenity, Obi-Wan had always found the most peace in the active kind. Never good at being still, even in sleep, only the movement of his body seemed to quiet his mind. He found peace and his center in katas, in the scholar's garden raking gravel, pacing the Temple's labyrinthine halls undisturbed in cloak and hood, not in the statuary stillness Qui-Gon knelt in once or twice a day. Agitation invariably drove Obi-Wan to his feet to reach for saber or rake or garden hoe or kitchen knife. And when those were denied him, he walked, sometimes for hours, as he had, perhaps, tonight.

Qui-Gon found himself growing drowsy at last and stretched out on the sofa to wait for whatever might come: sleep, or the footfalls of his beloved returning.

They went down into the darkness. The last time, Obi-Wan had summoned Forcelight to illuminate his way; this time he descended the stairs behind the Kirtan with only sound and Force sense to guide his way. The last time, the darkness had been like warm velvet around him; tonight it was dank and cold and had there been light, he knew he would see his breath streaming behind him. The last time, he had been told to bring with him only what he needed; this time he came with nothing—and too much.

The stairwell was truly that: a well lined with a helical course of nearly unbroken steps. Now and then a landing flattened out where he knew another level of the temple had been added to an old one, reaching into the sky with the rest of Coruscant, but they were few and far between. Had he been able to trail his fingertips along the wall, he knew he would have found the textures of sculptures, bas relief, mosaic, or smooth expanses of fresco, depicting long-dead and noteworthy Jedi, his own ancestor included. Somewhere.

Here.

Obi-Wan stopped at the same time the Kirtan did, in the utter darkness, without a signal between them, as though this had been their goal—his goal—all along. Then light flared from the Kirtan's staff. (And when had it become not a cane, but a staff?) The face before him in the metallic bas relief was little like his own, and bore a great drooping mustache tied off on either side with beads. His ancestor's hair was pulled back in a thick and elaborately folded topknot, something vaguely similar to how Qui-Gon wore his hair.

But this man had nothing to do with Qui-Gon Jinn or his family. The plaque at the figure's feet spelled that out.

Obi-Wan Kenobi

Seer, mystic, scholar, warrior

Scion of House Kenobi, Dannora

Master to Sakiri Diros and Lisanda Redelion

Defender of the Republic and the Jedi during the Great Schism

Martyred in the Battle of Korriban

His ashes are interred here

Obi-Wan sank down on the steps at his ancestor's feet, the Kirtan beside him. There were 88 Jedi, knights and masters, between him and this man, and almost 10,000 years of time. He wondered what his namesake had been like.

"Do you know how to read this epitaph?" the Kirtan asked him.

"The Basic isn't that much changed, Master—"

The Kirtan waved a hand. "It's not the language I'm speaking of. Every art has its hidden meanings, its embedded code, youngling. Especially commemorative art. Listen." He tapped the plaque. Obi-Wan heard the hollowness behind it. "The order of his achievements is very important here because it tells you not only who this Master was, but also what his peers thought of him, what was important to the Council in those days, and what they desired we remember of him. This is not just a commemoration, but a lesson, a reminder. A message. Do you see?"

"Yes, Master," Obi-Wan replied, feeling slightly dazed and rather like a padawan again, trying to concentrate through the throbbing of his hands. He couldn't remember when he'd last taken anything for the pain.

"Good. Now pay attention. First, we learn his name, one you share. Then we learn how he perceived himself and was perceived by others: seer, mystic, scholar, warrior."

"How—how do we know this was his perception of himself, if the Council composed this?" Obi-Wan was surprised he got the question out, that it had even formed in his fuddled head.

"Someone close to him would have written this, and he was a member of the Council at the time of his death. He would have had friends and colleagues there who knew him well and mourned him."

"I see." A Councillor too. He hadn't known that. This was quite some legacy to live up to.

"No, not yet. But you will," the Kirtan answered. "If you pay attention. Even the order in this line is important. Your ancestor was a prophet, Knight Kenobi, and not shy about it, not like our Master Yoda. No doubts, no questions, no `always in motion the future is' for Master Kenobi." The Kirtan tapped the scroll in the hand of the image, the one inscribed with the key words of the Chosen One prophecy. "He believed what the Force told him. Trusted it."

That was certainly something to chew on. Master Yoda had taught him nothing but doubt and suspicion of his own talent, and Qui-Gon—well, his own Master was no believer in visions. Except the prophecy of the Chosen One.

"But he wasn't the agent of that prophecy."

"No, so why do you suppose he's shown holding it?"

Obi-Wan thought for a time. It was slow going through the pounding in his head and hands. "The Great Schism. He was worried about the unity of the Jedi and balance of the Force."

"Why would the Council want it there?"

"A reminder, as you said. That the Force hadn't been balanced. That the Sith could come back. Was this put up after their defeat?"

"Before. Not long after Master Kenobi's death."

"Then it's a warning, too." A beacon in the darkness that was engulfing them, he thought, because they didn't know if they would win.

The Kirtan nodded but said nothing, and Obi-Wan looked back up at the plaque. "Mystic and scholar. Those go hand in hand with seer," Obi-Wan murmured.

"Yes," the Kirtan agreed. "You will find a large body of philosophic work in the library by Master Kenobi on the nature of the Force—a holistic philosophy that's not very popular these days."

"Holistic in what sense, Master?"

"You know what Jocasta Nu would say to that question," the Kirtan chided.

"Look it up," they chorused together, Obi-Wan smiling for the first time in what seemed an eternity.

"I will," Obi-Wan promised. And he would, he told himself.

"Good. And the last quality will not surprise you but it should."

"`Warrior'? Why should that surprise me?"

"Because this was a time of peace and the Jedi were not an order of warriors then. We were many things, but not fighters. But your ancestor—he was a fighter. One of his life-long interests was military history and strategy, and he was also trained in several Dannoran forms of combat himself."

As if he had known what was coming. Perhaps he had. "Like the Houses of the Swords. That must have been very unpopular with his family."

"Which brings us to the next line. Here, we learn where and who he came from: scion of House Kenobi, Dannora. What does that tell you?"

