Master Apprentice Archive Five Years (Conclusion) Quick search:

Five Years (Conclusion)

by Cynical21 ( bonniej@cox-internet.com )

Category: Angst

Archive: M&A, if wanted

Rating: R

Spoilers: None

Disclaimer: Done for fun (!) -- no mon.

Grrr! This started out as one little vignette - which became two - which became . . . . Grrr! I'm done - I swear. Thanks for all the positive reviews, Guys. Hope you enjoy.

Unbeta-ed. All errors are exclusively mine.

Many months later . . . . . . .

It was long past midnight, edging on toward morning, and the howl of the ceaseless winds that enveloped the towers of the Jedi Temple had risen to a painful wail. The inevitable nightly rise of that shriek was due to an interaction of physical factors, completely explainable, of thermodynamics and air currents and temperature gradations and a dozen other variables -- but no sentient being who heard it could quite discount the notion that there was a metaphysical component concealed within that mournful voice. It sang of loss, and old grief, and the ultimate mortality of the soul.

Most chose to block it out.

Qui-Gon Jinn wrapped himself more tightly in the folds of his cloak -- and allowed the discordance to flow through him as he knelt on the tiny balcony outside his quarters and strike a resonance with the deep, aching void that existed at his core. The terrible cold of the air currents echoed the frigid wasteland that had become his heart, and he no longer asked himself how he had come to this point in his life.

He knew how.

"Master?"

The voice had deepened dramatically within the last year, as the boy became more and more centered in his becoming -- and he WAS in the process of becoming. The question, of course, was WHAT he would become -- a question no one seemed able to address.

"Yes, Padawan?"

"Please, come in. You'll make yourself ill again. It's too cold, and . . ."

"You needn't be concerned, Anakin. I'm . . ."

"Don't say it." There was rising anger in the sharp words, and Qui- Gon looked up to see banked fire in crystal blue eyes. "You're NOT fine. You won't let yourself be fine. I . . ."

The Master rose, trying to disregard the stiffness of legs and knees no longer able to recover quickly from long hours of kneeling. "Go on," he said softly. "What were you going to say?"

The boy moved back into the common room of their shared quarters, and shivered in the draft streaming through the open doorway, his bare torso washed pale alabaster in the gloom. "I . . . I don't know how to be what you need me to be, Master," he said finally, and Qui-Gon winced to hear the note of defeat in his tone -- a note almost as loud as the note of resentment. "You won't let me . . . I can't replace -- what you won't let go."

Feeling all his years -- and more -- Qui-Gon closed the door, and ignored the quick, sharp pang of loss that cut through him as the howl of the wind was silenced. "Is that what you think I do, Ani? You think I . . ."

"I HATE him!" It was the outcry of a frightened child -- and the heartcry of a young man. "I HATE what he did to you -- to us. I . . ."

"Stop!" The Master drew a deep, ragged breath. "Stop, Ani. I can't let you pursue this. I can't allow you to twist things around -- to make him the villain of what's happened."

He moved forward and placed his hands on his padawan's shoulders -- and glimpsed the trail of tears down the boy's face, but chose not to comment. Past experience had taught him that Anakin did not enjoy having his moments of weakness discussed or analyzed.

"He was NOT the villain," he said softly. "He was the victim, my padawan -- and my life, my existence -- my presence here, and my ability to train you -- all of that was his gift to me -- and to you. And any blame that exists -- is mine, because I was too wrapped up in my own conviction, too concerned with proving myself right . . ."

"He would have sent me away!" There was a stubborn surliness in the response that spoke of carefully preserved old resentments.

Qui-Gon sighed, and caressed the padawan braid that snaked over the boy's left shoulder. "I know you believe that, Anakin," he said gently, "but you're wrong. He knew I believed in you -- and he would have stepped in and fought for you in my place. I KNOW that. What I don't know . . . is why I didn't remember it at the time. Why I got so caught up in my own preoccupation with being the `great inscrutable Jedi Master' that I let him walk away rather than give him the one thing he needed -- the one thing he earned."

"My place." The boy's whisper was barely audible.

The Master felt the bottomless hurt that flared within his apprentice -- and felt the darkness around them flex -- and strengthen.

"No, Ani," he replied softly. "Not YOUR place. HIS place. Obi-Wan no longer needed a Master -- although I doubt he believed that. His humility was, in some ways, his greatest strength -- and his greatest weakness. I should have refused to let him leave us -- and he and I, together, should have trained you."

Anakin looked up suddenly -- and something half-formed, pale and squirming and faintly amorphuous, flared in his eyes, and a question trembled on his lips -- but he paused, and the question went unasked.

