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Rating: R

Category: Obi/Bail, angst, h/c, non-con, all that good dark stuff

Angst-o-meter: 10 for sure

Timeline: Obi is 24, Bail is 25

Summary: On a fact-finding mission for the Senate, Bail Organa is abducted and tortured. Now that he has been rescued, he must struggle to put his life back together after an ordeal that challenges all he believes in. First of a two-part story arch.

Warnings: While these events are not graphically depicted, the story deals realistically with the aftermath of torture and rape.

Archive: M-A and http://www.wyomingnot.com/rita/rita.html

Apologia: This story stretches the guidelines for MA. It is focused on Bail, but it does contain two Jedi and it is slash-friendly; therefore it qualifies. Besides, all my other stories in this same timeline are on this site, so it doesn't make sense to exclude this one just because it concentrates on a non-Jedi.

Author's note: Why write a torture story about Bail? First of all, everyone tortures Obi-Wan, and you know me: I always like to do something different. But the real reason is to further develop Bail's character. This is the guy who founds the Rebel Alliance and raises Leia to be the hellcat we all know and love, but up to this point in my story line Bail has led a rather protected, sheltered life. How will he handle it when his ideals are challenged by a brutal, personal experience of the real world? After all, the Jedi are trained to withstand torture. How will an "ordinary" person handle such violence? In some ways, the significance of this story will not really be played out until many years down the line, as the Republic becomes the Empire, and Bail Organa is forced to make choices that will have consequences for the entire galaxy. But this story is also very much about Obi-Wan, as he learns how victims must put their lives back together after the Jedi have rescued them and the mission is over.

Feedback: on or off list; positive or negative; any thoughts on the moral issues raised in this story will be gratefully received

Disclaimer: They're copyrighted to Master George, but in making them public he gave them to all of us. They belong to me in the realm of my imaginings, where money has no value. These musings are my tribute to Master George. He can accept it or not, but he cannot stop me from dreaming.

Heartfelt gratitude goes to the Amazing Wonder Beta, Lambda Draconis, who reads my stories with all the care and attention to theme, plot and character one normally reserves for Russian novels. This story is infinitely better because of her insightful comments. Thank you so much!

This story is dedicated to all who have survived violence. And to those who have not.

"Reliable intimate relationships can help people survive profound violence, terror, and despair and enable them to live beyond their own personal pain. As Judith Herman notes in Trauma and Recovery, 'Traumatic events destroy the sustaining bonds between individual and community. Those who have survived learn that their sense of self, of worth, of humanity, depends upon a feeling of connection to others.' Restored, people return to ordinary life and expand their concern to others -- not as self-sacrifice but as self- possession. Present to themselves and to the reality of others, they do not live in denial of violence but in remembrance of presence. They have embraced a greater knowledge of the world, of evil. When we come into such presence of ourselves we are able to take responsibility for our actions and lives, in all their ambiguity. And in that process of taking responsibility, we turn the corner toward the practice of loving, the practice of transforming the world."

--Rebecca Ann Parker, "Proverbs of Ashes"

Story order:
Perhaps
Maybe
Falling
Back for Seconds - Obi-Wan and Bail
Bailing Bail
Padawan Games
Greener Pastures
Forgiven
Reality Check
Better Than Destiny
A Cross-Cultural Affair
Deconstruction <-- You are here
Reconstruction
Rewoven
Night Visitor
Father Figure
A Model Padawan
Not All Dreams Are Visions
You Don't Bring Me Flowers
Dangerous Fame
Labyrinth
Private Lessons (off-site link)
Owner's Mark
Epicenter
Duty
Penumbra
Nightfall
Batter My Heart

The two Jedi moved with silent precision along the darkened corridors. They had fifteen minutes to find their target and get out of the compound.

Qui-Gon stopped in front of a door and held his hand over the locking mechanism, opening it with a few twists of the Force. He silently ushered his apprentice in, closing the door behind him while he stood watch out in the hall.

Obi-Wan didn't have to be told to hurry. Still, he hesitated a moment before igniting his saber. He was afraid of what he would see. He shoved that fear aside and thumbed the switch on his saber, the blade singing to life and lighting the tiny cell with its cool, blue glow.

The room contained no furniture or windows, only the door through which Obi-Wan had entered. A foul stench filled the air, but Obi-Wan hardly noticed, his eyes drawn to the naked figure curled up in a corner, lying on its side. The flesh was filthy, covered with ugly bruises and cuts. Obi-Wan forced himself not to examine the injuries. He wasn't ready to know yet.

He knelt by the figure, which had not flinched with the light, and placed a tentative hand on the still shoulder. "Bail?"

No answer.

Obi-Wan shook him slightly. "Bail? It's Obi-Wan."

Still no answer.

He knew Bail was alive. Whether or not he was conscious was really immaterial. Obi-Wan should just pick him up, sweep him over his shoulder and get out of there, but somehow he couldn't bring himself to do it. This was not just any rescue, not just any prisoner. He couldn't afford sentiment, but neither could he deny it. He needed to coax some response from Bail, any sign that he was still the man Obi-Wan loved.

Obi-Wan shook his shoulder again. "You've always wanted to see my lightsaber. Now's your chance."

Again his words failed to prompt any response from Bail. The despair he had not allowed himself to feel ever since he'd first heard of the Prince's capture now began to seep around the edges of his consciousness, and he bowed protectively over the Prince's shoulder. "Bail," he whispered in desperation.

He heard a soft knock on the door. They had to move, now. Obi-Wan sat up and removed his robe, passing his lit saber from hand to hand, then spread the robe over Bail. "Come on," he urged as he wedged his free hand under Bail and hoisted him into a sitting position. He stuffed Bail's arms into the sleeves, keenly aware of Bail's glassy eyes staring blankly at him. The sightless eyes blinked, then focused slightly on him.

"Ben," the Prince croaked.

Biting his lip to hold back his emotion, Obi-Wan laid his hand on Bail's bruised cheek. "Yes, it's me. Can you walk?"

Bail nodded absently, his face betraying no surprise - or for that matter, happiness - at seeing Obi-Wan there. No doubt he thought he was hallucinating.

Obi-Wan helped the Prince to his feet, supporting him with his free arm, then doused his saber and opened the door.

Without a word, Qui-Gon led them down the corridor. They had both memorized the map of the compound and knew it so well that even the modifications that had been made did not deter them as they made their way back out. Bail was slow but steady on his feet, and he made no sound at all as they passed through the compound. Only once, when they paused at a juncture while Qui-Gon decided on the best route, did he speak. Obi-Wan held Bail to his chest, taking on most of the Prince's weight so as to give him a rest. Bail felt like an overgrown rag doll in his grasp, then he raised his head. "Ben," he whispered, the name a puff of air against Obi-Wan's cheek. He sounded uncertain, as if speaking in a dream.

Again Obi-Wan felt that torrent of emotion, barely held in check over the past two weeks, threatening to break through his mental barriers. He pressed Bail's face back into his shoulder, his fingers lacing through the filthy hair. "I'm here," he whispered back.

Qui-Gon glanced at them. "You'll need to carry him from here on out, Padawan," he quietly instructed. "I don't think we will make it out of here undetected."

Without a word, Obi-Wan swept Bail over his left shoulder. The Prince did not make a sound at the rough treatment, but lay perfectly still. He didn't really understand what was happening and had long ago given up caring, as whatever it was never turned out to be good.

They ran now, through the corridors. A light appeared at the end of one hallway. The terrorists were on to them. Qui-Gon paused for a moment, closing his eyes as he mentally scanned his memory of the compound's layout. The light at the end of the corridor grew brighter.

Qui-Gon's eyes snapped open. "Back this way," he announced. "You first, Padawan."

Obi-Wan dashed back down the hall, Qui-Gon following as rear guard. As they neared another juncture, Qui-Gon instructed, "To the left."

They rounded the corner, hoping to shake their pursuers. On they ran, Bail's arms wrapped around Obi-Wan's waist so as to jostle the padawan as little as possible.

They raced through the corridors, but the general alarm had been sounded, and before long they were discovered. Qui-Gon ignited his green blade, covering their escape as blaster bolts pinged down the hallway.

Almost to the hangar now. While Qui-Gon continued to defend, Obi-Wan fumbled for his commlink, clicking twice on it to signal to the other Jedi team that they were almost out. Two answering clicks; the others had rescued the remaining two senators and were on their way out as well.

Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon turned the final corner to enter the hangar, only to discover the way was blocked by a dozen commandos. Obi-Wan quickly slid Bail off his shoulder, igniting his blade at the same time, and the two Jedi stood back to back, Bail sandwiched between them. With their pursuers at one end of the corridor and guards at the other, the two Jedi could defend themselves, but they could not move.

"Your gas canister!" Qui-Gon shouted over the cacophony of blaster bolts and sizzling sabers.

Obi-Wan shifted his grip on his saber, continuing to defend himself one-handed while he reached for his belt with his free hand. Detaching the canister and snapping the pin, he lobbed it toward the fighters guarding the hangar. Thick yellow smoke bubbled out of the canister, filling the air with an acrid, chemical sting. The rate of fire at that end of the corridor faltered as their attackers choked on the smoke.

"Now!" Obi-Wan called, and the three of them moved toward the hangar, still defending themselves from the laser bolts. Obi-Wan grabbed Bail's arm to steady him. "Hold your breath," he cautioned.

Bail obeyed. Everything was so confusing. He still didn't understand what was going on. Where had this strength come from, to keep him on his feet and moving? He ought to feel panicked in the midst of this firefight, but he didn't. It felt like some bizarre dream. He could scarcely comprehend the danger. Why should he, when his life had ended ages ago?

They moved into the billowing smoke, and it stung his eyes. He squeezed them shut and gasped - a mistake, as the burning chemicals filled his lungs, causing him to cough. He couldn't see, he couldn't breathe. His non-panicky mind remarked, Well, that was stupid. The hand on his arm dragged him onward. He tripped on the edge of the robe. Where had it come from? Why was he wearing it? His lungs were on fire, his eyeballs melted. He rubbed at them, but that only made the stinging pain worse. Which way to go? How to get out? Confused, he stumbled, sinking into the smoke, drowning, but strong arms caught him. He was swept off his feet and carried away.

More smoke, and the sound of laser fire, the boom of cannons. Bail didn't know what any of it meant, clinging to whoever it was that carried him, still coughing and gasping for breath, tears spilling down his cheeks. He was thrown down, and suddenly the world was moving, tipping and diving.

"Thanks for the distraction!" someone shouted. "We didn't know how we were going to get to the speeder, and then you two showed up, drawing the guards away."

"That wasn't quite how we planned it," came the dry reply. Bail thought he should recognize that voice. "But I suppose it all worked out in the end."

Bail curled up into a ball, still retching and struggling for breath, but he felt a cool breeze on his face, and that helped.

"I know it hurts, but you'll live. Your lungs will clear in a minute." Now that voice he definitely recognized. He opened his eyes, staring up into the pale face hovering over his. He couldn't focus clearly through the tears streaming from his burning eyes, but he knew whose face it was, a face he'd despaired of ever seeing again.

Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan Kenobi stood silently in the hospital corridor, one of only a handful of people who were granted access to the wing where the three rescued senators were receiving treatment. He stared through the window into the room, to the bed where Bail lay curled up on his side, his back to the hallway. The healers had released him from the bacta tank earlier that morning, the physical evidence of his ordeal almost completely healed: broken and cracked bones, concussion, abrasions and contusions, all mended. There had been no permanent physical or neural damage. Senator Organa, they said, was lucky, unlike Senator Neries, whose right hand had been smashed beyond repair, and Senator Aisinton, who lingered in unconsciousness, his already weak heart severely stressed by the trauma. But no one who survived torture ever considered themselves lucky.

Obi-Wan knew this, knew the pain Bail had been through and the pain he still had to face, and yet he was ineffably glad that Bail had survived at all. All five of the senators had been abducted one week after their fact-finding mission arrived on Ithgar, captured by a Folina terrorist organization. A holo-vid had been released of the prisoners, badly beaten but alive, along with a list of outrageous demands that could not possibly be met. It had been clear that the terrorists' intentions were to make an example of the hostages.

At the end of the first week, the broken body of Senator Boojara of Jantalia was tossed out of a moving vehicle in the middle of Ithgar's capital city. At the end of the second week, Senator Li Tarubai of Malastare, her body almost unrecognizable, was discovered in an alleyway. But by that time a team of four Jedi, including Obi-Wan and his Master, had already arrived on Ithgar.

The terrorists were quite effective at instigating chaos, but they had no idea how to defend themselves properly against Jedi. Once the Jedi gathered all the necessary intelligence, they had found it rather simple to rescue the remaining three senators, who were now being treated at the finest Hinnilese hospital on Ithgar.

The rescue mission was being hailed throughout the galaxy as a tremendous success. The senate mission that had made the rescue necessary, a complete disaster - especially by the worlds of Jantalia and Malastare. No one blamed the Jedi for not being able to rescue those senators.

But blame there would be, and Obi-Wan feared that Bail would be the target. After all, the mission had only come about at the Junior Senator's insistence. Ithgar's two major ethnic groups, the Hinnilese and the Folinas, had been at war for centuries over territorial rights. First one group gained ascendancy, then the other. Right now the Hinnilese were in power, and they were determined to keep it, no matter the cost. As the Folinas' situation became increasingly desperate, more of their people resorted to terrorism to fight the Hinnilese. This hardly gained them any sympathy, and no one in the Republic had any desire to take on the complicated, volatile situation on Ithgar.

No one except Bail Organa. The Junior Senator, in his third year of office, insisted the Republic could not stand by and watch as the people of Ithgar destroyed each other, and he began to lobby for the Senate to send a fact-finding team. It had taken a year before his request was finally granted. It took only a week for the mission to end in tragedy.

Now Bail lay huddled on his bed, and Obi-Wan found himself frozen by a level of fear he had never known before and didn't know how to fight. He was afraid to enter the room, afraid to learn how very little of Bail Organa was left, but in the absence of Bail's family, everyone saw Obi-Wan as the Prince's guardian, and he had a message to deliver. There was no way he would shirk that duty, so suppressing a shiver of anxiety, he pushed open the door and entered Bail's room.

The Prince lay on the bed in much the same pose Obi-Wan had found him in the cell, and Obi-Wan shuddered at the memory. As before, Bail did not move or make any acknowledgment that he had heard anyone enter.

"Bail?" Obi-Wan asked, and again there was no response, though Obi- Wan knew he was awake. Swallowing his grief, he moved closer. "Bail, the healers said they would like to keep you here in the hospital while your family travels from Alderaan to take you home. It will take them five days to get here."

"Can't I go home now?" came the plaintive reply.

Obi-Wan knew Bail wouldn't want to stay. The Hinnilese wanted to keep the Senators there, to milk the situation for all it was worth, but Bail didn't need to hear that. Besides, as a politician, he probably already knew it. "Yes. They admitted you are healed enough to be released. The Ithgar government has offered to supply us with a ship to take you to Alderaan."

Bail sat up, but his eyes did not meet Obi-Wan's. "When can we go?"

"As soon as you're ready." Obi-Wan produced a package from beneath his robes. "I took the liberty of getting some clothes for you. I doubt they meet your exacting standards, but even you can endure my horrible taste in clothes for the duration of a hyperspace journey."

Force, what was he doing, joking about clothes? Bail did not laugh, merely reached silently for the package and held it against his chest in an almost childish gesture of neediness. Obi-Wan looked away, through the window to the hallway, unable to bear how thoroughly Bail had been broken.

"I need to see the others before I go," Bail's voice brought his attention back inside the room.

Obi-Wan cleared his throat. "You know Senators Boojara and Li are-"

"Yes. I need to see the others."

"Senator Aisinton is still unconscious."

"I know, but I must see them both."

Ever mindful of duty was the Prince. Much like a Jedi. Somehow this heartened Obi-Wan. "Do you need help getting dressed?"

"No." The answer came too quickly, too forcefully, and Obi-Wan belatedly remembered what else the healers had said: rape. How could he have forgotten? But he hadn't truly, he just didn't want to remember.

"Then while you're getting dressed, I'll tell Qui-Gon to make preparations to leave."

A nod was his only answer, and still Bail's eyes had never met his. Obi-Wan backed away, fighting to keep his movements from appearing hasty as he left the room to call Qui-Gon.

Several minutes later the door opened and Bail appeared, wearing the simple garments Obi-Wan had bought for him. As much of a man of fashion as Bail was, Obi-Wan knew he would hardly care about his clothing right now. Nevertheless he had agonized over what to find for Bail. He wanted the Prince to have something familiar, to not feel literally stripped of his identity by his ordeal. But Ithgar kept their own fashions, and Obi-Wan found little that would at all suit Bail's tastes. In the end he had had to settle for plain tunics and pants in varying shades of Bail's favorite color, blue. As oblivious as Obi-Wan was to fashion, even he could plainly see that Bail had not chosen the outfit himself. He seemed even more alien and strange, standing there in the hallway, shoulders drooped, eyes downcast, dressed in functional, graceless clothes, and despite his efforts Obi-Wan realized that he had failed. Bail would leave Ithgar with a borrowed identity, covering him as efficiently and shapelessly as his tunic.

Aware of Obi-Wan's silence, Bail raised his head, barely meeting the Jedi's gaze. "Where are they?"

"This way," Obi-Wan indicated, and they set off. He wanted very much to take Bail's arm, to take his hand, but he was not at all sure his touch would be welcome, all things considered, and Bail made no move to touch him, so he left it alone.

They visited Senator Aisinton first. Obi-Wan waited in the hall while Bail went in to the room, but he watched through the window as Bail sat by the bed, taking the old Senator's hand between his own, hunched over him, talking to him or weeping, Obi-Wan couldn't be sure. Eventually Bail stood, brushing the hair back from the Senator's forehead, then rejoined Obi-Wan in the hall.

As they walked on to Senator Neries' room, Bail quietly remarked, "He's a good man, Aisinton. I've always admired him."

Surprised, Obi-Wan asked, "Do you know him well?"

"Not as well as I would like. We've never worked together before. But I respect him. I hope...." His words trailed off, but Obi-Wan didn't have to be a Jedi to know what Bail was thinking: I hope we'll have the chance to work together again. I hope he will survive.

They reached Neries' room, and again Bail went in alone, but Obi-Wan instantly sensed the Senator's hostility at the appearance of her guest, and Obi-Wan quietly slipped into the room.

"I hope you're proud of yourself, Organa," she was saying. "Your idealistic folly has cost Boojara and Li their lives, and maybe Aisinton's as well!"

"You know I wasn't expecting this-"

"You should have! The Folinas are terrorists, the whole lot of them!"

"The whole cannot be blamed for the actions of a few."

"You probably believe that, too," she sneered. "I knew you were naïve, Organa, but I gave you credit for some intelligence, at least. It appears, however, that I was mistaken."

"I take full responsibility for-"

"Oh, that's easy for you to say. I notice you're walking away from this unscathed. I lost my hand, Organa!" She held up the stump of her arm, encased in a protective sheath, and Bail flinched at the sight. Obi-Wan came up behind him, his hands resting on Bail's shoulders. "Do you have any idea what they did to me?" Neries' genuine torment bled through her anger.

A torment echoed in Bail's voice. "I know."

"You don't know," Neries choked, struggling to reclaim her anger, and Obi-Wan wondered if she really believed Bail had been uninjured.

At last she regained some measure of composure, enough to attack Bail once more. "My only consolation in this is that your career is over, and you'll never again lead anyone on any of your ego-satisfying missions."

Bail staggered backward into Obi-Wan. "I never - it wasn't-"

"No? This mission was all about you, you think I didn't know that? Imagine the headlines: 'Bail Organa Brokers Peace on Ithgar.' That would have been quite a coup for you. Well, you're in the headlines now. Enjoy your fame, Organa. You've more than earned it. Now get out of my room!"

Obi-Wan pulled Bail from the room, trying to steady him. Once they were in the hall, he turned to face Bail, only to see once more that glassy expression in the sightless eyes. "Don't listen to her, Bail," he said, painfully aware of how pitiful he sounded. He reached up to touch Bail's face, but the Prince flinched away, panic shattering his frozen eyes.

"I want to go home," Bail whimpered desperately under his breath. "I want to go home."

"We'll go home now, Bail. It's all right," Obi-Wan assured him, hoping to make himself believe it as well.

Qui-Gon found them in the hall and sat with the Prince while Obi-Wan filled out the necessary paperwork for his release. By the time everything was in order, Bail had once more retreated into his shell. At least, Obi-Wan reflected, it preserved him from feeling his own grief.

As they headed toward the hospital entrance, Obi-Wan became aware that they attracted more and more stares. They had also picked up a guarded escort, something completely unnecessary with two Jedi present, but the Hinnilese wanted to make sure everyone saw how they, in contrast to the Folinas, treated Republic Senators. As they approached the entrance, Obi-Wan could see through the glass doors that a crowd had already gathered to watch, and standing in the front was an array of reporters.

"Wait," Obi-Wan called, halting all three of them. Bail clearly had not noticed what awaited them outside. Obi-Wan shrugged out of his robe and draped it around Bail's shoulders. The Prince looked at him in mild confusion as Obi-Wan helped him find the sleeves in the voluminous robe, then fastened it closed beneath his chin. Finally he raised the hood, settling it carefully over Bail's head until it obscured his face. "Now we're ready."

Bail still didn't seem to understand, but he clutched the robe gratefully as the two Jedi once more resumed their posts at his sides and led him out to the throng.

The escort rushed forward to hold the reporters back, but nothing could stop them from shouting their question. Bail shrank back into the folds of Obi-Wan's robe, but the two Jedi flanked him and led him on to the awaiting speeder. Obi-Wan's eyes swept the crowd, and their placards. At least these people didn't vilify the Prince. And why should they? These were all Hinnilese. He was a martyr to their cause. A few placards wished the Prince well, but most vowed serious and bloody revenge against the villains who had dared to attack him. Obi-Wan doubted Bail would find that comforting.

They filed into the speeder, which whisked them away as soon as the door was closed, to the spaceport where they boarded their ship and took off as soon as they were granted clearance.

Bail Organa's imprisonment was over. But he was far from free.

He was naked.

They made him strip, and they took his clothes away. The Alderaani are not overly modest, but he found there is a big difference between voluntarily displaying your body, and having that choice made for you. None of them looked at him sexually, but this was about power not sex. He couldn't believe how the loss of his clothes could make him feel so vulnerable. He covered himself with his hands, but the gesture seemed blatantly pointless. He tried not to let it unsettle him. He tried.