"Family connections. That mattered somehow. In a way they perhaps don't today."

The Kirtan nodded. "Good. Yes. Jedi were not taken so young from their families then. There were schools on many worlds where they could be trained as younglings and still live with their families, or at least be on the same planet or in the same system. Only later would they come here as padawans. Those blood connections were maintained during their lives, so the Jedi were not their only family. And after his family come his padawans."

"His legacy."

"Yes. Two Jedi who served the Order well during their lives, both masters in their turn. If you follow the master-padawan lines, you'll find one of Master Kenobi's line was master to Padawan Yoda and another master to Padawan Dooku—"

"—who both were master to Padawan Qui-Gon. Odd how intertwined we all are."

"Not all of us, Knight Kenobi." The Kirtan gave him a sharp look. "Your line and certain others."

"Something else to look up?" he asked wryly.

The Kirtan tapped his knee. "Quick. Like your ancestor. That's good. Now, the next two lines tell you why he's here, but look how far down the list they are."

"Almost an afterthought. Except . . . "

"That one word. Martyred," the Kirtan confirmed.

"Yes. It's not used lightly."

"Nor is it here. Do you know the story?"

"Not the details, no. Or at least not from this point of view. It's in the family history. More a legend, really. He died a glorious death for the Republic, a true Jedi to the end. That sort of thing. Why `martyred'?"

"Because he died for what he believed in. He was captured by the Sith, and they tried to turn him. The choice they gave him was turn, or die. He chose death, unlike Exar Kun. They beheaded him."

Obi-Wan touched the edges of the plaque, behind which Master Kenobi's ashes lay, the sleeve of his robe falling away to reveal the splints on his fingers. "But he didn't discorporate."

"Not all do. No one has ever discovered why that is."

"Who brought his body back to be Returned?"

"One of his children, who was with him."

"His children? Was he bonded?"

"That surprises you? The order was very different then. None of this `no attachments' nonsense. No hoary, sanctimonious, inflexible code about passion and serenity," the Kirtan sniffed, sounding very much like Qui-Gon. "Of course he was bonded. He was a scion of House Kenobi. A first son, like you. And not disinherited, either, I might add. He was expected to marry well, and sire an heir, and he did. He married a young woman from another Dannoran Ruling House, whom he apparently loved very deeply, and they had two boys and a girl. Only the girl came to the Temple later. He didn't live to see her knighted. She was still a padawan when she brought his body home."

Obi-Wan was glad they were already sitting down or he'd have had to, quite suddenly. His head was reeling with the idea that it hadn't always been this way in the order. He'd known that, intellectually, he supposed, but emotionally—this was what he'd grown up with: no passion, only serenity. No attachments. No family but the Jedi. He'd never been able to reconcile his feelings for Qui-Gon with those tenets, though Qui-Gon, independently minded rogue that he was, had no such qualms. To Qui-Gon, it was of the Force, of the Light, and therefore appropriate, whatever the Code said.

"His daughter brought him home," Obi-Wan murmured.

"Yes. Poor child. It must have been very hard. She was just barely in her teens."

"Did she—was she—after her knighting—"

Despite is inability to articulate his question, the Kirtan seemed to know what he was asking. "Was she bonded as well? Oh yes. And two of her children were Jedi too. We didn't always steal babies to populate our ranks. We used to make our own."

When did that stop? he wondered. Why?

"Something else to look up, young Kenobi," the Kirtan said gently, touching the splints on his hand. He'd forgotten they hurt so rapt had he been in the conversation. "While you've still time."

"Yes." Obi-Wan looked over at the Kirtan, who wore a gentle but sad smile in the soft glow of his staff. "While there's time."

The sound of the door opening woke Qui-Gon, as he had known it would. There was a faint predawn light filling the windows and Obi-Wan stood outlined against it, looking down at him where he lay on the sofa.

"Did you sleep much?" Obi-Wan asked quietly. "You should have gone to bed."

Qui-Gon sat up, scrubbing his face. "I wanted to be sure I heard you come in. Are you all right?"

Obi-Wan sat down beside him and took one of Qui-Gon's big hands gingerly in his own. "I went to see the Kirtan." Qui-Gon wasn't sure what to make of that and said nothing. "Not intentionally. I wound up there, after walking around for hours in the lower levels in my bare feet and cloak."

"Hmph. Like a hinrei. Foolish one," Qui-Gon chided gently. He rubbed one foot against Obi-Wan's icy ones.

"Yes, some poor, wandering, lost soul. The Kirtan was very kind. He must be used to befuddled Jedi wandering stupidly about at all hours, in need of guidance."

"Did you find what you were seeking?"

"No," Obi-Wan said slowly. "Not exactly. Although I'm still not sure what I was looking for. So perhaps I did. The Kirtan took me to visit my ancestor's grave."

"His grave? I knew there was a plaque—"

"His ashes are behind it. I should have had incense with me, and an offering, like we do at home."

"I don't think he'd mind that you came empty-handed, kosai."

"No, probably not. He had children, Qui. Three of them. His daughter is the one who Returned him after he was murdered by the Sith."

Qui-Gon wondered what his lover was getting at, or trying to get at. The bond was still closed between them and he had no sense but what he could see of what Obi-Wan was feeling or thinking. He seemed calmer now, and tired. In the faint light his eyes were shadowed, his features drawn. He pressed Qui-Gon's hand lightly between his own and Qui-Gon curled his fingers carefully around one of them.

"If this happens again," Obi-Wan said quietly, "you will take the sedatives you're offered. Because I cannot go through this knowing they're hurting you too. And you will not give whoever it is another lever to use against me. Agreed?"

Qui-Gon nodded.

"Promise me."

"I swear to you, Knight Kenobi. I will not burden you again," Qui-Gon replied in his most formal treaty-negotiator tones.

"That's not what I asked, Qui-Gon Jinn," Obi-Wan said with a sudden fierceness, glaring at him. "Swear you'll let them sedate you. No ambiguous language. I'm not some backwater official to be maneuvered for his own good. Swear what I asked or swear nothing, damn you."

