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Destiny's Inferno

by Mina (vikki18@totalise.co.uk)

Archive: Sure; MA and my site (eventually) everywhere else ask first please

Category: Angst, AU, Romance, Hurt/Comfort

Rating: NC-17

Warnings: none

Spoilers: TPM, possibly JA 1 and 2.

Feedback: absolutely. On and off list is good, and I'll love you for it.

Disclaimer; characters owned by Lucasfilm; make hay not lawsuits.

Summary: A chance to change destiny delivers Obi-Wan into his own personal hell, or is it all a delusion? What would you give to change destiny?

Note: My first Q/O slash - be gentle. This is not the story I hoped it to be, but I'm not feeling up to major reconstruction work so I just hope someone appreciates the effort. Many thanks for the beta's by Anne and JayKay. If only I could give suitable rewards for their work...

NB I apologise for the length of each section - cutting them down wasn't feasible unless I doubled the number of sections which would have been intensely annoying for some people and clogged up the list. Cheers.

"I understood that to this torment were damned the carnal sinners, who subject their reason to their lust." - Danté's Inferno

Destiny's Inferno.

Obi-Wan Kenobi was the lover to Qui-Gon Jinn, but he was struggling to recall a time he had felt less loved than he did right now, with his feet pounding down the hallways of the Jedi Temple and his calm crumbling. He greeted every passing brown-robed figure as he made his way down the corridors as fast as common courtesy allowed, acknowledged them as they tipped their heads in recognition. But he couldn't find their serentiy. All the smiles and reassurances in the world couldn't stop his heart from breaking in two. Every fellow Padawan's nod of greeting just made him feel sick at heart. Their small sympathetic touches to his shoulder were loaded with the reminder of the consolation of bringing Queen Amidala to safety, but it couldn't dull the raw, aching pain. It was almost a palpable thing; a rough, coarse robe Obi-Wan gladly hid inside, away from prying eyes and compassionate, congratulatory looks.

Night had descended upon Coruscant like a veil, but somehow he'd left a large part of himself up in the Council chambers at sunset. He was missing some vital piece, working like an automaton, burying his anger and not quite releasing it. He felt less than human somehow, and knew it was his heart he'd lost. The feeling as it went crashing down through his stomach, as he listened disbelievingly to his Master's words, would haunt him in the future. They were words he had unconsciously - and sometimes consciously - been waiting to hear for the past twelve years, and Qui-Gon's stinging denial of Obi-Wan as his apprentice, shunning him when another, more promising student reared it's criminally nauseating blonde head, was something that pained every step he took away from the Council chambers, but that still made him run all the faster.

'An apprentice you have, Master Qui-Gon.' Master Yoda had said, just a faint hint of surprise in the old Jedi's eyes and on the tips of his upturned ears. And Obi-Wan's agony at his Master's words, hidden - only just - behind iron shielding, had been such that he'd fully expected the revered Master to exclaim how careless it was of him to forget, but he could perhaps be forgiven because his current Padawan was, as in Obi-Wan's nightmares, an under-performing, overly-emotional poor excuse for a Jedi.

And in Obi-Wan's currently morose mood, he was inclined to agree with the assessment

He wished he'd kept walking after they had finished discussing the Sith, and not turned around to attend his Master's other business. Heartache unspoken was far better than watching your Master - your lover - pluck out the one essential piece of your soul and toss it aside so disdainfully. He had never told Obi-Wan he was nearing his Trials, and Obi-Wan was sure it was for a very good reason. The man thought so little of him that he probably expected to have to teach his recalcitrant redhead for at least another decade.

There had been a time when Obi-Wan had wished that were true. Now... now he just wished that the override on the training salle he had escaped to would stay locked in place. Then he could work his body into unhappy oblivion.

It wasn't even that he didn't understand his Master's actions. It wasn't that he didn't know how to find his centre and peace again. And it wasn't even jealously, although he didn't care for Anakin, and never really had. The last mission had been a mess from the minute they landed, and both he and his Master were worked beyond any realistic point of exhaustion. But did that explain why Qui-Gon was so quick to, literally, take the little blonde terror under his wing when it had taken several sacrifices and a scrape with near-death to get him to say more to Obi-Wan than 'Go back to Bandomeer, Kenobi' ? Yes. It did. It meant Qui-Gon was weary enough to let his true emotions leak out from behind that stoic mask and colour his actions and words.

And when Qui-Gon had accepted and requited his love, had that been false too? Had that been pity, and not love? In his current state of misery, he was far beyond believing it could be anything else and his chest tightened painfully. Desperately he shielded his misery, feeling along the bond he held between himself and Qui-Gon the quiet, happy humm of thoughts as the man planned and formulated and decided what to do with his new, unsullied padawan. Obi-Wan was tempted then to scream for Qui-Gon to come find him, to demand why he hadn't already done so, ask how he couldn't feel his lover's pain across the inconsequential distance of the Temple despite his shielding. A solid lump formed in his throat as loneliness coloured the corners of his perceptions.

He sighed brokenly. Here he was, the perfect padawan, believing himself past the insecurity of youth and multiple rejections, feeling tears threaten his control. Suddenly he felt thirteen again; the last twelve years were a simulacrum of life, nothing more. Logically, he knew he was bemoaning a situation that was nothing compared to what he could be feeling, to how things might have occurred in another time. But now... right now he was beyond thinking, beyond serenity, and peace and all those things he had spent so long learning.

But not quite, not quite, beyond caring.

The salle was a rare perk for the senior Padawans; a large, circular room that was spotted with directional lighting and boasted a high, leaded dome displaying the sky of Coruscant above them. Obi-Wan had the lights off, and only the hard, tight glare of the stars and the pale face of the moon were watching him, lighting the room and Obi-Wan in sallow, shifting shadows. Tail lights of speeders whipped across at times, lashing the room with strobing beams of orange and yellow and red. He had retreated here, to the middle of the floor with his saber lit and his body jumping and twisting and tumbling in the hardest of the katas. His were the routines that required the most focus, pushed aside all niches left open for idle thought and speculation, until there was only his body, his saber and the stars that didn't begin to offer any solace.

It started to rain. A hard patter against the dome above him, streaking down the sides of the dark glasswork, long beads of raindrops from the night throwing down its tears. Something flashed brightly in the corner of his eye and rocked his balance for a second, the lights winking at him and a pearl of moonlit sweat threaded down his arm as Obi-Wan slowed out of the kata with a sweeping motion of his hand, dully watching the sweat fly from his fingertips arching to the mat.

Frowning, he doused the blade and searched the empty room to find the source of his loss of concentration. He turned and saw that the room was no longer empty, an emerald clad runner hopped nervously in the doorway, eyes betraying surprise and the lingering concern over how to get the attention of a spinning, flipping Jedi Padawan.

He didn't need to agonise over it. Obi-Wan narrowed his eyes, beyond worrying about how intimidating he might look. "Yes?" he asked.

"Padawan Kenobi?" asked the high, lilting voice of a courtesan. He sighed.

"Yes?"

"I have a package here, sir."

"Packages go through the front desk... courier," he said. The Jedi weren't foolish enough not to floures-check all packages and at an early age it had been impressed upon the initiates to study all packages, even gifts from long forgotten homes, for the 'Mail Master's Mark of Approval'.

"Yes, sir. I mean... no sir." He shuffled, "This package comes direct from a private concern, sir. Hand delivery only." The boy's eyes fairly pleaded for him to take it from his hands.

Obi-Wan approached over the mat, wiping sweat away from his forehead. He took the towel from where he had thrown, not folded, it earlier and wiped at his neck. "I shouldn't take it. You'll have to pass it through the front desk."

Even as he said it he felt like a good, correct, ever-following-the-rules Padawan. Like the cowering child he had been, desperately following every tenet of the Code religiously just to gain a kind look from his Master's eyes or even, on those rare, precious occasions, a tug of a smile at his lips. He felt like a nearly-rejected thirteen year old, and knew that the only difference between the grown Jedi and that adolescent was age. And maybe, just for once, he'd defy himself.

"Sir... I can't do that. If I go back without delivering by hand my master will..."

Oh, he knew all about a Master's disapproval. He interrupted the boy, "Allright, I'll take it." The boy near-flinched at his tone and he softened his look with a wink and, "Just don't tell front desk."

Hesitantly, like accepting candy from a dietician, the boy smiled, "Of course not sir. Discretion guaranteed." Then he bowed and took his leave after handing over the package.

Obi-Wan watched him go, then turned over the slip in his hand, a thin rectangle of waterproofing with a tear-seal in the end. It was blank, but the boy was gone and he wouldn't go chasing after the courier through the Temple halls just to find out who it was from. Force knew his reputation was already tarnished enough by his sudden rejection.

The seal broke with a satisfying snap and he upturned the package. He'd expected a datapad or a small gift from the size of the package, but out slipped a thin, neat fold of maroon paper, soft and silky like bed sheets at midnight. Handmade paper, doubly a rare thing, and on the front was his name written in fine copperplate with a tight-nibbed ink pen. He stared at it thoughtfully for a long while, accessing all his hard-won skills to determine if there really was any danger here. The red colour could mean anything; it could be from a diplomat, a member of the senate even, and that would fit with the delivery boy, or from any number of matriarchal worlds where red was the royal colour. It could be from Amidala, even, as she certainly favoured extravagance and formality. And yet... something about the sweep of the handwriting and fine, neat cut of the corners spoke of a dignity that was more than fancy headdresses and acres of corseting.

He opened it, digging a thumb under the gummed seal and tearing it. Out fell a small scrap of more maroon paper, and the words 'The infernal whirlwind, which never rests, drives the sprits before it's violence; turning and striking, it tortures them. I understood that to this torment were damned the carnal sinners, who subject their reason to their lust.' He tipped it open further and a scattering of white drifted to the salle floor, lazily swooping down in the draft from the open door. He bent and picked up one white fragment. And frowned. It was a flower petal, drying and greying and blighted.

The washers gave off a low humm, and boomed when they jumped hard enough to strike the back wall of the laundry room. Obi-Wan sat with his back against the warm, vibrating heat of one unit, last in a long line of the tan machines. The steam from the units was thick; a hot musk of washing soda and sopping cottons from the clothes sloshing around inside the machines. Sudsy water slapped at the front viewport of the industrial-sized machines, like the distant crash of breakers on a particularly sheer cliff in a churning storm. Steam puffed up from around the seals at the top of the units and lingered under the low roof of the room, twisting in opaque swirls over wooden-slat shelving where other student's long forgotten clothing still lay wilting in the wet heat and odd socks stuck out, half hung over the edges.

The room was a small place of comfort for many of the younger crèche initiates. The heat and vibrations were vague reminders of the womb, the soul healers would say, but Obi-Wan found little comfort in the churning waters and hot steam today. In truth, the only place he ever found any real comfort to combat his hurts was in the tight, warm circle of his Master's arms. But now the diligent Qui-Gon was probably seeing to the introduction of Anakin to all those things he had never shown Obi-Wan when he had accepted him as Padawan. Obi-Wan, as a returning prodigal student, had been thrown headfirst into the cold waters of his Masters lingering isolation, and pointed in the direction of a bare Padawan's room in the depths of a Jedi Master's quarters. The place had so obviously been cleared recently by Temple cleaners, probably purged of all Xanatos' belongings; he could easily see Qui-Gon keeping the room in the condition it had been left by the fallen apprentice. A silent shrine, he might have said had Obi-Wan been foolish enough to question him. Obi-Wan would have called it more of a cave; a festering and unhealthy reminder. No one had ever mentioned it.

There was one abiding memory of that return to the Temple which lingered like a footprint on his soul. He had gone back to his old initiates quarters to retrieve all the belongings he had been unable to take on the transport to his 'new life'. That memory was of walking into the once warm and welcoming room to find it similarly stripped of everything that had made him 'Obi-Wan Kenobi'. The posters with the ripped corners from too many repositionings were gone. Spare clothes and sheets and even his ratty old rug was gone, and he mourned them all, every temple-standard sheet, every torn and tatty tunic, every last damned sock. Strangely, someone had seen his lovingly detailed model verpine fighters and decided to leave them for whoever took the room next, letting them to buzz happily around the ceiling awaiting a new owner. Only, when Obi-Wan got there, their repulsors had failed, and they had already dropped like the proverbial stones and lay in a shattered little heap of plastisteel shards and dust on the spot where his rug used to be, a clear message of his failure to keep them in good enough condition to continue their flight. Maybe that had even been a message for the future. Maybe it was just a cruel joke that the Tatooine blonde would never have had such a problem keeping the ships aloft.

And, at the time, he had promised himself that it didn't matter, because he really was going for a new life, and he didn't need all his old 'stuff'... because now he had Qui-Gon Jinn. And that was all the mattered.

What a fool.

The washers churned. The door to the room opened a crack and a dark-swaddled figure all but flowed into the room. Obi-Wan didn't start, but shifted a little on the cold tiled floor, turning to face the figure as the other settled the door back into its niche and nudged a bolt home.

"An interesting choice, Padawan."

The voice was high and cultured, and yet obviously masked as the accent was too hard, like a hastily bandaged wound of pain and grief. When he had received the second letter, with a request for a meeting, he had expected an other messenger to reply, or a senator, or diplomat... another Jedi even. Not... this. He frowned, "I can guarantee we won't be interrupted accidentally." He didn't add that he had a comlink deposited in his pocket, surreptitiously, should he need a deliberate interruption. He was miserable, but not yet foolish. That could come later.

"True. I expect not much laundry is done so late into the night. But I'm surprised. I thought the virtuous Padawans would have found such a place hidden and novel enough for late night... meetings."

He snorted. "Why did you come, not to talk about teenage sex?"

"Of course not."

There was no elaboration so he asked, damping his frustration, "Why then?"

The other chuckled and settled back on his haunches, his head tipped just slightly to one side so the black fabric wrapped over his face revealed eyes flecked with silver. "Such haste. Have you somewhere you should be at this time? Somebody to be with, perhaps? A warm bed and a strong pair of hands, or are the washers adequate for a rejected apprentice's sorrow?"

He ground his teeth. "What do you want?"

"That is not the question."

"Then what is?"

"I'm more interested in what you want." The man sighed. Obi-Wan had to wonder distantly if he was too hot under the thick robes, with the steam and the heat of the washing room. If he was, the figure didn't betray it, but leaned forward almost conspiratorially to whisper, "I have a secret." He might have been grinning beneath the black bandaging.

"What about?"

"You, the galaxy, the future," he paused, "Mostly you."

He rubbed at a growing ache that was spawning between his eyes, pinching the skin there and sighing, "I have a mission to attend to tomorrow. You requested a meeting, and I've come. Say what you came to say, because bed is growing increasingly more appealing."

The other chuckled. "You're not even going to ask my name, or who I am?"

"I didn't think I'd get an answer." He paused, "All right then, who are you?"

"That doesn't matter." He might have actually winked, "You mentioned a mission, to Naboo?"

Obi-Wan drew the muscles in his back up tighter, edging backwards a bare centimetre, "My mission is a matter for the Council and the Senate. And confidential." He said.

The figure crooked a finger and pointed at Obi-Wan, "And quite stressful, if those dark worry rings under your eyes are any indicator."

"Perhaps. So are we here to discuss my health?" He snapped.