One of his captors stepped forward. Like most Folinas, he was not very tall, but thick and stocky. The man walked around him, studying him, and he recoiled from the scrutiny.

"Such pretty skin," his captor commented. "Not a scar or blemish." The man reached out suddenly and grabbed one of his hands, running his rough fingers over the smooth palm. "No calluses. The soft hands of a rich man. Tell me, Senator. Prince. What did you come to Ithgar to see?"

He wasn't sure if he was really supposed to answer, but when no one said anything, he offered, "I came here to learn the truth."

"Whose truth? That of the Hinnilese?" The man spat on the floor in disgust. "Everyone listens to their side of the story. The real truth, Prince Senator, is that no one cares about the Folinas. No one cares when we suffer and die. But they do care when senators suffer and die. They'll listen to us now, and maybe they'll learn the truth through you. Did you come here to learn about homes destroyed, farm land torn up? Did you come to learn about tear gas thrown into a small room of women and babies? About fathers and brothers and uncles vanishing in a routine pick up of 'suspicious characters'? About sisters and daughters raped by Hinnilese soldiers? You'll learn about it, Senator. We'll leave nothing out. And your skin will be the perfect page on which the Folinas will write their story."

Obi-Wan emerged from the cockpit to find Bail seated in the dining booth, the hood pushed back off his head, his hands folded into the robe. Qui-Gon also entered the common area, having just completed his inspection of the ship. "Your Highness," he offered, "if you're tired, the bunks are down this corridor. Or if you would prefer, I could make some dinner for us."

Absently running his hand along the table's edge, Bail appeared to struggle to find words, and Obi-Wan reflected that this was another loss for him. The Prince was nothing if not talkative, yet here he sat in silence, unable to find the simplest of words.

"Personally, I could do with a meal," Qui-Gon remarked. "I'll make enough for three, and if you decided you'd rather rest, we can reheat your meal later." He passed Obi-Wan on his way to the ship's small galley, and Obi-Wan looked gratefully up at his Master, sending him a mental thank you for his delicacy in dealing with the Prince. Qui- Gon briefly laid a reassuring hand on Obi-Wan's shoulder, then passed on into the galley.

Obi-Wan crossed the deck to stand uncertainly next to the booth. "May I...?" He couldn't bring himself to finish asking whether it was all right for him to sit next to Bail.

The Prince sat silently for a moment, hesitating, then surprised Obi- Wan by sliding out of the booth. Obi-Wan quickly understood. He could sit with Bail, but the Prince didn't want to feel closed in. Obi-Wan obligingly climbed into the booth, followed by Bail, who slid in close to him - not touching, but near. Bail wrapped the robe tightly around himself and neither looked at Obi-Wan nor spoke. For the umpteenth time Obi-Wan wished Bail were Force-sensitive, wished he could read the Prince's emotions as easily as he could read another Jedi. Not that he needed the Force to sense Bail's mental anguish, but that he might at least be able to discern whether Bail found his presence comforting or painful.

Conversation had always flowed easily between them, but now they sat in awkward silence. Obi-Wan knew how to offer words of comfort and reassurance to a complete stranger, and had done so many times on other rescue missions, but those phrases had developed an almost rehearsed quality for having been spoken so many times in so many different situations. They seemed to lack the proper feeling and weight to offer to Bail now. The words he might have offered to a fellow Jedi, on the other hand, were too heavy. They might break the Prince, who after all had not been trained from childhood to withstand torture. So often in their relationship Obi-Wan had found himself at a loss in dealing with Bail, who was neither a Jedi nor one of them -- the Force-blind outsiders with whom the Jedi worked and mingled, but were seldom intimate. Obi-Wan had grown accustomed to the need to improvise with Bail, and he had managed to muck his way through without making too big a fool of himself. But now Bail really needed him, and he had no idea how he could help. Was this silence what Obi-Wan had sometimes heard described as comforting? He hoped so, but it sure wasn't comforting to him.

At last Qui-Gon returned, bearing their dinner. "I find there is nothing more soothing than nice, hot soup," he offered as he set down the tray of three steaming bowls and a pitcher of juice. "And having spent as much time with my padawan as I know you have, I'm sure you have acquired a taste for muja fruit juice."

Obi-Wan knew full well how kind and comforting his master could be, but it moved him deeply to see Qui-Gon's gentleness with Bail.

Those kind eyes now turned on him. "Padawan?" Qui-Gon prompted. "I believe the healers gave you...."

"Oh. Yes." Obi-Wan fished in his pocket for the array of bottles the healers had provided him with. "These," he shook out the first two pills and laid them before Bail, "are antibiotics. These are painkillers. This one," he hesitated, pushing forward a small pill, "is a sedative. And...when you're ready to go to sleep, there's another pill to help you."

Bail studied the array before him, then slowly swept them up and downed them all in one swallow.

Qui-Gon took that as his cue to dig into his soup, and Obi-Wan followed his master's lead, though he kept his attention on Bail. The Prince picked up his spoon and carefully stirred the bowl's contents but did not eat.

The swirling of the meat and vegetables mesmerized him. He had scarcely been fed anything during his imprisonment, stale bread and the occasional rotting fruit. The soup, in contrast, smelled and looked delicious, and his mouth began to water, hungry for real food, but his stomach revolted, having been too much abused, and finally all Bail could think about was the fact that Senators Boojara and Li would never eat another meal again. Here he was on a ship taking him safely home, a tantalizing meal before him, but they were dead. They would never go home, they would never share a meal with loved ones, their families even now grieved as his rejoiced, and he... and he....

The grief welled up so quickly in his throat it choked him, and suddenly tears were spilling down his nose into the soup, and he couldn't breathe because something was clawing its way out of his lungs, tearing at his chest trying to escape, and it was a cry, a gasp, a sob, and he was sobbing, wailing, and he couldn't hold it in, and it hurt his chest, tearing, leaving a gaping wound, and it bled, it hurt, but he had to get it out, get it out before it tore him up from the inside, and it swelled inside him, bigger and bigger, and it was going to rip him in two before he could get it out, and he was going to explode, and he was going to die, and why hadn't he died? Why hadn't he died? Why hadn't he died?

He convulsed and became aware of a horrible sound, someone wailing, sobbing, in pain. Arms held him, strong arms that could break him, but they were gentle, comforting. Someone was stroking his hair, speaking into his ear with a soothing voice, holding him together, and he was not going to explode after all. He was not going to die, and maybe that was a good thing. Maybe it was all right. It was not going to be all right, but maybe it was, and maybe he could feel safe, and maybe it didn't have to hurt, and maybe it wasn't all his fault. It was, but maybe it wasn't.

Someone was crying, but softly now, breath coming in uneven gasps, and it was him. He was crying, and Obi-Wan was holding him, Obi-Wan was speaking softly into his ear, and Obi-Wan loved him and had come for him, and he would be all right now, wouldn't he? Maybe he would. Maybe.

Qui-Gon watched silently as Bail slowly calmed down, rocked in Obi- Wan's arms. The Prince's sudden outburst had surprised Qui-Gon as much as it had Obi-Wan, but he knew, unlike his Padawan, that this was not the big breakdown they were expecting. Obi-Wan wanted, needed, to have the Prince get over this, to be all right, to not suffer any more pain. But Qui-Gon knew better. Bail had a very long way to go. "It will take time," he said gently, "but eventually you will realize it is not a crime to have survived."

Obi-Wan's eyes met his master's, but Bail only buried his face deeper in Obi-Wan's shoulder. When he spoke, his voice was ragged from too many screams. "They are dead because of me."

"You are not responsible," Qui-Gon said, though he knew Bail wasn't ready to believe him.

The Prince raised his head to stare at Qui-Gon with haunted eyes. "I am responsible. It was my mission."

"A dangerous mission," Qui-Gon agreed, "but you all knew the risks."

A slight shake of the head. "We thought we did," he whispered.

"You did not kill Boojara and Li," Qui-Gon reiterated. "The terrorists did. Your responsibility is to analyze what went wrong. I read the reports. The Folina Authority provided security - inadequate security, as it turns out, but it was inadequate because they do not have proper funds, because the Hinnelese fear the Folinas armed. But you were as prepared as you could be. You went into an extremely volatile situation, the safety of which could not possibly be guaranteed. But the situation on Ithgar was not going to change until someone was willing to take the risk. All five of you volunteered for this mission, and all five of you did assume the risk, however improperly understood. Do not take responsibility for the deaths from those with whom that responsibility properly lies."

For a long time Bail did not speak, his face buried in Obi-Wan's shoulder, as he considered what Qui-Gon said. Some part of it made sense, but he still could not accept it. "Is that what you would tell yourself if Obi-Wan died on one of your missions?"

Qui-Gon quirked his eyebrows at his stricken Padawan. The Prince made a good point. "Perhaps not at first, but I hope it is what someone would tell me. Though I feel compelled to point out that, as my Padawan, Obi-Wan is my unique responsibility, and not the equivalent of your fellow senators."

Bail did not reply. He didn't agree, but neither did he know what to say. He didn't want to talk about it anymore. Time to push it all deep down inside himself somewhere, wherever all the rest of his horror and suffering were hiding, along with all his ability to think or feel or care. All he needed to do right now was eat, sleep, breathe.

Slowly he pushed himself away from Obi-Wan's damp shoulder and sat up, wiping his face gracelessly with the enormous sleeves of the Jedi robe. Don't talk to me, he silently begged. Don't say anything, or I will shatter. He once more picked up his spoon, prepared to tackle his soup. He wasn't hungry, but he knew he had to eat.

As he watched the Prince tentatively stab at his soup, Qui-Gon ventured, "While my cooking has been known to inspire bouts of crying, particularly from ungrateful Padawans, you may rest assured that this soup was pre-packaged."

Obi-Wan shot Qui-Gon a reproving look. How could he joke now? But to his surprise, Bail replied, "It just needed a little extra salt."

Once again his master knew exactly what to say, and bad cooking or not, Obi-Wan was extremely grateful that Qui-Gon was there to help them both through what was going to be a very long and difficult voyage.

They quickly settled into a routine. Qui-Gon became the Cook, which merely required him to heat up the ship's stock of pre-packaged meals. He further served in the capacity of Provider of Entertainment, which consisted of picking out holovids from them to watch on the ship's viewer. Bail would only watch comedies. He would sit shrouded in Obi-Wan's robe, eyes locked on the screen. He never laughed. Qui-Gon also joined Obi-Wan in playing cards. Bail refused all invitations to join in, but he watched silently and without comment, focusing almost exclusively on Qui-Gon's face. And finally Qui-Gon was the Designated Conversationalist. Bail as a rule said almost nothing, and Obi-Wan was too much at a loss himself to bring up any topic. So Qui-Gon prattled away on any of a number of completely mundane topics. Both his Padawan and the Prince seemed to appreciate the background noise, hardly caring what he said, but finding his deep voice soothing.

Obi-Wan was Dispenser of Medicine and Healer's Assistant, monitoring Bail's health. He was also Designated Worrier, a duty he strove to fulfill as unobtrusively as possible, mainly by frowning all the time. It was also Obi-Wan's responsibility to Sit Next to Bail, seldom touching, but always close by.