Qui-Gon ducked his head in guilt, caught in his own deviousness. "I swear to you, Knight Kenobi, that should you be caught and tortured in the field, I will allow myself to be sedated—unless I feel it would jeopardize your life. That is a concession I will not make."

Obi-Wan's glare continued for a few more seconds, then collapsed into a weary sigh and a small, lopsided smile. "Better that than nothing from you, you old rogue. You'll do as you see fit anyway, I suppose."

The bond opened between them again and Qui-Gon drew the first deep and easy breath he had since it had pinched off hours before, then realized Obi-Wan was doing the same. They exchanged a knowing look and shared the quiet smile that went with it, Obi-Wan's sad and chagrined, Qui-Gon's merely relieved.

"Is that why you . . . bolted, shall we say? And closed the bond? Because you were afraid of hurting me?"

"Yes, and no," Obi-Wan answered slowly. His words came out as though he were picking through bins full of scraps to find them. "This bond we've got, Qui—no one else has anything like this. Why us?"

"Does it matter? The Force made it—or you made it and the Force cooperated," he shrugged. "That tells me there's a reason for it, a reason we're together. Whether it's for some future purpose or merely a reward for the arduous life we lead doesn't matter to me. And if that means that I share your pain literally instead of just empathetically, so be it. Having experienced both, I find there's not much difference."

"You're mad, Qui-Gon. When you were hurt in that explosion hunting Xanatos—"

"You endured it, didn't you? You let them sedate you and you were fine. I should have followed your example when this happened, since there was nothing I could do. I'm sorry. It's when you're hurt that I fall back into the role of being your master and wanting to protect you."

Obi-Wan shook his head. "If that's not attachment, I don't know what is."

"Ah. Is that the issue? Our attachment?"

"My fear of what being attached to you might make me do."

"To save me, you mean. It's a sensible fear to have. People do quite stupid things for love. That's why the Code forbids attachments."

"Yet here we are. Attached."

"Yes, you might say at the hip, too." Qui-Gon smiled. " But the Code is not the Force. And it was not always this way. That makes Mace very nervous."

"Does it? It makes me nervous, too."

They sat in silence for a little while, hand in hand. "What did she say to you, love?" Qui-Gon asked finally, pushing the question forward as though it were a thermal detonator primed to go off. As it was.

Obi-Wan let it lie there for some time, sitting unusually still himself, afraid to set it off. "It's not what she said, Qui. It's what I—what she made me feel. About you. She said everything I expected her to: she called me your fucktoy, called you a pedophile, called the Jedi a nest of perverts. Nothing new. When that didn't get any reaction, she started in on the Danjii and your monogram. Why had I let you mark me? Had I asked for it? Had you fucked me while you did it? Had I enjoyed it? And of course, you had and I had."

"And you were ashamed?"

Obi-Wan shook his head. "Not . . . ashamed. Terminally embarrassed, as Bruck calls it, perhaps, but not ashamed. No, it was that she somehow managed to make what she was doing to me . . . your . . . fault. As if she wouldn't have known who I was if you hadn't marked me, which is true, or possibly true. But she made it seem as if her not knowing who I was would have made a difference. And I was just muddled and ill enough not to realize that it wouldn't have made any difference at all. She would have hurt me in some other way, regardless, because that's what she was hired by the Isani to do. But because she recognized me, she also did her best to poison me against you, not just hurt me physically. It was quite brilliantly done, really, in a horrifying way."

"Little gods," Qui-Gon murmured, pinching the bridge of his nose to ward off the nausea he was feeling. "So by the time she made you make that obscene choice between having your hands or your genitals mutilated—"

"I was cursing you. I hated you with every molecule in my body, every screaming nerve ending. And she was smiling. That smile, Qui. I still see that." He exhaled heavily. "I `bolted' as you say, before I started screaming again that I hate you."

"And do you?"

Obi-Wan searched his face, lifted one hand in its splints to touch his cheek, then looked away again. "Some little irrational part of me does," he replied with more candor than Qui-Gon expected. Or found that he wanted. "The part that's still curled up in a ball whimpering in that cell. It's going to take some time to get him out of there. I'm sorry, Qui."

"Do you . . . want some time alone? Some space of your own? You've never had that." Qui-Gon's voice was steady and the tone neutral, but they were both very aware of the tension that filled him and the bond suddenly.

"I think it's too late for that, Qui. I don't know what I'd do with myself."

"Perhaps that's what you need to discover."

Obi-Wan said nothing for a time, and sat very still, Qui-Gon's hand still pressed between his own. "You'd let me go," he said at last, "just like that."

"If that's what you wanted or needed? Yes. It would be hard and it would hurt. But I would let you go. I don't own you. I never have. Is that what you want?"

"I don't know. I don't know what I want, except not to hurt you, and not to betray who and what I am. I don't know if those two desires are compatible."

"They may not always be, kosai. And for me to say that it would hurt more for you to not be true to yourself is disingenuous. But that's the risk we take, loving another. It's a risk I'm willing to take, but I've no right to demand the same risk of you. Would it help to have the marks removed?"

Obi-Wan let go of his hand and pressed the heels of his own to his eye sockets. "This is making my head hurt. I don't know what I want, Qui. I'm so tired that I can't think anymore. And I need a pain patch. Help me into bed, will you?"

Qui-Gon had gone to his afternoon classes by the time Obi-Wan woke again, but had thoughtfully cancelled his appointments for him. A message from Tianna was waiting for him with instructions to call when he was ready to see her again. He struggled gamely into his clothing by himself for the first time—not his full customary kit with belt and boots, but loose trousers with manageable fastenings, a civilian tunic that pulled over his head, and shoes that slipped on easily.

Once again, he ventured into the hallways alone, heading to the refectory to eat, and was relieved to find the nervousness and anxiety all but gone. There was still his report to compile, now that his memory was more complete and he started that after his meal. By the time Qui-Gon's classes were over, he was nearly done.

Qui-Gon leaned down and kissed the top of his head, after shedding his boots and datapad. "Sleep well?"

"Yes, for the first time in too long," he replied. "Though I've completely thrown off my internal clock now. The tea I made should still be hot, Qui, if you'd like some. And I'll make dinner soon."

