On Ebon Wings, Ere I Breathe: Submission
by Flamethrower
Title: On Ebon Wings, Ere I Breathe
Book 5 - Submission
Author: Flamethrower
Archive: MA, AO3, and my site
Category: Q/O, AU, Crossover, Angst/Hurt/Comfort/Romance
Book 5 Summary: This is the way forward.
Series Summary: On Naboo while battling a Sith, a man made a choice to die so that a horrible, uncertain future could be avoided. Things, however, are never that simple... A crossover based upon concept rather than converging universes.
Rating: Mature - not used lightly!
Warning: Uhm... I've mentioned that this isn't a nice story, right?
Thanks: Merry Amelie, WriteStuffLee, Laura, and even KaluJinn did some beta-whipping on this one. It deserved it. It was a Bad Fic.
Notes: My site is updated with Books 3, 4, and 5, though Books 3 & 4 don't have cover art yet. However, Book 5's cover art is courtesy of the extremely awesome rikarahl. I mentioned she's awesome, right? (She did Book 1, too.) Find Book 5 with teh Awesome Art here.
We never live; we are always in the expectation of living.
-Voltaire
Book Five - Submission
He woke up to a heavy weight on his chest and a horrible ache behind his eyes.
-You're a moron- Jeimor said.
Obi-Wan sighed and opened his eyes, looking up to find a ceiling over his head that he only had vague memories of. Qui-Gon's room. He was in Qui-Gon's room, lying on his former Master's bed. Jeimor was sitting on his chest, and by the Force, he felt awful.
What...what happened?
-I told you to stop what you were doing. But did you listen to me? Noooooo.- The crow was in classic nesting position, but he looked anything but somnolent.
Jeimor shook himself, clacked his beak, and stood up, turning his head to give Obi-Wan a baleful stare with one amber eye. -Remember what I said? That I didn't think it was a good idea to use up all of the energy that keeps you here? Hmm? Ring any bells, golden boy?-
"Wasn't...trying to," Obi-Wan muttered, moving to sit up. Jeimor hopped off, making dire comments under his breath. The room tilted back and forth. Obi-Wan watched it, thoughtful, wondering if Avatars threw up.
He was still sitting there long after the nausea had passed, contemplating nothing, when a large hand touched his shoulder. Obi-Wan glanced up and found Qui-Gon giving him a worried look, one so familiar it made his heart hurt. "Hi," he said.
"How do you feel?" Qui-Gon asked, sitting down on the bed next to him. Even with several hand-spans separating them, Obi-Wan could feel warmth radiating from Qui-Gon, and wondered why.
When had he gotten so cold? In fact, beyond the ache, he felt...disconnected. Drifting. Disassociated.
Lost.
"I--I feel like I'm only dreaming I'm here," he said. Even his voice sounded alien to his ears, like it belonged to someone else. He dropped his gaze down to the quilt that covered Qui-Gon's bed, touching the cloth with his fingers. Only the faintest impression of restlessness, of sleeping and fragmented dreams, came to him. He looked back up and became even more confused, for Qui-Gon's hair seemed to be the wrong color. Like he'd never been gone.
Had he gone?
"Am I here?" he asked, holding up his hand. Not healthy skin color, but gray. Ash-color. Why ash?
"You're here," Qui-Gon affirmed, taking his hand. So much warmer than he was. Life-warm. "You," the older man continued, giving Jeimor a stern look. "Out."
-Heh!- The crow obligingly took off, flying through the doorway and disappearing out into the main room.
He didn't realize he was doing nothing more than staring in the direction Jeimor had gone until a hand touched his cheek, turning his head, guiding his eyes back to Qui-Gon's face. "Ben," Qui-Gon said, and smiled.
That's right. He was Ben Lars--no. No, he was...had been...
He bit his lip. "Who am I?" he whispered, stunned to realize that knowledge had gone from his mind.
"The man I love," Qui-Gon answered, before leaning forward and kissing him.
For a moment he did nothing more than let it happen, entranced by smooth, soft warmth. Then, as slowly as if he were just waking, he lifted his arms, putting his hands on Qui-Gon's shoulders.
The kiss ended, but Qui-Gon remained close, oh so close, nuzzling his cheek, his jaw. "That's better," Qui-Gon murmured. "Will you be with me, my love? Will you be in this moment with me?"
"Yes," he whispered, and lips descended on his own once more. That was better, the warmth was better. Suddenly he wanted more of it, craved it, and parted his lips. A warm tongue invaded his mouth, sliding along his own tongue, darting out to tease his lips before diving in again.
Qui-Gon broke the kiss, breathing hard. The life-force of the older man was like a tangible thing, like the beating of wings. "Oh, gods. Obi-Wan..."
"Yes," he said again, and smiled. That was right. Still needed more, something more, something he was reaching for...
Obi-Wan reached, putting his hands on Qui-Gon's face, pulling the man back down for a kiss that was searing, this time, with the heat it drove into his body, chasing away the cold. He laughed into Qui-Gon's mouth, his turn to plunder, exploring with his tongue while Qui-Gon's hands found their way to Obi-Wan's waist, pulling him closer.
He was delighted; it seemed he couldn't stop smiling, and he halted the kiss only long enough to climb into the older man's lap. Obi-Wan could feel an insistent, trapped erection that was as hard as his own, and it made him laugh again. Really, who wouldn't seek this out? Who would be stupid enough not to at least try?
"Both of us, I'm afraid," Qui-Gon answered the unvoiced thought, his hands working to unbind the sash still tucked around Obi-Wan's waist. The sash was gathered slowly, a slide of fabric over fabric over skin. Qui-Gon wound the silk into a roll over his own hand with the same methodical dedication Obi-Wan had always witnessed, and eventually copied on his own. Tabards were then slid from his shoulders, and Obi-Wan readily lifted his arms so that Qui-Gon could pull both layers of black tunics up over his head.
Obi-Wan let his finger trace the off-kilter line of Qui-Gon's nose, then the upturned, gentle curve of the other man's lip. "Not anymore," he said, and bent his head, exploring the taut column of Qui-Gon's neck with his lips, tasting salt from sweat and the faint hint of moldy dirt from the lower levels. Qui-Gon gasped, putting his hands on Obi-Wan's back, his nails gently raking Obi-Wan's skin. Underneath dirt and sweat was the earthen sweet of Qui-Gon Jinn, and Obi-Wan licked a broad swath back up with his tongue before biting down on the lobe of Qui-Gon's ear. There was a sharp, whimpered curse in response, one that Obi-Wan relished hearing.
For a moment that feeling of dislocation swelled, and Obi-Wan shut his eyes, clenching his jaw. No more, not that, please. "Call me back," he whispered, uncaring at the desperation lacing his voice. "Please make me feel like I'm here!"
"You are here," Qui-Gon insisted, his hands gripping Obi-Wan's shoulders, dipping his head. He latched onto a nipple with his teeth, and Obi-Wan arched his back, shocked by the rush that went through his entire body.
Qui-Gon purred, still biting down, and gave a gentle tug that left Obi-Wan ready to shout in reaction, the feeling was so intense. He panted for breath, burying his hands in Qui-Gon's hair. "Do that again!"
Qui-Gon obliged, and Obi-Wan did shout, then, something unintelligible, his hips jerking. Then a tongue licked the now very sensitive nub, and he whimpered, grinding his erection against Qui-Gon's and wrapping his arms around the older man's head.
Hmm, Qui-Gon said in his mind, a simple sound that was nonetheless dripping with expectation and teasing heat. Then he licked Obi-Wan's nipple again, his tongue flickering back and forth, repetitive and restless. Obi-Wan thought he was going to climb out of his skin as each lap of Qui-Gon's tongue sent electric shocks down his spine. Most of them went straight to his cock, and he was bucking helplessly against Qui-Gon, who was encouraging him with a firm, kneading hand on his ass.
When Qui-Gon thrust with him, Obi-Wan couldn't help the shocked, pleased moan that emerged from his throat. Qui-Gon growled against his skin, his teeth gently nibbling, his tongue soothing. Come for me, he said, a rumbling purr in his mental voice that Obi-Wan had never heard before in his life. To his body it was like a rock falling into a still pond. Obi-Wan cried out, shuddering, driving against cloth-covered steel as he sought release. Qui-Gon moved with him, rocking them both, and when he came it was like falling.
No. Flying. It was flying on the wind, a whispered plea and Qui-Gon's name on his lips, and light itself touched him. For one, brief second, Obi-Wan was alive, truly, and he knew it.
The second passed. Qui-Gon was cradling him in his arms, running his hands through Obi-Wan's hair, kissing Obi-Wan's lips with gentle, exploratory touches. He opened his eyes to an ocean of blue, and smiled.
"Where are you?" Qui-Gon asked, his voice soft.
"Here," Obi-Wan replied, putting his hand over Qui-Gon's heart, feeling the rapid staccato beat under his fingers. "I'm right here."
Equilibrium
Obi-Wan remained in bed while Qui-Gon took a shower, feeling languid but no longer lost. Instead, it was more as if his body were running at the pace of a living being again, which was ridiculous.
He'd been upset to realize Qui-Gon hadn't come, but his former Master had merely grinned and said that the night was still young. It was; Obi-Wan knew that like he knew his own body and name, and the feel of the Force when he reached for it. Two hours past midnight. But tonight was not crow-time. It was his time.
When Qui-Gon emerged with a towel around his waist, the ends of his hair dripping wet, Obi-Wan tilted his head, confused. "Your hair is still the wrong color--or maybe the right color. What did you do?"
Qui-Gon shook his head, amused. "I did nothing. When you healed my wound, you really, really overdid it. And you're right, by the way. Jeimor is an ass."
"You can hear Jeimor?" Obi-Wan sat up, stunned.
"Indeed," Qui-Gon said, bending down and kissing Obi-Wan. His beard was still wet, and left damp spots behind on Obi-Wan's skin and lips. "He's enthralling," Qui-Gon drawled, which made Obi-Wan laugh.
He took his own turn in the 'fresher, glad to remove the grime of the lower levels from his body. The skin on his face had bristled out again, also acting like it intended normal growth. He shaved in the shower by feel and memory, momentarily entranced by sensory input: the water striking his skin, running down his body; the feel of laser-sharpened metal caressing his skin; scraping sounds from the razor as it met coarse hair; water bouncing off of tiled walls and shower floor.
Obi-Wan lowered the razor and transferred it to his left hand, and his psychometry flared up with unexpected clarity: a memory of Qui-Gon holding it just after shaving the entirety of his beard off, gazing in the mirror. Looking at his face, which was older now than remembered, touching lines of happiness, others of sorrow. The emotion behind the self-study was clear: How long until I see him again? How much longer is this path?
Qui-Gon had seemed unconcerned about the regained youthful color of his hair, but Obi-Wan knew he'd probably--unintentionally--added several decades to the Jedi Master's life. Forgive me, he thought, blinking water and tears from his eyes. Your path may yet be longer, still.
He didn't realize the straight-razor had slipped until falling water stung his hand. Obi-Wan looked down in surprise, seeing watered-down blood on his skin, the split lips of a long, deep slice running across his palm. Obi-Wan watched the cut, blood going from rush to trickle to ooze, but it took long minutes, and the wound itself showed no signs of closing.
He no longer had the gift of speed-healing that he'd awoken on Geonosis with.
Can I die, now? Obi-Wan asked the crow, curious.
-You're already dead, idiot- Jeimor said, his voice filled with the grumpiness of an interrupted sleep.
Obi-Wan rolled his eyes. Yes, I'm aware of that. You know what I meant.
Jeimor seemed to be thinking about the answer. -I don't think you'll be taken from this place until it's time- he said at last. -But it'll sure as hell slow you down. I wouldn't swan-drive off of any more buildings, either.-
He didn't know what to think about that. Instead, he got out of the shower, dried himself, and wrapped his hand in a length of bandage before applying a sealant to it.
Qui-Gon had retreated to the kitchen in the meantime, and when he joined his former Master, Obi-Wan received a smile and a kiss, happy to be given both. There were two mugs on the counter, and the air was rich with freshly steeped leaves. For once, Obi-Wan was glad of it. Warmth sounded great. Tea sounded nice. Breathing sounded fantastic.
