Master Apprentice Archive Hearts of Darkness - Book II Quick search:

Hearts of Darkness - Book II

by Kass (kassxf@aol.com) & DBKate

Category: ***ANGST***, Drama, Romance

Rating: R (for adult themes, violence)

Spoilers: None for movies, lots for the previous installments of HOD. If you are looking for those, you can find them here

Disclaimer: We don't own them, and they are probably thankful for that.

Summary: After the ordeal, the healing slowly begins.

Chapter Four: Arise
After the ordeal, the healing begins

Kneeling on the cold marble of the Council room floor, Qui-Gon waited. He'd reported publicly, and then to Yoda alone; Yoda's eyes were closed as he considered all that Qui-Gon had told him.

"Touched you, Darkness has," the elder Jedi finally murmured. "And Obi-Wan as well. Require healing, you do, both."

A flash of irritation tightened Qui-Gon's gut. "Yes, I know." Flatly. "Obi-Wan has endured much."

Yoda's ear tipped downward. "Yes." Mildly. "Consider, you must, why trapped you were so easily."

He felt his mouth thin. "Yes."

Narrow look. "Retreat, you must take. On C'hai T'an. Go you must, and now."

Rocked, he stared at Yoda. Tried to think past the instant anger he felt, to choose words wisely. "Obi-Wan is in the infirmary, I will not leave until I know that he will be well."

"Well he will be." Flatly, and with a hint of an edge. "Obey you must."

It was, perhaps, a measure of Yoda's wisdom; the anger he felt was surely linked to his own shadow self. After a moment, he bowed his head to the inevitable. "Very well. I'll go and tell him-"

"Tell him you will not." Iron tone. "Separated you must be."

He stared, took in a deep breath to control himself. "I will not give up my padawan."

"For now," Yoda added, more mildly. "Until healed you are. Go, Qui-Gon Jinn. Meditate. Seek deeper knowledge of your heart."

He swallowed against a sudden tightness in his throat. "May I not even say goodbye?" With unwonted humility.

Yoda merely gazed at him.

Oh, obedience was hard; he finally bowed his head. "Take good care of him." Roughly.

"Done it will be." Almost kindly.

He rose, looked at Yoda with little affection. Finally shook his head and turned, strode out, anger warring with obedience, worry warring with calm.

Once in his quarters, he gathered up belongings with a rash disregard for what he packed. Paused in the doorway to Obi-Wan's room and closed his eyes briefly, too vividly reminded of the young man who had left on this last, disastrous mission.

And of the young man who had come back.

But--he remembered an old habit, back when Obi-Wan had been a very young padawan and still vastly insecure about his place with Qui-Gon. On the rare occasions he was sent out and Obi-Wan left behind on Coruscant, he had given Obi-Wan something to hold for him, to guard for him.

In reality, it was nothing more than an old keepsake, a deep blue P'ryn crystal carved into a shape of one of the flying dragons of that world; he had told Obi-Wan that it was special to him, and it had become so, watching the boy's care of it each time, and the pleasure Obi-Wan showed when returning it to him each time unharmed.

Turning, he returned to his own room, found the dragon and carried it to Obi-Wan's room. It must be placed somewhere obvious enough for Obi-Wan to see it, to read the message in it, but not so obvious that it was read by anyone else, he told himself, and surveyed the room again. Ah, yes--Obi-Wan kept a box of his own keepsakes near his bed, the lid open so that he might look upon them at any time.

Standing beside the bed now, he was moved to see how many of those keepsakes have come from their time together; carefully placing the dragon in the center of these, he sighed, caressing cold crystal with his fingertips.

Yoda was right. He was to blame, as surely as if he'd harmed Obi- Wan himself. Perhaps retreat would help him come to terms with it, to find a way to make recompense to his padawan, and to ensure against it happening again.

He prayed so. And prayed that Obi-Wan would understand the necessity of Yoda's command.

But he feared Obi-Wan would not. Even knowing the necessity, he found it hard to accept, to obey. Take care of him, he thought, aimed it at Yoda and felt a wordless stirring in the Force at his impudence.

It made him smile grimly all the way to the landing pad.

-----------

When Obi-Wan returned from the infirmary he couldn't help but notice that his room looked ominously foreign, but he attributed it to the four days spent in the sterile confines of the medi- droid center. That was all it was and he wanted to laugh at himself for thinking otherwise.