"Thank you, love. I'll get a cup," Qui-Gon replied. He poured himself some of the slowly cooling liquid and made a fresh pot, then took himself off to the bedroom to leave Obi-Wan to his work. It couldn't be an easy report to dictate, he knew, and less so with an audience. But the bond was quiescent and calm between him, so perhaps Obi-Wan was beginning to come to terms with what had been done to him—which was more than Qui-Gon felt he was going to be able to do.

He dallied in their room purposely, not wanting to hear the descriptions of what Obi-Wan had seen and endured more often than he had to. With the hearing coming up, he knew he would hear it then because he was not going to let Obi-Wan go alone to appear before that committee, but he wasn't certain he could bear it more than once.

When he finally emerged, Obi-Wan was already busy preparing their meal. They sat down to the meal together, Obi-Wan struggling gamely with the implements but less frustrated, it seemed, than he had been other times, and with a better appetite. The silence that surrounded their meal was comfortable and peaceful, the silence of two people who have known each other for years and needn't fill every moment with words. There was nothing more said about moving out or removing the marks on his back.

When Obi-Wan did break the silence, finally, they were clearing the table, and it was with a question that surprised Qui-Gon."Qui, have you ever refused a mission? I mean, because you felt it wasn't right, that it wasn't something you could do with a clear conscience?"

"No," he replied slowly. "No, I haven't. I've taken missions I didn't agree with and tried to carry out what seemed to me to be the will of the Force—which, as you know, sometimes puts me in conflict with the Council. Sometimes, I suspect they've given me such missions intentionally, knowing exactly what I'll do."

"As a way of doing the right thing without paying the consequences for it with the Senate."

Qui-Gon nodded. "I've often thought that's why they put up with my waywardness."

"I've wondered about that," Obi-Wan replied quietly with a small smile. "Though I know why I do."

"And I suspect that's why they've kept Bruck around, as well. Aside from the fact that he's a fine Jedi who's earned his place."

Obi-Wan's smile disappeared. "As a convenient object of blame, you mean."

"Yes. We all have our uses, kosai."

"I'm beginning to understand that," Obi-Wan replied. He was silent for a time, carefully putting their crockery and utensils into the scrubber as Qui-Gon tidied up the counters and put food away. "I've gotten notice of the hearing date," he said finally, straightening up and closing the scrubber hatch. "It's in 12 days. They've subpoenaed all of us, Garen included. But not that woman."

"Has anyone gotten anything out of her yet?" Qui-Gon said with a carefully constructed casualness.

"No. Short of drugs or a hard interrogation, I don't think they will," he said a little too briskly. "There was a time I'd really have liked a go at her, and I think Bruck still would."

"And now?"

Obi-Wan shrugged with the same forced casualness and looked up into Qui-Gon's eyes. "That would be too much like her, wouldn't it?"

Tianna read what he'd added the next morning and then asked him to read it aloud. He faltered in a few places and had to stop once or twice to regain his composure, but it was far less fraught than running through the earlier and less complete versions had been. The remaining days before his hearing, they decided, would be taken up with rehearsing his testimony.

By the time the hearing arrived, Obi-Wan felt as ready as he ever would be to present his report to the relatively limited public of the Senate subcommittee. He knew there would be other observers there, but he'd have his friends there as well. He also knew that at least one of the senators serving on the committee would be a sympathetic face: Bail Organa, the son of one of Qui-Gon's old friends, whom he'd met a few years before.

Qui-Gon accompanied him as far as the room in which he'd be sequestered until his testimony, kissed his forehead, whispered "The Force be with you, kosai," and went to find his own seat in the visitors' gallery above the floor. In addition to the Senators and aides on the floor, the balcony held a number of dark-skinned Isani men and women who watched the proceedings with intense interest, and an Agency liaison. Bail occupied the far end of the committee's table, while the senior Koorivar representative, Passel Argente, a senator Qui-Gon had worked with and never trusted, chaired the committee. Obi-Wan's torturer was, thankfully, nowhere to be seen.

As the mission leader, Bruck was called first and read his report into the record with the cool detachment expected of a Jedi. Qui-Gon listened with some interest to the description of Bruck's second mission to bring in Obi-Wan's torturer, thinking the young man had well earned his knighthood in that mission if not before. He'd had only the barest intelligence, Obi-Wan's scanty and garbled description, and his own knowledge to follow, yet had managed to track the woman down with Isa's and Ayana's expert help and extract her from the Agency's so-called "discrete interrogation facility" in the Corporate Sector alive, unharmed, and without further diplomatic incident. There were a few questions about his status as a padawan on the first mission and the fact that it had earned him his knighthood, but nothing unexpected or unusual.

"The facility you found this woman in when you returned to the Corporate Sector, were there still prisoners being held in it?" one of the older senators asked.

"Not at the time. But there was evidence of previous occupants and of some violent activity. Analysis of the samples collected shows some common Isani genotypes."

"There were no other, ah, occupants?"

"No, ser. Only the accused. The facility seemed in the process of being abandoned."

"Thank you, Knight Chun. That will be all."

Bruck bowed and retired. A few minutes later, he found a seat in the gallery just behind Qui-Gon. He laid a hand on the older master's shoulder as he sat down and leaned over. "How's Ben?" he whispered.

"Nervous, but I think he'll be fine," Qui-Gon responded and turned his attention back to the floor, where Garen was just taking a seat. The former padawan was dressed in a conservative grey tunic and trousers tucked into black boots. His lightsaber, if he still had it, was nowhere in sight, unlike Bruck and Qui-Gon, who wore theirs openly as all the Jedi did, even in the Senate building. Like Bruck, he presented his report with an expert's detachment, and it varied little from Bruck's account except that it stopped with Obi-Wan's rescue.

"Forgive me," Senator Argente began, sounding puzzled, when Garen was through, "but I see you're no longer with the Jedi?"

Garen's posture stiffened almost painfully. "No. But that has no bearing on my testimony. I was an apprentice, like Knight Chun, during this mission, and an official part of the team."

"Not a knight."

"No."

"And not one now, unlike Knight Chun."

"No."