"In a way, I suppose we are. Tell me, what price do you put on the future, Obi-Wan?"

He itched at the informal use of his name, but Qui-Gon had trained him well in concentrating on the most important information in any negotiating situation. It was a struggle, weary, tired and rejected as he was, and painfully aware that not once had Qui-Gon even called to see where his apprentice was. "The future... the future is nothing until we shape it, and by preoccupation with pre-empting it in the present, we can fail to be a part of it at all," he said.

"ood, good, I'm glad to see all those lessons are well remembered. Now, Obi-Wan, not Padawan Kenobi, tell me; what would you pay to know the future?"

Obi-Wan shook his head. "It's an irrelevant question. I don't have any reason to want to know the future."

"No? Strange, because everything about you is screaming 'insecure'. Wouldn't you like to know; to have that refreshing, perception-changing hindsight before the act?"

"Act?"

"Yes. You love him, don't you?" Obi-Wan made no comment, but his soul screamed yes! and his vision blurred with the certainty that despite the tearing of his heart he couldn't deny Qui-Gon his love, even if they hadn't formed a soul bond, even if his Master sometimes had a preoccupation with the needy and a liberal interpretation of the Code, he loved the man. Damnable stubborn streak and all.

"Yes."

"Ah. He's going to die, you know."

The comment hit him like a saber blow to his stomach. He actually heard it when his back collided with the durasteel of the sloshing washer tank, as he retreated rapidly both mentally and physically.

Qui-Gon - dead. No, he couldn't contemplate it, his mind dodged it, dove around the subject and hastily erected barriers like windshields against a storm front.

And yet, it would happen. They were Jedi, and... "'One who is a Jedi must before all things keep constantly in his mind, by day and by night, the fact that he has to die'..." he quoted.

"Hmmm..." the man said, and Obi-Wan realised dizzily that he was standing over the figure, glowering down, without any conscious memory of moving. He felt the pinprick of his own fingernails against his palms and visibly calmed himself. "Hmmm... true. Well." The man stood also and made a show of dusting off his robes. "If you are resigned to the fact then I'll take my leave of you and we'll forget we had this conversation." And with a whisk of the robes that made the steam churn angrily, he started for the door.

Obi-Wan could have just let him go, pass him off as a strange old man from the deeper levels of Coruscant playing a nasty ruse on him. He could even overpower the figure and drag him up to the Council chambers to demand he explain himself. All of it seemed wrong, though. Not that it wasn't destined in the Force, but that Obi-Wan's heart rebelled at letting go a possible forewarning for the future. Like the verpine fighters of his old initiates room, he wouldn't see his life with Qui-Gon crumbled to dust and irretrievable little pieces.

His hand shot out and he grabbed a handful of black robes, surprisingly silky. "Wait," he said.

The other turned slowly, seemingly mild surprised. "Yes?"

He took a deep breath, "Tell me. What do you know? Are you in league with the Federation... are you in league with the Sith?"

Before he heard the answer he already knew. "No. I am my own man." He eyed Obi-Wan, "Qui-Gon Jinn will die in two days, Padawan Kenobi. What price to prevent the future?"

"Whatever it takes," he answered without pausing for breath, "He is my Master."

"Anything for your Master's life?"

"Anything," he reaffirmed. One of the units beeped solidly that it had finished and water gurgled as it drained away. "Who are you?"

"Your fondest desire and your worst nightmare." The man locked silver flecked eyes with Obi-Wan, and leered. "And as for your request... granted."

He blinked owlishly, taking in his surroundings and trying to remember how and when his consciousness had winked out. The tiles were cold; too cold, the muscles in his back were cramping against the passive torture. The steam was gone and all the machines were off, a faint humm of a power line beside his right ear the only sound echoing. He sat up warily, tentatively, and blinked hard.

The dark figure seemed to have disappeared with the heat.

He touched a hand to a tender spot on the back of his head, filing it away as an injury from falling to the ground suddenly. He struggled to recall the evening before, remembered expecting information and seemed to have gotten an uncomfortable night on the floor instead.

It worried him. It worried him because he had believed the man, for a minute he had been taken in and led by desperation to a delusion that he could know the future with enough certainty to predict his lover's death. And to have believed he could change it was worse, going against everything the Jedi taught about the will of the Force.

If the figure's powers for changing the future ended with knocking him out and disappearing, he wasn't impressed.

And if they didn't... well then it was funny, he thought sardonically, but nothing seemed different, yet wasn't he supposed to have changed the future? If Qui-Gon died on Naboo, surely something must have changed to prevent that. A new assignment or an exam to take or.. something. But nothing looked or felt different, except a few hours seemed to have passed with him out cold on the laundry room floor.

In the hallways outside, morning sunshine drew shafts of sunny light across the thick carpeting. Dust motes swam and Padawans, Knights and Masters inclined their head in polite greeting to him as he sought the turbolift. Coruscant appeared to be in one piece, the traffic circling the temple a steady stream of shuttles and private speeders, white blips in the sunshine against the hard durasteel towers and faint hint of a rising smog or mist.

He first considered calling Qui-Gon as he keyed in the residence floors. And dismissed it immediately; probably he was with Anakin, and wouldn't, he thought bitterly, appreciate an interruption from a baffled Padawan. Almost shyly he stretched for him in the Force, along their bond that was more than a training bond, but less that a soul bond.

He frowned. It felt... odd. Stagnant. Small, and weak and neglected. But it was there, and so was Qui-Gon, although the Master was shielding heavily.

Walking, everything seemed calmer. His distress from the previous night a bad dream that the sunshine cheerfully banished. It was, he knew, inevitable that a Master and a Padawan had to separate. It would be a poor method of teaching if the student never progressed to independence. But... it hurt. Oh, it had hurt, like a black screen had dropped between them, like their love on the Nubian cruiser meant nothing, like the past year had meant nothing. It dragged up all his doubts. Why hadn't the soul bond formed? Why hadn't his Master trusted him enough to take an active role in the Naboo mission? Why, why why... But in the end, Obi-Wan should have comforted himself with one memory.

Not that long after they had started... deepening their relationship, Obi-Wan had risen before dawn to beat his early rising Master, and prepared a breakfast with a little of each of their favourite things. Hot cakes and cool fruits and a large pitcher of juice with fat drops of condensation rolling down the sides. Coruscant had obliged them a warm sunrise clear of clouds and he had asked... had asked, somehow, if Qui-Gon would consider a partnership with him after his knighting.

Qui-Gon had seemed so surprised. But for all the right reasons.

'How could you have ever doubted I'd want that?' he'd asked, biting into a muja and beaming brighter than the sun.

The sex that had followed had been, well, phenomenal.

And still no soul bond.

It wasn't even that things had gone downhill from there, more plateaued, with duty and work and tedium chewing away at their lives and leaving little room for exploring the new, delicious aspects of their relationship.

It was a tragedy, to wake up alone in a cold bed so many times when he should have woken beside the heat of the man he had willingly and eagerly fallen in love with. But the Council didn't cancel predawn sessions for anything, not even the love of a Padawan and his Master.

Now, if he did pass the Trials, he could still have Qui-Gon. All that would change would be...

Anakin.

But he could cope. He was Jedi. The future wasn't necessarily so bleak. Perhaps the figure in the laundry room was just the delusion of a wounded apprentice. He hoped so.

Or, even better, perhaps if something had changed, it had been the removal of soon-to-be Padawan Skywalker.

He winced at his own unworthy feelings towards the boy, resolving that he would spent hours on his knees after he had found his Master and verified that he wasn't dead.

The turbolift deposited him on their floor.

The corridor lost itself around the hard curve of the stacked quarters. As he walked, someone called his name exuberantly and he forced himself to slow, turn and offer a smile to the approaching Padawan.

"Garen!" he greeted, "Good to see you." His feet itched to carry on, like a clock was slowly ticking down seconds against this temples by the roar of the blood through his veins.

"You too, Obi-Wan. When did you get back? I thought you were on another of those dignitary bodyguard duties they foist on us as 'relaxation' missions." His friend smiled, his eyes shining brightly and his hand remaining where it was on Obi-Wan's forearm.

He shrugged, "You haven't heard?"

"Heard what?"

He hesitated. Was this just Garen's tendency to sleep through everything, or something else? "Never mind," he muttered, "Doesn't matter."

Garen shrugged.

He lingered.

"Garen, was there something you wanted because... well... I have to be somewhere and..."

"Oh, no, Obi." Garen's hand squeezed his arm and he leaned in just a little too close. And... Obi? Since when had Garen called him Obi? "I'll see you later." After a suggestive wink, he had rounded the corner and was gone.

Obi-Wan stood rooted and staring at the blank curved wall, trying to shake the disconcerting feeling that his friend had been flirting with him a little. Just a little. A little too close; a little too familiar, even for them. Didn't he know Obi-Wan was with Qui-Gon? It wasn't advertised, but he'd assumed, somehow...

Shrugging, he turned back around and continued walking.

He walked slowly, cautiously almost, although it somehow felt like there was an invisible leash around his neck pulling him inexorably on towards his door. He hesitated. His Master's shields were still up tight, and he didn't have an explanation why.

He palmed the release, crossed the threshold into a welcome streak of sunlight and searched the rooms with his eyes.

And froze

Their quarters had always faced the morning sun, arrayed simply as a clutch of rooms around a central living area. Bedrooms to either side, a kitchen annexed on his right and a 'fresher on his left. The central area held a table for dining, a desk for working at with the antique lamp Obi-Wan had bought for Qui-Gon's birthday, and a seating area with a large sofa for... well, not for doing that on. Or at least, not with him.

He froze, a lance of horror spearing right through his heart. He realised his jaw was hanging open and his steps had ceased just a pace from the entrance, keeping the sensor on and the door open to the public. He didn't care. He really... he just didn't care.

Qui-Gon was lying under the dark, disrobed figure of Mace Windu, the other Master in a state of undress Obi-Wan had never wanted to witness. They were murmuring at each other, only a breaths whisper keeping their lips apart as Qui-Gon's hands were tracing the taught muscles on the other's back, fingers dancing over his skin with desperate need. One of Mace's hands was wrapped around the thick length of Qui-Gon's cock, his other was... Obi-Wan didn't know. Didn't want to know. He blinked and felt hot tears drop from his eyelashes as both men suddenly became aware of him. They turned as one, a tangled pair of bodies, Mace's dark skin against Obi-Wan's Master's golden. The councillor's cheek was laying against Qui-Gon's chest and he nipped teasingly at a nipple before whispering something Obi-Wan was too broken to hear. Qui-Gon fixed his Padawan with a stare and said, nearly calmly,

"Obi-Wan... Why-?"

It was too much. He did the only thing he could and turned and fled.

Why?' Why? How could Qui-Gon ask Obi-Wan 'Why'? That was his line. He wanted to scream it hysterically from the full volume of his lungs, a question, a demand, a plea.

The soft carpet under his feet disappeared to hard marble as he approached the gardens, thick red veins like bloodshed that he'd never noticed before in the stonework.

The gardens, at this time of the day, were scattered with early rising Jedi on their knees in the neatly shorn grass, calm and serene and nauseatingly peaceful. He passed them all and stumbled further down the path. It was all so fake. In the middle of a world infamous for it's cultural rape, the temple gardens were just a sham, an amalgamation of agricorps cultivating techniques and more physical, commercial terraforming systems. Beneath the grass and the small dots of flowers, even below the thick rooted trees and the thorny bushes, was a deep bath of soil, over a nutrient agar laid upon thick durasteel bays. A cultured, forced environment, and only near the edge of the gardens where the weeds were tolerated and thick mosses clung to the bark of the trees was there anything approaching nature.

He dropped to his knees as the first tears really began to tear themselves from his eyes. He pressed his hands together in his lap to stop them shaking, shadowed by the dappled light of sunshine through a thick canopy of an aging tree. The thick musk of tree pollen was in the air and a scattering of loosened leaves on the floor. He studied one desperately, tracing the veins and the variegations and trying to drop into a senseless mediation. But it wouldn't come, and his mind was working at double speed with the images of Mace Windu and Qui-Gon Jinn... together.

He imagined the pain he felt as strips of colour winding around him in the Force, mockingly slow as they contracted like a noose. His shock was a hot red wire of pain, his feelings of betrayal a thick black rope around his chest. Feelings of falling, and disbelief, and even a burgeoning hatred were more bands, tangled in with the others, a nest of pain, closing.

Questions were literally screaming through the drooping branches like a hot draft. Wondering how long the affair had been going on, wondering when he had lost his Master's heart, wondering how he could have been so blind even though a soul bond had failed to form. And, above all, wondering whether he could take this, after Anakin, after his rejection in front of the council

A sob hitched it's way through his throat and the world seemed to both expand and contract around him, and when he opened his eyes, Yoda blinked sleepy eyes at him with the tips of his ears down turned.

Obi-Wan swallowed another jolt of surprise at the old Master's appearance. Yoda blinked and said, "In pain, you are." Obi-Wan nodded numbly, "Felt it from across the temple, I did. Broadcasting, you are."

He struggled to feel guilt at causing such waves in the Force, but couldn't. He was shattered and if a few Jedi felt mildly queasy because of it... so what?

"Master Yoda, I-"

"Tell me what pains you, you will, Padawan," Yoda said, and it unnerved Obi-Wan to see the genuine confusion in the old Master's eyes.

He opened his mouth to answer but found the words wouldn't come. It was almost criminal in the temple to not answer the questions of a Master, but the embarrassment and pain damped every other feeling and fear.

Yoda's ears quirked in surprise, "Stem, this does, from your Master's request for your trials?"

That wasn't how he remembered it. Qui-Gon hadn't so much requested his Trails as begged them. But it was, he supposed, where this had started from. "Yes, Master," he answered truthfully.

"Think you, that he would ask this if thought you unready, he did?" Yoda asked seriously.

"No Master Yoda. Of course not."

Yoda whacked him across the knees with his gimer stick, "Lie to me, you should not." The old Jedi set his lips into a frown and the little white tufts of hair behind his eyes waved in the wind. "What feel you?"

Normally, such a question was a reflection on serenity. Now, Obi-Wan felt his heart begin to break open before the venerable old Jedi. "Anger. And shock, Master. Fear."

"Hmmmph," Yoda said. "Not good this is. A grievous injustice your Master has committed. See it, he does not. See it, he will not until someone points it out to him." He pressed the end of the stick against Obi-Wan's chest.

"Me? Master, I cannot. He..."

"Foolish pride." Yoda shook his head, "Bury it, Padawan, and face your Master you must. Confront Qui-Gon Jinn, so confront your fears you can. Only then, ready for your Trials will you be."

"Yes Master, but that is not all." He felt suddenly in need of a confidant.

Yoda's eyes rose in genuine surprise, "Oh?"

"I... I found him in our quarters earlier. With..." He choked. "With Master Windu."

Whatever reaction he had expected, it was not this. Yoda narrowed his eyes and his voice turned steely, "Been together, they have, for months. Know this, you did not?" He sounded incredulous.

Obi-Wan felt his jaw falling open and his fists clenching until the blood left his hands, "No, Master. No one.. no one told me."

But the soul bond hadn't formed, had it? And his Master had pushed him away, hadn't he?