"How do you feel?" Qui-Gon asked again, when they were both re-settled in the main room. Obi-Wan eyed one of Anakin's misshapen electronic creations, perched on a nearby table, its power light blinking despondently. The heat from his mug made the wound on his hand burn, and sympathetic throbbing was beginning to chime in time with his heartbeat. He sipped the tea, surprised when there was more flavor to it than he'd been accustomed to tasting.
"Fast forward," he said at last, a vague frown on his lips. "It feels like the last two months have been spent living at high speed, and suddenly that speed is gone."
-Not entirely- Jeimor interjected. -Or your ass would be useless.-
"No," he agreed, tilting his head. "But I'd have to go digging for it now, wouldn't I?"
-Yes. When you need it, it will be there. But never like before.-
"That could make things difficult," Qui-Gon said, which startled Obi-Wan; he still hadn't quite wrapped his head around the fact that Jeimor was now audible to them both.
"It could, but..." Obi-Wan shook his head. "No. I'm not thinking about that tonight."
"Oh?" Qui-Gon asked, putting down his tea mug to look at Obi-Wan curiously.
"Nope. Tonight's my night off," Obi-Wan said, grinning. "I think I only get the one."
Qui-Gon stood up. Obi-Wan watched, taking in the long fall of drying, silver-brown hair, the lines of his skin--fainter now than they had been. Dressed in a simple, loose beige tunic and a pair of similarly loose darker sleep pants, Qui-Gon was still every inch the Jedi Master, serene and regal, even now. And Obi-Wan loved him, and that was enough. For everything.
When his former Master held out his hand, Obi-Wan set aside his own tea and rose to accept it, allowing Qui-Gon to pull him into a warm, comfortable embrace.
"I may never see you again like this," Qui-Gon murmured, his hands shifting restlessly up and down Obi-Wan's back. "Whatever's to come is almost here, and then..." Qui-Gon trailed off, refusing to speak the words, but Obi-Wan was well enough aware of what his Master would have said. "Let me love you. Let me have this memory."
And the memory for me, too, Obi-Wan thought, and the realization filled him with sadness. But better once than never at all, and he wanted this, to be consumed and filled, surrounded by and submitting to the life-desire of Qui-Gon.
"You said you'd never tease me that way unless I asked," Obi-Wan said, pushing away the sadness. It wasn't needed, here. Not ever here, not for this. "I'm asking."
That made Qui-Gon breathe out a laugh, and the tension Obi-Wan could feel in his frame went with it. Then Obi-Wan's face was taken in warm, callused, beloved hands, and his lips were pliant against the gentle, insistent pressure of his lover's kiss.
"Not out here," Obi-Wan said, and took Qui-Gon's hand, leading them both into the Master's bedroom. If there was a last time for them now, he wanted it there, again.
Qui-Gon seemed delighted by the choice; he waved his hand at the bank of candles that sat on a side table, bringing the soft glow of warm, dancing light to the room with barely a thought needed. Then Qui-Gon's hands were on Obi-Wan once more, dipping his fingers below the waistband of his leggings, pulling down and allowing the material to slide down Obi-Wan's skin.
"Mm, you've noticed," Obi-Wan said, his eyes shuttering closed as those large hands roamed his body, while lips and the occasional quick dart of teeth explored his throat.
"That you practically purr like a cat when touched? How your eyes light up when you run your fingers over the simplest of things?" Qui-Gon nuzzled him gently, ear to collarbone, in slow progression. "What does it feel like?"
"Like everything," Obi-Wan said, breath catching as sharp nip caught him unawares, sighing when wet tongue soothed the sharpness away. "The things I touch don't need to speak to tell a story."
Qui-Gon took Obi-Wan's right hand, the one that remained unbandaged, and placed it upon his chest. Qui-Gon's heartbeat was a soft repetition of sensation against Obi-Wan's palm, the rhythm a touch faster than it might normally have been. "What's my story, then?"
"Long and varied," Obi-Wan replied, standing on his toes to offer kisses of his own, relishing the feel of the short beard against his lips and skin, the softness of cheek, the curve of brow. "Ongoing, filled with so many chances."
"I just want this one," Qui-Gon whispered, momentarily crushing Obi-Wan against his chest in a fierce embrace.
"You have it," Obi-Wan said, and pulled them both down onto the rucked sheets, cool and soft and still full of the lingering scent of both of their bodies. "All of me, for all of you, this time."
Qui-Gon nodded and dipped his head to kiss the inside of Obi-Wan's elbow, which made him laugh in surprise from the ticklish nature of it. But then the same light kiss was placed upon the inside of his wrist. The sensation it brought to mind was like melted warmth, with dancing chills racing up his arm in stark contrast.
Obi-Wan returned the favor, laying a joyful kiss on that broad chest, earning a pleased, pleasured rumble from Qui-Gon. He ran his hands across broad shoulders, down long, wiry, well-muscled arms. There were new scars, here and there, and Obi-Wan let his fingers trace each one as he re-learned the feel of this beloved body. The muscles of Qui-Gon's stomach jerked where Obi-Wan's fingers touched, revealing that he wasn't the only one with ticklish spots. But what he really wanted...
Qui-Gon was, apparently, intent on keeping him from his goal. He lowered his body over Obi-Wan's legs, pinning him down, and then continued his explorations with his mouth. Slow, circling closer to what both of them wanted, until Qui-Gon's lips were a soft hint of warmth at the head of his cock.
"There is exploratory, and then there is teasing," Obi-Wan managed to say the words clearly, despite the fact that his entire body had begun trembling. He was shivering as if chilled, but felt no hint of cold, and the discrepancy in that was only feeding his desire to be taken now.
"Perhaps, but this is neither," Qui-Gon said, smiling at him, perfect warmth in both smile and in his eyes. "This is worshipping what is beautiful."
Without giving Obi-Wan any chance to reply (What does one say to that kind of statement?) Qui-Gon took the whole of him into his mouth, leaving Obi-Wan gasping. This was something he'd experienced before, briefly, once or twice, while still under the age of twenty-four. Never, ever, had it felt anything like this. All-encompassing warmth. Slickness that slid against him, tongue that probed and tasted and wriggled, which was absolutely scandalous and Qui-Gon you had better do that again!
Another rumbling purr, pure smugness, and then that strange wriggle happened again against the head of the glans, that perfect, sweetly sensitive spot on his cock that no one else had ever really explored to such alarming, joyful intent. Obi-Wan didn't know if he deserved to be worshipped, but he wouldn't trade it, wouldn't give up this moment, for anything.
Qui-Gon took him just to the point of no return, with sparks already shooting behind closed eyes, and then let him go; not abruptly, which would have been a shock, but slowly, a mere bit of skin at a time. But there was a good reason for it, a fantastic reason, and before Qui-Gon could even ask, he was fumbling around in the drawer next to the bed, certain there had to be some kind of lube somewhere.
Qui-Gon was laughing at him, his eyes full of delight. "You've grabbed it three times already, love."
He found the bottle that time, after pulling some of his brain back into his head so it would work properly. The oil was slick between his fingers, and scented with herbs he couldn't quite place. He brought his fingertips to his nose, curious: fragrant mint, green spice, rich fugue of the oil, itself plant-based. It reminded him of peaceful sunsets, stretched out in a field with nothing more pressing to do than wait for the stars. "Wow," he said, still rubbing the oil through his fingers, entranced.
"Some things are worth the extra time and effort," Qui-Gon said softly, taking the bottle from him. "Oil is easy to find. But to infuse evocation into something like this? That's harder. That makes it worth the wait, worth the extra money."
It was so like everything he remembered of Qui-Gon that it made Obi-Wan's heart ache, even though he smiled. To spend the time tracking down a blend like this, even if chances had remained that it would only have ever graced his own large hands... "It was a good choice."
"Hmm. You're not allergic to larba spice, are you? That could get inconvenient," Qui-Gon said, the delight becoming teasing, his smile lopsided.
Obi-Wan laughed. "Well, my fingers aren't blossoming red spots. I do believe we'll be fine," he said, and then hissed in a breath as an oil-coated, large finger traced down his skin from just under his sac to his ass, not yet seeking entry, but merely circling, bringing forth tingling, happy reactions from sensitive skin.
"Okay, that is teasing," Obi-Wan complained, despite the grin on his face. Then he lost the grin as his breath left his lips, as not one but two fingers entered him in a long, steady movement. He felt no pain, felt no sense of too full or too fast or too rough. Instead, he relaxed so bonelessly that it was a long moment before he remembered to breathe again.
"Are you all right?" Qui-Gon asked, and Obi-Wan didn't need to look to know that the older man was torn between worry and amusement.
"Fucking excellent," Obi-Wan replied languidly. This was strange; it wasn't the reaction he'd ever had before to penetration. Usually the languid relaxation came after sex, not before. But his body was so welcoming of Qui-Gon, any part of him, that it seemed even his pores were opening up for the older man, calling him in.
"I want you," Obi-Wan said, lifting his head, staring into deep blue depths. "Right now." No uncertainty, no doubts. "Just you, inside me."
Obi-Wan snatched back the bottle, lifting himself up enough so that he could pour oil into his palm. He reached out with slick hands and captured what he sought. Qui-Gon shuddered at his touch and closed his eyes, his lips pressed together as Obi-Wan used the oil to massage, tease, and slicken the Master's long, engorged cock. Then he grabbed an errant pillow with oil-smudged hands, stuffing it under his hips before lying back.
This is what you wanted, and I'm giving it to you, Obi-Wan said, and allowed every single bit of passion he felt--pent-up and trembling and shaking like a leaf in a storm--to flood the strange not-link between them. I want you to take it, and remember it was given freely. I want you to remember that you were the only man I ever really wanted to share it with.
Gods, Obi-Wan, Qui-Gon said, and when he opened his eyes again they were almost black, color lost to desire. How can you--
Because I love you, all of you, in every moment of time we have ever been given, Obi-Wan said, and reached out with his hand. Qui-Gon accepted the invitation to touch, letting their fingers slide together. Here and now, love. Right now.
Yes, he heard, the word repeated in a soundless movement of Qui-Gon's lips. He sank down over Obi-Wan's body once more, letting heat sear the spaces between them but not quite touching. Obi-Wan responded to the question in the man's eyes by kissing him, opening his mouth and driving his tongue deep into that waiting cavity.
My love, Qui-Gon whispered in his mind, and slid into Obi-Wan's body with a similar thrust. Again there was no pain; odd, considering how seldom he had done this. Obi-Wan let go of his breath and held himself still, feeling how their two bodies had come together. It was like nothing else. It was like being alive. It was home and peace, a connection that would bind them for longer than the mere sex would last. Glorious.
"Breathe for me," Qui-Gon murmured against his skin, nuzzling Obi-Wan's cheek with his nose. "Breathe with me."
Obi-Wan did, and breathed, and moved with him as their bodies came to understand how the other worked and bent. Warmth plunged into him with every exhalation of intermingled breath. Each thrust rubbed against the sweet spot in his body and made his damn toes curl up as he rode the ever-rising wave forward.
"Gods, you're... you're beautiful," Qui-Gon whispered to him, flushed, beads of sweat standing out on his skin. "So utterly damn beautiful."
Thick skeins of Qui-Gon's hair had come loose from their binding, tickling Obi-Wan's skin. He ran his left hand through that fall of hair, relishing the feel of silken strands, a part of his Master Obi-Wan had loved even before he'd known that he loved the man, as well.
"You're exquisite," Obi-Wan countered, a smile becoming a gasp as his cock throbbed and ached and warned him that he was close, so close-- He moaned and arched up into each thrust, last semblance of control wisping away, becoming utterly wanton.
His loss of self mirrored, Qui-Gon growled out something incomprehensible as each drive of his cock into Obi-Wan's body came faster and faster, almost brutal but no less welcome. The feel of it was incredible, overwhelming. Obi-Wan's skin spoke of soft cloth against his backside, long hair swaying against his arms and chest, sweat falling upon him, heat radiating from them both; grunts and moans and sighs of absolute pleasure came to his ears, the whisper and gasp of breath, his name on Qui-Gon's lips as the wave crested and broke. He came, shrieking at the sudden, shocking intensity of it, gasping and stuttering as his body pulsed out hot warmth.