Instead, he settled himself in and waited for his master's arrival.

He was more than a little surprised that Qui-Gon hadn't visited on the last day of his confinement, nor was already waiting for him in the shared area of their quarters. The healers had ordered virtually infinite amounts of rest, but Obi-Wan decided to ignore their advice, not willing to admit that he, a young, fit man, was in any uncommon need of relaxation.

Not willing to admit that he didn't dare go to sleep in empty quarters. Alone. So he simply waited for Qui-Gon's return. Pulled out a data disc on his compad and flipped through it, looking at the words, but not really seeing anything. Waited until the morning turned into a long stretch of afternoon, watching the cloud cars and trams pass by the windows in their usual careless, speeding way, oftentimes looking as though they might actually crash right into the Temple itself. Waited until dinnertime was long past and the piece of fruit he'd taken from the fresher and ignored had to finally be discarded.

Waited until the dark cycle came . . . and went. He'd kept all the lights on throughout the night, ostensibly to let Qui-Gon know he was awake and not to bother quieting his steps when he came in. Sank deeply into the meditation chair, his light saber clutched tightly between sweating palms, merely as something to keep his hands occupied. They were trembling for some odd reason and he didn't want Qui-Gon to jump to any understandable, but certainly false, conclusions.

Morning came and he found himself huddled at the foot of Qui- Gon's pallet, saber still in hand, his eyes aching from a night of staring into nothingness, finding it hard to dare to blink. He was curling into himself, shaking, only because he felt slightly chilled. He'd forgotten how cold the rooms in Coruscant were of course, and thought that one of Qui-Gon's robes would be just the thing to alleviate the cold. All he'd have to do was wrap himself in one of his Master's long, warm cloaks and all would be well, at least until Qui-Gon returned. Yes, all would be well, of that there was no doubt.

He made his way to Qui-Gon's closet and opened it . . . only to find it empty.

He screamed at the sight.

The rest of the morning passed by Obi-Wan in that hazy way that all waking nightmares have a tendency of doing. A younger padawan burst in first, only to be followed by Master Windu who held him and spoke softly in his ear as the healers hovered nearby, tutting and shaking their heads in that infuriating way that healers have. He couldn't hear what they were saying, couldn't understand their buzzing blandishments and requests . . . didn't even feel it when the sedative was finally administered.

The room began to soften, then fade, and Obi-Wan found himself falling into something that felt like peace, unable to respond as Mace Windu murmured in his ear the words he himself had believed to be true just moments before.

"Yes, all will be well, Obi-Wan. Doubt it not, all will be well."

---------------

C'hai T'an was a small world, largely agrarian, whose inhabitants had been members of the Republic from its earliest days.

The retreat, run by the Herresian monks, stood at the far edge of the capital city where it nestled against the foothills of the Akkristan mountains. Qui-Gon's assigned quarters were simple, almost monastic, as befitted a Jedi on retreat for his soul's sake, and the simplicity was soothing in the face of his emotional turmoil.

Standing at the window, he could find no beauty in the mountains, there was an ill feeling about his heart that was connected to his worries over Obi-Wan; no amount of self-chiding, no amount of contemplating the Code had eased that ill feeling.

He wasn't here to meditate upon Obi-Wan's present condition, but on the immediate past, on the situation that had left Obi-Wan in this condition.

To meditate on the situation that had left him in this condition, full of helpless anger and fear and hate.

Even aware of it, he still wanted the Sithlord with a hunger that bordered on madness.

Wanted vengeance for Maul and Obi-Wan and for himself.

For his murdered confidence and peace of mind.

Utter selfishness, and it made him sick to recognize it, but recognize it he did.

Sighing, he turned back to the bed where his baggage lay, waiting for him to unpack it. Hesitated, trying to decide whether or not to dine in the retreat refectory or the privacy of this room, and opted for the latter.

He had much to think on.

But even as he unpacked, his mind kept nibbling at the knot of foreboding.

----------------

Maul had stalked him as carefully as any wise predator, had contrived a braid that was the color of Obi-Wan's, as if he had taken Obi-Wan in truth. Even the tie at the end was like Obi- Wan's, that characteristic knot he had watched his padawan tighten each time the long lock was replaited.

He'd been worse than a fool. Seeing that knot, seeing the color of the hair, he had literally felt his blood run cold.