"Tell you, they did not need to! Obvious, it has been!" The small Master sounded exasperated and surprised, and Obi-Wan felt his heart lurch.

"I..." There was nothing he could say.

Yoda turned his face away into the dapple lighting. "Your Master's choice it is, whom he loves."

Obi-Wan swallowed hard. "I thought you didn't create love, only discover it."

The old Master turned to him with a faint smile on his lips. "Perceptive you are, Padawan," he said, and apparently would not comment any more on the observation.

"Master... how long have they been together? How could I not know?"

Yoda again looked surprised, and once was rare enough. "No secret have they made of their relationship. Tell you, Qui-Gon did, when he asked you to move out." And there was something faintly suspicious in his eyes as they roved over the apprentice.

But Obi-Wan barely noticed, he absorbed the information like a physical blow and rocked back on his heels to sit hard on the wet earth. "I... I don't live with Qui-Gon?"

Now Master was looking outright disbelieving. "No," he said.

It was only then that the past seemed to catch up with his shock from the present, and little observations slid in with the bigger discovery. The slack bond, Garen's flirting, his Master not searching for him whilst he slept on the laundry room floor. "We're not... together at all, are we?"

Yoda now leaned in closer, "Inappropriate it would be, for Master and Apprentice to enter a relationship. Harbour unrequited feelings, you do?"

He swallowed hard, a lump in his throat like he'd swallowed a knife. He rose clumsily to his feet whilst Yoda's narrowed eyes followed him. "Excuse me, Master. I.. I need to go meditate." The perfect Jedi excuse. Yoda watched him go with an expression of disquiet on his face. Suddenly, for Obi-Wan, the meditation gardens were of no comfort. Something was definitely wrong, and the image of the dark figure in the laundry room was called back to his mind. Was he going mad, or had something really happened?

He hurried back through the halls, with no clear idea of where he was heading. Talking to Qui-Gon was too horrible to contemplate; talking to Mace Windu was unthinkable. Throwing himself onto his bed and welcoming oblivion was a tempting choice, but he couldn't go back to his quarters. He just couldn't.

He stumbled forwards, laughing at himself bitterly. He had thought he might somehow have been ready to take the trials, but here he was stumbling blindly through the temple and avoiding all confrontations with his Master. Not the Jedi thing to do, but he couldn't help it.

Somehow he found himself in the old initiates wing common rooms, empty at this time of the day as the Padawan hopefuls were sequestered in lessons. As an initiate, he had always found the place of little comfort, more a factory for gossiping over when the next Master would be ready for the choosing, and of who the senior Padawans were who would be ready for the trials soon and leave free a Master. Probably Obi-Wan had been much discussed in the powder-blue room, speculating over whether the venerable Master Jinn would take another Padawan again soon after his knighting.

Even the possibility of ever being knighted seemed ludicrous at that moment, though. He padded across the room, noting the chairs were even rattier than he remembered and the carpet more tatty. Unlike the rest of the temple, this was a children's den and the staff allowed the initiates leeway in cleanliness.

The notice boards hung around the room had little slips of flimsiplast in bright colours stuck to them, notes from newly taken Padawans telling they were back in the temple if old friends wanted to visit, notes from the older initiates with gossip they didn't have time to relay in person, and, occasionally, the neat note from a Master complaining about the state of the room last time they had looked in.

He settled into a too-small chair and contemplated the state of his own sanity. The image of Mace Windu and Qui-Gon together appeared on the inside of his closed eyelids, burned there. But, unless it was Yoda who was going crazy, it was more than just a betrayal. Maybe it wasn't even a betrayal at all. Now he examined it more closer, little things began to stand out. For one, Qui-Gon's hair. Obi-Wan remembered clearly the recovery after the mission where Qui-Gon had lost the long tail of hair he'd been growing for several years in a fire; had it cut down to just below his shoulders instead of the lone, mane-like tail that hung to his waist before the mission. Or at least, he thought he remembered it; if he truly did, how was it possible that he had seen that same long hair, peppered with a few extra strands of silver, pooled on the floor over the sofa edge whilst he... reclined in the cushions that morning?

The answer was simple. It wasn't possible.

The memory was false.

He clasped his hands tightly in his lap and considered the implications. If that was false, then so was his memory of living with, and falling in love with, the man. He had moved out, apparently, and yet whilst he had all these apparently false memories, he had no recollection of something that had surely been painful.

He wanted to deny it. Oh, how much did he want to pretend there was another explanation, even that Qui-Gon had betrayed him? But other than Yoda being 'in' on any deception, there was no 'other explanation'. I am a Jedi, he reminded himself, and nearly ready to be knighted if Yoda is right. I shouldn't hide from the truth.

Uncomfortable, he mulled over the situation. Was it possible he was going completely mad? Had he hit his head and become delusional? He didn't remember, but then why would he? Sorely tempted to laugh hysterically, he considered the other, only alternative for having such contrary memories. Perhaps the strange figure in the laundry room really had done something. Maybe he had knocked him out and implanted memories? He had definitely had a Force-aura about him. But, no, that made no sense; why would he have left Obi-Wan with the memories off meeting him and removed those of Qui-Gon becoming intimate with Mace?

So what had he done, then?

Light formed hard bars over the carpet and Obi-Wan frowned in concentration and contemplation at the dust it illuminated. Small feet padded behind him, and a voice said, "Padawan Kenobi, sir?"

He stiffened and barely hid his reaction to the sugary voice of nine year old Anakin Skywalker. He turned around from the small seat he had settled on to eye the boy up, "Hello, Anakin." He smiled as fondly as he could muster, noting the doorway from the corner of his eye.

Anakin shifted from foot to foot under his scrutiny, brushing at non-existent dust on his temple issue clothing. His shaggy blonde hair was surprisingly pale without the sand and grit of Tatooine in it. "Can I sit down, sir?" he asked.

"Oh course." Obi-Wan gestured to a seat across from him, separated, he noted absently, by a low Plexiglas table. Anakin smiled and settled into the blue folds, swallowed by it where Obi-Wan was barely perched on his chair. "What can I do for you, Anakin?"

"Oh, I was just..." He looked around the room absently, "... bored." He said at length, then grinned sheepishly. It should have been a look to warm any heart, but Obi-Wan only felt the barely hidden resentment towards his unwitting rival rising until he quashed it ruthlessly.

"Perhaps you should seek out my Master, Anakin, and see what he wishes you to do." He winced at the unconscious emphasis on the word 'my'. He felt like he was grabbing possession of a comfort blanket, and it was utterly childish.

"Oh he's... busy."

"I'm sure he's not too busy to talk to you, Anakin."

Anakin shook the black backpack from his shoulders and set it on the adjacent seat, "Na. Master Qui-Gon said he was busy with the Queen this morning."

"Master Jinn," he corrected absently. Anakin looked confused. "You should call him Master Jinn; only the other Masters are allowed to call him by his first name." And me, he thought, in bed. Only, not anymore.

He felt his eyes shining with tears and looked aside suddenly.

"Oh," Anakin said, "Ooops." An uncomfortable silence followed. "Padawan Kenobi sir?"

"Yes, Anakin?" he asked, keeping the shaking from his voice with difficulty.

"I was wondering..."

"Yes?" He finally faced the small boy.

Anakin squirmed, "You don't seem to like me very much, sir. I was just wondering... why?"

Obi-Wan just stared at him for a few seconds before finding his voice for a child who was far too astute for his taste. It was his turn to squirm. "Anakin, I do like you. I don't know you very well, but I can see why Qui-Gon is fond of you." At that, Anakin's face shone, and Obi-Wan sighed at the clear three way war he could see on the horizon between himself, this boy, and Mace Windu. "It was just a surprise that he decided to train you."

Anakin nodded sagely, "Because he cant have two pada.. paddy... apprentices," he said. "But you're nearly a knight, aren't you? So you won't be with him much longer?" Try as he might, he couldn't hear any glee there, only confusion. He slipped down to his knees in front of the child and took one of the tanned hands in his own pale fingers.

"Anakin," he said, "It's much more complicated than that. Your Master will be much more to you than a teacher. He'll become like a father to you, and you a son. And... sometimes it goes beyond that, too. Qui-Gon Jinn is very dear to me, Ani. It was a shock to think I could lose him." He wondered for a minute why he was thinking in past tense, when he had already been replaced and told his Master had a day left to live. He was unconsciously protecting the child in front of him, he thought, from the possibility of Qui-Gon's death.

"Why would you lose him?" Anakin asked.

"Because, Anakin, the Master's time is always focused almost exclusively on his pupil," he smiled, "And I suppose I'm selfish for wanting him for myself. I'm sorry, Ani, it really has nothing to do with you. You'll make a fine Jedi." he lied. The lingering impression that training this child was dangerous remained, but there was no point scaring the boy.

"Oh... I see." He grinned almost ruefully, "I think."

Obi-Wan nodded and a glint of metal from the top of the boy's pack caught the light, "What have you got there?" he asked, getting back up from his knees and taking his seat.

"What? Oh! Yeah!" Anakin dived into his pack and retrieved a small model and presented it in his chubby hand.

Obi-Wan's blood went cold when he took the offered toy, a small, patched together ship with seals running over the think metal hull and held together by a clear glue.

"And if you flick it here," Anakin said excitedly, reaching over, "It has mini repulsors and flies."

Numbly, Obi-Wan let the boy turn the repaired verpine fighter model on and it flew up to the ceiling and began to circle, making a coughing noise every few seconds.

Anakin shrugged, "Well, I couldn't quite get it right," he said.

"Where did you find it, Ani?"

The boy shrugged again, "Oh, Master Qui-Gon ... I mean Master Jinn put me in some old kids room. I got bored and explored and someone had put a bunch of broken model bits in the draw of the desk. So I fixed it. It wasn't that hard, not like building a pod racer," he grinned and somehow the corner of Obi-Wan's lips turned into a fake smile. "I don't know why the kid who owned them didn't do it himself. I mean, you just had to know what to fix, you know?"

Obi-Wan stared at the small child and the unknowing nugget of wisdom he had just dispensed to him. You just had to know what to fix.

"Yes, I think I see now," he murmured.

Anakin nodded eagerly and bounded up, "Anyway, I'm starving, and Jess said they were gonna make muja jam and shee nut sandwiches so..."

"Go on, Anakin. I'm sure Qui-Gon will call you if he needs you."

The boy started at the use of the Master's first name after Padawan Kenobi had just corrected him. Obi-Wan smiled grimly, perceiving another step back from being Qui-Gon Jinn's lover. But Ani turned and ran for the door and when he reached the jamm, he turned and fixed Obi-Wan with a very serious stare and said, "You know, the biggest problem in the universe is that no one helps each other."

Obi-Wan nodded as if he had received a choice philosophical message instead of a blunt piece of childish egotism wrapped up like the paper fortune from a Kraaken destiny biscuit.

Anakin disappeared into the hallway and his voice sang out down the corridor as he met someone he had clearly made friends with. Obi-Wan sat alone in the small room and stared at the fighter buzzing around the ceiling. You just have to know what to fix.

He stood, determined to discover what needed mending...

Even at midmorning, the temple library was dark. The windows were high up on the wall, arched tops fuzzy with sunshine that barely filtered to the floors below. It was one of the oldest sections of the temple, huge and sprawling on multiple levels with a maze of shelving adding to the relative gloom; lit by dull easy-reading lights on the top of the stacks. Obi-Wan knew the place well, took the steps down automatically to the carpeted floor and oriented himself through the mass of datacards and older, dustier hardbound books laid out in the room. It was huge, but sectioned, and new Padawans often joked that you could wander through the anthropology section until you took the Trials and never find another living soul, not even a bespectacled library scholar.

In amongst the nest of stacks were secluded reading areas with data terminals on standby and old hardwood desks sitting empty. Obi-Wan walked around the outer ring of the library, then descended lower to the quantum mechanics section, certain to be empty after the midlevel Padawan exam a few weeks ago. He passed through the upper philosophical sections, past a familiar Plexiglas case in which a faded, ratty old scroll listed the reasons for not building the central Jedi temple on a city world like Coruscant. He had discovered it as a young Padawan, and still hadn't decided why it was displayed with such enthusiasm, as the temple had remained for millennia. Perhaps it was simply the document's age, and had nothing to do with its accuracy or audacity. He settled into a chair, tapped the screen on and accessed the system.

He flicked through the information rapidly, his face growing hard and grim as he finally accessed the old missions reports he had, as a senior Padawan, submitted to the Council. None of them showed anything significant, but certain ones were conspicuous in the their absence.

He sat back in the chair, staring blindly at the information scrolling down. A rustle of cloaks behind him didn't make him turn his head, until a familiar dark figure pulled a leather-clad chair from the table and settled himself opposite. Obi-Wan blinked at him, and scowled. "What did you do?" he asked, hushed.

"I granted your wish, Padawan." The eyes narrowed, "You change the future by changing the present, and you change the present," he paused and smiled almost fondly, "by changing the past."

Obi-Wan closed his eyes but the blue glow of the screen lit the inside of his eyelids, "Krellis never happened did it?"

"No, Obi-Wan."

"And Drall, Leon, the Chadda civil war...?"

The figure shook his head. "It is what you wanted."

At that he snapped his eyes open and surged to his feet, "It is not what I wanted! I wanted information... or a hint."

"Yes, well... Whatever works."

Obi-Wan just gaped at him. Memories, images, things he had shared went tumbling through his mind. Things he knew, but his Master had never experienced. The hard gazed man with a long whiptail of hair down his back had never witnessed Obi-Wan's sacrifice on Drall, and hadn't been taken hostage on Leon. He hadn't even been camped down in the bunkers of Chad during the first battles of their civil war. And Krellis. Krellis had never happened, no hot springs, no long trek through the wilderness, no declarations. "You've destroyed my life!" He hissed, "All the missions that ever brought us closer, everything that made us admit our emotions... never happened? All I am to Qui-Gon is another Padawan. I don't even share his quarters!" He leaned forwards, "And you put him with Mace!"

"Obi-Wan... Obi-Wan..." He shook his head, "I did nothing but erase a few missions. Qui-Gon chose to move you out. He chose Mace Windu for his life. And besides, he wasn't your life. I thought you didn't even have a soul bond did you?"

His damped the anger he felt at the remark. "This is ridiculous," he said, "Take me back."

"Back? Back where?"

He waved his hands around vaguely, helplessly, "I don't know, to my own reality or wherever you took me from."

He remained calmly seated, nonchalant almost, "I didn't take you from anywhere, Obi-Wan. This is reality now, not a dream or a vision or," he smiled cruelly, "A delusion. And because of me you have a chance to save your Master. That is what you asked for."

He felt like he was falling. "That's not fair," he protested, vaguely aware he was probably whining. "You were too vague, you never implied you could do..." he threw his arms up despairingly, "this!"

"You never asked."

"You wouldn't have told me."

"True. But you still never asked." He stood and made a show of brushing off his robes, "Off course, Qui-Gon will still be going to Naboo, I've only given you a two day respite as he needs to wait for Mace to be ready to take leave of the Council. You ought to move quickly, Padawan, or you'll loose your chance."

His brow furrowed, "But you said you'd save him."

"Did I? No, I think I offered you a chance to pay for his life. Really, did you expect me to do all the work? Why, Obi-Wan, that's not very Jedi of you, is it?" And then with another wicked grin, he was gone.