And Bail... he did not exactly relish his assignment as Victim, but he couldn't really deny it, either. He seemed to prefer instead his self-appointed role as Appropriator of Obi-Wan's Robe. Ever since Obi-Wan had given it to him in the hospital, he had quite simply never taken it off. He even slept in it. It had become a sort of security blanket, and Qui-Gon at least began to doubt that he would ever give it back.

Mainly Bail slept a lot, upwards of fifteen hours at a time. This was not really surprising. What was surprising is that he let Obi- Wan sleep in his cabin - on the other bunk, but the proximity allowed Obi-Wan to Sit Next to Bail even when he was asleep, thereby satisfying both parties.

So the time passed with agonizing slowness. The ship was too small for Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan to spar, and anyway they weren't sure they should engage in such violent activity in front of Bail. Mainly they meditated, watched holovids, and played cards.

It was therefore a surprise to Qui-Gon when he entered the lounge one day after meditating to find his Padawan engaged in the morning open-hand kata, an elegant kata of slow, meditative movements that Padawans conventionally seldom practiced. But what made the sight truly surprising was the fact that Obi-Wan had a mirror. The Prince stood facing him, wearing Obi-Wan's robe and awkwardly mimicking the motions. Obi-Wan's eyes were closed as he moved through the kata with an ethereal grace that never failed to catch Qui-Gon's breath in his throat. The Prince, like some caricature of a Padawan, studied Obi-Wan's face intensely. His movements, jerky, uncertain, and altogether lacking in Obi-Wan's grace, nevertheless were deliberate and contemplative, as if he were seeking peace through Obi-Wan. Qui- Gon could feel the Force flowing between the two of them, his Padawan's steady presence, and Bail, still deeply troubled, but calmer than Qui-Gon had seen him since the rescue.

They made such a strange pair. The most Qui-Gon had hoped for when he had arranged for Obi-Wan to meet the Prince all those years ago was for the two of them to become friends. He had been more surprised than anyone when that friendship developed into an affair. He hadn't thought the Prince was Obi-Wan's type. Even when he had learned how serious their relationship was, he couldn't imagine what the two of them really saw in each other.

And he still couldn't. Of course, current circumstances were not exactly the best for him to explore a Day in the Affair of Obi-Wan Kenobi and Bail Organa. But his Padawan's concern and care for the Prince moved him deeply. Obi-Wan was scrupulous in the fulfillment of his duty on all their missions, and that included administering care and comfort to those in need, but he did so with an impersonal efficiency. Obi-Wan had learned all too well his lesson from Melida/Daan about the danger of becoming too personally involved in the suffering and struggles of others. Obi-Wan had changed after that fateful mission, grown up, but also lost something precious. When Qui-Gon had first met Prince Bail, he had described his Padawan as a man who had learned to fear his passion. The Prince, it seemed, had managed to reawaken that passion in Obi-Wan - certainly of the flesh, but more importantly of the heart and soul.

And the Prince, the way he buried himself in Obi-Wan's robe as if wrapping himself in the Jedi's very essence, the way he drew close to Obi-Wan despite his silence, the way he watched the Jedi even now, mimicking the kata, his eyes shuttered with pain and sorrow, but looking to Obi-Wan as to an anchor in a stormy sea.... Qui-Gon saw what was written there: that the Prince loved his Padawan. And his Padawan returned that love.

When there was a certain lesson Jedi Masters could not teach their apprentices, they sent them to someone who could. It seemed Qui-Gon had not been wrong to entrust his Obi-Wan to Bail Organa.

Once, when Obi-Wan was meditating in the lounge, Qui-Gon wandered into the cockpit to find the Prince seated in the pilot's chair, staring out the canopy at the lightshow of hyperspace. Rather than leave, Qui-Gon quietly settled into the co-pilot's chair, his attention directed outward, but projecting calm through the Force, a benign, unobtrusive presence.

For a long time they sat in silence. Then the Prince asked, "Of all people, why did the Council send you and Obi-Wan?"

Qui-Gon well understood the question. "I requested it."

Bail considered this. "Did Obi-Wan ask you to?"

"No. He didn't have to. I knew he wanted to come, but as a Padawan, he has no right to request a specific mission."

"And they let you come."

"Yes." Though there had been a fierce debate.

Another very long silence. Then, hesitantly, "Do you think...."

"Yes?" he prompted gently.

Bail licked his lips. "Do you think it...was a mistake? The senate mission?

"No. There is no one in the galaxy who is willing to deal with the people's plight on Ithgar. They suffer alone."

"But after...what happened, I think the galaxy will still feel the situation is hopeless."

"That depends."

"On what?"

"On how this story is told."

Bail's hands clenched on the armrests of the pilot's chair. "Two senators are dead, a third may die, and another wants only revenge. That's the story."

"And what of the fifth?"

Bail stared out through the cockpit's viewscreen, his body taut. "What of the fifth?"

"He is not ready to speak yet. But when he is, I for one am very interested to hear what he will say." Qui-Gon stood and rested his hand comfortingly on the top of the Prince's head. It was a gesture he had made many times to Obi-Wan. "You are a good man, your Highness, and a good Senator. Your story is not yet over, but when you are ready to tell it...it will be the right one."

The Jedi Master's words were kind, and the weight of his hand resting on Bail's head felt good, but he still could not trust what Qui-Gon said. "How can you be so sure?"

"Because Obi-Wan respects you, and I trust his judgment."

His hand rested a moment longer on the Prince's head, then he turned and exited the cockpit, leaving the Prince to stare out at the maelstrom of hyperspace.

The ship became a kind of cocoon where all three of them could hide away from the troubles that awaited them when they reached their destination. But it could not last, and as the ship began its descent into Alderaan's atmosphere, Bail's agitation grew. Home no longer seemed quite the refuge he had thought it would be on Ithgar.

He stood between the two Jedi, huddling in Obi-Wan's robe, as the ramp lowered. For a moment they were blinded by the bright afternoon sun, then a voice from outside called, "Bail?"

In the blink of an eye, Bail was down the ramp, surrounded by his parents and sisters, who packed so tightly around him Obi-Wan couldn't even see him. He and Qui-Gon hung back at the foot of the ramp, and Obi-Wan was keenly conscious of the fact that he did not properly belong at this reunion. He had carried out his duty as a Jedi, he had rescued a Republic senator from a hostage situation, and he had safely escorted that senator home. His personal feelings did not matter. The fact that this senator was his lover did not matter. He was a Jedi. He had no family, and personal attachments could not interfere with the execution of his duty. This mission was over, and now he would be sent on another one. He had no place here.

But his heart spoke of another kind of duty, one it longed to fulfill.

Qui-Gon lay his hand on Obi-Wan's shoulder, and Obi-Wan feared his master would lead him back onto the ship. The moment passed, however, and he did not.

It wasn't long before the crowd around Bail began to lead him to a waiting landspeeder. Bail's mother detached herself from the group and approached the two Jedi. She stood for a moment in front of Obi- Wan, as if she were struggling to compose herself, to find words to greet him with. At last she gave up and simply embraced him, holding on tightly to him. "Thank you," she whispered into his ear. Then she drew back, releasing him, her eyes bright with unshed tears. "Thank you," she repeated.

Obi-Wan was so stunned by this reception he did not know what to say. "You're welcome"? Certainly not, "I'm happy to have done my duty." He only stared at her in silence, watching as she turned to his master.

"You must be Qui-Gon Jinn," she said, and Obi-Wan was momentarily embarrassed at having failed to make a proper introduction.

But his master smoothed over the breach in etiquette. "I am honored to meet you, Lady Radha," he said with a bow. "I am only sorry it could not have been under happier circumstances."

"What could be happier than the safe return of my son?" she asked quietly. Turning again to Obi-Wan, she said, "We would be honored to have you as our guests. Everyone will want to thank you properly, and I know Bail will want you to stay."

Obi-Wan blushed, wanting desperately to accede to her invitation but knowing they would have to refuse, when Qui-Gon answered, "We are grateful for your hospitality. Thank you very much."

Obi-Wan shook himself. He couldn't have heard that right, and yet even now Radha was leading them to a second speeder, and before he could comprehend it, they were heading for the Organa manor.

When they arrived, Radha remained with them long enough to assign them rooms - in the guest wing, Obi-Wan noticed, not the family wing where he usually stayed. Then Radha begged leave to see to Bail and disappeared. Obi-Wan quickly realized why they were in the guest wing. A large contingent of the Organa clan had assembled to greet Bail on his return. They whirled and eddied around the lost son like a benevolent hurricane, everyone eager to offer their love and support. Bail sat in the eye, dazed by their comings and goings, deafened by their well wishes, disoriented by this protective network of relatives. Obi-Wan could scarcely catch a glimpse of the Prince, constantly surrounded as he was by his family, but every time Obi-Wan could see him, he looked even more lost than he had on the ship.

Obi-Wan almost found himself resenting the gaggle of Organas, all of whom had taken it upon themselves to Sit Next to Bail. Obi-Wan selfishly wanted to claim that task for himself, but the family unintentionally pushed him away from Bail's side. And what right did Obi-Wan really have to resent them? He had no special claim, unrelated as he was by blood or bonding.

Yet for all that the family had usurped his place with Bail, they welcomed Obi-Wan among them. All day long, Organas approached him, some of whom he had met before, others whom he had not, yet all of them knew who he was and greeted him warmly, thanking him profusely for rescuing Bail. Obi-Wan was accustomed to effusive gratitude at the end of missions, but just as this mission had been different, so were the thank yous. Here he was more than the all-powerful Jedi to whom everyone owed a debt of gratitude. They greeted him as one of them, an honorary Organa. Apparently everyone in the clan knew about Bail's long-time boyfriend, and they treated him as if he belonged.

And Obi-Wan wanted to belong. He had not wanted so much to belong anywhere since Melida/Daan. Yet he could not belong here any more than he could on that war-torn planet. At any moment he could be called upon to go rescue someone else's son, someone else's lover. He hardly understood why Qui-Gon was indulging him by accepting the Organas' hospitality. He almost resented the fact that in doing so Qui-Gon had only delayed the inevitable departure. So Obi-Wan endured the gratitude of the Organas but stuck to himself as much as possible, hovering in corners, watching as Qui-Gon joined in games with all the little cousins, nieces and nephews. The children squealed in delight at this giant stranger who wrestled with them and hoisted them high up on his shoulders. To all appearances it was Qui- Gon who belonged there, Obi-Wan reflected bitterly, yet he knew it was a deception. Qui-Gon was playing a role, as he often did on missions, befriending children that he would leave soon enough. But these children were not anonymous to Obi-Wan. He knew their names, knew their favorite games, knew what year they were in school, and yet he could not join in, could not drift in and out of their lives like a random encounter. He was more than that - and yet he did not belong.

The evening meal was chaotic and informal. The entire family did not gather to dine together. Rather, people came and went from the table, sometimes taking their food with them. The children were still enjoying themselves at what they saw as an impromptu family reunion, and even the adults seemed to be enjoying being together. After all Bail had been through, Obi-Wan would have thought the family would be more somber. They seemed to have a strange way of registering their concern, but then what did Obi-Wan really know of how families operated?

Not surprisingly, Bail did not appear at the meal, nor did his parents, though one of his sisters sat with Obi-Wan for a while, talking to him almost as easily as if he were on Alderaan for a leisure visit. Obi-Wan found that he could hardly bear it, and shortly after dinner he retired for the night, willing himself to sleep.