And Qui-Gon Jinn felt another dark tremor thread its way through the Force.

Weary and heartsore as he was, he sighed, and realized that it was time, perhaps, to explore these tiny fractures in the Force fabric of reality; he had let them go unchallenged for too long.

But it was not meant to be.

The soft, melodious chime that announced a visitor at the entrance to their quarters was disturbingly loud against the silence of the sleeping Temple.

When the door slid open, Qui-Gon was somehow not surprised to find Council Member Mace Windu standing in the hallway.

"Come with me -- now!"

There was no arguing with that tone of command.

When Anakin followed his Master into the corridor, wrapping himself in a cape snagged from a hook by the door, the dark Master looked as if he might pause to protest the boy's presence -- but, in the final analysis, he didn't. Something within him suggested that the apprentice had a right to be a part of what would happen this night; he hurried toward the lift -- and spared a moment to wonder if any of them would survive what lay ahead.

The Force seemed to pull inward around a growing stillness -- and hold its breath.

There were no active light sources within the sweep of the Jedi Council chamber -- but none were really needed. The glow of Coruscant, which was never truly diminished, poured radiance through the curving sweep of paristeel windows, painting bright patterns against the mosaic of the floor, as Master Windu pushed open the massive double doors, to reveal a small figure seated in his customary place. Master Yoda -- eldest and most powerful of all the Jedi -- sat in shadow, and seemed reluctant to disrupt the stillness that was wrapped around him.

Thus it fell to Master Windu to offer the only explanation that could be given.

He took his regular seat -- and struggled to try to find the right words. In the end, he was forced to simply say what must be said, realizing that there WERE no right words.

He met Qui-Gon's gaze without apology. "Obi-Wan's last assignment was to try to infiltrate a slave ring that was abducting young boys and girls from the heavily populated systems around Belkadan." He paused to take a deep breath. "That was almost a year ago -- and we've heard nothing from him since. Two teams were dispatched -- to investigate and find out what happened. They turned up nothing. He's just . . . gone."

Qui-Gon stared at Mace -- and heard the words spoken by his long-time friend -- but, somehow, the words had become nothing but meaningless gibberish.

He continued to stare -- and then wondered why he found himself on his knees, on the floor -- with a terrible, roaring emptiness in his mind. Someone -- Anakin, perhaps? -- was calling to him, demanding that he respond, but . . .

At last, a tiny, three-fingered hand was laid gently against his forehead -- and a voice that he had obeyed without question throughout his life spoke directly into his mind.

~{{Dead, he is not. Found, he is. Strong, you must be now -- or all is lost.}}~

When he regained his senses, he found himself leaning against Master Windu's chest, cradled with gentle arms, as Anakin buried his head against his Master's chest.

Master Yoda, stood before him -- and Qui-Gon glimpsed the moisture in the tiny being's eyes before he turned to gesture to a distortion in the air, above the chamber's center.

"Watch and listen, you will."

Light erupted then, and roiled in uneasy chaos, as colors resolved themselves and shapes began to take form.

"Apologies, we offer," said Master Yoda, in a strange, listless tone that spoke of despair. "Middle of night, it is here."

"Yes, I know," came the response, easy, cultured, and melodious -- and threaded just slightly with a trace of venality. "It's a lovely morning here."

Qui-Gon Jinn closed his eyes -- and knew that, whatever horror he had expected from this moment, it had been no more than a pale foreshadowing of what the reality would be. Shaky, but determined, he rose to his feet before turning to face the image suspended before him.

"Xanatos!" he said softly, desperately.

"You remember, my Master." The baritone was silky, and laden with irony. "I'm touched."

The Jedi took a moment to achieve some semblance of serenity before looking up to meet the mocking eyes of the young man gazing out of the holoscreen.

He wasn't REALLY so young any more, of course -- but time had been kind to Xanatos deCrion -- and the Jedi didn't waste the effort to wonder how that could be.

Still slender -- still beautiful, after all these years.

"You're looking well, Xan," said the Master.

The dark prince of Telos smiled. "Despite the old adage, Master Jinn -- there are really very few things that money -- in sufficient quantity -- can't buy. Including eternal youth -- or the appearance thereof."

Qui-Gon sighed, his eyes drawn to the broken circle scar on the otherwise flawless cheek of his former apprentice. "You didn't call to exchange pleasantries, I imagine."

Xanatos, sprawled in an elegant, luxuriously upholstered armchair, crossed one leg over his knee, and focused his eyes on a small, ceremonial dagger that he maneuvered with long, dexterous fingers. He obviously still had a fondness for black, as evidenced by sleek, leather leggings and a tailored suede vest, that contrasted brilliantly against the creamy silk of a shirt left open to the waist, exposing an expanse of soft, golden skin.