On the third try of the door chime, he resorted to using his fists. A minute later it slid open, and the figure in the doorway looked vaguely furious. And then he seemed to recognise who stood there, and his eyes brightened visibly.

"Obi-Wan!" Garen said, "I was supposed to be performing the CFW meditation. My Master will be furious." He glared, but his heart obviously wasn't in it. Even as he twisted spikes of his Padawan haircut above his eyes, he seemed to brighten and throw away his momentary irritation like the dirty cloak all good Jedi Apprentices knew anger was.

He supposed he should have at least winced to show remorse. The cloud, fire and wind (or 'hot air' as the senior Padawan's called it) meditation was a long, drawn out reflection on the nature of change. He didn't think about the irony of it.

"Garen, can I come in?" he asked.

The young man's face narrowed to a pinch, and he seemed to really look at the his friend for the first time. "Sith Obi, you look like hell." There it was again; the nickname. Well, he was a single man now. A miserable laugh escaped him and Garen immediately drew back seriously and propelled him forwards into the room by a firm grasp on his elbow.

Padawan Garen's room was simple and small, much like Obi-Wan imagined his own was. Comfortable, accommodating, but single. A bright morning, he noticed through the thin windows of the lounge, was turning into a sour afternoon with storm clouds towering on the horizon. "Thanks, Garen. I didn't mean to disturb you, but I couldn't think of anywhere else to go. I tried the gardens but it seemed... tainted, and my room is not a good idea and-"

"Shut up, Obi-Wan, and sit down. I'll get a drink. Caffeine or alcohol?"

Obi-Wan blinked up at him blindly. "I..."

"Both, then." Garen still managed a smile although an expression of disquiet was settling around him. Still, he forced Obi-Wan to the sofa and hurried into the tiny kitchen.

The sofa, although small, was all-encompassing and he sank into it without really noticing. There was too much information to process to bother with comforts or surroundings or the hot cup of caff that Garen set in front of him, steaming with caffeine and a shot of something probably Corellian and definitely alcoholic.

"Thanks," he murmured. Garen seated himself opposite and waited. Now he was here, he didn't know he was supposed to say, so he just launched into an explanation, from start to finish. Strangely, contradictory to what the psychologists might have told him, he didn't get any comfort from the explanation, just felt more vulnerable and confused, and vaguely ridiculous. He did get a chance to reflect on the events, saw the way his emotions had swung from despairing after the council meeting, to desperate in the laundry room, through to more upbeat the next morning before taking a long step off into oblivion. How his shock and misery had blinded him from the truth for long, wasteful hours. How he was even now sat in his friends apartment with the clock ticking.

"What do I do, Garen?" he asked. The cup was cold in his hands now.

Garen was looking at him thoughtfully, "Obi..."

"What?"

"Are you sure about this? You don't..."

Obi-Wan felt his eyes close. "You don't believe me, do you?"

Garen sighed. "No, I believe you. Or..." he said cautiously, "I think you believe it, anyway."

Obi-Wan put the cup down slowly onto one of the pre-stained rings of the tabletop and stood, paced to the window. He wanted to deny it, but if Garen didn't believe him from the story he had just told, there was no point. The first thing a hysterics says when they are questioned is that they are not hysterical. And besides, Garen might even have a point; he was thinking the same thing not a few hours ago. "What do you think then? Seeing things, delusions of grandeur, mood swings. Sounds almost like schizophrenia. Is that what you're thinking? I've gone mad?" He kept the heat out of his voice with difficulty.

"Come on Obi, you took the psych classes last year."

"Only because they were better than insect pathology."

"Yeah... well. You were at the seminar on neo-phrenology. They mapped the brain ages ago, you know that. I don't think you're mad..." Obi-Wan snorted and found his arms crossed protectively across his middle. "Maybe you had a vision... of an alternative reality? Maybe you just can't separate the vision from what's real?"

"No!" He turned around and fixed his friend with a hard, determinate gaze. "No. I've thought about it and it's all just too real. I'm not mad now, but I might go mad living with these memories. They happened to me; I couldn't come up with these details. I was on Krellis, he did ask me to soul bond with him, we did swim in those springs. There was a firefight when we cleared the wilderness, the building we sheltered in burned down. The tail of Qui-Gon's hair was burnt off when he went back for me..." Memories seemed to flood around him and he found his muscles trembling unbearably. The loss was too much to contemplate, the fact he could have the memories, whilst Qui-Gon was up in the Master's quarters... with Mace. Preparing to leave for Naboo.

"I have to get back up there."

Garen was by his side again, a steadying hand on his shoulder. "Where?"

"Our quarters."

Garen sighed, "Obi, if you really think something is going on you should go to the Council." "How can you say that? Mace Windu is on the council, he'd probably have me sectioned." He stared hard at his friend. "I have to go see what's changed."

"Obi..."

"I have to know how different Qui-G-- my Master is. I'm supposed to save him, and I don't even know him anymore!"

Garen's hand tightened, "Obi-Wan, maybe... maybe you should just stay here this afternoon... tonight..."

The implication was slow to form in his head, and when he turned around he looked incredulously at his friend. "Garen, I don't-"

His friend had leaned in closer and, with trepidation, placed an almost chaste kiss to his lips, not quite catching him by surprise. And what would it matter, if he let Garen do this? Could he take a guilty solace, and would it even have to be guilty now that everything had changed? Garen's lips felt like a promise and an escape just waiting... waiting for acceptance. He hesitated a second, lingering, and then he jumped backwards as if burned and stared numbly as Garen made to move closer to him. Obi-Wan held out a hand and stopped him with his palm against his chest, confused and dismayed by his reaction and for the first time feeling like he might actually be going crazy. No matter what, he thought, no matter what happened, he at least would stay loyal to his feelings, and to Qui-Gon.

"No, Garen. I love Qui-Gon. It doesn't matter if he doesn't love me anymore, I'm not betraying that."

He waited a heartbeat and Garen blinked at him, then nodded his head. "I'm sorry," he said. "I know that, but I had to try. If you're going, I'm coming with you."

Like it had that morning, the door opened to his palm print. From the council roster, he knew Qui-Gon and Master Windu were meeting the council to discuss Anakin - again. It almost surprised him that his animosity towards the child had withered given more pressing problems, and he supposed twenty five years of Jedi training had at least served some purpose. The room beyond was dark; Coruscant had foregone a sunset that evening and plunged straight into a murky night as soon as the sun dropped beneath rain clouds. The transparisteel of the windows was thicker and harder than glass, but the lashing of the rain driven by kilometre-high winds was audible. Garen was a shadow behind him as the door shut them in.

"No, leave the lights off," he said as he saw him reach for the switch. Shrugging, Garen obeyed and waited, watching Obi-Wan.

He took an uncertain step into the room, noticing almost absently that the soft rug on a hardwood floor was the same, the units in the kitchen were blinking on standby as always; a habit Obi-Wan had had drilled into him after leaving the cooker on one day at the beginning of his apprenticeship and had subsequently boiling the kitchen paintwork off. Even that retched plant Qui-Gon had saved from a bizarre crop disease years ago was standing like a sentry by the bedroom door. But that was it. The atmosphere even felt different. Cold. Empty. And at the same time, cluttered with the possessions of another man. A cloak slung over the deck chair that was a shade too dark for Qui-Gon Jinn, a stack of books in the corner that were neither Qui-Gon's favoured readings nor his textbooks. Things he couldn't identify, objects he didn't know, belongings that weren't his.

When he went to flick the desk lamp on, he found the bulb needed replacing.

"Obi are you okay?"

"No I'm not," he said. "This isn't right."

Garen didn't answer, he stopped at the doorframe to the smaller bedroom and leaned carefully into it, not crossing the threshold. Obi-Wan followed behind him and, looking over the shoulder, retreated a step instinctively. It looked like Qui-Gon had eradicated all trace of his Padawan. The bed was gone, in its place was stack after stack after datacard box of paperwork. Probably Mace's, from his Council position. It was also a junk room, and Obi-Wan noticed with a hard squeeze of his heart that the small chest he had kept his clothes and minimal possessions in sat wonkily in a corner, missing two of it's feet and gathering a thick layer of dust. Just how long had it been since this rift between them had formed?

He shouldered past his friend and stepped over boxes and the upturned corner of his rug, and ran a finger along the dusty chest top. "It's all gone," he said, "He barely even knows I exist anymore. How... even though those missions never happened, how could he toss me aside like this?"

Garen, apparently, didn't know either, because he offered the pat reply, "Obi, a lot of the senior Padawans have their own rooms. Even I do."

"Garen, your Master is a wookiee. You couldn't exactly live with him, unless you have a taste for raw meat and sleeping in tree frets?"

He sensed Garen frown. "Yeah. Well. Look, we should leave. Master Jinn might come back from the Council soon and we don't want to get caught snooping around..."

"No. We wouldn't want that, would we Padawan?"

The lights came on and both Obi-Wan and Garen turned, squinting, to find a stormy-faced Qui-Gon Jinn standing as a huge shadow in the doorway. Obi-Wan turned, but didn't have any words. Garen took a step backwards into the room to stand at Obi-Wan's side. Qui-Gon didn't take his eyes of Obi-Wan as he said, "Garen, I believe you should return to your quarters now." There was no room for argument. Garen gave an apologetic look over his shoulder at Obi-Wan and hurried from the room.

Obi-Wan watched him go, then turned back to Qui-Gon. His Master's eyebrows were raised questioningly, but his mouth was set in a firm line of disapproval, a hard expression he had rarely seen from the man, and certainly not after Krellis. "Master, I must speak with you." He launched in, "I need to tell you-"

"Not here, Padawan," he said, "Come with me."

Obi-Wan blinked. Not in your nest, he thought, as Qui-Gon turned his back on him and walked towards the quarters entrance, clearly expecting to be obeyed. And, like a pet on a leash, he followed.

In the hallway, Qui-Gon forced him to walk in a difficult silence, each time Obi-Wan attempted to try and strike up a conversation, to tell him about the visitor, the changes, what they were to each other if he could only see it, Qui-Gon turned his head slightly, inclined it towards him, and gave him a look that could have melted durasteel. He was angry. Scratch that; he was furious. But why? Surely not just for entering his quarters - twice - without permission?

So he was quiet, feet padding down the luxuriant Masters accommodation corridors, then down the thinner, narrowed throat of the Padawan quarters hallway, to 'his' door. He palmed it open, and in a gesture that twisted cruelly on the already vice-like grip around his heart, Qui-Gon gestured him inside. Numbly, he complied.

Inside, Qui-Gon bade him sit on the small sofa and turned to stalk in front of the small curtained window. The room looked un-slept-in and if Obi-Wan noticed, Qui-Gon surely would.

"Padawan." Qui-Gon finally said, "I never got the chance to ask you what you wanted this morning."

Obi-Wan started at the question, going off on a completely different tangent to the ones he expected. A lumped formed thick in his throat. "No... I..."

Qui-Gon smiled almost kindly at him and settled onto the sofa edge. Seated like that, with the long tail of hair backlight by Corusca to form fiery wisps and sunlight practically worshiping his skin, the sheer beauty of the man closed his throat for a moment.

"You're always welcome, Padawan, but perhaps you should practice knocking?" He raised and eyebrow and Obi-Wan closed his eyes and just nodded. "I spoke with Yoda this afternoon," Qui-Gon continued, in a tone that set Obi-Wan's heart racing for all the wrong reasons. I am a Jedi, he reminded himself yet again, I can get through this. "He... inferred that you were upset and seemed confused earlier in the meditation gardens." He felt rather than saw a stern frown on his Master's face, with his eyes still closed. "I did not realise seeing us together would be such a shock. It's not the first time we've walked in on each other in the middle of... personal acts."

Us being Mace an Qui-Gon. "Yes, Master," he answered contritely, not sure what else to say and fearing he might well leap up and spill the whole story if he did.

"You can always come to me, Obi-Wan. You know that don't you?" He nodded weakly. It didn't seem to either satisfy or convince the older man because he heard a pause and the sofa sighed softly as Qui-Gon stood. "Open your eyes, Obi-Wan," he said, the tone of command. He obeyed. "I've been sensing distress from you all day. What is wrong, Padawan?"

He opened his mouth, but found he didn't know what he could possibly say that would make him believe him anymore than Garen had. If this was his chance to change the future, he didn't know how to do it. All paths led to loosing Qui-Gon's trust and respect, and that wouldn't keep him away from Naboo.

"I don't know what has caused this sudden lack of focus, but this can't go on."

Loss of focus? "No Master. I-"

"I realise you didn't expect me to ask the council to accept Anakin as my Padawan learner, but you must know that he must be trained, and you are nearly finished with your training."

Obi-Wan felt his mind closing down, running away from a perceived trauma. And I am finished with you, he heard. Finished.

"Master-" He choked, but again Qui-Gon seemed disinterested.

"No, Padawan, hear me. Queen Amidala has decided to return to Naboo early tomorrow morning, and Mace and I will be accompanying her." His look of horror must have been enough to give his one-time lover pause. For a miracle, he misinterpreted it. "I know you want to come, Obi-Wan, but frankly I don't need you there with a loss of focus like this."

Don't need you.

Don't need you.

Don't need you....

Qui-Gon scrubbed a hand over his beard and looked world-weary and utterly unrepentant of his words, "Obi-Wan, I sympathise. I wish I knew what's gotten into you." He smiled, nearly fondly but it was too much a mockery of what they had had and Obi-Wan took a step backwards to bump his calves into the side of the sofa. "I'm sorry we can't stay here and work this through together, but the Council has ordered me to attend the Queen and I-"

"You've gone against their wishes in the past, Master."

"On this occasion, Padawan, I think they might be right. If the Sith have returned, we must not delay in tracking them down. And if they are to let me train Anakin, I would be wise to acquiesce to their wishes just this once."

For minute they just stared at each other. "That's it then?" he asked, and the temple could have come crashing down around them for all he cared when Qui-Gon looked merely confused. He felt impotent and powerless. It was clear to him now that Qui-Gon would die on Naboo, and he had no way of keeping the other away from there.

"No, Padawan, that is not it. When I return we will work through this and prepare you for your trials. It is probably best, anyway. Mace has been to Theed Palace before, and is an accomplished fighter, and if you are to take the Trials, you need to prepare. Master Yoda promises to watch over you for me." Oh, Force, not only left behind, but babysat by the interfering green troll. Then, achingly slowly, he reached out a hand and placed in on Obi-Wan's shoulders. He found his eyes glued to the hard-worked fingers, memories ghosting through his mind of those hands on his skin, so gentle, caring for him, loving him, dragging him from the burning building on Krellis. "I'm sorry, Obi-Wan. You looked tired, maybe you should... sleep."

And, like his shields were paper, everything went black.

As a child, he had slept badly. Ever restless and floating somewhere between unconsciousness and waking, he had been the picture of an insomniac initiate. Learning to meditate had helped some; learning to place a very light sleeping trance on himself had helped more. But he had always been a child who woke to vague notions of horror hidden in the shadows behind the breathing of the other sleeping figures in the dorm. The only thing that told him he'd ever been asleep at all was the lurch to wakefulness by nameless monsters stalking him through his dreams. But then there had been Qui-Gon. A mental grounding, the very picture of security and serenity that would, literally sometimes if he sensed his Padawan's distress, chase the dreams away.