The next day Qui-Gon finally raised the issue Obi-Wan had been dreading, yet now almost looked to with relief. "I have to be getting back to the Temple," he said simply.

"Yes, Master," Obi-Wan began, then stopped as Qui-Gon's words sank in. "You?" he clarified. "Not me? Our mission is over."

"It is," Qui-Gon quietly agreed. "But as you once pointed out to me, you have responsibilities as a man as well as a Jedi. There is no need for you to return right away, Padawan. I can make the report to the Council on my own, and I doubt they will have another mission for us right away. The Prince needs you right now."

Needed him? Obi-Wan had hardly seen Bail since their return. "He has his family," he protested, shaking his head.

"That does not mean he doesn't need you as well," Qui-Gon counseled gently. He sensed his Padawan's unease, and wanted to encourage him. "Talk to him. Ask him what he wants. I don't have to leave right away."

It took Obi-Wan some time to work up the courage, then it took him a while to find Bail at a time when he was not surrounded by relatives. It wasn't until late in the afternoon when he finally had a chance to talk to Bail alone.

He found the Prince seated at the window in his room, wrapped up in Obi-Wan's robe, gazing out at the river. Bail did not turn around at his entrance. "I take it it's your turn now," he said by way of greeting.

Confused, Obi-Wan hesitated. He had no idea what Bail was talking about. "I beg your pardon?"

Bail sighed deeply. "Aren't you here to tell me to go to the mind healers? That I need counseling? It's what everyone else is saying."

"Then I doubt you need to hear it from me."

"I'm sick of all this," Bail said wearily. "I wanted so much to come home, and now that I'm here I can't wait to get away. Everyone means well, but they insist on giving me advice, as if they have any idea what it's like." A long pause, then, "They have no idea."

Obi-Wan didn't know what to say to that, so he remained silent, standing quietly in the center of the room.

At last Bail turned to him, with just a trace of his old humor. "So what did they send you to tell me?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing? This is just a social visit?"

"Actually... Qui-Gon says he must return to the Temple."

Bail's already drawn face turned ashen, and his gaze slid off of Obi- Wan. "You're leaving," he said faintly, full of despair.

"Qui-Gon said I might stay."

Turning back to the river, Bail bitterly disagreed, "Of course you can't stay. You're a Jedi. Duty calls."

"He said I might stay," Obi-Wan repeated.

"But for how long? Sooner or later you'll be called away again. I still need you." He looked back at Obi-Wan, a trace of anger in his eyes. "I can hire you; you can be my bodyguard."

"The Jedi aren't for hire."

"Nonsense. I'll pay you one Republic credit a day, plus expenses. You can be my bodyguard and protect me against well-wishers. I can't take it anymore, all these people coming to see me, wanting to help me, offering their sympathy, telling me what to do, when they don't have a clue." Bail's hands twisted nervously in the robe's folds. "I can't endure it. You can protect me from them. I'll hire you, but on one condition."

Obi-Wan hesitated. "What is that?"

Bail's eyes turned hard. "I don't want to hear one word of advice from you. If anything even remotely resembling advice comes out of your mouth, I'll fire you and you can go back to Coruscant. Understood?"

His harshness surprised Obi-Wan. He knew Bail meant it in a kind of jest, but part of him was serious. Perhaps Bail, too, felt in some way that Obi-Wan did not belong there. This talk of hiring him was a ruse to keep him there. Very well, Obi-Wan could accept that. "I understand," he acceded.

Bail relaxed slightly at that, relief evident on his face. "It's settled, then. So, first item of business: we're moving out of here to my apartment."

Concerned, Obi-Wan objected, "Are you sure that's-"

Bail raised a warning hand. "No advice."

Obi-Wan quieted his concerns. "All right."

"Good," Bail said. "I think this will work out well."

But Obi-Wan was not so sure.

Only Bail's parents and Obi-Wan's master were told, but the details of Obi-Wan's "employment" were omitted. Vilnis and Radha were less than happy to learn Bail wanted to leave already, but they understood the difficulties he was going through, and they were relieved to know that Obi-Wan would be with him.

So Qui-Gon left for Coruscant, and Obi-Wan took Bail to the Prince's Alderaan apartment, both departures occurring with as little fuss as possible. The two young men spent a quiet evening, buying groceries and supplies to stock the apartment, then watching holovids until Bail finally decided to go to bed.

Obi-Wan slept on the living room couch.

Bail slept in very late the next day. It was almost lunchtime when he finally emerged from his room. Obi-Wan resisted the urge to wake him, instead spending the time in exercise and meditation. When Bail at last appeared, they shared a quiet meal, and then Bail announced his intention to visit the senate office on Alderaan. Obi-Wan suspected the Prince was hoping to get back to work, and he didn't think the Prince was ready, but it was not his place to comment.

They arrived at the office by mid-afternoon, and Bail was greeted warmly by everyone. Obi-Wan did not know any of the staff in the Alderaan office, but they all evidently knew about him, and he was greeted just as warmly as Bail, everyone thanking him for rescuing their prince.

The senior senator, Bail Antilles, was there as well, and he embraced the Prince. "We were so afraid for you. It is good to have you safely home." At last he released the Prince and turned to Obi- Wan. "We have you to thank for that, Jedi Kenobi. All of Alderaan is in your debt for your service to the Prince."

"I only wish we could have gotten there sooner," Obi-Wan said. Out of the corner of his eye he caught Bail's quick frown.

"Yes," the Prince added. "Thanks to the Jedi the mission was only a near-complete disaster rather than a complete one."

Senator Antilles shot his junior colleague a guarded look, then suggested, "Why don't we talk in my office?"

The Prince nodded and followed him, but Obi-Wan wasn't sure whether he should come as well. At the door to Antilles' office, Bail turned and looked at Obi-Wan, quirking his eyebrows as if to say, What are you waiting for? Obi-Wan quickly joined them. If the senior senator was surprised, he said nothing, ushering both men into the room and inviting them to sit on the couch.

Immediately the Prince announced, "I apologize for not yet filing a report on the mission. I'll get on it right away."

"Don't be ridiculous, Junior," Antilles gently chided. "You don't need to worry yourself about that report right now. We have all the information we need for immediate action from your initial statement to the Hinnelese authorities, as well as the statements from the Jedi team. Anything else can wait."

"I beg to differ. Jantalia and Malastare may very well urge the senate to take action against the Folinas -"

"We're handling it."

"I need to write letters of condolence -"

"Your secretary has already taken care of that."

"My committee assignments -"

"Are covered." The senator held up his hands to silence the Prince's protests. "Let us worry about all that. You need to take care of yourself right now. You are currently considered on medical leave, and will remain so until you have recovered from your ordeal."

Bail frowned. "I am already recovered. The healers gave me a clean bill of health."

Antilles' expression softened with compassion. "Physically, yes, but there are other kinds of injuries." When the Prince opened his mouth to protest again, Antilles cut him off with a gesture. "The Viceroy and I have already discussed this, Junior. We almost lost you. Your complete recovery is what is most important to us. You need to see the mind healers. You need time. The galaxy will still be here when you are ready to face it again."

Bail remained silent a moment, his arms folded defensively across his chest, his eyes downcast. "What I need is to get back to work," he said.

"No," Senior Bail replied with a note of finality. "You have been through a terrible ordeal, and it will take some time to heal. You have always sought to take care of others. Let us take care of you now." The senator's eyes flickered briefly to Obi-Wan, and Bail caught the glance, frowning again.

"Everyone wants to take care of me," he muttered.

"That's because we care about you," Antilles replied. "Go to the healers, Junior. I don't want to see you in the office until you've recovered." He meant the comment to be protective, but Bail winced as if it were a sentence.

After a few more minutes of fruitless conversation, the Prince mumbled his farewells and took leave of Antilles, seeking out his secretary and leaving Obi-Wan in the waiting room. With the Prince occupied, Antilles approached Obi-Wan. "I meant what I said earlier. We are truly indebted to you. When we learned Boojara had been killed, we feared the worst. And I have to confess I'm glad you're with him right now." His expression grave, he asked, "How is he?"

Obi-Wan had no idea how to respond to that question, even if he felt he had any right to. The Senator picked up on his reluctance and dismissed, "Never mind. I suppose it's a stupid question anyway. He's young; he should be able to bounce back from this. I read the medical report...." He trailed off, then gave an involuntary shudder before collecting himself. "I know he won't like this enforced leave, but we really feel he needs to recover. Besides, the situation in the senate is very tense right now. We don't want him to have to defend himself." He smiled at Obi-Wan. "We'll take care of him in the senate. You take care of him here and now."

"I'll do my best, Senator."

Antilles clapped his hand on Obi-Wan's shoulder. "I know you will, Bendu." With a final smile, he returned to his office.

It wasn't long before the Prince rejoined Obi-Wan. "Well, that was pointless," he grumbled. "It appears Senior Bail was right; they don't need me at all."

"That's not what he said."

Bail shot him a dark look. "Maybe not explicitly, but it amounts to the same thing." He straightened his shoulders, forcing a cheerfulness into his expression that did not reach his eyes. "Well, if they insist I take a vacation, let's not disappoint them, shall we?"

"What do you want to do?" Obi-Wan asked. He was quite sure Bail would not suggest they make an appointment with any healers.

"I'm going to call some of my old university friends," Bail said. "They should be off work soon. And then we'll go have a drink. In fact, I think we'll have more than one."

And that is exactly what they did. Bail made a few calls, and within an hour they were installed at a pub as Bail's friends filtered in. Obi-Wan had heard enough stories about Bail's university days to make him question the merit of some of the people the Prince used to keep company with, and the crowd now gathered seemed to justify Obi-Wan's low opinion. They reminded him of Bail's Young and Beautiful of old, the superficial hangers-on Obi-Wan had met when he and Bail first began dating. Bail had finally begun to grow up a bit beyond the acquaintance of such friends, and Obi-Wan did not think it boded well for Bail to return to them now. But he knew his opinion would not be wanted, and if he had any doubt as to the role he was to play here, Bail quickly put him in his place. When the others placed their drink orders, one of them turned to Obi-Wan, who had up to this point remained virtually unnoticed, and asked, "What will you have?"

Before Obi-Wan could answer, Bail interrupted, "Don't feed him; he's on duty."

"On duty?" the others asked. "What do you mean by that?"

"He's my bodyguard."

The crowd found this concept hilarious, and they teased Bail about having an inflated sense of self-importance. Astonishingly, few of them had even a vague concept that Bail had recently returned from a dangerous mission. Then again, given how flighty they all were, perhaps this wasn't so surprising after all, and it may indeed be why Bail had chosen to invite them.

So that was how it would be. Bail would distract himself with drink and crowds of old friends, and Obi-Wan's job once more was to Sit Next to Bail. To say nothing, to do nothing, to be invisible but present. The pattern was set, and over the coming days Obi-Wan would become quite good at his appointed task, to watch and wait while Bail sank ever deeper into the quagmire of his fear.

Darkness had texture. It had form. It had mass.

The darkness of his cell was a living creature that devoured time. He had no way of knowing how long he spent in that cell. Minutes, hours, even days ceased to mean anything when he could not even see his hand in front of his face, when it made no difference whether his eyes were open or closed. This darkness smothered him, seeping into the pores of his naked, exposed skin, filling his veins like ice water. It crushed him in its velvet grip, squeezing out all hope or thought. But at least the darkness of his cell did not hurt.