Qui-Gon shuddered, quivering in place before collapsing onto Obi-Wan's chest with a sound that was like a great, heaving sob.
"Oh, Qui," Obi-Wan whispered, wrapping his arms around the larger man and holding him as he continued to shake, his own arms were trembling.
Glorious. Exquisite. Beautiful. Everything they had each wanted, had ever wanted.
Obi-Wan's eyes leaked cold tears that ran down along his temples and into his hair. "I'm here, Qui-Gon. I'm right here," he said, but it wasn't enough and they both knew it, now. Force help them.
Never enough. This was a moment stolen from time. Nothing more.
We are most alive when we're in love.
John Updike
The next morning he went out on his own. He left Qui-Gon still sleeping, a faint frown marring his features until Obi-Wan had planted a soft kiss against unresponsive lips. The frown had eased, a faint smile replacing it, and Obi-Wan had left the room with his heart feeling lighter than it might have otherwise.
His search didn't take long; Depa Billaba had been nudging her charge into the habit of early morning meditations in the Serenity Garden. It was a place of simple lines, stone pathways and elegant greenery. Every plant, every stone, every seating place, every tree--each had been planted or placed to maximize the feel of a calm, peaceful space. In his youth, the place had made Obi-Wan itch. Now, he could let that peace slide over his skin, and welcome it inside.
"Master Billaba," he greeted her, when Depa rose and lifted a curious eyebrow at his entry.
"Knight Lars," she replied, smiling and inclining her head in response to the bow he offered her. "What can I do for you?"
"I'd like to talk to Asa, if I may," he asked. He didn't need to ask permission, but Depa liked manners, and Depa had become all-fire protective of Asajj Ventress, Padawan of her lost student. Asa seemed to enjoy the byplay, and on some subconscious level, it also seemed to increase her trust in the Jedi surrounding her.
"As you did so the other day and nothing untoward happened, I see no problem in allowing the two of you to speak once more." Depa said the words with measured calm, but there was a great spark of mischief in her dark eyes.
"I am not a mischief magnet," he retorted, but that was probably a lie. Considering the way the Security squads seemed to show up out of nowhere when he went on his nightly jaunts, of late...
"You always have been, Knight Lars," she said, smiling, and bent close. "The entire Temple is buzzing with the rumors of how you saved Master Jinn's life. It is best, I think, that you did not resurrect your old name. The younglings and the Padawans all adore the legend you're creating as it is. Returning from the dead would have been a bit much, don't you think?" She gave him a very quick, shocking wink, and then left the garden, leaving Obi-Wan to stand there with his jaw hanging open, looking the absolute fool.
"Master Depa is rather blunt like that, yes," Asa said, appearing before him with a wide grin on her face. "Come sit down with me, Ben, or any bugs awake at this hour are going to flood your mouth."
He laughed and complied, plopping down on the damp grass with careless grace. "Are you happy, Asa?"
"Surprisingly enough, yes. I like Master Depa," she said, tilting her head at him. "And you're happy, too."
"I am," he admitted. "Did I not seem to be, before?"
"No, just touched in the head," Asa replied. "Sex seems to have been a better influence."
Obi-Wan choked in surprise, then laughed again. "Dear Asa, may Master Depa teach you how to be diplomatically, elegantly blunt, instead of just blasting holes into the conversation."
"I'm certain she will. In fact, I'm not all that certain she'll let your Jedi Council stop her," Asa said, a frown touching her lips. "I'm grateful, but I don't know if I want to be the focus of such a vast disagreement."
"A disagreement it could possibly become, but it would never be anything more than that, Asa," he said, sensing the old fears, borne of her life-long exposure to the bloodthirsty nature of her planet's warlords. "The crotchety Masters might huff and puff, but that would be the end of it. Depa will be your Master if you wish it."
"I do, but I..." She looked away, and when she turned back there was such a depth of sadness in her eyes that it almost took his breath away. "If I could have the Master of my choice, I'd want it to be you, Ben Lars."
For a time he could only stare back at her, stunned, as the old realization crashed down on his head once more. Never to be a teacher, never a Jedi Master, never to see and accept a grand-Padawan into the fold. Never to walk that path of hope and hardship, danger and ridicule, while faith in the Force drove their every step.
Asajj Ventress, even half-trained and recovering from her stint in the Dark Side of the Force, would be a brilliant student. She was brilliant, and would make an incredible Jedi Knight, tempered by fires that most Jedi Padawans would never see.
"You and I both know why that can never be," Obi-Wan said at last, his voice hoarse.
She nodded. "I do know that. It's why I'm grateful for Master Depa, and will accept her offer gladly when we go before the Council together. But there will never again be anyone in my life quite like you."
"That's probably a good thing," Obi-Wan said, attempting to smile.
"Perhaps," she said, but her expression remained serious. "You saved my life, Obi-Wan Kenobi, even when I thought I wanted no such thing. I will always remember that lesson, and you will always be my second teacher."
She reached out, taking his hand; he let her, shocked into silence by her words. "Thank you for the lesson, Master," she said. The statement was formal, something Depa or likely Ky Narec had taught her.
Obi-Wan swallowed hard, squeezing her slender, hilt-callused fingers. It would be the only time he would ever speak the words. "You are welcome, Padawan."
We cannot hold a torch to light another's path
without brightening our own.
Ben Sweetland
In sharp contrast to the Serenity Garden's careful lines and sparseness, the Wilderness Garden was exactly as its name implied. The ground had been sown and then left to fend for itself, and the result was a layered forest: fern and moss below, with a blend of knotted vine and close trees above. There were no paths; if you wanted the peace of a natural clearing in the depths of the wilderness, you had to bloody well forge a path of your own.
Obi-Wan found Yoda in one of those clearings, farthest from the entry and the most difficult spot to get to outside of an actual jungle. The old Master might have been meditating, but by the time Obi-Wan breached the clearing, after having an argument with a thorn bush, those wide eyes were alert and looking at him.
"Good morning, Master Yoda," he said, and sat down, leaning back against a rotting stump. The earth was warm beneath him, and the bright green ground moss entranced him. The soft vitality of it beneath his fingers had always kept him occupied in the garden long after any enforced meditation had ceased.
"Good morning, Avatairee," Yoda replied, and Obi-Wan tried not to flinch. It was one thing to be called that by the denizens of Coruscant, but hearing that term on Yoda's lips was unsettling, to say the least. "A foolish thing you did."
He raised his chin. "Saving a life is foolish, is it? I do not remember that particular lesson, Master Yoda. You will have to enlighten me."
Yoda narrowed his eyes. "Death, a part of life, it is. Learn to let go, we all do."
"You think I saved Qui-Gon's life out of fear?" Again? "You would be wrong."
"Oh?" The tip of Yoda's right ear raised a fraction. "Then tell me, you must."
"Master, if fear had been the driving force in my actions, he would be dead," Obi-Wan said, and then stood up, driven by the familiar compulsion to find, to seek, to end the Sith. It was fainter than it had been, but by no means was it inaudible, and it was gaining strength. By dusk, it would be raging once more.
"If he had died, as I must die..." Obi-Wan swallowed, but met the old troll's surprised gaze. "Then I would not have been alone, when that time comes."
Yoda had the grace to look abashed. "Sorry, I am, Obi-Wan. But alone, you will not be."
"Not this time, and I know that, Master." Obi-Wan knelt before the tiny being, smiling. "And the Order will need every Jedi that remains."
"Seen something, you have?"
"Learned, something, I did," Obi-Wan countered. "Master Windu told me of the Archive deletions, and the Council's suspicions that Dooku must have done it, especially in light of what was found on Kamino. He also gave me full access to the Archives. It was not helpful for locating the Sith, but I did notice that the Archive deletions have continued. And the source of that missing data is not external."
This time both of Yoda's ears went up. "In the Temple, the source is?"
"Yes," Obi-Wan confirmed. "Or at least, it was. Certain out-of-the-way cities or ports, places on planets that I can recall, even whole planets have gone missing. Nothing that is strategically significant to the Republic or to the Separatists--these places have no value at all beyond the fact that they exist, and that they are...quiet places," he said, watching Yoda carefully. Master Yoda, were he inclined, could have been a Sabacc player of the highest caliber. He had only the fewest tells... "Names are missing, also. It took me some time to fish out the ones that could be reconstructed, but those names correlate to some who are on the Order's missing list."
Yoda seemed to grow smaller as he bowed his head. "Hide this, you can?"
"I can," Obi-Wan said, struggling with an immense urge to cradle the ancient Master in his arms. This was worse than he'd been initially willing to believe. Feeling tears prick at his eyes, he asked, "How big is the Schism, Master?"
"Large enough." Yoda sighed. "Happening since Naboo, it has been. Believe, many do, that if the Republic falls, Jedi do, also."
"They're right," Obi-Wan said. "And you must know that, as well, if you know who is leaving."
"Believe the Republic and the Jedi will fall, I do not," Yoda snapped, lifting his head and pinning Obi-Wan with a glare. "But fool, I am not."
"They're insurance, even if the idea to leave is their own," Obi-Wan guessed, knowing he was right when Yoda's ears twitched and lowered again.
"Survive, the Jedi will," Yoda said, calling his gimer stick to his hand and standing up. "Left the Order officially, no one has, except Dooku. If need them we do, our friends we shall have."
Obi-Wan watched him go, saying nothing...but he feared Yoda was wrong. Those Jedi who had hidden themselves had not done so lightly.
He made one more stop before returning to Qui-Gon's quarters. The being in question wasn't in-Temple, but Obi-Wan believed--he knew--that this was the sole person among his surviving friends that would accept the message for what it was, and would not spend the next several years astonished or creeped out that a dead man had paid a visit.
If he still had the time, he would see them all and damn the consequences, but time had run out. Obi-Wan had lost two days to unceasing rest, necessary for his recovery, and now the Chancellor's Senate Gala was at hand, mere hours away. He was not looking forward to it. He'd never liked touching strangers under the best of circumstances, and now...
Obi-Wan shook his head and slid the note under the door into Knight Eerin's room in the Temple, and then slid two credit chits in after the small plast sheet. He hadn't signed his name, but Bant would know his writing where Qui-Gon had not.
We had a bet once, you and I.
I lost spectacularly, but could only tell you just now.
And yes, you shameless wench--you were right.
Love to you, Bantling, my Little Shadow. May the Force be with you.
PS -- When things settle a bit, tell Garen to take a damn Padawan.
Then he turned and walked away, hands in his pockets, and, he found, a smile on his face.
Closed System
Obi-Wan stared at his reflection in the mirror. Ben Lars stared back at him, gray-eyed and pale, the silver beads in his braided hair reflecting the light. "No ash, you," he said, pointing his finger at the mirror sternly. "No dust. Not in front of these people. Don't do it!"
His reflection merely glared back at him, finger raised. Obi-Wan sighed, thinking that he was taking the art of talking to oneself to a high level of wrong.
He emerged from the 'fresher to find Qui-Gon and Anakin waiting for him, both fully dressed. There was not much to do with a standard Jedi outfit to spruce it up, but they had all managed, to some degree. Anakin's Padawan braid had been threaded with three blue jeweled beads, in deference to the House of Organa, as he had been issued his invitation to the gala by Bail. Qui-Gon had foregone his usual half-tail, and his hair hung freely but for two braids, one behind each ear, in intentional mimicry of what Obi-Wan had done to his own hair.
Obi-Wan touched one of the braids with a smile. "Nifty," he said, admiring the sheen of silver threads mixed through the renewed brown. "What are you going to say if anyone asks about your hair?"
"Healthy lifestyle," Qui-Gon said primly, but his eyes were dancing with mischief.
Obi-Wan grinned. "You might as well just say 'Sex,'" he said, and Anakin uttered a snort of surprised laughter.
"That, too," Qui-Gon said, voice serene. "We should go. The others are waiting."