Now, there was just cold sheets and the tick of a clock and the pounding in his skull that told of a particularly powerful sleep suggestion.

The sheets were cold underneath him, not warmed by his body and a flicker of white from the corner of his eye, the sheer fabric of a curtain snapping from the draft of an open window. There were still times when his dreams troubled him, even when he was with Qui-Gon. When they invaded his subconscious and dragged up insecurities and gave them horns and teeth. He wondered what existence he was supposed to have suffered through without those life changing missions with his Master. Had he curled up on himself in the middle of the night, snugged himself into the gap of the windowsill and watched the dawn rise alone, because there was no one there to chase away the demons? Had he sought the comfort of others, like Garen, a warm embrace of skin and lips and something he could imagine as Qui-Gon Jinn? Had he cried, even, for him?

Abruptly, he was sitting up, and staring at the tight starlight through the shades. The feeling of cold tears on his cheeks was unwelcome, if not surprising. Vast black expanded in front of him, a solid dark of early hours punctuated by the odd dot of light that could be a whole solar system sprawling with interplanetary life, or just a lonely dying star. Some stars in the galaxy weren't visible, and not because of clouds, or pollution refraction, or backwash of speeder lights, but simply because they didn't exist yet in the light only now reaching Coruscant. The thousands, millions of light years the image had travelled meant the image all of Coruscant looked at every night was backwards in time, a postcard from an era long past, older than the Republic, and the Jedi, and maybe even humanity.

No, it wasn't that they were concealed. It was just that they didn't exist when the light started its journey across the gasping black.

But that wasn't like his love for Qui-Gon, not at all. That did exist, it just hadn't been revealed yet, hadn't blossomed yet. But the seed was there, waiting, maturing, not yet germinated into the full blown love he knew. Unlike the astronomers watching the skies, he wasn't living in the past, but awaiting the future. He had to be.

And he knew, like his strange guide had told him, that if there was to be any future, he had to act on the present. He had to trust that seed of love was waiting, so he could go kindle it to life, and stop Qui-Gon from leaving. And dying.

Obi-Wan sat on the edge of the bed and stilled his breathing. The solid black was in front of him, but his mind slipped easily beyond it, reaching instinctively to his Master along a bond too small and too fragile and brutally abused.

Again, Qui-Gon was shielded. But the Master/Padawan bond was resilient, and his Master's position was shining like a beacon against the dark night. Not like a star, not a message from the past, but real time sensations, the real time feeling of the obsidian towers slipping past and lights rapping at a speeders windows.

The Senate. He was going to the senate, and beside him hummed the presence of Mace Windu and, to a much lesser extent, Anakin Skywalker.

His heart groped for another answer, but it seemed clear what he was doing. Going to Amidala, taking his new Padawan and his lover away on his mission, leaving Obi-Wan behind. Going to his death.

He was on his feet as soon as the thought shivered through him, skin puckering with the cold realisation. He was wearing only sleeping trousers, and the recognition that his Master had undressed him, then redressed him for sleep and settled him into bed with no thought of romance, no feelings beyond a tired frustration, made his chest hurt fiercely. He slipped on the cloak that hung carefully, neatly amongst the racks of tunics, the pale light painting down his side like a benediction. He should have bothered with boots, but like the sound of a countdown starting, his pulse quickened and he felt the speeder carrying Qui-Gon closing on the senate landing pad.

Bootless, wearing only a thin pair of trousers and an all-engulfing cloak, he rushed out the room and slipped into the dark corridors.

Dawn was building like a headache waiting to burst. He picked up his pace, sleep-sluggish feet pounding down the thick carpeted hallways, wide windows whipping past his awareness as the dispersing gloom barely registered. He considered his comlink, but rejected it as he stood and caught his breath on the first turbolift, feeling his weight plunge away beneath him as it descended. A comm call wouldn't work.

Corridors with strip lighting, open halls where his footsteps rang out like a warning bell, more turbolifts where he stood dizzily, gulping in breath; they flew past as if in a dream, not even the curious stare of a Council member could register, even when she called out his name as he ran past.

Taxi speeders can be called from the front desk of the Jedi Council for those wishing to spend a night outside the temple. The 'front desk' is neither at the front of the temple, nor a desk at all, but is the lower administrative centre of the massive complex, low down enough to be on street level with the rest of the world. The landing bays for workers who aren't housed in the Temple - cleaners, secretaries, workers - spread out in a starburst over the pedestrian walkways of adjacent buildings. Obi-Wan forewent ordering a speeder at the front desk, and pushed the double transparisteel doors open with a nudge of the Force.

Night closed around him, cold air nipping at his bare chest and turning his breath to ice in his throat. With one arm, he gathered up the sweep of the cloak and propelled himself down the stone steps to a speederbike hunkering down on the permacrete, probably left by a late night courier delivering urgent Council information to the 'desk'. With his other hand he flicked the controls on, glad to hear the engine purring on standby. He kicked the bike into motion.

The city swept past. Scrapers and traffic skipped through his awareness as he focused on reaching the Senate landing pad.

From experience, he knew what would happen next. Qui-Gon would go meet the Queen in the Senate district, answering her summons. She would advise him to prepare for a return to Naboo, after bringing him up to date on what had happened to cause her to leave Coruscant again. Then they would separate by measure of formality, and meet again on a interplanetary landing platform, where the Nubian ship would be waiting for them to take him off planet and to his death. That meant now was Obi-Wan's only chance to catch Qui-Gon, as after he left the senate docking bays, he would be caught up in the Queens protection and protocol and his errant Padawan would not be allowed near to him.

He was keenly aware that he was rushing to prevent his Master from doing the Council's bidding in little more than his sleep clothes, on a stolen speeder bike, and with absolutely no proof that he hadn't lost his mind. It was mad, but last ditch attempts tended not to include sanity in copious amounts.

When he reached the docking platform, Qui-Gon and Mace were striding for the main diplomatic entrance the floating bay had hovered next to, seeking to escape a howling wind. The blonde figure of Anakin Skywalker disappeared inside.

He cut the drive on the speeder and she dropped like a dead weight to the permacrete. Both Master's started, and then stared as he dismounted and ran to intercept them. Qui-Gon fixed him with a incredulous look. Like breath was being breathed into his body again, he felt the bond flair and annoyance bounced between them. The Masters shared a look and Mace whispered into Qui-Gon's ear before eying Obi-Wan and disappearing inside. Obi-Wan stopped running inches from his Master.

"Padawan..."

"Let me speak first, Master, please," he said, stunned to find himself breathless and shaking.

Qui-Gon arched an eyebrow and buried his hands into the deep bellows of his sleeves. "Very well." he said, "I hope this is good, Obi-Wan." he warned.

Obi-Wan nodded and felt the keen gaze burning into him. "Master, I know I have been acting strangely of late, and I apologise if I have been a... nuisance to you," he winced, "It was never my intention to become a burden to you." He said, and felt all his emotions brim and the outpouring of his heart threatened to start with a trickle turning into a flood.

"Obi-Wan," he sounded exasperated, but the name was still fondly spoken, and it made hope flair, "You have never been a nuisance to me, and you never will be. But your attitude of late has been unbalanced at best and I have been at a loss to discover the cause." Is it something I've done? His tone asked.

Obi-Wan shook his head, "Master, something's changed. This is going to sound incredulous and..." He looked down at his bare feet illuminated in a shaft of light from the Senate lodgings, "I don't exactly look sane right now but you have to believe me." He paused, "Do you trust me, Master?"

"Obi-Wan, you know I do, and have done so with my life on more than one occasion." One broad hand lifted and brushed against his cheek and it took an iron will not to lean into the contact like a cat into its owner petting hands. "Of course I trust you, you are my Padawan."

He swallowed and closed his eyes, feeling other senses flair and the sound of the wind cutting at the braid flying out behind his back like a declaration from a flagpole. "Master, I have information... that is, I... I..." He stammered and then visibly clamped down on his emotions. His stance changed, solidified and when he opened his eyes again he hoped he had regained some of the stoic Jedi mask and it added to his conviction. "Master, if you go to Naboo, you will die."

And there it was, hanging between them like something solid that had been taken from his shoulders and dumped into the space separating them. Qui-Gon's hair was whipping in the wind, loosed from the tight leather string and his midnight eyes fixed solidly on his apprentice. Obi-Wan didn't squirm, he let his conviction speak through his actions.

"Is this what has been bothering you, Padawan? A vision?"

He sounded so like the patient Master Obi-Wan knew he wanted to throw himself at the man's feet and cry. "Yes," he said, a muscle twitching in his cheek from the half-lie.

Qui-Gon must have caught the action, "Obi-Wan?" he asked, his eyebrows lifting for the skyline.

"Master, I know that if you leave this morning, you won't return from Naboo. You have to trust me with this. It... it wasn't a vision."

"But you trust the source?" he said, with a liberal amount of uncharacteristic sarcasm. "What was it, then?"

No, he wanted to say, no he didn't trust the source. A strange old man whose name he didn't even know, but he couldn't say it. "Master... I remember things... differently... to how you remember..."

"I don't follow you, Padawan." His eyes flicked around the pad as if searching for something, and then returned to stare at Obi-Wan, unreadable.

"I... I remember missions that never happened." Now he understood the expression. Qui-Gon was looking deeply alarmed, and not, he thought, for the reasons Obi-Wan was alarmed, so he hurried on, "Someone changed the past, and not just in the chaos theory of changing, not a single thing leading to bigger things, but they just wiped out certain events, and now you're not how I remember you, and I'm not how I remember me, and I don't know how to convince you to believe me when you don't even-"

He stopped suddenly, realising he had spoken too far and turned his face resolutely for the docking platform's floor. After long seconds, a hand cupped him under the chin and lifted his gaze slowly upwards. "I don't even what, Padawn?"

He tried to breath but the look on his Master's face closed his throat and there was only the wind between them. "Love me." he whispered.

Seconds tore by and the fingers felt like brands against his skin, frozen by the winds.

"I do love you, Obi-Wan."

His hope faired into something alive then, and a smile lit his face and eyes as the sun was heaving itself over the top of the senate building. "Qui-Gon..." he started.

But Qui-Gon held up a hand to stall him, "You are my Padawan, Obi-Wan, how could I not love you? You've always been like a son to me, and although I hate to see you in this distress, perhaps you should visit the healers whilst I am gone."

"I-"

"I am not going to die, Obi-Wan. Not without a fight and if it is my destiny to die, then there is no death, there is-"

"Don't quote that at me!" he cried, and twisted his cheek away from the grip as tears burned beneath his eyes, "I can't loose you! You're half my soul and all my heart!"

He gasped, and they stood staring at each other with emerging horror for opposite reasons. Qui-Gon didn't love him, not like the Qui-Gon he remembered had, and Obi-Wan had just declared a love his Master wanted no part of. Had the Sith emerged from the shadows of the platform and offered to cut him down where he stood, Obi-Wan wasn't sure he couldn't have resisted the temptation to get down on his knees and bare his neck.

"Love, Obi-Wan? You're still young to understand the concept."

"I know my heart."

"Padawan... I'm with Mace. Any further relationship would be considered inappropriate by the Council. You know this, Obi-Wan. You seemed happy for us."

Obi-Wan choked and the tears tasted of salt where they slipped down his cheek to his lips. "That wasn't me! Or... it was me, but without the memories... and..." He stopped, took a calming breath. "Master, we had a soul bond."

Now Qui-Gon stared at him with open concern. The look in his eyes halted any more words before they even reached his mouth and they stuck in his throat like a bitter fruit. "I think," he said coolly, "You should seek out the healers after I leave, and ask them to run a full health check on you." He stared down at the smaller figure, "And meditate on your coming trials."

He swallowed, "You don't trust me." He said.

"I do Obi-Wan, but I think you're sick and need medical attention. And I would never take you with me when you are a danger to yourself or others."

"A danger to myself?!" he cried.

"Yes, Padawan. Listen to yourself and meditate on whether your actions are appropriate for your station." And he meant more than running across Coruscant in his sleep clothes, Obi-Wan knew. His gaze suddenly shifted to the skyline as they heard the roar of repulsors settling. A speeder taxi, red diplomatic strips circling the thing wings, lower a few metres away. Ordered for him by Mace, he would bet. "Return to the temple, and remember to inform the owner of that bike where it's... parked." Qui-Gon said, indicating the taxi, apparently not trusting Obi-Wan to return to the temple without an escort. "I will see you when I return, Padawan." And with that, he swept around and headed inside.

Obi-Wan stared after him, seeing in his mind the seed he had hoped to awaken whither and die from exposure to the cold ice of Qui-Gon Jinn's seclusion. And he couldn't take it, couldn't take being alone, letting the man he still loved walk away to his death simply because he didn't know him well enough to get through to him anymore. The driver whistled for him to get in.

"Master! Don't leave me!" he shouted.

Qui-Gon Jinn didn't answer.

On the ride back he was too stunned to order the shuttle to come full around for another attempt at shattering Qui-Gon Jinn's icy detachment. When the pilot insisted on escorting him to his room, he had neither the energy nor the compulsion to escape his temporary guard in the temple halls and he was only minimally grateful that he at least hadn't forced him to the healers wing. Apparently, Mace hadn't been listening in at least.

The gloom of a shaded room at predawn shrouded him, mirroring his despair and growing sense of worthlessness like something rank and sticky thing crawling up his body, starting first at his feet, slowing his steps to stumbles, then curling around his chest, squeezing until breathing was a conscious effort, and then around his head, dulling senses, spiralling him into an oblivion hanging beneath him like a silent welcome.

A panic attack. He had been taught about them at the most basic level, knew academically how to counteract them, but from the moment it launched he felt no inclination to stop it.

He stood in the centre of the room like a tree trembling in the violence of a wind, thoughts and memories, true and false, rushing around him like a tidal flood rising, begging to drown him. Memories that should exist warred with those of a cold, unloving existence. He remembered sucking pancake batter from his fingers on a late summer morning, waiting for Qui-Gon to rise. But he also remembered waking chilled and brutally alone on cold sheets. He saw in his mind the face of his Master, flushed and sated, whispering they would always be together, a hand brushing reverently at his cheek. And then he saw those hands come to rest on Anakin Skywalker's shoulders and the world contracted, redirected, and became singular in a way it never had before.

Anakin Skywalker, who could fix the Verpine fighters Obi-Wan had ruined. Anakin, who was taken so eagerly into a Masters arms where Obi-Wan Kenobi had had to lay his neck down for the slaughter to gain a half-glance.

His memories were of gaining acceptance, and then friendship, and then love. But they weren't true. Whether they were delusional, or real and the past had changed, didn't really matter; he was left with emotions and feelings that had been blasted apart in the space of two days and now the dust was settling, he found there was little left to live for anymore.

His steps were unsteady as he paced to the comm unit and dropped onto the hard plastic chair. Qui-Gon didn't answer his summons. Neither did Mace. The Senate directory told him Masters Jinn and Windu weren't available at present.

Tears pricked his eyes. His hands shook as he tried to wipe them away and, with an absence of thought, stumbled into the small fresher, his mind re-running the conversation on the docking platform. 'Padawan... I'm with Mace. Any further relationship would be considered inappropriate by the Council.' he had said, looking away.