"Do you have him?" Qui-Gon finally asked, unable to remain silent any longer.

The eyes -- the color of molten sapphires -- widened briefly, before being concealed beneath dark, spiky lashes.

"Yes -- I have him."

Somehow, the Jedi Master managed to avoid collapsing into a boneless heep.

"What do you want, Xan?"

The younger man smiled and sat up abruptly, hurling the dagger in his hands toward a nearby table, where it embedded itself into the burls of the manika-wood veneer.

"Always right to the point, hmmm? Very well, Master. Let me tell you what I want. But first, let me tell you -- how I found him."

"I don't think we need . . ."

"What you need, Master Windu," Xanatos said coldly, "is to listen to whatever I choose to tell you. Is that clear?"

"Clear, it is," replied Yoda quickly, with a cautionary hand extended toward both Windu and Jinn. "Only Obi-Wan matters. Tell it as you will."

The Telosian prince nodded, and lifted his eyes to meet those of his former Master. "First of all -- he was betrayed. He was taken almost immediately when he attempted to infiltrate the slavers' ring. He was betrayed -- by someone in the Jedi Order."

"No," said Mace Windu sharply, "that's not . . ."

"It's the truth." Xanatos' tone brooked no contradiction. "I don't have a name yet -- but I will, eventually. And would you like to know the reward that was given to this traitor -- for his -- or her -- service?"

Qui-Gon glanced uneasily toward Anakin, who had stepped back into the shadows at the edges of the room, but whose attention was riveted to the holoscreen. "I don't think . . ."

"The traitor was allowed to take his virginity."

Qui-Gon felt all the blood drain from his face, and his knees buckled, sending him plunging once more to the floor, unable to remain standing.

"You didn't know he was still a virgin -- did you?" Xan's voice was soft -- almost sympathetic -- and Qui-Gon felt the pain like a knife- thrust in his belly.

"Of course, he didn't make it easy for them." The young Telosian continued his narrative, refusing to pause to allow his listeners to adapt to the horror he was portraying. "When I found him, he was in a brothel on one of the moons of Neimus Mior. He had been bought and sold a dozen times since he'd been taken, and they'd taken everything from him. First, they suppressed his connection to the Force; then they took his memories -- with a mindwipe. Then they took his eyes, and, finally, they took his will to resist. He fought them -- through it all -- until they figured out a way to control him. They found a child -- and explained that the child would be punished for his every act of disobedience. After that, he let them do what they willed; he stopped fighting -- and started to die."

"What do you mean?" Qui-Gon's voice was harsh, strident.

"They mutilated him, Master. What was left could not have survived -- for long."

There was a great, ringing silence in the vast chamber, as the Prince of Telos grew still, and the great, stoic Jedi Master -- renowned galaxy-wide for his ability to control emotion -- was racked with sudden, gut-wrenching sobs. "Tell me," he managed to gasp, finally, "what you want. Anything. I'll do anything, just . . . please, don't hurt him any more. Isn't this enough?"

Xanatos was silent for a moment, as he stared down at the ravaged face of the man he had hated for so long -- the man he had sought to punish and torment for redress of past sins.

"Actually," he said finally -- very softly, "it is."

"What?" Mace Windu's voice was strident with anger and horror and disbelief. "What do you mean?"

Xanatos rose then, and regarded his listeners solemnly. "Let me explain it so you understand me fully. I went after him -- using the resources available to me -- for one reason only. I saw the means for my revenge on you -- all of you -- through finding him, and making all of you watch what was done to him -- and watch while I finished the job. I planned to kill him -- very slowly -- and then send his body back to you, so you would know it all. So you'd understand what he suffered."

Qui-Gon struggled to regain his composure as he looked up to meet the eyes of his former apprentice -- and he felt his breath catch in his throat as he saw something in that once well-loved face that he had not seen in many long years; indeed, had not expected to see, ever again.

"You couldn't do it," he said slowly. "Something . . . touched you."

The Telosian smiled; then he chuckled softly. "Something touched me." He regarded Qui-Gon with undisguised annoyance. "We undertook a journey together -- he and I -- and made some amazing discoveries along the way."

"Tell me," said Qui-Gon, trying not to allow hope to billow into certainty. Much was still uncertain -- unknown.