The twenty chosen Jedi had elected to arrive separately from the Senators who had invited them, though when it was time to enter the gala, each pair would go in together. Five speeders were waiting, some of them the personal craft of the Loyalist Committee. Obi-Wan wasn't surprised to note that those who had sent Senate-aligned vehicles were part of the clandestine group he'd dropped in on two weeks ago.
He turned his attention back to the group, whom Mace was instructing on manners.
"Really, Mace, I think we're all big boys and girls now, and know to eat with our silverware instead of our fingers," Quinlan Vos was saying, eliciting laughter and smiles.
Mace relented with a smile of his own. "All right, then. If any of you choose a companion for the evening that is associated with tonight's event, please, for the love of the Force, don't get caught. We're still awaiting the results of yesterday's announcement, and I'd like us all to appear as innocent and shining as possible."
"Then why aren't we leaving Quin here?" Barriss Offee asked, receiving an elbow to the shoulder from Vos.
"I have a nice, foil-embossed invitation, that's why," Quinlan said, rolling his eyes. "Though I wish Senator Alavar had chosen someone else. I hate this crap."
"You and me both," Mace grumbled, surprising the younger set, but not those who knew him well. Head of the Order he may have been, but Mace Windu had never been fond of political elbow-rubbing. Obi-Wan hadn't known, and learning all of that from Qui-Gon's uppermost thoughts was fascinating.
"Most of you know each other, but for those who don't, this is Ben Lars," Mace said, motioning in Obi-Wan's direction.
Obi-Wan smiled and crooked his fingers in an abbreviated, cheerful wave, not surprised in the slightest when both Quinlan and Barriss gave him near-identical puzzled looks. His other hand, being held by Qui-Gon, was immediately noted by Adi Gallia.
"Hah!" she said, turning with her hands on her hips to look up at Saesee Tiin. "You owe me money."
"Well, that should give the rumor mill something new to babble about," Obi-Wan said in an undertone to Qui-Gon.
"Force, I hope so," Qui-Gon replied, squeezing Obi-Wan's hand.
Yoda raised one pointed ear, shaking his head. "Go, we should," he said, smiling. "Late we should not be, hmm?"
The twenty of them obligingly split up. Obi-Wan was amused when Quinlan fought the jostle to make sure he was seated in the rear of the last speeder, next to Obi-Wan, who had settled in behind Anakin and Qui-Gon. "Can I make sure we're there first, Master?" Anakin asked, settling his hands onto the controls and lifting them off the platform, the last speeder to depart.
"No, Anakin," Qui-Gon retorted. "Just...please, nothing fancy this evening."
"Yes, Master," Anakin said with an exaggerated sigh, his enthusiasm for piloting not the least bit diminished by his instructions.
Quinlan, meanwhile, had not stopped staring at Obi-Wan, who was hard-pressed not to laugh at the other man. Oh, but it was so much harder to rein in his impulses after sundown, and the dusk of evening was quickly giving way to night.
"So: You're Ben Lars, huh?" Quinlan asked at last.
"That's my name," Obi-Wan said, smiling but not looking in Quinlan's direction.
"And you took out Count Dooku all by yourself?"
"That's what they tell me," Obi-Wan replied, mentally shoving a laugh back down his throat.
-Behave- said Jeimor, at the same moment that Qui-Gon said, Don't tease the man, Ben.
What? I am behaving with perfect innocence, I assure you.
His declaration brought a quickly muted chuckle from Qui-Gon, and a snort of derision from Jeimor, who was pacing them somewhere above.
Quinlan narrowed his eyes. "Bullshit," he said at last, and reached out to touch Obi-Wan's shoulder. Obi-Wan quickly raised his left hand, catching Quin's hand with his own.
The spark that erupted in the Force from the contact was so strong it was actually visible for a second. Obi-Wan yanked his hand back, cradling it with his uninjured right hand, swearing under his breath, eyes watering.
Quinlan was swearing, too. "Sweet Mother of the Blessed, that fucking hurt!" he yelped.
"Dueling psychometry. I did sort of wonder what would happen," Obi-Wan mused, shaking the pins-and-needles sensation out of his left hand. A moment later, he was pounced on by Quinlan Vos, who grabbed him by the shoulders and planted a huge, wet kiss square on Obi-Wan's lips.
The speeder tilted at the unexpected shift in weight, then settled back to normal as Anakin compensated. "Hey, hey! I'm flying here! No making out in the back of the speeder!" the Padawan yelled.
"HAH!" Quin exclaimed, grinning so wide it was a wonder he didn't crack his face in half. "I knew it was you!"
Qui-Gon turned in his seat, pinning Quinlan with a stern, if faintly amused, glare. "Why don't you shout it to the entirety of Coruscant while you're at it? And also, he belongs to me. Get off or I'll throw you out of this speeder."
Obi-Wan sputtered laughter as Quin hurried to comply, still as cowed by the Jinn Glare as when they had both been Padawans. "At least he decided to wait until we were more or less separate from the others."
"If I hadn't mastered the art of being somewhat subtle, I would have been dead quite some time ago," Quin agreed, grinning again. "Force, look at you! Where have you been all this time, Obi-Wan?"
"Dead," he said, and Anakin made a sound that was half-laugh, half-cough.
Quin laughed as well. "Yeah, so you lot managed to fool everyone into believing. Now really: Where have you been?"
"No, really. Dead," Obi-Wan repeated, smiling. When Quinlan only gave him a disbelieving look, Obi-Wan pointed to the far side of the speeder. The man was Kiffar. He would undoubtedly understand the significance of what he would witness.
Quinlan turned his head in time to catch sight of Jeimor, who dove down from a cloud layer above to fly alongside the speeder. "Holy shit," Quinlan whispered, paling beneath the tattooed yellow qukuuf on his face. Jeimor regarded Vos with a shining amber eye, cawing once, before he beat his wings and ascended.
The Knight flopped back into his seat, jaw hanging open, eyes wide. "Your kind only show up when things are about to go to hell in a happy handbasket," he whispered.
"Different myths for the Kiffar, then?" Obi-Wan asked, curious. "Most of the legends I've encountered babble on about revenge." Then he remembered: the woman from the borderlands had mentioned vengeance, too.
-Yeah, that shit happens a lot- Jeimor commented. -Some people just get cranky about being slaughtered.-
Don't doubt that in the slightest, he thought.
"I... Yeah," Quin said, running his hand through his hair. "In Kiffar lore, avatars come when the need is dire, and the danger is great--things are progressing that us mere mortals cannot stop."
Obi-Wan gave Vos's shoulder a gentle squeeze, careful to shield as much as his psychometry allowed. He felt echoes from Quin that spoke of a harsh path, and some bad years behind him, and Obi-Wan hissed in sympathy for what his friend had endured. "Do Sith count?"
Quinlan glared at him. "Fuck-all, Obi-Wan, killing two Sith isn't enough for you?"
"Technically, I didn't kill the first one," he said, smiling when Quin swore at him again.
"We're about to land. I'd bring this conversation to a close, for now," Qui-Gon told them.
Quinlan frowned at him. "We're continuing this later," he promised.
Obi-Wan nodded, but at that moment he wasn't certain that there was going to be a later.
Capacitance
By the time the gala was half over, Obi-Wan was dead certain he had never touched so many beings in his entire life. He'd lost count early on, giving it up as a lost endeavor. There were too many impressions to sort through, and far too many negative emotions, to even contemplate keeping a running tally. Obi-Wan hadn't enjoyed this sort of political elbow-rubbing even at the best of times, and this event seemed designed to be off-putting. The music grated on his nerves. The food, what he had eaten of it, did not do his stomach any favors.
Senator after Senator after Senator, aides, staff--he found himself touching them all with his fingertips, trying to keep the contact as brief as possible. The surface thoughts alone were enough to make his head spin. When he made his way over to greet Garm bel Iblis, in Shaak Ti's company, his heart was pounding in triple-time, and he was covered in a thin sheen of sweat.
Today's lesson: It was possible to be dead and still be physically miserable.
"Are you feeling all right, Knight Lars?" Senator bel Iblis asked. The Corellian man was giving him a careful once-over, concern warring with caution.
Obi-Wan managed a smile. Garm bel Iblis was, as always, an open book; he didn't need psychometry to know that the Corellian wasn't a Sith. Iblis had the strength to hide his thoughts, if he wanted to, but the man had a defiant streak a mile wide and wasn't shy about letting any telepath in range hear what was on his mind. "I don't think the appetizers agree with me, Senator."
The man grinned. "Try to avoid the green platter. I do believe they meant that for the carnivores among us who prefer to eat things raw."
"I will happily bear that in mind," Obi-Wan replied, dropping into a short bow. "Senator, Councilor," he said, and went to go find Qui-Gon.
His former Master was standing with Mon Mothma, her staff, and a few other Senators. Some were the genuine friends she had made among the members of congress. Padmé was one of them, who had kept herself occupied speaking to the red-headed Chandrilan Senator while Obi-Wan roamed the gala hall.
"There you are, Knight Lars," Padmé said, catching sight of his approach. "I was wondering where you'd gotten off to."
"I was waylaid by Senator Jarvis, and then by another Senator, and another, and another," he explained. "It seems that, thanks to the Battle of Geonosis, I am somewhat of a...celebrity." He managed to put enough drawled, sarcastic emphasis onto the last word to make it sound like an unpleasant biological process.
"Are you feeling all right, Knight Lars?" Qui-Gon asked him, voice mild. It was through the Force that Obi-Wan could feel the depth of his concern.
He nodded. "I'm not used to greeting such a large number of people," he said, which was most of the truth--enough for Qui-Gon, Mon Mothma, and Padmé to understand exactly what he meant. "Alas, I'm afraid I'll be introduced to many, many more before the night is over."
"Think of it like I do, young Knight," a boisterous man said. Obi-Wan glanced at Orn Free Taa, who had arrived with his usual female Twi'lek companions on each arm. Yoda was gliding behind him in his hoverchair, a too-serene expression on his wizened face that spoke volumes about the nature of Senator Taa's company.
Orn Free Taa grinned, showing off his rounded white teeth. "Events like these are an excellent networking opportunity. The more people you know, the more contacts you have, the more favors you can call in!" he added, laughing.
Obi-Wan highly doubted that the rotund Senator was the sought-after Sith Lord, but he extended his hand anyway. In for a credit... "Interesting advice," he said. "A pleasure to greet you, Senator."
Senator Taa promptly engulfed Obi-Wan's hand in his own meaty one, and Obi-Wan was swamped by the big Twi'lek's primary thoughts. What the Twi'lek was considering was far less an impression and far more a tidal wave of very detailed imagery. Obi-Wan couldn't help it; his jaw dropped. "You're thinking about all that? Right now? How the hell can you keep up?!"
Taa's eyes widened. "Uh...er--don't you know it's not nice to go prying in people's heads?" he began to bluster.
"No, seriously," Obi-Wan continued, tilting his head in bafflement. "How do they all fit? Are you utilizing a pocket dimension?"
"Excuse me," Orn Free Taa whispered, abandoning that tactic when he realized he was now being stared at by everyone present. "I suddenly remembered a pressing appointment," he said, and rushed off, almost forgetting his companions in the process. Yoda gave Obi-Wan a wink and maneuvered his hoverchair to follow the fat Senator. Qui-Gon had pressed his lips together, for once almost driven to the point of laughter in a diplomatic setting.
"You don't look Kiffar," one of the remaining senators said, eyeing Obi-Wan curiously.
"No, just lucky," Obi-Wan replied, scrubbing his hands off on his robe. Somewhere from a perch on the gala hall's outer shell, Jeimor was laughing uproariously.
The other man nodded his understanding, and Obi-Wan belatedly remembered who he was--Frell Cox, the current representative of the Azurbani system. "Whatever you do, don't shake hands with Senator Belteeseei."
"No?" Obi-Wan asked, raising an eyebrow.
"No," the Kiffar Senator confirmed, shaking his head. "He likes blood torture."
"Oh. Him." Obi-Wan grimaced. "We've already met." He had, in fact, almost picked up the thin-boned Bratrix and tossed him off of a balcony the instant the Senator's talons had touched his fingertips.
"I'm very sorry," the elder Kiffu man said, giving Obi-Wan a sympathetic look.