Looking away?

He frowned, feeling skin burning from his tears stretch painfully. Yes, Qui-Gon had looked away as he said that, a sadness hanging over him. But what did that mean, could that tight greif around Qui-Gon's eyes mean he was lying, or, at least, hating what he was saying?

Obi-Wan shook his head - even if it meant anything at all, what did it matter now? It was already too late.

The water made a tinny echo in the small basin, and it was cold against his raw cheeks. The reflection that stared back at him from the mirror could not be Obi-Wan Kenobi. The eyes were red and huge, with deep smudges underneath like the crescent shadows of impact craters. And his skin was translucent, transparent, and rubbed red beneath his lashes. It lacked blood, and he mused that this wasn't too surprising since he had had his heart removed and there was nothing left to pump the blood around his body anymore, only a gaping hole in his chest like a blackhole sucking all light into oblivion.

Qui-Gon didn't want his love. The revelation tainted even the false images, his tender memories of making love were just that; not an expression of feelings but a manufacturing, that if he played hard enough on that body he could create feelings. Perhaps he was delusional; delusional to think he had found the other half of his soul.

He blinked and the mirror shattered. Lines like the tracks of age splintered outwards and shards of glass tumbled into the filling basin, swimming and bobbing in the spray. He stared and numbly picked out a jagged shaped, running the fine edge over his fingers and watching in abject detachment the blood dripped into the water and burst into a cloud of pink and red.

Water dripped over the basin edge and onto the tiled floor as he stared at the glass splinter, looking at it speculatively. The only way he left to stop Qui-Gon leaving was to gain his attention and prevent him from leaving Coruscant. There were a few other things that could ground him here, and the possibilities bled through his mind. A bomb threat to the Nubian cruiser, perhaps. But they would just take another ship. The Queen falling ill, although they would have a medic go with the party in that case. An end to the blockade, which was well beyond his capabilities.

But surely, surely, Qui-Gon Jinn would not leave an mortally wounded Padawan behind?

Smiling grimly, a memory came to him, 'What price to prevent the future?' And he knew that the price was whatever it would take. He wasn't wanted here, he didn't want to be here, and really, it was no huge challenge to slip the sharp edge of the glass splinter into his forearm and draw it along the line of the vein.

He dropped the glass to shatter on the tiles in shock at the speed with which he had taken the decision. The wound was a thin sliver of red, and then the blood began to flow bright crimson. There was no panic, no dread, no pain really. Just a sense of purpose, a lifting of his spirits like a great weight had been released from his shoulders and he was floating.

He staggered against the sink unit, and drops of blood splashed into the water like exploding blaster bolts. He closed his eyes as he knees began to shake, feel the hot liquid running down past his fingertips. He stretched out along the bond he shared with Qui-Gon, feeling for the man he thought he loved, seeking to bring help, and stop him from boarding the Nubian ship.

His awareness bounded back to him like it had struck a durasteel wall. He tried again, and was rejected again. He swallowed hard and reached out, but the bond wasn't the wide, fast river of consciousness between two lovers, but a small dirty stream badly neglected, and shielded from one end. Qui-Gon's end.

Then he did panic, and clutched his left arm in his right, trying to hold the broken skin together but knowing it was hopeless. Somehow he found himself half-standing and he staggered forward, barely conscious enough to realise he was leaving a wide, dark smear behind on the bathroom floor. He stumbled, and when he fell to his knees he crawled, and when his knees collapsed he dragged himself on until he hit the edge of the sofa opposite the comm unit and crumbled.

Awareness was fleeing like it was jumping from a sinking ship. On the low table, metres away, lay his comlink. Much nearer than the wall unit; too far away by bare inches.

He squeezed his eyes shut until he could only feel the pulse of the blood leaving his arm, and laughed a little hysterically as he tried to contact Qui-Gon, and failed yet again.

"What are you hoping to accomplish here?" a voice asked. He didn't look up, and he didn't answer. There was the rustle of cloth beside him and a cool touch on his face, that persisted until his eyes flickered open. Black cloth and flecked eyes told him immediately who it was.

"Trying..." and then his voice gave out in a gentle sigh.

"Yes, you are." It almost didn't shock him to see the pain etched into the other's face, the hard lines around the eyes. "Very trying. Obi-Wan... he can't hear you."

"I know," he said. He was falling and there was no one there to catch him.

"Then, why?"

Obi-Wan choked on a sob, "I hoped he would," he said. His right hand tightened around the slit in his left, but he couldn't feel anything there anymore. "It's okay, though."

The figure raised his eyebrows. "How? He'll still board the ship, he won't even know anything has happened to you," he said sadly. The touch against his cheek this time was searing hot, coming from a hand that still held enough blood to keep on living.

"No. It's okay," he said. And it really was, it was all fine. "The Master has to attend his Padawan's funeral." And he couldn't go to Naboo if he had to light Obi-Wan's pyre. He just couldn't. He would have to stay, and so he would have to live, and that made everything okay.

The figure smiled grimly, and nodded. "I was surprised. I wasn't sure you would be willing to pay the price, and I was wrong," he said.

"No, I just can't live in this hell." He hissed as he shifted on the floor. I understood that to this torment were damned the carnal sinners, who subject their reason to their lust. "I forgive him for Anakin, now. For following his head instead of his heart," he laughed bitterly but weakly, "Look where following my heart has gotten me."

The figure nodded.

"Thank you," Obi-Wan said.

"You're welcome." Then, he blurred and Obi-Wan's eyes were closing, viewing everything through wet lashes as they lowered. The Force then, the Living Force he had such trouble connecting to, was flowing through him easily, no longer like a rock in the stream obstructing the flow, but a part of it, sinking beneath it, joining the flow. Emotions of love and acceptance poured from him, rich like a long matured wine, and spread in waves. He was vaguely aware of the Jedi nearby him turning their focus on him as he caused a soothing ripple in the Force, felt alarm spark, and fear, and minds he didn't recognise reached out to him. It felt strangely wrong to be smiling when he heard the click of the lock being overridden and the fast stamp of feet against the floor.

The harsh gasp of breath was all he needed to hear to know he would get his wish and keep his Master on Coruscant. Hands turned him onto his back, people were shouting, and his heart was just a flutter of life against his chest.

Beneath his feet, he felt the Force calling, like a cradle waiting to catch him and sing him softly to a long sleep. Sensations he didn't understand flowed through him, until he tried to picture them. He was on a ladder, descending, hanging above an abyss of roiling colour and life. The Force, he thought, booming up the sides towards him and beckoning.

Qui-Gon appeared as a vague figure above him. "Obi-Wan?" he said, voice full of horror and guilt. "What have you done?"

Well, he mused, someone must have called him. And he had come, and offered... pity. Pity was the last thing he wanted to hear.

He smiled again, "I love you."

His Master didn't reel backwards in disgust, and didn't glare at him with barely kept patience. Not even the faint look of disapproval showed. He was crying, Obi-Wan thought, making his eyes shine brighter and fiercer. "Oh, Padawan..." His eyes closed and Obi-Wan slipped another rung downwards. "Wait! Obi-Wan, wait for me."

"Can't," he said. "Train the boy. I'm sorry you couldn't love me too."

"Obi-Wan... I'm sorry. I lied to my own Padawan. I've loved you for years, despite the Code. I just never knew how to tell you. I didn't think it would come to this. I... didn't think. I gave into my fear, the worst mistake of a Jedi. But I never thought you would be the one who paid..."

He blinked sore eyes, "Mace?"

"A poor substitute," he was crying outright now, tears falling onto Obi-Wan's cheek. "Stay, Obi-Wan. Stay. I'll make up for this, I promise."

His smile evaporated in the face of a confession too late. "I can't," he said. "Too late." You should have trusted me, he thought. You lied about that, too.

The Force yawned beneath his feet and with a sad look at the other half of his soul, he let go.

Blinding light bruised his peace. Between one second and the next, the darkness he was falling into became physical and he flailed, concentration stripped away, momentum lost, and pinpricks of stars wheeled as the flip went wild. Then he went rigid with shock from the transition and fell to the mat with a solid crack.

Something broke when he hit the ground, a wicked snap that rang through every nerve in his body as his spine impacted at a bad angle. The saber was still hissing in his right hand and his left forearm, in coming around instinctively to protect his ribs, brushed it and he smelt the faint charring of flesh from the practice setting.

Air rushed back into his lungs and he screamed, not really from the physical pain, but the mental jarring as he went from death to life to falling. His mind felt stretched, too thin, and pain whistled through his brain as rabid as it had whistled across his skin as he fell to the floor. But above the pain, and the shock, there was confusion. If this was what it meant to be One with the Force, it was highly overrated.

Vaguely, he began to take in his surroundings. He felt the coarse padding of a practice mat beneath his back, and his eyes made out distant starlight, distorted by rain streaks, through a transparisteel window. Blue saber light seemed to creep into shadows and as he tried to move, he couldn't, laying as he'd fallen like a crushed bug against the floor. There was no blood.

He fought for breath and consciousness even as he heard a pounding away to his left, echoing through the huge expanse of a... training salle?

Breathing hard, feeling that at least one lung was punctured if not collapsing, he craned his neck minimally as the pounding turned to the hiss of melting durasteel. Through blurred vision, a ring of fire was growing on the doorway and abruptly he recognised where he was, what he'd been doing.

But... how?

The door opened and silhouetted figures appeared. He struggled to recognise them but the bank of lights above him switched on and blinded him. He gasped at the sudden pain as it swept through the fog of his mind and made a weak attempt to roll away from it, only to be gripped by fierce hands and held in place and then, incredibly, his head was played in the soft fabric of someone's lap. Qui-Gon's.

He opened his mouth to question, but had no breath to speak.

"Can you hear me, Obi-Wan?" he asked in a blessedly horrified voice. To hear such emotion made him guiltily ecstatic. But how? "Hang on."

Robes swept the floor around him, the powdery blue of temple Healers, and a hand was placed flat on his chest. The ache in there numbed and he took a very careful breath. "I'm alive," he managed. "How?"

Qui-Gon Jinn's eyes closed and a wave of terror came winging over their bond. A brilliant tidal flood and he instinctively gasped as he felt the strength of the bond, not shield, not shrinking and malignant, but full and open and clean like a wash of spring water. Qui-Gon struggled with his own feelings, with terror and grief and, Force, love! So much it was threatening to drown him He gasped again and pain exploded in his chest. His hands, forced away from his ribs by the Healer, clutched in the fabric of his Master's tunics.

"Don't speak, Obi-Wan." Qui-Gon looked down at him, and gripped him harder, "Force help me, if you pull a stunt like this again and lock the door, I'm going to assign you a permanent babysitter, senior Padawan or not."

Stunt? But... hadn't he...? "Locked? But, there was a courier..."

He looked confused, and a large hand brushed a spike of hair flat back into position. The tender touch threatened to undo him and he could almost, almost banish the past two days memories and pretend things were as they always had been. "The door was locked, Obi-Wan."

"No, it..." He closed his eyes and felt like laughing as it struck him that, incredibly, perhaps he didn't need to pretend. Still uncertain, he asked, "What happened, Master?"

Qui-Gon was distracted by a bustle of people, and someone told him they could move him, and should move him quickly. A Healer stepped in, but at a sharp rebuke stepped right back again as Qui-Gon gently lifted Obi-Wan with one hand under his legs and another at his back, and held him against his chest. A week ago, he would have chafed at being treated with such kid gloves, but now he melted appreciatively into the warm embrace. The world bobbed as they walked quickly to the Healers wing, "I have no idea," he finally admitted, "You don't remember?"

"No..." He slurred a little and frowned, then coughed.

Qui-Gon slowed minutely and readjusted him to hold him tighter, frowning a little at his sudden lethargy before redoubling his pace and leaving a frustrated Healer behind in the hallways as windows, gardens and flustered Jedi whipped past.

"I lost you." Qui-Gon said, almost too quietly to be heard even with Obi-Wan's head resting on his shoulder. "You just... disappeared."

"How long?" he slurred.

"A second, maybe." A second isn't long enough to get between the Padawan quarters and the senior training salle, he thought almost absently, although it was becoming wonderfully obvious something was not as it had seemed. The arms tightened and even though his ribs complained, he didn't. "Midway through a call with Queen Amidala, the bond went silent. I thought you were dead," he said, his voice scratched and aching and Obi-Wan felt, bizarrely, guilty.

"Me too." His eyes, although he tried to keep them open, were drooping. The skin on his arm felt wonderfully unbroken apart from the saber burn. Disturbed, he reach out to the cool flow of the Force, turned it inwards. He frowned even deeper than before. "Master?"

"Shshh, you must have just blacked out in the middle of the kata," he soothed, Force presence behind it. It made talking even harder.

"Master, something isn't right." And even as he realised the understatement, he sighed and fell abruptly into a deep sleep.

Usually, waking up in the healers wing was a long affair, accelerating slowly into consciousness and waiting for fogged senses to clear, one by one. This time though, the change between sleeping and waking was like a reversion to realspace and he felt his fists bunch in the blankets before all his senses assaulted him at once.

The room was, mercifully, quite dark. It smelt hard and medical, the tang of disinfectant drifting in the air. The windows were shut; there was no draft, and monitors were beeping in time to his heart and lungs somewhere behind him. Beside him, sat Qui-Gon Jinn. He had managed to fold his body into a small, moulded plastisteel chair and one arm was flung possessively across Obi-Wan's lower legs whilst the other formed a cushion on the mattress, his head resting at an awkward angle which, Obi-Wan thought mournfully, would leave him with a crick the size of Coruscant when he woke up.

Cocooned in the blankets, he would only have felt safer if he was in the circle of his Master's arms.

He shifted, and Qui-Gon came awake slowly, his eyes opening wide and blinking a brilliant blue.

"Are you really awake, Obi-Wan?" His hand reached out and Grabbed Obi-Wan's in a fierce grip before loosening, but still strong enough to prevent him from removing it. Not that he had any inclination to.

"I think so... hard to tell, anymore," he said, and winced in time with Qui-Gon at the weak sound of his voice. His eyes fell to Qui-Gon long peppery hair where it flowed onto the sheets, shoulder length and loose. Shoulder length.

Force, it never happened.

He only realised he was crying when he felt molten tears rolling down his cheeks, but perversely he was grinning.

"I suppose it would be." Qui-Gon smiled fondly and the corners of his eyes creased, almost deny the raw red lines around his eyes line a child's crayon drawing. He'd been crying too, Obi-Wan realised, and crying hard. For completely the right reasons he should cry, Obi-Wan hoped.

He lifted his free hand and brushed the stubbled cheek, blinking and freeing another tear. "How long?"

"Three days." Qui-Gon said, the faint hint of his voice breaking sneaking in, "Three very long days." He thumbed away the tears.

Obi-Wan shook his head, bewildered, "I suppose I needed to sleep."

The grip on his hand tightened, "You went into shock. You nearly died. Again."

"Oh..."

Again, he smiled, "I'm afraid I wasn't so sanguine. There's a Healer's apprentice hiding somewhere with a nasty bruise on her arm. I'm afraid she tried to remove me from your room before I was ready."