There was another kind of darkness that had sharp corners and painful solidity, the darkness of the blindfold. It became their favorite game, to bind his eyes and then set him loose, placing obstacles in front of him to trip him, hands materializing out of the blackness to shove him as he stumbled against tables, chairs, heavy things that rolled on the floor, sliding out from beneath his feet. When he fell, he never knew if he would land on the floor or be caught on some piece of furniture. He never knew when they would throw something at him, something soft like a piece of rotting fruit, something hard like a rock or a datapad. He never knew when they would strike him, or which direction they would come from - his chest, his legs, the small of his back. Fists or clubs or open palms slapping him. He never knew what would attack him in the darkness of the blindfold.

And that darkness settled into the base of his skull like a hard, sharp point boring into his neck, screeching against his nerves like fingernails on a slateboard, sending cold, black tendrils of pain throughout his entire body.

Above all else, he feared the darkness now.

It didn't matter where he was. It didn't matter what caused it. Something always happened to trigger that panic in him. This time it was a sudden movement just inside his line of vision, coming from behind him. He flinched in response, and in that gesture was transported to a realm of uncertainty and fear. His back was exposed, and he felt stripped, unprotected against the darkness. Anyone could approach him, anything could attack him. His muscles tensed, cramping in anticipation of the blows. He ducked his head, hunching his shoulders, trying to become as small a target as possible. Phantom pain pierced the base of his skull, momentarily blinding him, and he whimpered, struggling for breath in rapid gasps, but the influx of oxygen wasn't enough to offset his rising panic. He had to protect his head, but he couldn't see where the blows would come from. They might break his spine or shatter his shoulder blades. He could hear the whistle of the clubs in his ear as his tormentors brandished them, the rush of air on his cheek. They weren't hitting him yet, but they would soon. This was just the tease, the foreplay of fear before the orgasm of torture. His gorge rose in his throat, choking him, his knees weakening, and he couldn't remain standing anymore, would fall, fall until he landed on something hard and sharp, before they kicked him in the stomach and groin.

But before he could fall, someone caught him around the waist, a solid arm holding him firmly but gently. He was pressed against a warm body, but before this awareness could inspire a different kind of panic, a low voice whispered in his ear, "It's all right, you're safe." He didn't believe it, of course. It was his own wishful thinking, but the words changed, "I'm here. I've got you," and they didn't sound threatening. A hand massaged his neck, drawing out the worst of the pain, the chest pressed reassuringly against his back, rumbling with the echo of those soft words, "No one can harm you. I'm here. You're all right." Every instinct shrieked at him to pull away, to protect himself. It was a trick, and the blows were coming. He had to be prepared. Yet the blows did not fall, and his back was protected. If he stayed within the circle of those arms, within the reach of that voice, he would not be attacked. The hand on the back of his neck moved higher, strong fingers stroking into his hair. "You aren't there any more. You're home, you're safe. I'm right here with you."

He opened his eyes. He hadn't realized they were closed. A crowd of people swirled around him, and none of them seemed frightened or frightening. They were focused on a band of musicians playing in the square, and as far as any of them cared, he didn't even exist. The sight of so many people around him ought to frighten him, but it didn't. His back was protected. No one could strike at him from behind, no one could grab him or push him. He was on Alderaan, at a street concert. He was home, he was safe, and Obi-Wan was with him. Obi-Wan would let nothing happen to him. Obi-Wan would protect him.

He sagged back against the Jedi, closing his eyes again, this time in relief. The panic trickled away to be replaced by grief. Tears burned against his eyelids. He was safe, but he didn't trust it. He had been freed, but he was still a captive. His ordeal was over, but it was never going to end. For the rest of his life he would be stalked by what had happened, and even Obi-Wan could not protect him from his own memories. Dear, sweet Obi-Wan, who wanted so much to love him, to take care of him, to comfort him. Bail could rely on the Jedi's strength, but he could not open himself to his love. All the negative emotions of fear, hate, despair - his companions in imprisonment - these he could feel. But not the ones from before: joy, happiness, love. They were dim shadows in the cave of his mind. He could scarcely remember them, let alone feel them. His heart was closed, and he no longer possessed the knowledge to open it, even if he had had the will. It was better this way. If he had already lost those emotions, then he could never lose them again. He shrouded himself in a cloak of lassitude, losing himself in its soft brown folds, until the next panic attack came. In the meantime this lassitude would be his armor, his cloak of invisibility, until at last the fear could no longer find him and would leave him alone.

"Let's go home," he said when he had recovered his breath.

"Of course," came Obi-Wan's voice behind him, solid in his ear. No question, no challenge, no reprimand. Just assurance.

Bail led the way through the crowd, Obi-Wan following him, hands resting on his shoulders, guarding his back. Obi-Wan knew what to do. Bail could count on him, even if he couldn't bear to touch him.

They stood by the canal, waiting for an empty river taxi, Bail still trembling slightly from the poison of his fear. He remembered Obi- Wan telling him once that the Jedi released their negative emotions into the Force. But Bail was Force-blind. He couldn't release his emotions into anything. Since Jedi had the Force, could Bail release his emotions into Obi-Wan? Obi-Wan was strong enough. He could endure these things.

Bail shivered again, and Obi-Wan removed his cloak, wrapping it around the Prince. How did he know? Maybe Obi-Wan was Bail's Force. He pulled the cloak tightly around him, warm and protective like his indifference. When a cab at last pulled up to the dock, Bail raised the hood over his head, telling himself it was so that he wouldn't be recognized, but the truth was that he just wanted to be swallowed up in that cloak, warm and dark and protected.

When Bail had been very young, he used to hide in his father's closet, climbing over the shoes, pushing himself behind the hanging clothes. He thought that if he stood in the very back of the closet, his feet swallowed up in his father's enormous shoes, his face hidden behind the robes, no one would ever be able to find him. He didn't worry about getting lost. He never fretted that if no one found him he would starve to death. His father's closet could sustain him forever, door closed, lights off, the smell of old leather, the rough solidity of the woolen winter robes, the soft caress of the dress silks, the cool kiss of brass buttons, and pervading it all, his father's dusty scent, like the pages of a book taken down off the shelf and opened for the first time in decades.

Bail never got lost in that closet. No matter how long he stayed there, Papa always found him. He didn't know that Vilnis was well aware of his son's favorite hiding place, but to Bail it was no miracle that his father should know where he was. The closet door would open, the light would come on, and little Bail would hold his breath, as silent as he could possibly be, hiding in the shoes. But inevitably those long arms would part the robes, and Bail would peep up beneath a cascade of sleeves to see his father smiling down at him. It was no miracle at all. As a child Bail had never feared the dark, because of his father's closet. But he had learned to fear it now. His cell on Ithgar had been cold. Its darkness contained hidden terrors, not comfort and security. Worst of all, Papa had not found him. Bail waited and waited, but Papa had never come. Vilnis was not a hero or a warrior; he was a scholar. He could not help Bail. Instead it was Obi-Wan who had rescued him from that terrifying closet. Bail could no longer hide among Papa's robes, but Obi-Wan's robe perhaps could shelter him.

When they returned to the apartment, Obi-Wan let him keep the robe, seeing him to bed in it, then leaving him to sleep on the couch, the bedroom door cracked open. Bail longed to call him back, to beg him to stay, but he couldn't, could only content himself with the robe's embrace.

His reluctance was silly. What was the difference between rape and love, anyway, except whether or not you had a choice in your partners? And what did having a choice mean, for that matter? Bail had not chosen his family, neither his loving stepmother, nor his indifferent birth mother. What was the difference between Radha's kisses and Hilga's, both bestowed with a smile, both with endearments and pet names? Love and rape employed the same acts, and they had the same effect on the body, willing partner or no. Bail had been horrified the first time he had an orgasm when those brutes were raping him. His captors had taken particular delight in it. But why should he have been surprised? The body will respond to certain stimuli, no matter who applies them. The body has a will of its own, registering pleasure even when the mind does not. It's not as if Bail had never had sex with strangers before. In fact he had known his Folina captors longer than he had known some of his lovers. So why should he find the mere thought of Obi-Wan's touch so repellent? It ought to be perfectly natural that he should crave and abhor it at the same time, as he had his captors'. After all, the rapes hadn't hurt as much as the beatings. Wasn't the one better than the other? His body certainly thought so.

Yet every night Obi-Wan slept on the couch, and Bail slept alone, the light on in the 'fresher because he couldn't bear the darkness as he lay in his cold bed and tried to hide from his fear in Obi-Wan's robe.

At first Bail's parents called every morning to ask how their son was doing. Obi-Wan didn't know what to say to them. He was there, after all, under Bail's conditions, and he didn't think it was his place to tell Vilnis and Radha that their son was making no progress, was wasting away his days and drinking away his nights, and all the time refusing to see the healers. Bail's parents sensed Obi-Wan's dilemma and had to content themselves with the assurance that however Bail was doing, Obi-Wan was with him. Instead they began asking after Obi- Wan, but Obi-Wan was scarcely better able to answer those inquiries than he was the other. At last they settled into a routine.

"How are you today, Obi-Wan?"

"Fine, thank you."

"Did you have a pleasant day yesterday?"

"Well enough."

"Glad to hear it."

It said nothing at all, but the routine helped them retain their sanity.

The days advanced and nothing changed. Bail slept until midday while Obi-Wan went through a routine of meditations and workouts. They had a late lunch, and then either watched holovids silently on the couch or went out, endlessly wandering the streets. Nightfall found them in a bar or a dance club, sometimes alone, but usually with some of Bail's friends. Bail would drink until he reached a sufficient state of lively inebriation to approximate his easy-going nature from before the abduction. Then he would cozy up to new friends, casting his net far and wide, flirting recklessly with everyone who looked his way, completely oblivious to what it was he was really searching for. And Obi-Wan stood silent guard, ready to rescue the Prince before his flirtations had gone too far, evoking a serious response from someone, a promise Bail had no desire to fulfill. He pursued others eagerly enough, but he could not bear the capture.

And Obi-Wan was ignored. Obi-Wan only watched as Bail lavished his attention on others. Obi-Wan tactfully disentangled the Prince from impending amours and gracefully steered him back home again, tucking him into bed, wrapped up in the robe, and if Obi-Wan was noticed at all, it was only to attract Bail's inexplicable scorn. Bail was releasing his negative emotions into Obi-Wan, all right, releasing them in the form of invective, of biting sarcasm and outright hostility.

One night at a club, someone asked Bail why Obi-Wan didn't join in the dancing. "He's a Jedi," Bail had explained nonchalantly, knowing full well Obi-Wan could hear. "They believe all such superficial pastimes to be beneath them. Appalling killjoys, those Jedi. If it weren't for their damned Force abilities, I'd say the universe was better off without them."

Another time when Bail was in a bar getting thoroughly drunk with a gaggle of newfound friends, a young woman approached Obi-Wan where he sat alone in a booth. She had been watching him watch the Prince all night and just wanted to talk. Obi-Wan had been enjoying his first genuine conversation in days, when Bail had noticed them. He stalked angrily over to the booth and demanded of Obi-Wan, "What do you think you're doing?"

"We're just talking --," Obi-Wan began, but Bail ignored him, turning toward the woman.