"Would you explain, please?"

"I don't believe it has any bearing—"

"Indulge, me, please, Ser Muln," the senator said in an oily tone.

"What's it matter?" Bruck whispered over Qui-Gon's shoulder.

"It doesn't. I don't know why he's pursuing it." Qui-Gon whispered back uneasily, puzzled.

"I have a bad feeling about this," Bruck murmured, sitting back.

Garen was silent for a moment, then cleared the emotion from his features and replied. "This mission was part of my final test for promotion to knight. I failed."

"Was it part of Knight Chun's, ah, `finals' as well?"

"Yes."

"But he, apparently, passed."

"Yes."

"So this—mission—was not just an investigation for the Senate?"

"It was that first and foremost," Garen insisted gamely. "Any other uses the Order might have put it to were utterly secondary and incidental to that investigation." Qui-Gon had to give him credit for his loyalty to an group he'd been summarily dismissed from.

"I see. Very well. Thank you, Ser Muln."

Garen rose and bowed, turned from his seat and then stopped. Obi-Wan had been ushered into the chamber and was standing before the double doors in the rear. Qui-Gon could see Garen take a deep breath and start toward him. They didn't speak, but Garen's hand came down on Obi-Wan's shoulder and gave it a squeeze. A fleeting smile passed over Obi-Wan's face and he walked on to take his seat, resting his hands in his lap, inside the sleeves of his robe. He identified himself, described his role in the mission, then began his report, which each of the Senators followed closely, making various signs of discomfort, disapproval, or disgust. At least one senator looked physically ill, and Bail's expression was one of quiet fury. Like Bruck and Garen before him, Obi-Wan told his story in a dispassionate voice, which made the graphic nature of the content all the more horrific.

Hearing it now, even knowing what Obi-Wan's injuries had been, having seen them, Qui-Gon was not sure he could sit through it. He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose as Obi-Wan described his treatment at the hands of the Isani army. I must stay, he told himself. For Obi-Wan's sake. I must stay. When his young knight described his violation and beating, Qui-Gon shuddered. How could people be so brutal to one another? Bruck's hands came to rest on his shoulders, squeezing gently, and Qui-Gon was grateful for the touch. He found himself holding his breath as Obi-Wan described what had happened to him once he had been moved offworld, and forced himself to breathe evenly. Bruck's hands were a warm, gentle pressure on his shoulders, reminding him to relax.

"Knight Kenobi, did you know of the dual nature of this mission before you agreed to accept it?" Senator Argente inquired when he was done.

"Pardon? Did I know it was also a test, you mean?"

"Yes."

"For Padawan Muln, yes. Not for Padawan—Knight Chun."

"The three of you have come up through the ranks together, is that correct? You're all the same age?"

"Yes," Obi-Wan replied cautiously, already sensing where this was leading.

"You're all friends?"

"Muln and I—yes. And Chun and I. Pardon me, Senator, what—"

"These are people you'd sacrifice a great deal for, correct?"

"They're my friends and my comrades. Yes."

"Is it possible that's what you did? To make this test a little—"

Expressionless, Obi-Wan held up his hands, still in their splints, not in a gesture that meant stop, though that was the effect it had, but merely to put them on view. "Make no mistake, Senator," he said quietly. "I care very deeply for my friends and my comrades, and I take very seriously my duties as a Jedi to the people represented by the Senate. But no one in his right mind would willingly allow a stranger to strip the skin from his hands and crush the bones merely to see that one of his friends was promoted, or to entrap a torturer. So unless you're suggesting I'm mentally unstable, this line of questioning is neither relevant nor useful."

"No one is suggesting any such thing, Knight Kenobi," Senator Argente said coolly. "Very well. Did you see other prisoners in the off-world facility you were being held in?"

"No. I was kept in isolation, and it was difficult to tell if the other life forms I could sense—"

"Sense?" the oily senator asked. Bail Organa shot him an exasperated look.

"Don't be obtuse," Qui-Gon growled in the gallery. Bruck patted his back.

"Through the Force, Senator. Surely you've heard of it in connection with Jedi?" Obi-Wan replied in a tone of innocent suggestion that only his friends knew was sarcasm. Well, with one exception. Even from his seat above the floor, Qui-Gon could see the young Organa's eyes glittering with mirth.

"Oh, yes. Quite. Quite," the senator blustered.

"As I was saying, it was difficult to know whether the others I could sense in the facility were captors or captives, largely because I was in so much pain myself."

"So this woman who tortured you, she was the only person you actually saw at the facility?"

"They're cutting her loose!" Bruck hissed. "Dammit! I knew it! And those shits in the Senate are covering for them."

It was Qui-Gon's turn to pat Bruck's hand in reassurance. "Nothing we can do about it," he murmured.

"Yes," Obi-Wan replied evenly. "Aside from the two who stripped me when I arrived, wired my genitals, manacled me to the wall, and put a bag over my head. Since they left the blindfold to last, I did get a good look at them. They weren't Isani Regulars."

"And you would recognize them again?"

"Oh, yes."

"Is it true that this woman knew you?"

Through the bond, Qui-Gon could feel the younger man reeling at the unexpected question, though it didn't show except in the hesitation and less than coherent way in which he answered it.

"Not personally. No. Not immediately. She knew of me. She knew who I was. That I was a Jedi."

"She knew of you? How is that?"

Obi-Wan licked his lips. His shields were up, but thin enough that Qui-Gon could both sense the fear in him and send a wave of his own reassurance through it. Even from the gallery he could see Obi-Wan shiver.

"The Jedi often work closely with the Agency—"

"Knight Kenobi, let us not be disingenuous. She knew you because of a specific incident. Is that not so?"

"Yes," he replied in a hoarse voice. "Yes. My description has apparently been circulated among field agents because of a training incident some years ago."

"In which you killed an agent."

"By accident."

"By accident." The senator scrolled through the datapad he held. "Yes, I see. It was ruled an accident. Most unfortunate." He looked up again. "Did she act differently when she discovered your identity?"

"That was, that was when she really started. When she realized who I was."

"Before that, she hadn't hurt you?"