Anakin joined them a moment later, accompanied by Bail Organa and Bail Antilles. Antilles had retired years ago, yet still managed to find his way onto the invite lists for a good portion of the Senate's affairs. "The sane people seem to be gathering here," Anakin greeted them all, smiling.
"Padawan," Qui-Gon remonstrated.
Anakin shrugged. "I'm merely saying out loud what everyone is thinking, Master."
Senator Cox nodded. "While more direct than our brethren might prefer, young Skywalker is speaking the truth. I'd rather hear that than useless platitudes any day."
"May the words from your lips be heard by the gods," one of Mon Mothma's young aides said under her breath.
"Have you met the Chancellor yet?" Anakin asked Obi-Wan. For someone who had been raised a slave on a backwater, Anakin had immersed himself into the gala setting like he'd been born attending them. It would have been unsettling, but Anakin wasn't there to gain and curry favors. It was just an extension of his natural exuberance for, well...everything.
"I've not had the pleasure, no," Obi-Wan admitted. "He always seems to be otherwise occupied."
Anakin nodded. "Fortunately for you, I can do something about that. Come on," he said, leading the way across the hall. Obi-Wan followed, curious. He knew that the Padawan had a friendship of some sort with the Supreme Chancellor, begun after the Battle of Theed and continued throughout Anakin's apprenticeship. He didn't understand it, himself; Palpatine had always struck Obi-Wan as being distasteful company.
"This way," Anakin said, a smile lighting up his face as they approached a quieter section of the hall. A small knot of beings were clustered around an older man with snow-white hair. "Your Excellency, do you have a moment?"
The man in question turned to face them, and Obi-Wan knew him at once despite the passing years; Palpatine of Naboo, who he'd last seen while standing on a landing platform with Queen Amidala, ten years ago.
Palpatine smiled as he saw Anakin, an expression that appeared to be genuinely warm and welcoming. If it was a politician's fakery, then Palpatine's artifice was brilliant. "Of course, Anakin! I always have time for you."
Anakin grinned and bowed. "Thank you, Chancellor. I have someone I wish for you to meet," he said, waving Obi-Wan forward. Palpatine looked at him expectantly, but the warmth he'd shown Anakin seemed to diminish. "Chancellor Palpatine, this is Jedi Knight Ben Lars...my step-brother."
"Ah, yes! The unexpected family you gained from your mother's marriage," Palpatine said, and to Obi-Wan it was like the temperature of the room plummeted several degrees. No one else seemed to notice, least of all Anakin. "And the young hero of Geonosis, as well. A pleasure, Knight Lars."
Obi-Wan bowed and then held out his hand, as he had done numerous times since the evening had begun. "The pleasure is mine, Chancellor."
The moment the old man's palm slid against his own, Obi-Wan knew. Years of training kept him from blinking, breathing, twitching--anything to keep from betraying his shock. Instead, he sent one single, tight, well-aimed thought: I know who you are.
Palpatine tilted his head, a flicker of amusement visible in his eyes, there and gone in the space of a blink. "I would be quite interested in hearing of your battle on Geonosis first-hand. Would you be willing to indulge me, Knight Lars?"
Obi-Wan smiled. Heard and understood, he thought. "Anakin, would you mind taking over my escort duties for Senator Amidala? I would hate for the Senator to think I was abandoning her."
Anakin nodded, cheerful and oblivious to the by-play between Knight and Chancellor. "Sure, Ben. She's with Senator Organa now, so it will be easy to do my job and yours." Anakin put a hand on Obi-Wan's shoulder, then dropped into another short bow before Palpatine. "Chancellor," he said.
"Padawan Skywalker," Palpatine replied, a kind dismissal meant for Anakin alone. Once he had gone, Palpatine returned his attention to Obi-Wan, his gaze absolutely frigid. "Perhaps we could talk in private? As Chancellor, I have a balcony reserved for my personal use, and we won't be bothered."
Obi-Wan nodded. "By all means," he said, a smooth motion of his hand indicating that the Chancellor should precede him. He didn't fail to notice the many dark, glowering looks that Palpatine's collected entourage gave him as he turned to follow the older man.
The balcony was indeed private, far from the large knots of the gala crowd, and shielded by a force-field from the winds that gusted at this height. A wrought-iron table with two chairs awaited them; the Chancellor took one seat, gesturing genially for Obi-Wan to take the other. A droid broke off from serving the main room, approaching and asking with tinny politeness if they wished for drinks.
"No. Now leave us," Palpatine said curtly. "We are not to be disturbed, am I clear?"
"Perfectly clear, Your Excellency," the droid said, lowering its upper torso in a stiff bow before departing.
Palpatine settled back in his chair, regarding Obi-Wan with icy blue eyes, and every mask of civility slipped from his face. His skin seemed to sallow as Obi-Wan watched, the whites of his eyes yellowed, and his smile was almost a snarl. "Well, well. I have to admit that I thought Dooku would have fared better. If I'd suspected that he would fall to a mere Knight, I would have dealt with him myself."
Obi-Wan smiled again. The Sith wasn't even going to pretend Obi-Wan didn't know him for what he was. That was just fine by him. "I'm happy to have proven you wrong."
"Mm," Palpatine said noncommittally. "How did you know? Not even your Order's Chosen One can discern my identity, and he has spent more time in my company than any other Jedi."
"I could feel it through your skin," Obi-Wan explained, not seeing any reason to lie. "Psychometry can reveal many things we'd prefer to keep hidden."
"It can, yes," Palpatine agreed, nodding. "So interesting, though, that your ability revealed what Master Vos's cannot. Tell me: How did they fake your funeral so elegantly? Even Master Jinn was convinced of its authenticity."
"Pardon?" Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow. "My funeral?"
The smile-snarl became a frown. "Don't be coy. We are speaking honestly together, you and me, enemy to enemy, drawing the battle lines we will later spill blood over. I saw enough of you in person, years ago, to recognize you for who you are, Obi-Wan Kenobi."
He inclined his head. "Fair enough," Obi-Wan acknowledged. "Then we both know each other for who we truly are, Lord Sidious."
"And what are you going to do with that knowledge, I wonder?" Sidious asked. The jaundiced yellow of his eyes was overpowered by glowing amber as Darkness revealed itself, unmasked at last. The Sith's strength in the Force twined about Obi-Wan with black, inky tendrils, seeking to pry into his mind, his body. Obi-Wan's shields held firm; he was near-mortal, now, but he was still other, and the Dark Side of the Force could not harm him that way.
"I'm going to stop you, of course," Obi-Wan said, relishing the glint of frustrated anger that shone in the Sith Lord's eyes.
Sidious chuckled, an oily, disturbing sound. "Stop me, then. We're here. I am unarmed, and you are not. Strike me down!"
The crow-part of himself flared up, making his blood roar in his ears, shouting and victorious: Yes, yes! Here is your goal! Balance!
Obi-Wan clenched his jaw and forced the sensation back. The energy that gave him life was not pleased by his refusal, and would not go all the way. It roiled in the back of his mind, seething. "That would be very foolish of me, wouldn't it?" he said, and only the twitch of his right hand gave hint of his internal battle. "And you're far from helpless."
Sidious gave him a considering look. "How very strange you are, Knight Kenobi. You do not fear me at all, do you?"
He smiled. "Nope."
The Sith Lord smiled back at him. "When all of this is over...you will."
Obi-Wan shrugged, slumping down in his chair in a relaxed, careless pose that spoke well of his time in the shadows. "Feel free to give it your best shot," he said, putting his booted feet up onto the table. "I'll just sit here, hmm?"
"You are either a fool, or so brave as to be foolhardy," Sidious murmured, touching his bottom lip with his forefinger as he looked at Obi-Wan. "I could make them all believe you had attacked me, I suppose."
"You could," Obi-Wan granted. The energy he carried was surging up again, but he was allowing it, controlling it, pacing it so it could not consume him. The mania he usually tried to avoid was present in full-force.
Baiting a Sith Lord was fun.
"There are, however, nineteen Jedi present at your gala tonight who would suspect that something was definitely amiss. Many of those Jedi would never believe the ruse." He lowered his head, staring at the Sith with hooded eyes, a feral smile on his lips. "And their political standing looks so much better now that the Order has publicly stated that they will not act as commanders for the Republic military, does it not?"
"A minor inconvenience," Sidious said, dismissive. "It will not last."
"No, it won't," he replied. "But it's amazing what one can do with just a bit of time."
"You plan on revealing me, then?" Sidious smiled, his eyes almost sparking with suppressed power. "Will you go running back to your Council to tell them of the Sith in their midst?"
Obi-Wan shook his head. "No. Not yet. After all, you are a beloved, kind, warm-hearted human being who wants only the best for the Republic. Who would believe me?"
"And what do you want in exchange for your silence?"
He blinked, momentarily caught off guard, before he began laughing, delighted by the thought. "I don't want a thing from you! What a stupid idea!"
Sidious narrowed his eyes. "What kind of game are you playing, Jedi?" he whispered.
"The very best kind," Obi-Wan grinned back, putting his feet back down on the balcony deck and leaning forward over the table. "The kind that you won't figure out until it's far too late."
Sidious crossed his arms, regarding Obi-Wan with something far too close to fondness. "Are you certain that we could not work together, Obi-Wan? I think we could do much for each other, and for the Republic."
The smile on his face vanished as if it had never been. "Don't be ridiculous," Obi-Wan stated flatly.
Sidious nodded. "I had to ask. You intrigue me, you see." He bent forward, and their faces were mere inches apart. The Sith's breath was like the stink of rotting flesh. "I can kill you any time I like," he hissed, the words both threat and promise.
Obi-Wan smiled in the face of it, unswayed by the Darkness that surrounded them both like a dank, dirty cloud. "You're certainly welcome to try."
"Your pardon, Your Excellency," a woman called, clearing her throat just after speaking.
They both turned, masks in place, Ben Lars and Chancellor Palpatine once more, with no one else the wiser. Sly Moore, one of the Chancellor's aides, stood in the open doorway. "Please excuse the interruption, Chancellor, but I thought you would like to know that it is time for the speeches to begin."
Palpatine nodded. "Yes, of course. Thank you, Madam Moore."
He rose from his chair, looking like nothing more than an aging old man with a careworn face, possessed of tired, pale blue eyes. "Knight Lars. I am sure we will meet again."
Obi-Wan smiled and bowed his head, the only deference to the man's rank he was now willing to give. "I look forward to it, Chancellor." He watched Palpatine walk away in the company of Moore, smile fading. The impulse he had been controlling was truly alert now, stirred up like a hornet's nest struck by a stone. He touched his fingers to his face, and they came away coated with ash.
Taking a moment to make sure he remained unobserved, Obi-Wan abandoned his chair and leapt over the balcony railing.
The trust of the innocent is the liar's most useful tool.
Stephen King
For hours, he roamed the mid and lower levels of Coruscant, pacing along alleyways and walkways and old streets like a great cat, restless and prowling. Sometimes he thought he saw dusted faces, hidden beneath cloaks, but he would look again and they would be gone. It was just as well. They were all shadows down here. It was safest, that way.
Rain started the third time he received a gentle nudge from Qui-Gon, asking what had happened, what was wrong, where he'd gone, but Obi-Wan turned away from each query, closing out that part of his Force sense. He couldn't answer. He didn't know how to answer Qui-Gon. He wasn't sure if an answer even existed!
Obi-Wan came to a halt at the crumbled end of an old roadway, panting, his breath leaving his nostrils like jets of steam. Rain was pouring down, so much that he was drenched in minutes, but he barely noticed. There was only the Sith in his thoughts, and the reality that had come crashing down upon him moments after leaving the gala.
"I can't do this," he whispered.
-Well, you already knew that- Jeimor told him. A moment later the crow landed on a broken support beam a few feet above Obi-Wan's head, pecking idly at crumbling duracrete in hopes of an insect snack. -Question is, can Skywalker do it?-
Obi-Wan sat down on the edge, letting his legs swing out over the endless-seeming chasm below. He'd been to this specific place once before. Soon, he'd return. One more time.