"You needn't bother, darling. You don't have what he wants. He only likes to get fucked up the ass." He turned his burning eyes back on Obi-Wan, his expression hard but smug. "And I'm the only one who gets to do that."

He might as well have spat in Obi-Wan's face. Jedi were psychologically trained never to take offense, understanding that insults were either meant as a power trip or a defense mechanism. Obi-Wan knew that in Bail's case it was probably both, and yet he was livid, furious. To be spoken of with such scorn, and to a stranger; to have his relationship with Bail, especially in light of all he'd put up with lately, be described in such crude terms, was more than he could bear, and when Bail grabbed his wrist and pronounced, "We're leaving," Obi-Wan almost pulled away. Bail's steely gaze met his with challenge, daring him to protest, to evoke a scene, but Obi-Wan swallowed his indignation. He let his Jedi training take control, but it cost him as a man, and he stood, following Bail out of the bar, feeling hatred coalesce in the pit of his stomach with each step - until they were out of the bar and Bail turned on him suddenly, throwing his arms around Obi-Wan's neck, clinging desperately, wildly to him and begging, "Please don't leave me!"

Emotion shifted so abruptly in Obi-Wan as to make him feel motion sick, and he struggled to reorient himself while Bail trembled violently in his arms. "Shh," Obi-Wan hushed him. "It's all right. I won't leave you."

But he didn't know how much longer he could keep that promise.

He felt assaulted by Bail's emotions, battered by his mood swings. Every night Obi-Wan went to bed exhausted, his ego sorely bruised. Every morning in the quiet of meditation he could step back objectively and explain Bail's behavior as post-traumatic stress, and not as personal attacks. Every afternoon, in those hours before they went out, Bail was pleasant enough company, subdued but amiable, never referring to the previous night's insults, behaving as if they had never happened. Yet every night those insults rose again, increasing in venom as if seeking to goad Obi-Wan into attack, and every night it was Bail who finally broke, never apologizing, just suddenly throwing himself literally on Obi-Wan's mercy, begging him, pleading with him to stay, to hold him, to not get angry. And Obi- Wan would hold Bail as he shivered with guilt and fear, until he grew still and calm, or at least soporific. For Bail never truly relaxed under Obi-Wan's touch. He merely regained control until the next time he fell apart.

At a club one night Bail ran into one of his old friends, who invited him to a party. The Prince was already pretty drunk, and Obi-Wan hoped that this party might prove to be a safer, more contained environment for Bail's excesses.

The apartment Bail's friend took them to was large, with stylish furniture. The lights were on low, the music on high, and small groups of people congregated in odd corners throughout the apartment, some talking, some dancing, and some engaged in pursuits Obi-Wan thought best carried out in strict privacy. But even if anyone else had been sober enough to notice, Obi-Wan doubted they would have cared.

The place smelled of incense and alcohol, and something else, sickly sweet but with a sharp edge - spice. Obi-Wan took another close look at the partygoers. They were more languorous than could be attributed to alcohol alone. Who knew what other kinds of drugs were floating around, and how would this new form of intoxication affect Bail? Senses on alert, Obi-Wan took up post along a wall where he could keep an eye on everyone, not only the Prince.

Bail was being led to a couch in the corner to make the acquaintance of the hostess and several other guests. They passed a pipe to him, and Bail took a long pull before laughing and settling down on the couch, chatting with the others as if he'd known them all his life.

For a long time nothing happened. The music kept playing, and the scattered groups of people formed and reformed into different configurations, some disappearing to parts unknown within the apartment, and others too stoned to care about being discreet. Every once in a while someone would stumble across Obi-Wan - quite literally. But he remained silent and unmoving, and they invariably ended up thinking he was just a drug-induced hallucination.

Of all the places Bail had ever dragged Obi-Wan to, this was by far the worst. Nevertheless he began to think things were going to be all right. The Prince continued to smoke whatever it was in the pipe, but he remained safely on the couch in a rather mellow mood, as his companions came and went.

But one of those companions stuck around, cozying up close to the Prince, leg pressed up against his, hand touching his hair, his shoulders, his face. The guy was clearly putting moves on Bail, but the Prince seemed altogether oblivious. Obi-Wan watched closely, but Bail was scarcely aware that the man was pawing him, and the intruder appeared content merely to pet him. A harmless bit of cuddling, that was all.

Then Bail turned and began to kiss the man.

Up until now, none of Bail's flirtations had gone so far, except for a few gropes and quick kisses. But this was a genuine, tongue tangling, hips grinding, hands roaming kiss. Obi-Wan's cheeks burned hot in jealous anger, and he wanted to turn away, wanted in fact to leave. How could he subject himself to such a spectacle? Yet he couldn't leave, not when he knew Bail wasn't in full possession of his faculties. He had to stand guard in case something went wrong, but he didn't want to think of how much he might be forced to watch.

On the couch, the man had worked Bail into a horizontal position, lying on top of him, kissing him ever more insistently, hands working their way farther and farther down Bail's body, reaching between Bail's legs. The Prince visibly tensed, and Obi-Wan stood up, alert. The man continued to kiss and fondle Bail, but the Prince began to struggle, too stoned to resist effectively, but nevertheless clearly distraught. Obi-Wan did not hesitate a moment longer. He swept across the room and plucked the man off Bail by the collar. "Excuse me," he told the startled man.

"What the fuck --?"

With a gentle Force nudge - it wouldn't take much as the man was almost as high as Bail - Obi-Wan said, "You will come with me."

The man's eyes unfocused completely. "I'll come with you," he echoed as Obi-Wan all but carried him out of the room and down a hallway. He opened a door only to find the room already quite occupied, but as he doubted he was going to find any privacy anywhere in the apartment, Obi-Wan chose to ignore the room's other occupants. He led the man into a corner and lay him down on the floor. The man took this as an invitation, and began to worm his insistent hands into Obi-Wan's tunic, but Obi-Wan grabbed his wrists and commanded, "Sleep." The man slumped senselessly to the floor. Obi- Wan glanced up at the couple on the bed. Correction: threesome. Except there were still a few too many feet. How many...? Obi-Wan shook his head, looking away. He didn't really want to know. Maybe he should have dumped Bail's paramour on the bed with them. The fellow certainly wouldn't have minded, and Obi-Wan doubted the bed's occupants would have, either. Well, maybe they would find the guy and maybe they wouldn't. It was none of Obi-Wan's concern. He stood, struggling to sort out the tangle the man had made of his tunic as he returned to the main room to check on the Prince.

Hands.

Hands that were coarse and rough, with broad palms, and blunt, powerful fingers.

Hands that grabbed him under his arms and dragged him out of his cell. Hands that dug into his biceps. Hands that balled into fists and pounded into his gut. Hands that curled into his hair, forcing his head up.

Hands at the back of his neck, bending him over a table. Hands that held his wrists down like durasteel. Hands that grabbed his ankles and pulled them apart. Hands that pinched, prodded, squeezed, opened, violated.

Hands that grabbed his hips. And then...

not hands.

Bail jerked back to awareness, glancing wildly around him, heart pounding. He wasn't there, not in his cell and not in that horrible room. He didn't know where he was, but he wasn't there.

He struggled to sit up, grabbing onto the soft cushions of the couch to pull himself up, but it was a difficult task, made more challenging by the fact that the room kept morphing around him. His stomach churned, and his mouth tasted like dirty socks. At last he made it to a more or less upright position, and he glanced around again. He had been here with someone. Where was he now?

Someone walked past him and he reached out, grabbing her pants leg. She turned and looked down at him. "What?"

"Where's the man I came with?" he asked.

She turned and pointed toward a corner across the room. "Over there."

He searched the faces of the group, but none of them were right. Oh yes. His friend, the one who had invited him here. "No, not him," he corrected. "The other one."

"What other one?"

"The one...the one with the brown robe."

"Oh, him." She shrugged. "He left with Thierran."

Who? "What?"

She pointed to a hallway. "They went to the bedroom."

Bail loosened his grip on her pants leg, and his hand fell limply to his side as he stared at the hallway. Obi-Wan? His Obi-Wan? Had gone off with someone? Had left him alone in order to.... How could he? He was Bail's bodyguard! He was Bail's...he was his boyfriend. How dare he! It couldn't possibly be....

And then Obi-Wan appeared, emerging from the darkness of the hallway, his tunic disheveled, his robe askew, running a hand through his hair. Smug. Contented. Sated.

Something snapped in Bail, a white hot anger flooding his veins like he'd not felt since - since before. He leaped across the room, ready to attack. "You fucking slut!" he screamed.

Startled, Obi-Wan blinked, "What?"

"What the hell were you thinking? You're supposed to be my bodyguard! Anything could have happened to me, but you don't care - off having a bit of fun! Did you get bored with me? You'd rather fuck some stranger?"

Obi-Wan sighed in consternation. He was really getting tired of this. "Bail, you know that's not what I --." He ducked as a beer bottle came flying straight at his head, shattering against the wall.

"You fucking bastard!" Bail raged, bottles in both hands now, throwing them at Obi-Wan with mad accuracy. Obi-Wan dodged as Bail shrieked, "Don't you care what happened to me? Don't you care?"

Missiles kept flying, bottles, plates, a clock, anything Bail could get his hands on. The other partygoers enjoyed the ruckus at first, but the more Bail raged, the more they realized the danger of the situation.

"Stay calm!" Obi-Wan encouraged the others. "Leave the room; I'll handle him."

But the onlookers either didn't hear him or were too stoned or drunk to understand. They began screaming, scrambling over each other to get out of the way. Others began to appear from elsewhere in the apartment, attracted by the commotion only to add to the general chaos. The room was too small to contain a panicked crowd, an enraged Prince, and a volley of missiles. Obi-Wan couldn't maneuver properly either to deflect the attack or capture Bail without risk of harming someone. He searched the crowd while keeping an eye on Bail, until he found someone who was not yet completely hysterical. "You!" he shouted, pointing. "Get everyone out of here!"

Thankfully she understood, nodding and herding the others into a hallway. Not everyone obeyed, but the number of people in the room decreased enough that Obi-Wan could concentrate on Bail.

Almost too late. The Prince had picked up a lamp and was bearing down on him, aiming at his head. Obi-Wan threw his arms up to deflect the blow and staggered backward at the impact, tripping and falling. He rolled back onto his feet just as Bail swung at him with the remains of the lamp.

The Prince was not a fighting man, but his anger more than compensated for his lack of skill as he kept Obi-Wan pinned beneath a constant barrage. Obi-Wan couldn't catch Bail without hurting him, couldn't deflect the missiles with either lightsaber or the Force for fear of hitting Bail or one of the onlookers. The quarters were too close, and Bail was too mad with rage. Obi-Wan should just leap on the Prince, pin him to the floor, break his arm or knock him out if he had to. He shouldn't worry about harming him, not when Bail posed such a danger to himself and others. There was an out-of-control man, under the influence of both drugs and alcohol, tearing up the room. Obi-Wan had handled this kind of situation before. It should be easy. But this time the raging lunatic was his boyfriend. Obi-Wan could not bring himself to do what he needed to do, and if he could not gain control of himself, he could not hope to gain the upper hand with Bail.

Obi-Wan focused his attention just long enough on someone else to urge, "Call the police!" But the distraction cost him as Bail hit him over the head with something heavy, momentarily dazing him. Obi- Wan couldn't worry about the others anymore. He had to focus on self- preservation.