Obi-Wan chuckled and somehow it came out strangled as he sobbed. Everything felt so... right. But, in the back of his mind, he was wondering if this could possibly be real. How could it be real? Maybe this was the afterlife, and it was giving him everything his heart desired. If it was, then he must have a masochistic streak, because it seemed he was enjoying getting hurt. Or, rather, he was enjoying the attention of a man he was sure he had lost. "Are you real?" he asked, feeling slightly foolish, and rubbed his cheek absently against the shoulder fabric of his medical gown.

Qui-Gon, leaned in closer. His first thought was that the older man was going readjust the blankets, or check his temperature or... something. But then his lips were descending onto Obi-Wan's in deceptively gentle kiss. Obi-Wan gasped in surprise and Qui-Gon took full advantage of his parted lips, snaking his tongue inside and brushing it so achingly slowly around the velvet coat of his mouth. He tasted the salt of his tears from both of them, and a fire of desire. He made a low keening noise as Qui-Gon deepened the kiss and, hungrily, he returned it until he thought he would run out of breathe and then further, until he no longer cared if he did.

Too soon, Qui-Gon pulled back, sucking gently on Obi-Wan's lower lip and saying in a stern voice that belied the light in his eyes, "Never think that I don't love you Obi-Wan. What I did in the Council chambers was stupid and heartless and I nearly paid a terrible price for it." Obi-Wan tried to listen to the words, but the nearness of the other man's breath was making him tremble with desire that spread like a wild fire. "I don't care if I act heartless, or stupid, or if you have a vision that tells you I don't love you; whatever it looks like, it's wrong. I love you, Obi-Wan. Nothing will change that. I would love you even without Drall, Leon... Krellis. Don't forget that. Ever."

"I don't understand," he confessed, when he trust his voice not to tremble. "A vision?"

Qui-Gon laughed bitterly, "Yes, love, a vision."

His head fell back onto the pillow, "It really wasn't real."

"No. I know it felt real but... Obi-Wan!" He was trembling now, shivering in shock and trying desperately to breathe. Qui-Gon stood quickly and scooped him up with inhuman strength, sat on the bed and pulled him back against his chest. He rocked slowly like he was holding a child and not a man, brushing a hand through his short cropped hair. "It wasn't real. Yoda felt a massive disturbance in the Force. The Council meditated and decided you had a vision, sent by the Force. Shssh, Obi-Wan, calm down. It's not real, you're alive; I'm alive and if it upsets you so... I won't take Anakin as my Padawan."

He felt his lungs straining still but melted against the chest at his back, latching fiercely onto Qui-Gon's tunic. "How?" he finally managed.

"I'll find someone else to train him, or..."

"No." The arms tightened around him again, "I mean, how do you know what I saw?"

Qui-Gon chuckled lightly, "You've talked in your sleep, love." Then he grew sadder, "You called for me, and I didn't come to you."

He paused, "I killed myself," he whispered.

The big man around him trembled, "Don't ever do that."

"I had to. I was so sure. I had to keep you on Coruscant but you sent me away, again and again and... I couldn't think of anything else. I didn't want to." He shook his head, "I was so afraid. I had to stop you from going to Naboo... Naboo!"

"Shsh, we'll talk about it later. I've taken too much of your time; you should be sleeping." Gingerly, Qui-Gon began to lower him back to the bed.

"No!" Obi-Wan clutched tighter, "I... I'm sorry but... will you stay?"

"Try and stop me; Padawan Vert will vouch for my immovability."

One step, then another. It was slow progress from the Healers wing to their quarters. Their quarters. It made him feel heady, and that made him dizzy until he nearly tripped over his own feet in the marble-floored foyer to the temple gardens. Mildly bemused, he acknowledged that the marble was veined smoky grey, not red. His feet conspired against him yet again, and Qui-Gon ilently wrapped a hand around his waist and guided him outside, to a seat on a raised balcony above the gardens. They were serene at sunset, not quite so foreboding as they had been in his vision, and they both settled onto a white stone bench, Obi-Wan leaning gratefully into the warmth of his Master.

"This must be a first, Padawan."

"Hmmm?" he muttered, contented.

"You allowing me to coddle you without complaining. Even when you caught the Dectaron flu you never allowed me to be quite so..."

"... indulgent? Well, loosing something makes you appreciate it much more. And," he ginned and leaned back against the bigger man, "you do make a very good back rest."

"Ah, I'm glad to know all that training was worth something," he chuckled.

"Uh-huh."

He closed his eyes as a breeze blew the feeling of confinement in the infirmary away with the blossom from the bushes creeping up onto the balcony edge. He sighed gratefully and gave free reign to his thoughts even if his body was currently beyond obeying him. He drifted, open to the Force and the burning presence behind him. He wanted to sense peace on the air, but tasted something bitter instead. Mildly disturbed, he reached further and, like in his vision, he imagined the emotions around him like thin ribbons of colour. Relief was painted a bright gold around him and, unsurprisingly, love was a thick shining band around his chest, passing through his heart. But that was not all. A ribbon of pain remained, obscenely tangled in with all the others, near transparent but raw to sting his light Force touches. Another darker ribbon of bitterness snaked it's way through his consciousness and another of something he didn't even want to think about... He shivered violently as he considered the implications.

Blinking, he came back to himself and the hot breeze on his face.

Pain, resentment, anger. Emotions no Jedi should harbour but they plagued his soul. Worse, they were all directed at the man behind him. The lingering effects of a vision too real. A vision; not a nightmare or an overactive imagination.

"You think too much, Obi-Wan." Qui-Gon said, his chest rumbling at his back with the quiet words.

The comment was probably said to release the tension Qui-Gon had sense rising in his student, but Obi-Wan stiffened and leaned fractionally away. "Master," he said, "does the council know why I had this vision?"

There was a pause, and then, "I believe they are still discussing the matter, Padawan." He deferred back to titles.

Obi-Wan took his hand back from Qui-Gon's embrace and turned on the cool stone seat to face the taller Jedi. "The Force never lies, does it, Master?"

He considered, "No, but it may deceive for it's own purposes."

He shook his head, "Not this time. Master, I was given that vision for a reason."

Qui-Gon lifted his eyebrows, "Perhaps it was a warning for Naboo," he said slowly.

"No," Obi-Wan said, hotly. Before he realised it, he was on his feet, "Or at least, only partly. It was showing me something, something I've been blind to see for too long." Restlessly, he paced to the stone edge of balcony and fingered a dark green leaf.

Qui-Gon, with extreme effort, managed to remain seated and not drag Obi-Wan back to him. "I think we can safely presume it used your own expectations against you."

"Against me?" He lifted an eyebrow, "You sound like it was a punishment."

He shook his head, "No. Visions of that magnitude are..."

"What?"

"They usually rely on preserving the Force signatures of those involved, but not exclusively."

"But usually." Obi-Wan felt cold. The leaf dropped from his fingers and pin wheeled down to the gardens silently.

"Yes." He looked uncomfortable. He started to rise but Obi-Wan held out a hand to keep him in place. His face was blank, emotions draining.

"In my vision, I died because you didn't trust me."

The words seemed to hang between them as brightly as had they been suspended on a neon sign. Obi-Wan took a step backwards, emotions vying for space on his face. Hurt, disbelief, heartache. Mostly heartache.

"Obi-Wan-"

The backs of his knees hit the stone wall of the balcony, "No wonder we don't have a soul bond if you can't even trust me, Qui-Gon," he said.

"Padawan-"

Obi-Wan shook his head sadly, and from somewhere dragged up the energy to stalk away from Qui-Gon and not look back. He didn't turn, but heard the man come swiftly after him, footsteps whispering on the stone paving, and wrap a hand around his elbow.

"Let me go," he said, tone cold and confused. Disbelieving. How could he have failed to see it? Did it really take a vision from the Force to show him why they had no soul bond?

Across the marble floor of the foyer, waiting patiently for the turbolift, stepping inside and leaning surreptitiously against the soft padding to get his energy back; Qui-Gon didn't speak, and Obi-Wan didn't question him. His heart felt like a charred lump sat beating weakly behind his ribs, cold and dead suddenly. He understood now the anger he felt, and it was, he decided, unsurprising that he could feel something so vehemently shoulder to shoulder with the fact he loved this man. Down the long hallway, palming the quarters open and turning inside the entranceway as the door slid shut behind his Master.

"The Force showed me something," he finally said as Qui-Gon stood in front of him. "It showed me that love and hate are two sides of the whole. Right now, although I love you, I hate you. I hated you when you left me on that landing pad, and I hated you when you let me die."

"It wasn't real, Obi-Wan." Qui-Gon said gently, soothingly. He reached out a hand and Obi-Wan took a shaky step backwards, belatedly realising he was going to have to sit down soon, or fall down.

"No, but it could have been. That was you in my vision, not a nightmare figure. You don't trust me, and you fear what we have," he said bitterly. Qui-Gon took another step forward and still Obi-Wan retreated.

"Can you blame me?" Qui-Gon finally said, in a hiss.

Tears of despair pricked his eyes, and when he blinked they rolled free down his cheeks. Force, how much had he cried in the past week? "No, I suppose not," Obi-Wan whispered quietly and felt a shiver claw down his spine.

Qui-Gon moved forwards suddenly and although Obi-Wan back-pedalled, the Master was faster and enfolded him into a crushing, unrelenting embrace. He struggled, but he was weak still, and he didn't stand a chance. His legs sagged finally and then it was only his Master's strength that kept him upright. "Stop, please, Obi-Wan just stop. Not that, Force not because I don't love you. Because I fear sometimes I love you too much. Don't you know, ecstasy is the brother to despair? A Jedi must have control, and I lose it completely with you. It scares me, yes, terrifies me sometimes and that makes me ashamed. Not you! I fear myself."

He sobbed into his shoulder, "What happened to serenity?"

Qui-Gon laughed shakily, "I blame you entirely," he said, fondly, tightening, "It's not you I don't trust, Obi-Wan, it's myself. Have you any idea what that means for a Jedi Master not to be in complete control?"

"I can guess," he murmured. Gingerly, he pushed back from the embrace. "You don't know how to let go."

"I'm sorry," he whispered into the crop of reddish hair.

"I don't know if I can deal with this right now, Qui-Gon."

"Obi-Wan..." Qui-Gon said slowly, refusing to let go even though Obi-Wan tried to pry himself free until he considered screaming to be let loose, and then decided he just didn't have the energy. In fact, he felt tired enough to sleep in an open grave. "You don't have to do it alone."

He stiffened, "I don't?" he asked bitterly. "Well... I haven't done a very good job of it by myself so far. I can't believe I was so blind."

Hot breath whispered in his hair, "I hid it from you, I'm sorry."

"Stop apologising, Qui-Gon. It doesn't help."

Qui-Gon didn't say anything, only released him a little and urged him forwards. Exhausted, Obi-Wan allowed himself to be picked up and carried into the bedroom, laid upon the bed and Qui-Gon disappeared again. He lay counting the ceiling tiles and wondering how to fix the mess they had both caused when his Master returned with two steaming mugs, and wrapped Obi-Wan's lax hands around one of them. "Drink," he said, "Spiced arga tea; fixes all ails."

He managed to pull a chuckle from somewhere, although he thought it might have sounded empty, "You give that to me every time I'm sick or injured."

"Fixes all ails," he repeated, and the bed dipped as he sat beside Obi-Wan and urged him to drink. He did, sipping and capturing the hot taste against the roof of his mouth before swallowing. It tasted faintly of apples and hot mulled wine and he sighed almost unconsciously as his throat softened; he hadn't even realised it was raw until it was healed by the hot liquid.

"Thank you," he all but whispered.

Qui-Gon looked down at him sadly, "I've hurt you terribly, haven't I?"

He blinked but couldn't force himself to disagree. "What happened to Naboo?" he asked, aware his attempt at changing the subject was incredibly obvious, and not particularly caring. He tried to ease up on his elbows a little but a forceful hand on his chest pushed him back down with a stern look. He subsided with a grumble.

"Naboo... Well, now that's quite a long story. Queen Amidala insisted on returning after Senator Palpatine was elected as Chancellor."

"What?"

He smiled fondly, but then grimaced, "She called for a vote of no confidence, and won it."

Obi-Wan frowned, "And then went straight back to Naboo."

"Yes."

"That looks a little... like a set-up doesn't it? The perfect opportunity to bring Palpatine to power."

Qui-Gon set his mug aside thoughtfully, steam streamers ghosting upwards, "I hadn't looked at it from that point of view, but I suppose you might have a point. Although Amidala seemed honest, it wouldn't be the first time military action was forced to dictate politics. Staging the whole blockade would have been a rather ambitious means to bring Palpatine to power."

"But not impossible," he said.

"No," Qui-Gon murmured thoughtfully, "Not impossible."

"You're talking like the blockade is over." Obi-Wan pointed out, "Is it?"

Again, he grimaced, and then leaned down for an almost chaste kiss. Still uncertain about his feelings, and burning with the pain of Qui-Gon's revelation, Obi-Wan pulled back quickly and Qui-Gon looked apologetic. Feelings swirled between them through the hard atmosphere, confused and finally Qui-Gon pressed on with the distraction, still obviously aware of the tension between them. "You were right, Obi-Wan. Or, you're vision was. The Sith was at Naboo. I refused to leave whilst you were... nearly comatose," a fine shiver worked down Qui-Gon's spine, "so Mace and Knight Terra went in our stead."

"And?"

"The Sith escaped them, I'm afraid, and the Federation forces withdrew."

"Why?"

"That, we don't know," he shook his head, his eyes clouded, and then blinked and smiled down on Obi-Wan, "But Anakin is staying with Amidala for a while on Naboo. I sent him on the transport with Palpatine this morning." His hand brushed Obi-Wan's cheek and he struggled with the twin desires to both arch into the contact and move away at the same time.

"You didn't have to send him away, you know."

"I know," he answered with a fond look, "but I thought it best."

Obi-Wan sighed and leaned back against the pillows. The silence between them grew unbearable as he tried to assimilate all the information at once, and his mind felt too small for all the different events that had, at least to him, happened apparently concurrently. He worried about Naboo, and Anakin, but mostly he worried about himself, and Qui-Gon; an entirely selfish and non-Jedi concern and, frankly, he didn't care because this frightened him.

He might have reached an understanding then. Qui-Gon was frightened by his lack of control over his feelings for Obi-Wan; it wasn't the same as the fear he himself felt now, but it wasn't so different that he didn't have an empathy with it. Qui-Gon needed to learn to let go, and he needed to assure himself that what they had was real, and not yet another burst of imagination, whether from himself or the Force.

And besides, whatever they had, whether they had damaged it or not, was worth saving.

His eyes settled speculatively on the tepid mug of spiced tea. "Cures all ails, you say?" he asked, and the deep purr in his voice must have caught his Master's attention because the man turned to regard him with a questioning stare.

"Yes... "

"Oh, good." Looking at the profile of the man, painted by a finger of dusky moonlight, Obi-Wan was, he thought, feeling much, much better. And stronger. He scooted a little to the side, bunching up the sheets and, setting his own mug carefully aside, placed his palm at the nape of Qui-Gon's neck and pulled him downwards.