"It was months before the healers were able to mend his poor, broken body -- and some wounds were simply beyond healing." His smile vanished, in a swift grimace. "He will never be able to . . . make love again, for example. But as bad as the physical injuries were, they were nothing compared to the mental and emotional wounds. The best mind healers in the galaxy spent many long months painfully recovering his memories -- and then made a tremendous discovery."

He looked directly at Qui-Gon. "He didn't want them."

The Jedi Master knew he should say something -- but found himself unable to speak, unable even to think.

"Do you understand me, Master Jinn?"

Qui-Gon nodded.

"I chose not to force the issue. They are available to him -- if he ever changes his mind."

"But he won't," said Qui-Gon, looking up to meet the crystal gaze of his former padawan. "Will he?"

"Not if I can help it," came the answer, swift and certain.

"And your discovery?" asked Master Yoda, after a pause. "What found you -- in your journey?"

Xanatos smiled very gently -- and Qui-Gon felt an old ache flare in his heart, as he saw the young face that he had loved so well swell within handsome features no longer cold and forbidding.

"I found -- my heart," answered the Telosian, "and I intend to keep it with me -- forever."

"You can't hold him prisoner, deCrion," protested Master Windu. "He's a Jedi knight, and . . ."

Xanatos shook his head. "He is Jedi no more, old friends. The healers have restored him to health, restored his sight, and his intelligence -- and he is relearning all the he needs to know to function as an adult. He is as brilliant, as charming, as accomplished as he always was -- and his connection to the Force has renewed itself. But he is not Jedi -- and he never will be again. He is now just my Ben -- my soulmate." He paused, and a cold glitter sparked in his eyes. "And no one will ever hurt him again. Do I make myself clear?"

Qui-Gon pushed himself up from the floor, and faced the holoscreen, surprised to be able to project a semblance of tranquility. "May I see him?"

Xanatos hesitated -- and the Jedi Master was intimately aware of the thought processes occurring within that crafty mind. He might claim to have no doubts about his ability to control the situation, but, in the end, it would be Obi-Wan who would decide what the future would hold. Even memory-wiped, even beaten and bludgeoned and battered and mutilated, he would always be Obi-Wan Kenobi, and would not simply relinquish his life to the control of another. Not unless it was what he truly wished to do.

After some consideration, Xanatos nodded and moved toward an open doorway. The holocamera followed him, peering over his shoulder as he walked to the side of a wide bed, gazed down on its only occupant.

Qui-Gon drew a deep, shuddering breath, and was forced to wipe welling tears from his eyes as he drank in the image of the face he had longed to see for so very long.

Behind him, Anakin Skywalker bit down on his lower lip -- and clamped down on the impulse to remark that Kenobi certainly made a beautiful little whore.

Qui-Gon Jinn, mind cringing under the cold cruelty of the observation, and Xanatos deCrion exchanged a long, silent glance -- and the Jedi Master told himself that it wasn't possible; that his former apprentice could NOT have read the boy's thought. But, in the final analysis, he couldn't be sure -- and he felt, once more, the flexing of the darkness -- and understood something that he had not previously accepted. The rise of the darkside was coming ever nearer and might consume them all.

But Obi-Wan would be shielded from it -- if money and power could possible manage it.

Obi-Wan -- child of his heart.

He lay on his stomach, his lower body partially concealed by silken sheets, and his face obscured by a tumble of russet gold locks. His body had once been a monument to the training provided by his Master -- a symphony of perfection, unmarred, unmarked; that was true no longer. Ugly scars trailed across his lower spine and down his right shoulder and even into the delicate hollow of his throat, and some of the scar tissue appeared to be tight and restrictive so that he might never regain full mobility.

But it was Obi-Wan, and, in the end, nothing else mattered.

"He's still beautiful," whispered Qui-Gon Jinn before he looked up and saw his own love reflected in the gaze of the young man who had spent so many years trying to kill him. "You will take care of him? You swear it?"

Xanatos smiled. "I still hated you enough -- that I wanted to send the holo-images to you. To show you what he was like when I found him. Do you know why I didn't?"

"Why?"

"Because I knew he wouldn't want it. Even though he doesn't remember you -- doesn't remember what you did to him -- somewhere, deep in his center, some small trace of the man he was continues to exist -- and continues to love you. He'll never remember it -- and he never would have known. But I'd know. Nothing is ever going to hurt him again -- even if he doesn't know it. I swear that."

"Is he truly all right?"

The gleam of mischief lighted sapphire eyes. "Would you like a demonstration?"

The holocamera backed away slightly, as Xanatos crawled up on the bed -- and pulled its occupant into strong, insistent arms.

"Ben? Wake up, my darling lazybones."