"I don't know. I know he won't want to believe it."
-Well, you'll just have to make him believe it, then.-
"Sounds simple enough," he muttered, rolling his eyes.
-Hey, you want to make plans, you find a planner. I'm just a bird.-
"You're not just anything," Obi-Wan countered, smiling. He looked out over the expanse of ruin before him, dilapidated buildings that had once been as pristine and clean as the upper levels of Coruscant. He'd always wondered what had influenced the early denizens of Coruscant to build new on top of the old, over and over again. If they had been trying to reach the sky... Well. Five thousand years later, and they still had a long way to go.
"The truth is, Jeimor..." He lifted his face and closed his eyes against the rain. "No matter what happens, it's too late."
He wasn't surprised by the question that floated out of the darkness, or the presence that accompanied it. "What's too late?" Quinlan Vos asked.
Obi-Wan managed a terse smile as Quin melted out of the shadows, lowering the hood of his rain-drenched cloak. "You're like a clingy bad date, Master Vos. How's Aayla? I meant to ask, earlier."
Quinlan grinned. "She's good. She's taking a rotation on Geonosis as one of our first-line guardsmen, keeping an eye on the Separatists just in case they try to surprise us. Been Knighted for over a year now."
"I'm glad. Told you that you'd do fine," Obi-Wan said, feeling the sharp twist of remorse that reminded him, yet again, that there would be nothing like that for him. No Padawan, no friendship earned through years of work and trust.
Everything felt like dust. He could taste it, breathe it.
"You're still sly about subject-changes. What's too late?" Quin asked again, sitting down next to Obi-Wan.
"The Republic," Obi-Wan said, watching his friend carefully. "It's dying."
"Ah," Quin replied. There wasn't so much of a flicker of surprise in his eyes, no fluctuation in the Force. "I know."
"Do you?"
Quinlan shrugged. "Some of us have been trying to tell the Council that for the past year. Maybe a year and a half now, I don't know. My Master, for one. Some of the Corellian crew, for another. On Coruscant it was never obvious, but out there?" Quin spat over the chasm edge. "We can see it. We're right in the middle of it, living those moments that will lead to collapse. It's textbook clear, but the general consensus seems to be that the Republic can't fall."
Obi-Wan tilted his head, considering. If Quinlan was right--and he had no reason to doubt the young Master's word--then the Council had refused to see what their own had been telling him. It had taken a dead man and his crow to show them what none had wanted to see. Was it willful blindness? Fear? Obi-Wan thought about Palpatine's skillful manipulations, the trust he'd cultivated in Anakin, the power he held by way of Senate control and popular opinion. Mere subterfuge, perhaps?
It didn't matter, but it was frustrating. It also meant that the schism in the Order was larger than he or Yoda had suspected, if the Council couldn't even take the word of its own people as warning and truth. "I need you to do me a favor, Quin."
"Oh-ho, he wants a favor," Quinlan chuckled. "Why am I not surprised?"
"Please," Obi-Wan said, turning his head to stare directly into the eyes of the man who had been his friend during the last, harsh years of Obi-Wan's apprenticeship, first as a senior Padawan, and then as a new Knight. "I'm not asking lightly."
"I know." Quinlan shook his head and pulled out a stick of tabac, lighting it up and taking a long drag before sighing. Smoke left his mouth in wisps. "Ask."
"When the time is right, go and see Bail Organa."
Quin blinked in surprise. "That's it?"
"That's it," Obi-Wan nodded. "Nice, easy favor. Will you do it?"
"Sure, but how will I know when the time is right?"
"You'll just know," Obi-Wan said, lifting his arms in an expansive shrug. "That's all I can tell you. It's all that I know."
"Just a feeling, huh?" Quin took another drag from the tabac. "Fuck, I hate those sorts of feelings."
"Yeah," Obi-Wan agreed, nipping the tabac neatly from between Quin's fingers and taking a short drag on it himself. He twisted his lips at the flavor; Quinlan's taste in that regard hadn't improved over the years, and this was a vile havao blend. "In the meantime, go here," he said, handing Quin a strip of plast with city grid coordinates on it. "Go and meet these people. You, and those like you, need to know that not everyone on Coruscant has been blind."
Quinlan glanced at the string of numbers and whistled. "Wow. Downstairs. You seem to do a lot of playing in the lower levels of late, Kenobi."
"It's dark down here," Obi-Wan replied softly, feeling the ebb and flow, tug and pull, of the energy that gave him breath. "Always dark."
Deceleration
Bail Organa returned to his apartment long after midnight, dashing from speeder to his open doorway with a plast document over his head to keep the worst of the drizzle off. His apartment was dark, full of long shadows. And that damned crow was standing on his desk again. "Oh, what do you want?" he grumbled, tired and ill-tempered after so much preening and posturing from his fellow representatives. Some days he felt less like a statesman, and far more like he was trapped in some bizarre, unending nightmare of a beauty contest.
"Hi, Bail," Obi-Wan whispered, stepping out of the shadows. Bail jumped, swore, and then rushed forward, shocked by Obi-Wan's appearance. He'd seen his friend through some morose moods during their respective childhoods, but never had he seen Obi-Wan look so defeated.
"You're soaking wet." Bail shook his head and pulled Obi-Wan's cloak from his shoulders. Obi-Wan merely stared back. His hair was hanging in lank strands around his face, and his eyes, shadowed by the dark dust he wore, seemed void of all color, flat and dull. That scared Bail far more than the man's unexpected appearance.
Bail hung the cloak in the nearest 'fresher and turned on the heat, hoping the warm, moving air would help to dry it out. Then he grabbed several towels, handing one to Obi-Wan and wrapping the other around Obi-Wan's shoulders. "We missed you at the gala," he said, keeping his voice mild as he worked with the third towel to dry Obi-Wan's hair.
"I had a desperate, dire need to get the fuck out," Obi-Wan murmured in response, finally seeming to take an interest in things. He lifted the towel he'd been given, wiping his face dry with it. Dust came off on the towel, but the pattern of crow's wings on Obi-Wan's face remained undisturbed. Bail looked back and forth between towel and skin and decided he was going to forget he'd noticed that detail.
"What happened?" Bail asked, when Obi-Wan's tangled mess of copper hair was about as dry as it was going to get. "Did you discover the identity of the Sith?"
Obi-Wan nodded. "Yes," he replied, but seemed disinclined to say anything further.
Bail refrained from sighing. "Then why are you here, if not to discuss what you learned?"
Obi-Wan smiled, a slight, hesitant expression that brought a touch of color back into his eyes. "I was wondering if you had time for a game of Dejarik with an old friend."
Bail closed his eyes for a moment, and his heart ached with memory and remembered grief. He smiled and looked back at Obi-Wan, a man who had been, and still was, one of his dearest friends. "Of course I do. Shall we get rip-roaring drunk while we're at it?"
Obi-Wan chuckled, pushing his hair back behind his ears. "That sounds fantastic."
They played for hours, chewing their way through game after game. They were fast players, and both of them were good at strategy even if they viewed it in different ways. Obi-Wan tended to come at the game from the angle of a warrior, fortifying strengths and discerning weaknesses, while Bail played the point of view of a diplomat, using the pieces as alliances and breaking them when the need arose. Brandy was consumed without regard for health or cost, and after a third glass Obi-Wan's eyes were more or less the right color again, the shifting blue-green Bail had always admired. He was still far too quiet, though, his gaze serious even when he was smiling.
"What do you do," Obi-Wan asked, after his holo-piece bit the head off of Bail's remaining knight holo-piece, "when you see no way to win the game?"
"That's generally when it's time to roll out your Kintan Strider, if you've been smart enough to set one up," Bail replied, hoping that Obi-Wan's last move hadn't just destroyed his own Strider gambit. When playing against Obi-Wan Kenobi, it was one of the only methods that guaranteed Bail Organa a chance at winning. A chance. Sacrificing his strongest piece to win the game had usually been a success about fifty percent of the time.
Obi-Wan sighed. "Anakin is the Kintan Strider, Bail."
"I can see how you would be disinclined to act, then," Bail said, hiding a wince. He liked Skywalker, and Padmé was genuinely happy with the young Padawan. The last thing Bail wanted for any of his friends was to see one come to grief.
"It's not just that, but it is a very large problem." Obi-Wan touched the controls, and Bail put his head down on the table after he witnessed the destruction of his karmin worm.
"You. Bastard," he grumbled into the wood. "You just destroyed my Kintan Strider."
"Whoops," Obi-Wan said, not in the slightest bit repentant. "The game's not over yet, though."
Bail lifted his head, spying the current arrangement of figures, and groaned. "That is the worst fucking Dejarik alignment I've ever seen. I don't think either of us can pull a win out of this, unless you consider winning as having one piece left that is bleeding from several orifices and whimpering."
Obi-Wan stared at the board. "There has to be a way," he whispered, and it was clear that while he was paying attention to the game, it was also a representation of a much larger problem for the Jedi Knight. "There has to."
"Well," Bail scratched his bearded chin, contemplating the mess he and Obi-Wan had created while trying to outwit each other. "If you can't sacrifice your strongest piece--or at least, keep it from being a certainty--why not sacrifice something else? Then make sure your Kintan Strider is in the right place, at the right time..." He touched the controls on his side of the playing board, and one of his rear pieces came to life, striding forward and clobbering the holo-piece that had eaten his knight. The holo-piece put his hoofed foot on top of the other piece's body, clasping its hands together in a victory posture. "So that the strongest piece wins the game for you, after all."
Obi-Wan stared at the board; his remaining pieces had slumped in dejection as Bail's win was confirmed. "Bail Prestor Organa, you are a fucking genius," he said at last, his eyes lighting up with near-manic intensity.
"Did I give you an idea, then?" Bail smiled. He preferred a touch of mania over despondence any damned day.
"At the very least, the start of one," Obi-Wan said, leaning back and slugging the remains of his brandy down his throat.
"Who is he, Obi-Wan? Tell me."
Obi-Wan shook his head. "Not yet. Right now it would be a death sentence."
"And you aren't in danger?" Bail retorted, frowning when Obi-Wan got up and went to the 'fresher, coming back out in the midst of putting his cloak back on.
"Already dead, which he doesn't know," Obi-Wan said, his cheerful demeanor returning in full force. "Thank you for the game, Bail."
Bail stood up, walked over, and pulled his friend into his arms. "Thank you for coming to see me, one last time."
Obi-Wan stepped back, eyebrows drawn together in confusion. "Last time?"
"Hey, Force-sensitive, remember?" Bail tweaked Obi-Wan's nose with his fingers. "I have my moments, and this is one of them. I know I won't see you again. I'm just grateful that you gave me the chance to say goodbye."
Obi-Wan swallowed hard and nodded, the faint sheen of tears in his eyes. "Goodbye, Bail," he said.
There was a clatter of sound in the main room. Bail glanced in that direction, wondering what had fallen, and saw nothing out of the ordinary. When he turned back, Obi-Wan had gone.
He smiled, ignoring the tears that fell from his eyes. The soft light of pre-dawn was starting to make sense of the shadows, turning everything from black to gray.
"Goodbye, Obi-Wan," Bail whispered.
It is dangerous to be right in matters on which
the established authorities are wrong.
-Voltaire
Obi-Wan entered his quarters, throwing his cloak over one of the few chairs that Master Gallia and Shaak Ti had snuck in as he had moved piles of flimsiplast back out. It made the room look semi-lived in and comfortable, if one discounted the sheets of plast still lining the walls, filled with his scrawled notes. Funny to think he'd been worried that Qui-Gon might recognize his handwriting, but his past self had liked a good keypad better. Obi-Wan liked the feel of a stylus in his hands, now, the sound the tip made as it scratched marks into plast and paper.
Jeimor laughed at him. -You all become such damn hedonists when you come back from the dead.-
He nodded absently, running his hand along the counter of his kitchen, thinking absently that tea sounded comforting, if not necessary. Where are you?