"No. Not phys—"

"I see. So this could have been her taking revenge on you."

"It could have been any number of things, Senator," Obi-Wan snapped, "including her hobby. But that does not change the fact that, while in the guise of an Isani citizen, I was shipped from Izanar to an offworld, illegal, non-Republic facility run by that woman, who is in the employ of the Republic's intelligence agency, to act as a torturer. What it became afterwards is irrelevant. And I would like to know why you seem to be defending her, Senator," he demanded.

"No, Ben," Bruck whispered. "Don't let him—" Qui-Gon put a finger to his own lips as though urging Obi-Wan to be silent. On the floor, Obi-Wan struggled for calm and control. Bail Organa watched him with anger furrowing his own brow, and leaned over to the senator beside him, murmuring. The murmur shortly made its way to the chair, who raised his eyebrows and then waved a hand.

"Thank you, Knight Kenobi. That will be all. We will consider the evidence given here and reach a conclusion on whether further investigation is warranted at a later date. This hearing is concluded."

Even before the Senator had stopped speaking, Obi-Wan had risen silently, turned away without bowing, and made his way in a few rapid strides, cloak snapping behind him, to the double doors in the back.

"That greasy fucker," Bruck growled under his breath, getting to his feet as Qui-Gon did and filing out after the rest of the audience. Once outside the gallery, Bruck eschewed the lift and stairs and instead flung himself over the bannister, dropping softly beside the last step on the floor below and startling a woman just stepping off it. She stumbled briefly and Bruck caught her. "I beg your pardon," he said, steadying her, then turned to look for Kenobi. "Please excuse me," he added politely, and went after a flash of brown robe disappearing into the witness lounge. The room was empty when he entered, but he heard retching coming from the small fresher attached to it and cautiously opened the door.

Garen Muln had Kenobi's robe flung over his shoulder and was holding Ben up over the commode as he heaved dryly. He looked up at Bruck as he stepped through the door. "Tell Master Jinn where we are." Bruck nodded and went to find Qui-Gon.

By the time they both returned to the lounge, Obi-Wan was sitting down in a chair, wrapped once again in his robe, hands tucked inside the sleeves. Garen sat beside him, one hand on his shoulder. "Here's Qui-Gon," he said, getting up and turning for the door.

Qui-Gon caught his arm in a gentle grip. "Garen, if you would, please stay a moment."

He looked uncertainly at Obi-Wan, who was staring at the floor with reddened eyes, then to Bruck, who'd gone to stand behind him, and back to Qui-Gon, then nodded and sat down where he was. Qui-Gon took the seat Garen had vacated and wrapped an arm around Obi-Wan's back just as Tianna found her way into the room.

Ben was shivering hard beneath the reassuring grip Bruck closed on his shoulders. Tianna sat on the side opposite Qui-Gon and slipped her hand into his sleeves, wrapping her fingers around his wrist. Obi-Wan's reaction to his testimony seemed like an alarming setback.

"It's all right, Ow," she said gently. "It's over now. You did fine."

He shook his head. "N-no. I m-made a m-mess of it," he said through chattering teeth.

"No, Ben, you said what needed to be said. You let him squeeze your nuts a little, but nothing that hurt your testimony. And everybody could see how he was trying to twist it. Half the committee was pissed with him."

"M-made a f-fool of m-my-s-self."

"The only one who looked foolish in that room, kosai, was Senator Argente." Qui-Gon's arm slipped around his waist.

"Ow, listen, I want you to meet someone," Tianna told him.

He looked up at her, pleadingly. "N-not—"

"Yes, now. Don't go anywhere."

In her absence, Bruck slipped into her place, flanking him, one arm around Ben's waist. Hesitantly, Garen moved into Bruck's place against his back, hands resting on Obi-Wan's shoulders. Gradually, the shivering lessened and his teeth stopped chattering, but the nausea remained, as did the feeling that he had somehow failed. By the time Tianna returned with two people in tow, he was calmer and more composed but not much less miserable. Hearing the doors open, he made a visible effort to pull himself together and sat up straighter, shaking off Bruck's and Qui-Gon's supporting arms. Tianna pulled three chairs around in front him, closing the circle, then knelt in front of him. Two figures slipped into the seats behind her.

"Obi-wan, this is Federya Beser. She's the Senator from Izanar, the one who asked for this investigation," she said, indicating one of the two women she'd brought in.

Bruck was startled to recognize the handsome older woman he'd run into on the stairs. She recognized him too and smiled, then turned her attention back to Ben.

"Knight Kenobi, I wanted to thank you for what you did, for undergoing such suffering, and for your testimony today. What you've endured goes beyond the call of duty, even for Jedi. I would also like to apologize for the treatment you received today from my colleague. There was no excuse for it. I think if I had known what this investigation would involve—"

"You had a duty to your people, Senator," Obi-Wan replied in a strained voice with as much dignity as he could muster—which didn't feel like very much. "The Jedi live to serve."

She smiled sadly. "Sometimes we ask much of you in that service. Perhaps too much." She hesitated a moment, then touched the shoulder of the other woman beside her. She was younger, but her face was drawn, her eyes bruised and as red-rimmed with grief as Obi-Wan's were with anguish. "I'd like you to meet Asibe Kan. Her brother—"

"My brother," the younger woman said in a strong, clear voice full of barely suppressed anger, "was tortured and murdered by those people who took you offworld. They took him, too, and five days later, gave his body back to us. He was bruised in places only others could have bruised him. His bones were broken. And he had drowned. In a desert land, we were supposed to believe he had drowned. He was 19. We were told it was an accident."

"I'm so sorry," Obi-Wan murmured, appalled. It was nearly as painful sitting here with these people, listening to her, as it had been sitting in front of the committee, and he wasn't sure it made any difference. He wasn't sure this mission had made any difference. "I can't imagine—"

"Thank you for giving him a voice, for speaking for those who cannot. I know you have suffered much in doing so, and I want you to know that the people you did it for know that too and are grateful."

"You should know there will be an investigation, at the very least, of the army's tactics," Senator Beser said. "And I will push hard to see that those in the Agency responsible for the offworld facilities are punished as well."