Dodge the blows. Try to get behind Bail to grab his arms and pin them down. But still Obi-Wan was unable to perform this simple task, whether because of the clutter in the room, or because of his concern not to hurt Bail, or because he knew how much the Prince needed this, to explode, to rant and rage. Whatever the reason, it was all Obi- Wan could do to keep himself and the others from harm while Bail tore up the room, shrieking insults, too far gone to even curse in Corellian.

At last the police arrived, and one stun bolt succeeded where Obi-Wan had not. Bail slumped to the floor, unconscious. One of the officers moved to restrain him, but Obi-Wan stopped him. "It's Prince Bail Organa."

The officer looked closer at Bail's face, then glanced up at Obi- Wan. "And who are you?"

"Jedi Padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi. I'm his bodyguard."

The officer's eyes widened as his gaze swept over the Jedi. "You're also injured."

Obi-Wan looked down. His tunic was stained with blood. He felt suddenly light-headed, and his knees gave way as he plunged into darkness.

When Obi-Wan awoke, his master was sitting in a chair by his bed, elbows resting on knees, chin on his folded hands. Obi-Wan glanced quickly around him. This wasn't the healer's wing of the Temple. He must still be on Alderaan. His eyes returned to Qui-Gon, who had sat up and was regarding him silently. Who had summoned him? And what must he be thinking of his Padawan now?

Obi-Wan hadn't accomplished much by staying on Alderaan. Bail was no closer to healing now than when they arrived. Instead, Obi-Wan had permitted the Prince to wallow in self-pity and engage in all sorts of self-destructive behavior, culminating in a tantrum in which both of them could have been severely injured. Obi-Wan hated what the Prince was becoming, and despised himself for letting it happen, for agreeing to this stupid bargain in the first place. For days he had suffered verbal abuse from the man he loved, been patient and enduring, but to no avail, and he was too weary and demoralized to go on. Bail was lost to him, and Obi-Wan had no idea how to get him back. Now his master was here to see what a wreck he'd made of things. Tears of exhaustion as well as grief welled up in his eyes, and he turned away, not wanting Qui-Gon to see him cry.

A soft word reached out to him, three syllables, "Padawan," and that one word contained all the love and assurance he had been missing since coming to Alderaan.

"Master," he choked as he turned back.

Qui-Gon was waiting for him, arms open, and Obi-Wan crawled into that embrace as if he were a child again, not caring that we has a grown man who should know better. Qui-Gon, his anchor, his assurance. It wasn't that Qui-Gon always had the answers, but with Qui-Gon by his side Obi-Wan knew he could face anything.

Maybe even the loss of Bail.

For a long time Obi-Wan huddled in Qui-Gon's embrace, not even weeping, just letting the tears roll freely down his cheeks, dampening his master's tunic, until he had at last somewhat collected himself.

"I never really thought about it before," he confessed, his voice muffled in Qui-Gon's shoulder. "About what happens to them after we rescue them. I always thought our task was over, mission accomplished, and we move on to the next assignment. We save someone's life, but then leave them to put it back together again. I never realized what they have to go through."

"Ah, but you do know," Qui-Gon replied. "You know from what we have to go through."

"But it's not the same. We've been trained to understand and resist the psychological effects of torture. We have mental and spiritual disciplines to help us cope. But he doesn't have that. He doesn't understand what happened to him, and I don't know how to help him."

"You have helped him more than you know, Padawan."

"No, I haven't!" Obi-Wan sat up, pushing himself away from Qui-Gon so he could look at him. "Nothing has changed. He still won't go see the healers. I don't know him anymore!"

"He will heal in time, Obi-Wan. Self-healing is, fortunately, in our nature. It may take him longer than it would a Jedi, but he is strong, and you *have* helped him."

Obi-Wan shook his head. "Not to hear him talk."

"It's a basic defense mechanism, Obi-Wan, a way of coping with stress. He couldn't lash out at his captors, so he vents it on someone he knows won't retaliate." A wry smile. "Look at it this way: it means he trusts you."

Obi-Wan understood what Qui-Gon was saying, but it didn't make up for what he'd gone through. This wasn't some textbook case of psychology, this was Bail. Obi-Wan had tried to contain the Prince's suffering, but he had to contend with his own suffering as well. Bail had no compassion to spare for Obi-Wan, and Obi-Wan feared he had no compassion of his own left, either. So what did that mean for their future? He didn't even want to think about it, didn't want to think about anything at all, just wanted to close his eyes and sleep for at least a week.

Sensing his Padawan's weariness of spirit, Qui-Gon said, "It's been a heavy burden, and one you've borne alone. You need a break so you can recuperate."

Obi-Wan was glad Qui-Gon had said it instead of him. He didn't want to admit that he wanted to have nothing to do with Bail for a while.

"We can either go back to the Temple for a few days," Qui-Gon continued, "or we can stay here on Alderaan. Prince Vilnis graciously offered to provide hotel accommodations for us if we don't want to stay with the family."

The family. Force, no, not with the family. How could Obi-Wan face them? And yet how could he tell them he wanted to leave? What would they think of him for abandoning their son? They had always been so gracious to him, and this was how he repaid them.

Qui-Gon hardly needed their training bond to tell him of Obi-Wan's conflicted feelings. The pain on his face was eloquent enough. "No need to make a decision now. Why don't you rest a bit?"

Qui-Gon stood up, and Obi-Wan realized he was leaving. "Where are you going?" he asked, struggling to control a surge of panic.

"There's someone I wish to speak to," was all Qui-Gon would say. "Rest, Obi-Wan. I'll be back soon enough."

Obi-Wan obligingly closed his eyes, and even troubled as he was, he soon fell asleep.

But pain, it seemed, was immortal.

Bail lay on his side, wrapped in a blanket, staring blindly at the wall. The same pose as in his cell. Nothing had changed, not really, except no one was torturing him here but himself. Shame and despair in their own way hurt as much as clubs and fists.

Mimi and Papa sat with him in the room, but he derived no comfort from their presence. They knew what he had done to Obi-Wan, and he could not bear to face them. They would only renew their refrain that he needed to see the healers, but what was the point? The healers wouldn't be able to help him. When was the last time anyone on Alderaan had been tortured? And rape? The word didn't even exist in Alderaani; they had to borrow it from Galactic Standard. Alderaan was far from paradise, but physical violence, at least, was almost unheard of. They wouldn't know how to remedy this kind of internal bleeding. There was no bacta for the soul.

So Bail lay silently in his bed, still a prisoner, even though his door was unlocked and he could leave at any time. If anything, the flow of visitors left him feeling even more exposed. He desperately wished for Obi-Wan's robe, his shield, his cloak of invisibility. He needed its protection, but no one would think to bring it to him here, and he had no right to ask for it, not after the way he had treated Obi-Wan. The blanket was a poor subsitute, and he felt as naked and vulnerable now as he had in his cell on Ithgar. As the door to his room opened and closed and people came and went, Bail only nestled deeper into the blanket, deeper inside himself, unable and unwilling to come out.

A hand rested on his shoulder, like all the others trying to convey comfort. He shifted beneath it, shrugging it off.

"Your Highness?"

Bail froze. Obi-Wan's master? Just wonderful. He didn't know what to say to him, so he remained silent.

He should have known better where a Jedi was concerned. With their infinite reserves of patience, they could out-wait anyone. Having made his presence known, Qui-Gon appeared willing to wait forever.

At last Bail asked, "How is Obi-Wan? I mean, he was injured, wasn't he? My father won't tell me."

"He is all right," was Qui-Gon's mild reply. "A few cuts, and a broken wrist from when you apparently hit him with a lamp. Nothing he won't recover from."

Despite Qui-Gon's mild tone, Bail winced, but he appreciated the Master's honesty. "I suppose he's leaving now."

"Why do you say that?"

As if he didn't know. Surely Obi-Wan had told him everything. "I haven't treated him very well."

"And why is that?"

Bail pushed himself upright, defensive. "Look, I--." He stopped, looking away again. "I don't know."

"Then why don't you stop?"

A simple question, one for which Bail had no easy answer. No point in equivocating with a Jedi Master.

Qui-Gon leaned back in his chair. "Your Highness, I know you have a hard time believing it, but there are people who can help you."

"Not on Alderaan," Bail dismissed.

"Then elsewhere," Qui-Gon continued. "Did you know there is a center on Coruscant devoted exclusively to helping survivors of torture?"

Bail hadn't known that. He felt a moment of hope before reality came crashing back down. "I can't go to Coruscant. The moment I set foot on the planet, the press will be all over me, not like here. I can't face that."

He was not exaggerating. The tragedy on Ithgar had been the focus of intergalactic news of late. Qui-Gon considered options for a moment. "You could request sanctuary at the Temple for up to a month. You were injured in the course of service to the Republic. The Council might be willing to extend their protection to you while you recover. Staying at the Temple would also give you the opportunity to meet with Jedi healers as well."

Bail wanted desperately to reach out for that hope, but he knew he didn't deserve it. "I can't. I haven't behaved much like a Jedi, the way I've treated Obi-Wan."

"You were suffering."

"No," Bail protested. "It was - all those dark side things Obi-Wan talks about. Anger, hatred. I can't pollute the Temple with that."

"You think the Jedi don't feel those emotions? We most certainly do."

"But you don't beat up the people you love because of them."

Qui-Gon sighed. "Your Highness, don't you think Obi-Wan could have stopped you?"

A long pause. Confusion. "Then why didn't he?"

"He didn't want to hurt you. Believe me, your Highness, he knows exactly what you've been through, as do I. We have both been through the same thing, more than once. We know how hard it is to recover."

Bail clenched the blanket in his fists, struggling to come to terms with what Qui-Gon had said. The Jedi were so strong, so unflappable. How could they possibly know the heart-pounding fear Bail felt with each breath? "I-I'm afraid of the dark," he confessed. "I sleep with the light on.

"I had to leave the door to my room open. I couldn't bear to be shut in."

"Crowds frighten me. I can't stand to have my back exposed."

"Sudden loud noises would throw me into a panic."

"I can't bear to be naked. I even shower with my shorts on."

"I slept in my tunic. I didn't want to take it off."

"I compulsively wash my hands."

"With me it was my hair. Once I washed my hair eight times in a single day."

Bail's eyes shone with unshed tears, and Qui-Gon said gently, "You see? I know exactly what it's like."

Could it be? Was it possible that a Jedi Master could be so thoroughly undone by his own fear? Apparently so. And if a Jedi Master could be so undone, he could also be put back together. Perhaps, then, just perhaps, Bail could, too.

For the first time he raised his eyes to meet Qui-Gon's. The Master's eyes were so kind, so warm, so understanding. Bail had never noticed it before. Just looking into them made him feel better, giving him the courage to ask what he had been too afraid to before.

"Help me."

-end-

Author's note: Yes, I know it's a cruel place to end. But my sisters and my beta, while begging for the sequel, assured me that it could take a break here. I am working on the sequel, which thankfully looks like it will not be quite as hard to write as this one was. All the same, don't look for it anytime soon. I estimate I am about half-way through. So sorry! If it's any consolation, so far I have actually finished every story I ever started -- no unfinished, abandoned stories in my portfolio, which means that eventually the sequel WILL be completed. Believe me, I'll get it posted as fast as I can!