-Eh, back up at the North tower. There is some damn good eating up here when dawn hits. You going to go sleep with yon big Jedi Master again?-
Obi-Wan smiled. I was thinking about it. He's likely paced a hole into the floor, wondering what I've found and done. He shucked belt, sash, overtunic and tabards with swift movements, leaving a trail of clothes on his way to the balcony door. The sun's edge was just beginning to warm the sky in the east, the gray giving way to bruised violet. Will you please let him know that I'll be there in a while?
-I am not a fucking messenger bird.-
I know. Please, Jeimor. I am going to sit down and do something I have not done in far too long--meditate. Maybe I can gather more insight on the idea Bail gave me.
-All right, all right- Jeimor grumbled. -Message has been passed along. He says he is much relieved, but is going to sleep until you arrive.- The crow hesitated, then laughed. -He also says to wear clothing. Fuck only knows why, you're just going to take it back off again.-
He settled onto his knees on the carpet, taking a deep breath and letting it out. It's for the benefit of those who do not want to pass a naked man in the hallway.
-Heh. Happy meditating, golden boy. Want some chimes and water music to go with that?-
Fuck you, Jeimor, he replied, grinning. Then, with the ease of long training and ingrained memory, he slipped into a deep trance.
Behind him, the shadows grew larger, and light seemed to flee the room.
The streets were dark with something more than night.
-Raymond Chandler
Qui-Gon was lying on the couch, forcing his aching, tired eyes to follow lines of text in the book he held. By the time Anakin arrived home shortly after dawn, he'd managed to read the same page at least five times, and still had no idea what it said.
"Still no news yet, huh?" his Padawan asked, slipping out of his cloak yawning as he hung it on an empty hook.
"Not yet--no, wait a moment." He listened, somehow not surprised that it was Jeimor's caustic voice that he heard. "They're back," he said, sighing in relief. "Jeimor says that they'll be here in a while."
"Well, in the meantime, I'm going to take a nap," Anakin announced, rubbing at his eyes with one hand as he went straight for his bedroom. "Give me a nudge when they show up, Master?"
He nodded, giving his Padawan a wan smile. "I think I'm going to do the same as you. Obi-Wan will likely have to kick us both out of bed to wake us up."
Anakin snickered. "Yeah, well, as long as you two greet each other before I get woken up."
"Go to bed, Padawan."
"Good night--er, good morning, Master," Anakin replied, not the least bit repentant as he shut his door.
Qui-Gon tossed the book onto the table, stretched, and then went to his own bed, stretching out on it without even bothering with the quilt. The past few weeks had been wearing him down, and becoming nocturnal had not helped the matter. He closed his eyes and was asleep in the next breath.
A giant fist crashed into his back, jerking him out of meditation with a snap that was like bone breaking. Obi-Wan fell forward with a pained gasp that ended in a sharp, surprised cry when he smacked into the balcony glass face-first. He rolled on instinct, reaching for a lightsaber that he didn't have. The blade was still on his belt, the belt left hanging on the other side of the room. It was only a few meters away, but it might as well have been kilometers.
There was a storm in his quarters. It was the only word he knew to call it, and the sight of it shocked him breathless. Purple-black energy, sparking with electrical fire, was swirling in the center of the room--a thick, hovering mass made of rage and palpable Darkness.
"Sith--" he tried to say, but the storm expanded to fill the room in the blink of an eye. Fire was in his mouth and nose, down his throat, burning from the inside out. He choked on it and on his own scream, unable to voice it because the oxygen in his lungs had become fire.
The next thing he knew, he had been flung through the air, striking the wall hard enough to see stars. The flash-fire in his body went out, but the in-rush of breath was new pain on ravaged tissue. He choked, coughing as he curled over his knees, hands on the floor. He had to get up.
-KID!- Jeimor was shrieking. -Obi-Wan!-
Jeimor, he thought, before phantom rocks and hammers beat upon his skin. His vision was useless; it was like being thrown headlong into a whirlwind. He was thrown against several hard surfaces, one after another after another. Each impact felt like he'd fallen through the observatory roof again and again and again, and even the crow's healing couldn't keep up with the amount of damage his body was taking. He smelled fire, felt scorching heat. Burnt plast. Shattering metal, wood, steel, tile.
The storm dropped him on cold floor, and he lay there without moving, stunned and barely conscious. The silence was loud enough to ring in his ears, but he didn't trust it. Silence. Eye of the storm. Still in danger.
His chest was burning with each pained gasp, his heart hammering as it tried to keep blood flowing. He thought that Jeimor might still have been calling him, but the crow's voice seemed impossibly distant.
The shriek of tortured metal caught his attention, and he turned his head just enough to see that the tub faucet had been broken open, and water was pouring into the soaking bath he'd never had use for.
Obi-Wan had one moment of confusion before clarity struck him harder than the phantom blows. No, he thought, just as invisible hands gripped his right arm and began pulling him speedily towards the tub. He clawed desperately, vainly, at the slick tile with his left hand, fingernails ripping free as he fought the inexorable grip. No, no, no. Not! That!
He wasn't lifted so much as thrown into the water, hitting his head on the broken tap as he fell into icy blackness.
Acceleration
It seemed like no time had passed at all before there was an insistent, repetitive tapping on his window. Qui-Gon swam towards consciousness, confused by the noise, and in the next moment was mentally bowled over by Jeimor. -WAKE THE FUCK UP YOU LONG-HAIRED ASSHOLE! NOW!-
The shout had him rolling off the bed, into a defensive crouch, wide awake as adrenaline surged through his body. "Jeimor?"
-GET DOWN HERE, NOW! I CAN'T GET IN THE FUCKING ROOM AND HE NEEDS US!-
"Obi-Wan," he whispered, launching himself upright and bolting for the door. PADAWAN, ATTEND! he roared down the training bond, and heard a thump as Anakin fell off the bed in response.
Master? Wha?
Obi-Wan's in trouble. He shoved the balcony door open so hard that it skipped off of its track. Anakin joined him a moment later, pulling a shirt over his head, his entire being thrumming in the Force as he went into battle mode.
"We're going that way?" Anakin asked, his lightsaber hilt in his hand. He'd dressed just quickly enough to be presentable, whereas Qui-Gon had gone to sleep with only belt and boots removed.
Qui-Gon nodded, stuffing his own lightsaber into his sash as he climbed up onto the railing. "He's only two levels down, three balconies over," he said, and leapt.
Anakin swore and jumped after he did, both of them coming down on the rails of the next balcony down, one over. They repeated the jump, startling a young Padawan in the midst of her morning meditation, and then took one last leap to reach Ben's balcony.
Jeimor was hovering in front of the door, cawing in rage as he flapped his wings and pecked at the glass. "Get out of the way," Qui-Gon ordered. Jeimor obeyed, turning around and catching an updraft that sent him meters high in seconds.
The glass was black, not clear. Qui-Gon touched it with his fingertips and felt residual heat that spoke of a short but intense fire. Anakin read his intention and tucked his face into the crook of his arm to protect his eyes. Qui-Gon ignited his lightsaber, leaning away as he stabbed the center point of the glass door.
The glass shattered, exploding outward as internal pressure was released. Black smoke came roiling out, a foul cloud of burnt plast, charred wood, and melting plastic.
"What the hell?" Anakin wondered, stepping through the shattered frame, igniting his own blade and lifting it over his head.
Qui-Gon stepped in behind the young man, his breath held in deference to the smoke. His eyes widened in disbelief. The quarters assigned to Ben Lars looked as if a bomb had gone off inside.
Stunned, he realized that it must have been a very specific sort of bomb. The plast had been set ablaze, and nothing remained of it but black char and running rivulets of color on the walls and carpet. What little furniture there had been was lying around in splintered pieces like so much kindling, accompanied by shards of ceramic that had once been cups or plates. As the smoke finished venting from the room, letting light in, he realized that there was red. Everywhere. Spots, drops, and great swaths of Obi-Wan's blood marred the walls and floor. He realized that even the walls were dented, as if something large had been thrown against it with great force.
And he could hear water running.
The air had cleared, and he took a breath; the smells that had erupted with that cloud of smoke were now almost unbearable in their intensity.
Drowning, he thought, flashing on the Foresight he'd experienced on Bestine IV. Oh, gods. "Obi-Wan!" he yelled, bolting for the 'fresher, Anakin on his heels.
The 'fresher was almost as bad as the main room, and Qui-Gon's bare feet slid on water-slick tile. The tiles on the walls were shattered, some of them crushed inward. The countertop had been ripped from its moorings, and the sink was hanging from the wall, plumbing bent and spraying water.
The 'fresher had a soaking tub, and the water from the taps--both broken open--was pouring forth. Water ran over the lip of the tub in a constant waterfall, sending waves across the floor.
A pale hand, smeared with blood, hung over the edge nearest the faucet.
"Oh, Force, no," Anakin whispered, horrified.
The words jarred him into action. Qui-Gon splashed across the room to find Obi-Wan floating face-down in the tub, his hair and loose shirt being stirred by the current. Qui-Gon shoved his arms into the water, seized Obi-Wan around the waist and pulled him out of the tub. The man was deadweight in his arms. "Help me!"
Anakin grabbed hold of Obi-Wan's legs, helping Qui-Gon to carry him over to a clear space on the 'fresher floor. "Oh, Force. Master--" Anakin choked out, seeing Obi-Wan's eyes as they laid him down on the flooded tile. They were half-open, unseeing, and Qui-Gon cursed his own lack of understanding as he realized, far too late, what the Force had been trying to tell him.
The water had washed away most of the blood, but there were wounds on Obi-Wan's face and arms, and the shirt he wore was torn in several places, revealing hints of worse damage underneath. He was not breathing, and Qui-Gon pressed his fingers against Obi-Wan's neck to find that there was no pulse beating beneath his skin.
Jeimor flew in, cawing in agitated distress. He landed on the floor in an awkward fumble that sent water flying, swore, and then started talking a blue streak. -It was that motherfucking Sith! Couldn't get to Obi-Wan any other way, so he just called up a telekinetic storm and beat the shit out of him instead!-
"Will you be able to help him?" Qui-Gon asked, pulling Obi-Wan's hair from his face, tilting his head back. It was taking him serious effort to remain calm, working one step at a time. There was no sign of that fast healing, no hint that Obi-Wan's wounds would vanish like Ventress's blaster shot.
Jeimor opened his beak and let loose one of the angriest sounds Qui-Gon had ever heard from a bird. -I don't fucking know! I've never had to work in these conditions before! Just--treat him like you would any other mortal in this situation. I'll do what I can- he said, and began to pace back and forth alongside Obi-Wan's body.
"Anakin, the Council of Six--contact them, right now. Shout them deaf through the Force if you have to, but get them here. Now!" Anakin nodded and sat down against the shattered tile wall, closing his eyes as he reached for the Force to do as he'd been asked.
Qui-Gon called upon the Force, creating a gentle, cresting wave that he pushed from the bottom of Obi-Wan's lungs to the top, forcing water up and up and out. It dribbled out of Obi-Wan's open mouth in slow trickles, all of it red-tinged. When the last of the water had been forced out of Obi-Wan's body, Qui-Gon sealed Obi-Wan's nose with his fingers, pressed his mouth against chilled, unresponsive lips, and forced air back into the man's lungs.
Breathe, he begged, resting his left hand on Obi-Wan's chest, just over his heart, as he shared another breath. He heard nothing in return, felt no hint that there was even spirit remaining to hear his words.
Don't you dare, he growled, sending a sparking electric shock into Obi-Wan's heart with the Force. The muscle contracted once, but not twice. Don't you dare leave this unfinished, damn you! I'd give the life you gave me back to you if I could!
Jeimor paused in his angry pacing, cocking his head as if listening to something neither Qui-Gon or Anakin could hear. -My help will take too long. Because of what he did for you, this will take days to repair. Maybe weeks.-
Qui-Gon didn't pause in his work. We don't have that kind of time.
-No fuckin' kidding. Chosen One!- Jeimor called, turning one beady eye upon Anakin. -Help him!-
Anakin blinked at the crow in shock. "I--I don't know how!"
-Fah. Are all prophecy kids fucking useless?- The crow hopped up and down like an angry toddler. -Get your ass over here and I'll show you!-
Anakin nodded jerkily, and approached on hands and knees in the water. "What do I do?"