"Padawan, this probably isn't a good idea-"

He stubbornly cut the man off with a hungry kiss. Cure all ails, he thought, and something here is definitely broken. He ran the tip of his tongue across the silk of Qui-Gon's lips, then gently teased for entrance. Qui-Gon relented and he swept inside and he elicited a quiet moan from the man. His other hand found the opening to Qui-Gon's tunic and snaked inside, fingers playing with the silky skin and moving to outline the ribs that fanned in and out with each quickened breath. He broke the kiss and delighted in the flushed tone of his Master's skin, the silky brush of a strand of long hair against his cheek like a brand of possession. He would swear later that the sound of the blood pulsing through his temples had really been a distant drum beat that only they could hear.

"I think it's a delicious idea," he said, and he reverently kissed down Qui-Gon's chin and along the firm edge of his jaw, "I also think you're wearing entirely too many clothes."

He watched the adams apple in Qui-Gon's throat bob as he swallowed thickly, and felt a matching knot of breath clog in his throat, as he hurriedly divested himself of his outermost tunic.

Anticipation tightened his stomach even as his hands went back to worship the skin being revealed for him, his fingers following a path only they understood, guided by the tingling of desire and skimming like a glider in freefall, meandering up and around the nub of a darkened nipple. He felt a feral smile touch his lips as it pebbeled and Qui-Gon moaned regretfully as he turned his attention to the 'V' of his collarbone, tracing it with feather touches.

"There was..." he paused to gasp and suck in more breath, "There was no aphrodisiac in that tea, I swear." Qui-Gon said.

"We don't need it," he whispered huskily. "Trousers," he commanded.

Obediently, with the smallest widening of his pupils at the forcefulness of his Padawan, Qui-Gon stripped until he was completely naked, and leaning above Obi-Wan, long plains of golden flesh stretched out above him like a living canopy, his hair hanging down like it was reaching out for him. It closed his throat, but his hands knew the actions even if words were a distant memory. His fingers brushed the skin of Qui-Gon's waist even as their lips touched again, met fiercely another time and finally they were pulling and teasing and drinking of each other. Obi-Wan traced the curved backbone of his Master with a light touch that made the other shiver and the arms that held him over his Padawn trembled just slightly.

"On your back," he whispered, hoarsely.

Qui-Gon's lips parted ever so slightly, a whisper away from his own, the breath hot and demanding. "All right," he said, and gripping Obi-Wan by his shoulders he flipped them gently until Obi-Wan straddled his thighs, both hands cupping the back of his neck and leaning in again, a light kiss on the lips and then an exploration, tasting the faintest salt of arousal in the perspiration on the chin, neck and chest of his lover. Silky hair brushed his lips when he suckled gently on the skin below the earlobe, and he sighed gratefully.

"You're..." Qui-Gon whispered, "Clothes. Too many. Take off."

Obi-Wan chuckled lightly, making the skin beneath his lips shiver. Silently, he pulled off the loose tunic he had worn, throwing it idly onto the floor. Immediately, searching hands wrapped around his ribs delicately, mindful of the healed injuries there, and seemed content just to feel, to absorb, the rise and fall of his breath that told them both he was alive. They were both alive. A laugh bubbled up in his throat, pure joy swelling inside him and his feelings lit up like a candle burning as those hands caressed so gently at the pale skin on his chest, feelings winging through the air, filling the room with a heady mix of desire, and demanding love that would not be denied; not even by foolish fears and worries. And then he melted, like a candle burning, as the hand's touch grew more intimate and took free exploration of his body in ranging swoops over sensitised skin, teasing his nipples, rubbing briefly at the tender skin of the inside silk of his thighs and more, further, deeper, until he was sure he was going to explode. He leaned down to capture lips again and Qui-Gon's hands found the achingly hard evidence of his arousal, gently swirling his thumb over the tip.

"S-stop."

Concern lit the deep blue eyes beneath his own, "Obi-Wan?"

"My turn. I... you have to let go, Qui-Gon. My turn to take charge." He grinned ruefully, "Let me show you there's nothing to fear."

"Are you sure you're ready?" he asked, his voice soft.

"I've never been more ready," he whispered, "I need you, right now, and I'm going to have you." He was fierce with possession and he felt the bond spark like a live wire with Qui-Gon intense arousal at the words.

Reaching out blindly, he dipped his fingers into the cool, oily tea still sat on the bedside table and saw Qui-Gon's eyes widen and go deeply smoky. "Cures all ails," he repeated in a deep throaty purr.

His fingers skimmed down the tight stomach, massaging gently, and the skin shivered beneath his touch. Finally, he found the thick velvet and steel flesh deeply aroused and waiting for him, and with a possessive purr he closed his hand, slick with the oily tea, around the shaft. Qui-Gon threw his head back and gave a cry. For some reason, that sound was more intensely erotic than anything Obi-Wan had ever heard and he was lost. He moved, teasing with long deft strokes, swirling a thumb over the head, brushing the crown possessively, and everywhere again. Qui-Gon's head was thrown back so far that only the arch of his throat was visible as a small gasp of need left his lips. Obi-Wan lifted his other hand and traced the line of that throat, shivering.

He nearly gave into the intense pressure in his groin prematurely when Qui-Gon gasped, "Now, Obi-Wan, please just take me."

He shivered and he hurriedly skimmed off his trousers, his hands leaving his Master's cock and Qui-Gon moaned at the loss. Quickly, he reached out for the tea again, soaked his fingers, and arched up from where he straddled the older man's legs. "Watch me," he whispered, "Watch me, Qui-Gon," he demanded.

The man lifted his head and his gaze tore into Obi-Wan hungrily as pushed first one finger into himself, stretching, and then another, fluttering his eyes closed with pleasure. Despite that, he was aware of Qui-Gon licking his lips and suddenly two strong, insistent hands closed on his hips, urgent, desperate.

He returned his ministrations of Qui-Gon's slick cock, brought it back to a hardness that had Qui-Gon writhing beneath him and the air was bruised with desire, moonlight fingering them like a blessing. He paused, whispered, "Mine!" and, positioning himself, sank down.

The penetration set a whole new burst of feelings off, and renewed love bounced between them, ricocheting off the other's pleasure until Obi-Wan felt both filled and enclosed, possessed and possessive and both men keened low in their throats at the sudden wash of fiery desire. Something took him then, something pure and animalistic and he began to move, not slowly or carefully but insistently, rising to the demands of the body beneath him, giving in to his own needs. The hair plastered to his scalp and sweat worked it's way down between his tense shoulder blades as he rose, dropped, rose again. And again. And again. Qui-Gon was bucking under him, demanding, asking, a hand wrapped around his own arousal and moving in time to Obi-Wan. He threw his head back to ride the emotions, but they both knew it wouldn't last much longer. He forced his head back down and their eyes met with wild desire, and understanding, and then a hot flare sprang between them and they both leapt over the brink.

The intensity burned through them, and he felt like he was spilling starlight and the Force in it's purest of forms as their orgasms grabbed their souls, and thrust them together, linking them in a blinding flash of the purest ecstasy, every nerve firing, breathing as one, hearts beating as one, souls singing as one.

He must have lost consciousness. He was aware of his soul melting, reforming, joining and then suddenly he was being cradled and rocked and his cheek was pressed against a sweaty chest, and his vision was blurred. He mumbled something incoherent and Qui-Gon gave a throaty chuckle, pulled him up and devoured his mouth. Slowly this time, exploring, and feeling along the newly finished bond between them. A gentle touch; a wash of feelings that made his eyes prickle with tears.

"Love you," he finally managed, "I love you." His hands, sweaty and slick with tea, clung desperately to the neck of his soulbonded and tightened. Qui-Gon pulled him closer and if he could have crawled right into him and become a part of the older Jedi he would have.

"You're amazing." Qui-Gon said.

Folded into each other's arms, trusting, they slept.

Morning crept slowly through the shades, not wanting to disturb the sleeping pair of bodies tangled in white sheets. Red and orange spilled over the floor, and finally over the edge of the bed, sweeping a long stroke over bared flesh and resting on Qui-Gon's face. A muscle in his cheek twitched, some delicious memory playing and he awoke smiling, searching for and finding his Padawan in his arms. The younger man gave a moan as he shifted away gently, hugging briefly and then rolling Obi-Wan back onto the pillows. Obi-Wan huffed in complaint, but his arms closed around a pillow and clutched it fiercely, a surrogate Qui-Gon.

Qui-Gon rose regretfully. Desire flared from just looking on the body spread out beneath him like a feast, but something told him that the young man had surpassed his energy levels the previous night and, as much as waking him on the brink of an orgasm was tempting, as much as the flesh nestled between his thighs called to him, he didn't want to exhaust him. That something, he thought, was a newly formed soulbond.

His body singing with an intense happiness he had perhaps never known before, he padded across the room, and slipped on a robe. He washed, dressed back into sleep trousers, and wandered into the kitchen. Muja and pancakes, he thought with a significant blossom of satisfaction, and tea. Lots of tea, especially later, when Obi-Wan was more healed.

He was licking pancake batter from a finger when he heard a muffled thump from the direction of the bedroom and turned in time to see a sleep tousled Obi-Wan appear in the doorway, unashamedly naked with green eyes drilling into his soul. "Come back to bed," he complained.

Desire arched through him like a flash flood and only the slight tremble of exertion in Obi-Wan's muscle prevented him from crossing the room in three strides and taking his turn at dominance.

"Certainly, as soon as I've prepared breakfast. You, however, should get back there immediately, before you collapse."

"I'm hungry." Came the sullen reply, although there was a wicked light in his eyes, "And not for food."

He swallowed thickly. "Later Obi-Wan, when you're fit. I absolutely promise." He paused, and then plunged ahead, "Trust me."

The reply was not immediate or unthinking, but eventually Obi-Wan nodded ruefully and went back to bed.

The breakfast finished, he was preparing to carry it through to the bedroom when the comm went off.

Obi-Wan was dozing lightly when Qui-Gon entered the room with a grin desperately tugging at the corners of his mouth. He woke fully when the older man sat the tray down, lay down next to him and brushed their lips together. The sunlight was a hot stream through the windows now, despite haphazardly drawn drapes. Obi-Wan was thoughtfully silent as he ate.

"Master..."

Sensing the direction of his thoughts had turned serious, Qui-Gon set his cup aside and fixed his student with a knowing look, "Yes, Obi-Wan?" he said, not using titles.

"Do you truly think I am ready for the trials?"

Qui-Gon, to his surprise, didn't turn Masterly serious, but gave a rueful smile, "I can see this if going top take some getting used to."

Confused, he asked, "What is?"

"I was just thinking about that. You must have picked up on my thoughts and followed them." He shook his head and damp hair was displaced from where it had clung to his shoulders. A bead of water ran down his chest and, unthinking, Obi-Wan reach out and traced it.

"The soul bond, it completed," he said with wonder, almost shameful that he hadn't noticed it earlier.

"Don't chastise yourself so much, Obi-Wan; you've been exhausted." His eyebrows shot upwards and Qui-Gon quirked his lips and nodded, "See, quite different to what we're used to."

"Oh, but I think I could get used to it." he said, and bit into a segment of muja. The juice dribbled down his finger and he licked it off, intensely aware of Qui-Gon watching him and desperately damping his arousal. He smiled a little ferally, then sobered, "But you haven't answered my question yet."

"No, I haven't, have I?" he said, "Yes, I think you were ready for the Trails. I know I was pressing you forward to take them."

"You were?"

He ducked his head, "Yes, well, I thought if we were Master and Knight it would make some difference, and at least I wouldn't have to fear Council repercussions if they suddenly decided it was inappropriate."

Obi-Wan snorted, "You really kept a lot of fears in there, didn't you?" he said, tapping lightly on Qui-Gon's chest.

"Not there," Qui-Gon corrected, lifted Obi-Wan's hand to his forehead, "But here. My heart always knew what it wanted."

Obi-Wan blinked, "So am I still going to take the Trails, or have you changed you mind?"

Something wicked played in Qui-Gon's eyes, "Well, you know, I don't think there is much difference between us as Master and Apprentice, as there is between Master and Knight."

Obi-Wan shook his head confused, "Master?"

"You've been through quite a trial already, love."

"I..."

"The Force made you face all your fears at once, and made you act upon them. What it showed you was all based on the truth, in a sense. What you felt and saw could well have happened. Each thing, each detail, came from somewhere both inside you, and outside you from the Force as a whole. Unifying and Living."

"But..." he tried, "How can you know that?"

Qui-Gon shook his head, "I can't, but the Council decided the nature of the vision was to rely as much on truth as possible."

A frown line burrow into his forehead, "Master..."

"You shouldn't call me that, anymore, Obi-Wan. After all you've been through quite a Trial."

He gasped, "Are you trying to tell me...?"

Qui-Gon grinned and he pulled the unresisting young man into his arms, "Congratulations, Knight Kenobi, the Council decreed that the Force gave you a much more taxing Trial than anything they could have come up with."

"But... but... I failed! I killed myself," he objected, despite the elation building within him.

"Did you indeed? The Council sees it differently, Obi-Wan. And I'm inclined to agree. You were willing to sacrifice yourself for no personal gains in order to prevent my death and the possible failure of the Nubian mission." He kissed him gently, "Very noble, just don't ever do it in real life."

For a minute he was speechless, and Qui-Gon took that time to rise, gather the empty plates and carry them through to the kitchen.

"I... I don't know what to say," he managed finally, and Qui-Gon turned in the doorway.

"Then don't say anything; in the moment you needed it most, you found the true beauty of yourself and acted upon it. I am immeasurably proud, Obi-Wan."

He turned again, but Obi-Wan asked, "Qui-Gon?"

"Yes?"

"I thought Master Windu claimed not to... have an interest in same sex relations. But if the Force only showed me the truth..."

Qui-Gon chuckled, "I think Mace has some mediating to do. I'll be sure to tell him."

Obi-Wan grinned and watched longingly as his Master moved away.

Gingerly, he came to his feet, one hand supporting himself against he mattress. He walked carefully to the wardrobe, and opened the doors. Despite that they had shared a bed for a year now, Obi-Wan's clothes were still kept in the old Padawan's room, and he was certain that if he was near collapse now, he'd never make it to his room. But Qui-Gon must have something he could wear in here. He was sparse on clothes, but surely there was a spare pair of sleep pants that were too small hidden in the deep cupboard.

Neat packages were arrayed on the shelves. Qui-Gon, for all the simplistic living of a Jedi Master, often kept the clothes they had worn on various undercover or religious missions, packaging them in clear wrapping and labelling them dutifully. Why, Obi-Wan didn't know, perhaps in case they were needed in the future. He dug through the packages, searching on the top shelf and amongst a scattering of dust that swarmed in the shafts of sunlight. Past a Dr'uuka Priests ceremonial robe, and the garish crimson silks of the Sheek dress uniform, searching, searching...

The Force might have called to him, or it might have been instinct, but his hands closed on a single package and he pulled it out, causing an avalanche of clothing that toppled him to the floor along with it. The sounds of chinking crockery drifted from the kitchen as he stared at the package.

Bile rose to his throat. He ripped open the packaging and thick but soft black fabric pooled into his lap; a full, form covering black robe that left only a rectangular slit to see through. It was labelled as Daant Seekers Robe, and it was Qui-Gon's. It was also the exact same outfit the strange figure from his vision had worn, but he had never seen it before in his life, the label predating his birth.

Which meant...?

"Qui-Gon!!"

Fin.