The young man, bare as a newborn, smiled and snuggled against Xanatos, nuzzling at his throat as sheets and covers fell away, revealing the gleam of golden skin that seemed to glow with health. The scars that marked his flanks and rib cage were dark and angry, but somehow only served to enhance the perfect lines and sculpting of his strong, young body. Xanatos had claimed that he would never be able to make love again -- but the injuries that would preclude that activity must all be internal in nature, as his manhood -- thick, and long, and heavy with blood jutted proudly from the thatch of rusty curls at his groin, as he wrapped his arms around his lover.

"Xan," he breathed, lifting his face for a kiss -- a kiss that was immediately forthcoming, a kiss filled with passion and tenderness. A kiss filled with love.

Qui-Gon watched breathlessly, and noted that Xanatos held his young treasure as one would hold a gift of priceless porcelain.

"I love you, my Ben," whispered the prince of Telos, as he traced the cleft of Obi-Wan's chin with gentle fingers.

"I know," came the answer, accompanied by a rascal grin.

Xanatos glanced up toward the holocam. "However, my heart, I am in the midst of a conference call, and -- much as I'd love to have you spend the rest of your life in glorious nakedness -- I find I have no desire to share your charms." He dropped a quick kiss on the end of Obi-Wan's nose. "Let them find their own gorgeous bedmates. Get dressed."

The younger man produced a quick pout, before glancing up at the holocam image -- and going very still. He rose slowly, apparently forgetting that he was nude, apparently forgetting everything, for the space of a heartbeat.

He looked directly into Qui-Gon's eyes, and even went so far as to raise a tentative hand, as if reaching for the Master's face. "Do I . . . know you, Sir?" he asked finally.

Qui-Gon knew he must answer quickly -- knew he dared not hesitate, as he saw fear rise in Xan's eyes. Knew, finally, what he must say. So he swallowed the answers that trembled on his lips -- and followed the script laid out for him.

"No. We've never met, Ben -- although . . . you're very like someone I used to know. Someone -- very special."

The moment stretched around them, and between them -- and Qui-Gon relentlessly suppressed the cries that rang in his mind. Xan would keep him safe; Xan would heal him -- and make him whole.

~{{And Xan will claim the kisses, and the body -- and the heart -- that should have been mine.}}~

A softening in the expression on the face of his former apprentice told him that his lament had been overheard.

"Go run your bath, my love," Xan whispered to his young lover. "I'll be along soon."

Obi-Wan turned to go, pausing only to look back once more -- and Qui- Gon was forced to stifle a gasp as he read a fleeting swell of longing in those eyes in which he wished only to lose himself forever.

When the door to the `fresher closed, the Jedi Master had to restrain his impulse to snarl. "He isn't a child, Xan -- and you demean him when you treat him like one."

"No, he isn't," agreed the Telosian, "but he IS still fragile. And still recovering. He will regain all his strength -- and all his power, Qui-Gon." He grinned then. "And we'll undoubtedly fight like raging banthas. But he will live a full, rich, rewarding life. I promise you that. And he will be loved -- as few have ever been. He gave me back my heart -- and filled my emptiness with light and warmth, after all the long, cold silences. And I'll spend the rest of my life repaying that debt."

Qui-Gon nodded, accepting the fact that he really had no choice but to believe what he was being told. Then he was struck by a stray thought. "And when you find out the name of the person who betrayed him . . ."

Xan simply stared at him for a moment, before breaking into a wide grin. "Now why on earth would I just . . . give you that name? Give me one good reason."

The towering Jedi grew very still, very solemn. "Because you have taken my heart -- and I must now learn how to live without it."

Xan's eyebrows arched. "Revenge. Payback. A Jedi craves not such things. The Code says . . ."

"Xan?"

"Yes?"

"Screw the Code!"

The Telosian erupted in a brief spate of laughter. "You know -- I'd actually forgotten."

"Forgotten what?"

The lovely, sculpted face went very still, until a tiny smile touched full, symmetrical lips. "Why I once loved you, my Master, my Rogue."

"Tell him . . . ."

Xan nodded. "Someday. When he's ready."

The holo-image faded then -- and the shadows in the huge chamber receded into shades of gray as the first faint glitter of sunrise broke the horizon in shards of rust and crimson.

Qui-Gon stood motionless for a moment, eyes closed, aware for the first time in a long time of a faint pulse within his consciousness -- a connection that had once existed between him and that bright, warm, lovely spirit that had been so intimately entwined with his life.

He felt a brief surge of something twist in his mind - and then it was gone. And Obi-Wan was gone.

He would feel the link between them no more.

He had done the right thing.

Now, he only had to learn to live with it.

FINI