"They're going to deny it was anything but a rogue agent," Bruck told her. "It was too easy to find her and you could hear Argente leaning that way already, painting what she did as personal revenge. I wouldn't be surprised if the Agency's got something juicy on him that they're holding over his head."

The senator nodded sadly. "Yes. That seems to be the way the wind is blowing, I'm sorry to say. You may be right."

"Perhaps we can do something about that," a new voice added from the back of the room.

Garen stepped back out of the line of sight as the three Jedi turned around in their seats. "Bail," Qui-Gon said, getting to his feet with a smile. "It's good to see you again."

"And you, Master Jinn. I wish it were under happier circumstances, but my father sends his greetings too. Knight Kenobi—"

"Obi-Wan, please, Senator Organa," he said with a nod, mustering his best public face. "It's not as though we're strangers. This is Knight Bruck Chun, Healer Tianna Iolan, Garen Muln, Senator—"

"We've met, as well," she said, returning his bow with a smile. "This is one of my constituents, Asibe Kan, Senator Organa."

"Bail, please," he said, giving them both a deep and respectful bow. "We're not strangers either. Serra Kan, Senator Beser told me about your brother. Please accept my condolences. I'm sorry it took such a horrific loss to bring you to Coruscant. As I said, I'm hoping we can do something more about it than seems likely to be done at the moment. Unfortunately, it's going to have to be something of an unofficial investigation." He looked over at Garen with an expression of curiosity. "And I'm looking for an unofficial investigator, Ser Muln. I've heard you might be available."

Garen looked as startled as possible for someone who had so recently been a Jedi padawan, but he really hadn't been expecting anything like this. He'd kept back from the little group—or "cabal," as he was coming to think of them—despite Kenobi's introduction, waiting for Master Jinn to conclude whatever business he thought he had with a Jedi outcast. Shooting Qui-Gon a curious look of his own and finding a mild but not entirely innocent smile on his lips, he suspected this was it.

"Well, Senator," Garen began, pushing off from the wall he'd been leaning against and joining the group, "the Agency has been recruiting me pretty aggressively since I left the Temple, but I think I'd be a lot more interested in working for you, especially on this investigation. I can pick up where Knight Chun left off."

"Very good. I warn you the pay's not much—"

Garen barked a laugh. "I'm used to living without luxuries, unlike most senatorial aides."

"Then let me welcome you to my staff, Ser Muln."

"Thank you, Senator."

Bail turned again to Kenobi, Jinn, and Chun. "I'd like to speak with you at your convenience about this, especially Obi-Wan and Knight Chun, if that's possible."

"Unfortunately, any help I can give you will have to be between missions," Bruck replied. "I don't think I'll be left idle for long after this hearing. But whatever I can do, count me in."

Obi-Wan said nothing. He felt strangely detached from the conversation, and ambivalent at best about being further involved in the ongoing investigation, now that this particular part of it was over. When Bail had first voiced his intentions, it had sent a cold shiver through him. "I don't know that I can really help you," he said at last, realizing some response was required. "I have nothing but time, at the moment, but I feel—"

"Somewhat reluctant about revisiting the subject?" the younger senator finished for him, in clearly evident sympathy. Obi-Wan nodded. "That's understandable. I can't even imagine what you've already been through, and I hesitate to even ask for your further help." Normally, Obi-Wan believed very little of what came out of politicians, including the smell of their excrement, but the younger Organa seemed a different breed than most. What would have sounded obsequious and insincere from another came through as empathy and concern. "Anything you feel able to do will be welcome, but I'll leave it up to you. And perhaps Knight Chun and Ser Muln's efforts will be enough."

"Thank you," Obi-Wan replied quietly and with a wan smile. Bail returned it with understanding and squeezed his shoulder gently.

"If there's anything I can do," he offered, "please, just ask."

"Thank you," Obi-Wan repeated. "I think what would help me and Sera Kan and her people the most is seeing that justice is served and this kind of thing is stopped."

"I'll do my best," Bail replied, and Obi-Wan, quite uncharacteristically, believed him.

Senator Organa made arrangements to continue the discussion with the others later, and hurried off to another committee meeting. Garen followed him out, but gave Qui-Gon a significant nod on his way. Bruck watched the exchange suspiciously. Before following Senator Beser out, the young Isani woman touched Obi-Wan's elbow. "Your hands, Knight Kenobi," she said, holding her own out. "May I see them?" Surprised, he pulled them out of his sleeves and held them out to her, palm up. She touched the mesh of the splints so very lightly he would not have known had he not been watching. "You will be able to use them again?"

"At least partially. It's still too soon to tell if I'll regain the full use, but our healers are optimistic."

She cupped one of his hands in her own and stroked his palm. "You honor us. Go with God, müaut;rbarech ban." And she turned away.

"What did she call you?" Qui-Gon asked, unfamiliar with the language.

"Blessed one," Obi-Wan replied in a hushed voice. "It's usually used in the context of martyrdom."

Obi-Wan was understandably silent as they left the building. Qui-Gon watched him without seeming to, and monitored the bond which was filled with a jittery, uncomfortable energy. Once they left the Senate itself, Obi-Wan stopped before they could turn for the transport stops. "Do you mind if we walk for a while, Qui? I don't want to go back just yet."

"Of course not. Feeling a bit of cabin fever?"

"Something like that. Let's walk through the Central Market. Do you mind?"

"No. Not if you're contemplating cooking again. You're the only person I know who finds food shopping restful."

That bought him a genuine grin of the kind he hadn't seen Obi-Wan wearing in far too long. "I do find it restful—and you'll get a good dinner out of it, so stop making fun of me. I'll even let you pick out the wine."

"Well, thank the little gods for that, since you barely know how to drink it, let alone pick it out."

"And if it weren't for me, the only decent meals you'd ever eat are at diplomatic banquets and restaurants."