-Hands on his chest- Jeimor instructed. Qui-Gon moved his hand out of the way, letting Anakin's take its place. -Keep breathing for him, Jinn. And keep calling his dumb ass back here!-
Qui-Gon smiled against Obi-Wan's lips, amused despite it all. Obi-Wan, he called, stretching out his awareness as far as he could go, searching...
He breathed for them both as Anakin, with Jeimor's guidance, began the work of healing heart and body, giving Obi-Wan something to come back to. Obi-Wan, you must, Qui-Gon said, at last finding the faint echo of his familiar spirit. Please come back to me!
Qui-Gon felt something rush past him, through him, just as Obi-Wan's body arched up. Obi-Wan's eyes shot open, and he drew in a breath that sounded like a scream.
"Easy!" he ordered, catching Obi-Wan's arms, holding him as Obi-Wan dragged in shrill breath after breath. Anakin gripped Obi-Wan's hands and bit his lip in distress.
-Geeze, Kid. Give me a fucking heart attack, why don't you?- Jeimor huffed.
Slowly, the tension eased from Obi-Wan's frame, and the gasps began to gain the sound of regular, if stressed, inhalations. "An...Ani..." Obi-Wan rasped, and Anakin grinned relieved reassurance at him. "Qui..."
"Right here," he murmured against Obi-Wan's hair, and felt a wordless, soothing touch in the Force from his avatar. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, returning the Force-caress.
"Great fucking balls," he heard Shaak Ti swear. "What the hell happened to this room?!"
Jeimor looked up as Mace and Shaak Ti, with Adi and Saesee behind them, appeared in the 'fresher doorway. -Hiya!- the crow greeted them. -What took you assholes so fucking long?-
"Sweet Force, Obi-Wan," Shaak blurted. "Who the hell did you piss off?"
Obi-Wan breathed out a weak laugh, answering in a whisper. "Sith...Lord."
"What? You found the Sith?" Anakin gasped.
Mace frowned. "Then you know who the Sith is?"
Obi-Wan nodded, the barest movement of his head. His strength was returning, but at a snail's pace. Mortal pace.
"Well?" Mace put his hands on his hips, glaring down at them. "Who the hell is it?"
Qui-Gon could feel it when Obi-Wan's attention turned elsewhere, and Obi-Wan's gaze went distant. When he snapped his focus back on Mace, his eyes went wide, filled with dread. "Mace..." he wheezed. "Asa. Where...?"
"Ventress? Why would--Sith!" Mace exclaimed, curse and cause. "Come on!" he growled to the other members of the Council, leading them from Obi-Wan's quarters at a run.
"Help me," Obi-Wan pleaded, allowing Qui-Gon and Anakin to pull him to his feet. "Have to..." He took one step and would have fallen if they hadn't still been holding onto his arms. "Sith-dammit," Obi-Wan muttered, his breath still rasping in his chest.
Qui-Gon shook his head. "I'll carry you," he said, sensing Obi-Wan's urgency. Even through the Force he could feel it, now; Darkness had invaded the Temple, and not just here.
Obi-Wan nodded, wrapping his arm around Qui-Gon's neck as he was lifted. "Where's your lightsaber?" Anakin asked, noticing that Obi-Wan bore neither blade hilt nor belt.
Obi-Wan shook his head. "No idea," he said, as Anakin invited Jeimor to perch on his shoulder. The crow muttered complaints, but accepted. "Doesn't matter. Just...go. Please, go."
They followed three members of the Council at a dead run; Mace and Adi had both used Force-enhanced speed to hurry their steps and were far ahead. Only Yoda had not put in an appearance, and Qui-Gon was beginning to suspect why. While they had all been distracted by Obi-Wan's plight, genuine as it had been...the Sith had moved on to other targets.
Asajj Ventress had become Depa Billaba's guest as the Council debated her continued training, and it was at her door that they found Yoda. He was standing in the corridor, head bowed, ears lowered, shoulders hunched. He gave them a wordless nod, pointing with his gimer stick into Depa's quarters.
Saesee stayed outside with the ancient Master, while Qui-Gon, Anakin, Shaak Tii, and Ki-Adi Mundi entered the room. The Dark Side of the Force seemed to be swirling around, casting a gloom that the lights couldn't diminish. Depa was seated on the floor, her expression blank, her skin ashen. Mace was kneeling in front of her, and was cupping her face with his hands. His eyes were filled with sorrow as he glanced up at them. "I can't find her."
Adi was kneeling next to Ventress, and Qui-Gon sighed as he saw the wound on her head. The girl's eyes were wide open and staring, like Depa's, but the Jedi Master was still alive. Asajj Ventress was gone.
"Put me down," Obi-Wan said, and Qui-Gon obliged. Obi-Wan took several unsteady steps forward before he slumped down next to Ventress. He lifted her head and cradled it in his lap, bending his face down low so their foreheads were just shy of touching. "I'm sorry, Asa," he whispered, his voice thick with grief.
Adi gave him a sorrowful look. "This is not your fault, Obi-Wan."
Obi-Wan lifted his head. "I brought her here," he said, and then uttered a bitter laugh. "Where she'd be safe." He shook his head, laughing again, and wiped the tears from his face with a careless swipe of his hand. "None of us are safe."
He closed the girl's eyes, then carefully laid her right hand over her heart, and placed her left arm across her waist. "Rattatak tradition," he murmured. He took the edge of his own wet shirt, wiping the blood from her face and head. When Obi-Wan had finished, the young Padawan could have been mistaken for someone who was merely resting.
Obi-Wan used Adi's help to gain his footing, taking several steps to then kneel beside Mace. The senior Councilor was still searching his former Padawan's mind for signs of her presence. "May I?" he asked softly.
Mace glanced at Obi-Wan and nodded. "Please. If she's still there..." He drew in a deep breath. "Please find her for me, Obi-Wan."
Obi-Wan reached up, touching Depa's temple with the fingertips of his right hand. He closed his eyes, tilting his head, as his psychometry read whatever there was to find. Qui-Gon found himself holding his breath, hoping...
Obi-Wan dropped his hand, frowning. "She's frightened," he said at last. "She's still there, but the Sith drove her so far down into her subconscious it's difficult to find her. Keep her with people that she trusts, and reassure her that all is well. Give her time, let the fear fade, and she'll come back."
Mace breathed out a relieved sigh. "Thank you."
Obi-Wan gave the Councilor a vague smile, standing up and making his way to the window. The glass had suffered damage, and was covered in a spiderweb of cracks. Obi-Wan stared at the glass, his head bowed.
The next thing Qui-Gon knew, the Knight was giving vent to a fierce, blood-curdling scream. The glass of the window blew out of the frame, raining down onto Depa's wooden floors and the duracrete balcony outside with a great shattering crash.
"Gods," Adi whispered, wide-eyed, as Saesee rushed in, his lightsaber ignited, only to halt in confusion at the lack of threat.
When Obi-Wan turned to face them, the other-essence was roaming free like Qui-Gon had never seen before, a vital, thriving creature that covered Obi-Wan like a second skin. "There is no stopping the fall of the Republic," he hissed, and his eyes flashed, green, blue, gray, crow's amber--all of those colors and yet none of them. Jeimor, still perched on Anakin's shoulder, let loose with a raucous caw, as if in agreement. "Even if the Sith dies tonight, it is too late to save it."
"Then what good will it do to even bother with the Sith, if the damage is done?" Mace asked Obi-Wan, moving to stand with Qui-Gon and Anakin. Every member of the Council of Six had entered the room, stopping short at the sight of the full-fledged Avatar before them.
Obi-Wan smiled. "The difference between life and death, dusk and dawn. With the Sith, all life suffers, the galaxy shrieks in pain, and stars burn out. Without the Sith, governments may topple, but the people will remain, able to rebuild what was lost."
"Dammit, Obi-Wan, who is the Sith?" Shaak Ti all but growled the demanding question.
Obi-Wan shook his head. "No. When it's time, you will all know, but not before."
"You're turning into Yoda on us," Adi said, sighing in frustration. "Why?"
"Because balance is about choice," Obi-Wan replied, catching Qui-Gon's eyes for a moment before he turned his gaze upon Anakin.
Anakin frowned. "What? What choice?"
Obi-Wan walked forward, and as they watched, the black dusted wings spread across his face, shadowing his eyes, highlighting the intensity of his stare. "The choice is yours, and always has been. You're going to be presented with a moment in which you must choose a side. Will it be that of the Sith? Or that of the Jedi? Light or Darkness, Padawan Skywalker?"
Obi-Wan reached up, clasping Anakin's cheek with his hand. Anakin froze in place at the touch, staring down at the man who had become his brother. "I can't decide for you. No one here can do that, Chosen One, Skywalker, born of the Force," Obi-Wan whispered. "But before you make that choice, remember the bright points in your life," he said, and Anakin gasped, eyes widening. Obi-Wan dropped his hand, but leaned forward, whispering something into Anakin's ear that Qui-Gon couldn't make out.
"Oh," Anakin breathed, touching his face where Obi-Wan's hand had been.
When Obi-Wan came to him, Qui-Gon wrapped his arms around the smaller man and held him tightly, closing his eyes and gritting his teeth against the cry of denial he wanted to voice. Almost time. "Will I see you again?"
Obi-Wan stepped back, looking up at him. Love and peace shone in those multi-colored depths, and there was a smile on his face that Qui-Gon had never forgotten, and would always remember. "One last time," Obi-Wan told him, brushing his fingers over Qui-Gon's lips. "But not for all time."
Qui-Gon pulled Obi-Wan close, bending his head and kissing him, feeling pliant lips and warm breath that intermingled with his own, and it was the sweetest gift, the best thing he could think of in all of the worlds. Obi-Wan twined his arms around Qui-Gon's neck and responded to him, opening his heart and sharing the depths of his love.
Qui-Gon gasped, felt tears form and fall from his eyes, as those feelings filled his heart, driving all of the old shadows from his mind. I love you, Obi-Wan whispered into his mind. No matter what happens, no matter what you see... Remember this moment.
I will never forget it, Qui-Gon vowed, feeling an intense surge of regret as Obi-Wan pulled away, breaking both skin and mental contact. I love you.
Obi-Wan turned and bowed to the assembled Council of Six. "When it's time to battle the Sith, Jeimor will come for you," he said, and held out his arm. Jeimor launched himself from Anakin's shoulder, landing on Obi-Wan's forearm in a flutter of wings.
"You say the Republic will fall," Ki-Adi Mundi began, expression pensive. "When?"
"Days. Weeks. Months. Maybe years," Obi-Wan shrugged. "I can't answer that question because I don't know. But it will happen. The death of the Sith will be the death knell of the Republic." He laughed again, a manic cackle that made Qui-Gon's blood run cold to hear, because it was far more Other than Obi-Wan.
"The funny thing? It was too late years ago."
Time seemed to fold, or perhaps it was only his perspective, but when Qui-Gon blinked Obi-Wan and Jeimor were both gone. He could hear the faint sound of wind against cloth and feather, but that was all.
Yoda looked at each of them in turn, weary-eyed and sad. "Prepare we must," he said. "For both the Sith, and for the future of the Jedi. Fall with the Republic, we cannot."
"And Ventress?" Mace asked, as he picked up Depa, cradling the woman in his arms.
"The pyre of a Padawan, we shall give her," Yoda declared, thumping his stick down on the ground. "One of ours, she was, and honor Ky Narec's Padawan, we will."
"What did he do, Padawan Skywalker?" Saesee asked, giving Anakin a curious look.
"Uh..." Anakin swallowed. "He showed me...times in my life where I was happy. Things that--things that matter to me. People I love."
"An odd choice," Saesee mused.
"Not at all," Qui-Gon disagreed, half-smiling. Reminding Anakin of those things was Obi-Wan's way of trying to stack the deck in their favor. As tactics went, it was a brilliant one that did not break the rules he worked under. "What did he say to you, Ani?"
Anakin gave his Master a shy, hesitant, yet delighted smile. "He said... He said that Padmé is pregnant. That I'm going to be a father."
It's better to be good than evil,
but one achieves goodness at a terrific cost.
-Stephen King
Book 6: Fury
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