They strolled from the Senate precincts into the midlevels of Coruscant, bantering easily and affectionately. As they walked, the flavor of the bond changed slowly in Qui-Gon's mind from the spiky bitterness it had had since Obi-Wan's rescue to a faint version of the sweet tea he was used to—not quite what it had been, but closer than before. In the market, Obi-Wan wandered from stall to stall, picking out ingredients for the meal he was planning and things that appealed to him, Qui-Gon trailing behind him with their purchases. By the time they'd stopped to find a good wine, the bond was clear and bright and calm between them. They found a transport and arrived back at temple near the dinner hour.

He helped Obi-Wan store their purchases and was then shooed out of the prep area. Watching him from the common room, Qui-Gon thought he was more animated and less preoccupied than he'd been for some time, but obviously thinking hard about something he didn't yet care to reveal. Qui-Gon had gotten used to this and let him putter in the kitchen, where he seemed to do most of his contemplation that wasn't actual meditation—if there was truly a difference for Obi-Wan. Working in the kitchen was in fact a kind of walking meditation for him, and always had been. He was spending more time there lately, cooking simple things he could manage with the splints. This was a relief to Qui-Gon for more than one reason. It meant he wouldn't have to eat his own cooking and, more importantly, that Obi-Wan's hands were healing well this time.

Tonight it was a clear soup with noodles and vegetables, grilled marinated fish, and wild grains. The vegetables weren't sliced quite as thinly or as uniformly as usual, and the presentation was a little less elegant than normal, but there was nothing wrong with the taste, and there had obviously been some work and thought put into the meal. Obi-Wan struggled with the noodles a little but there was a definite improvement in his ability to use his utensils. They ate in a companionable silence.

Qui-Gon cleared their dishes away afterwards and made tea, which they sat over at the table. After a few sips, Qui-Gon put his cup down and reach across the table to lay one of his hands over Obi-Wan's.

"Are you glad it's over now? Is there some sense of relief?" he asked.

Obi-Wan took another sip of his tea and considered his answer. "It doesn't really feel over. Not all of it. The worst of it, perhaps, the testimony. But I know I'm not done with it yet."

"What feels unfinished?"

"This, for one," he said, holding up his hands. "The splints have got to come off yet, and we have to see how much mobility I've retained, and what I'll be able to regain. Until I know that, I won't know what the rest of my career will look like. And for another—"

But he stopped there, and seemed unable to continue.

"For another thing, there's us," Qui-Gon went on for him. And the bond went sour this time, not bitter.

"Yes. There's us. And I suppose it's time I was frank with you, now that I'm not quite such a mess, though I don't suppose it's news to you that I've lost any interest in sex."

"Nor is it surprising, kosai, considering both your injuries and the psychological abuse. When you volunteered for this mission, I expected a rather long dry spell following it."

"Did you? I didn't." He said it almost challengingly."I know how unrealistic that was now. Oh, yes, I anticipated the sexual abuse. I was ready for that. What I wasn't ready for was her. What a fool I was."

The bitterness was back in the bond now, a taste like burnt metal. "You can't anticipate everything—"

"Don't coddle me, Qui. It won't help. Ti doesn't. I went into this willfully blind to what could happen, and I've paid for it. I can bear that. What I can't—" He choked there, and took another gulp of tea. Qui-Gon waited as he swallowed and blinked and swiped angrily at his eyes. "What I can't bear," he said at last in a trembling voice, "is what it's done to us. To the way I feel about us. About you." He looked up again with anguish writ large on his features. "I don't feel anything. I've just gone dead inside. No desire, no love, no hate. And when I think about the games we'd started to play, when I asked you to cane me, I—it just nauseates me. I can't imagine I ever found that exciting or arousing.

"And after today, I find I don't even have any anger left. There's nothing. I'm just . . . empty."

That made Qui-Gon wince, that he'd lost the ability to tell the difference between the games they played and the harm that had been done to him. It made Qui-Gon feel complicit and somehow soiled himself. "You understand what she did, don't you? She took your reality and twisted it, perverted it, while you were terribly vulnerable and suggestible. And you didn't expect that. It's one thing to be in pain, love, and another to be psychologically manipulated while you are."

"I know," Obi-Wan agreed. But Qui-Gon wondered if he truly did, even now.

He turned his hand up and let Obi-Wan's rest in it. "Give yourself time. We'll see what happens. You've told Tianna this?"

He nodded. "She says it's normal. That it will pass. It's a self-protection mechanism, and so on and so forth," he said with a dismissive wave of the hand, not looking very convinced.

"I ask because these things do happen in stages. And they look long and dreary and never-ending when you're in the middle of them, but you eventually do come out the other side, whether they're short-circuited with medication or not."

"Xanatos?" Obi-Wan asked.

"Tahl. She was the last in a long string of blows that started with Xan. The last I could take without shutting down. You remember how cold I was to you then, surely?"

"I remember."

They sat in silence for a while. Qui-Gon poured more tea.

"I've been thinking about your—suggestion—that I take some time and space away, on my own," Obi-Wan said at last, looking up at Qui-Gon, whose heart skipped a beat. Obi-Wan noticed, somehow, and patted his hand. "I don't think that's a viable solution for me, Qui. But I've thought about it. It does have some advantages, and even some appeal. But I don't think . . . I think I would miss you too much. The time we spend together when I'm home, for whatever reason I'm home, seems too precious to waste. But I wanted you to know how much it means to me, that you would offer me that freedom."

Qui-Gon smiled a little crookedly. "I want you to be well again. And to be happy. I won't pretend that making love with you isn't important to me. It is. But my libido doesn't run as hot as yours has; I can wait."

"You could take another lover," Obi-Wan suggested with a strained mix of reluctancy and determined fair-mindedness.

Qui-Gon arched a sardonic eyebrow at him. "You would hate that. Don't pretend otherwise. And I'm not interested in another lover. It's making love with you that's important, not sex in general. Not at this point in my life."

"I'm not sure how long—"

"I've had fourteen years with you, love, and the last seven have been very good indeed. I can wait until you're yourself again."

"And if—"

Obi-Wan found himself silenced by the touch of Qui-Gon's fingers at his mouth.

"No ifs. Only what is. Now. Moment to moment. Day to day. Whatever the Force gives us."

Obi-Wan pressed a kiss against the fingertips and pulled the hand to his cheek. "All right, then."

#End#