I want you, Maul had told him, grinning, and I will release the boy unharmed.

Had it been ego? Sure of his own worth, a Jedi master, had he gone into that trap without realizing that Maul might well be lying?

Meditation on his state of mind at that moment was not reassuring. No, he had known or guessed that Maul was lying; he had not dared take the chance, that was all. And he had been blind, at first, to the fact that Maul was Sith. He had not thought of it until later.

Could he blame himself for that?

Perhaps not. It might be the one detail that he could not blame on himself.

As to the rest--seated cross-legged on the bed, he closed his eyes and sank deep into trance, knowing what he must do.

Setting the pieces in place inside his mind, building an alternate scenario, not unlike orchestrating a dream.

And once the pieces were in place, he let it flow

"I want you," Maul tells him, that braid twined around a black glove, the end hanging loose in front of him. "Come with me, and I will release the boy unharmed."

His fingers tighten on the hilt of his lightsaber. "Perhaps," he says, rewriting the dialogue between them. "Release the boy first, and I will accompany you."

"If I release the boy, what reason do you have to accompany me?" Another grin. "Surely you don't think I'm that stupid, Jedi."

"I don't think you have my apprentice," he tells Maul and steps back, activating his saber,

Maul is good, and he is younger; despite more experience and superior skill, Qui-Gon fails to carry the duel, is overcome by the dark man's ferocity and spitted on the dark man's sword.

"Very well, old man," Maul says, hissing in triumph. "Let me tell you what will happen. Your apprentice becomes ours."

He turns his head, sees the discard braid lying in the dust, fights to breathe, to send warning along the link--and failing, dies.

Jerking upright, Qui-Gon found he was drenched in sweat, as if the battle had been actual. The K'rya Shar was an effective way to seek the truth of matters, but it was, by its very nature, an exhausting technique, summoning the Force to present what might have been.

The first two moons had risen; the room was dark save for one small glowlamp and the moonlight spilled across the woven meditation rug under the window.

Drawing a hand over his sweaty face, Qui-Gon grimaced, both at the sweat and the way his hand trembled. It stung somewhat to consider that he would have been defeated so easily, but truth was truth, and wasn't he here to discover it and dispel the darkness that had shadowed him?

Obi-Wan, he thought, and shuddered suddenly, shifted and rolled to his feet, padding into the bath to fill the tub. The mountain springs were volcanic, hot bubbling mineral water that also served to heat the retreat building; he let it spill from the tap over his hands and splashed his face with it.

If he had fought and died, Obi-Wan would even now be in the hands of the Sithlord, and Maul would be just as dead.

Obi-Wan, he thought again, be well until I return, I swear to you, I will come as soon as I can.

He was suddenly unutterably weary; shed his clothing and sank into the heat with an audible groan, let his head fall back against the edge of the tub and closed his eyes. He needed more than the retreat, he needed rest. He would attempt the K'rya Shar again after a good night's sleep.

And not until then.

Unavoidably, his mind returned to Obi-Wan. Be well, he thought again, but the knot of foreboding had only strengthened, and he could not tell if it were guilt and helplessness, or founded in reality.

For once, he prayed it was the former.

-----------------------

Obi-Wan awoke, surprised to find himself in his own bed.

He peered around, feeling hazy and vaguely stupid, wondering why the healers had allowed him to remain in his quarters; a place they'd removed him from so ignobly what couldn't have more than a few hours before.

A glance to his left gave him the answer.

"How are you, Obi-Wan?" Master Windu's voice was calm but the concern on his face was evident.

He swallowed hard. "I am . . . " Blinked, the world around him still foggy. "I am . . . " How was he?

Windu coughed. "You are in your own quarters, young one. For the time being I thought it best, although leaving you alone here overnight was a regrettable mistake. It won't happen again."

Alone. That's right, he'd been alone and . . . Obi-Wan bolted upright in his bed, his head swimming with the effort. "My master. Where is he? Is he . . . "

Windu placed a broad hand on his chest and gently forced him back down. "He is well, Obi-Wan. He has taken retreat on C'hai T'an. He will return when he is ready."

Obi-Wan blinked and for a long moment was struck speechless.

A retreat? Taken without notice or warning, without even so much as a farewell. It was so unlike his master as to be so abrupt, and for a moment he wondered if he should trust Windu at his word. A thought that would have been unthinkable just a few weeks before, but now . . .

Now any deception seemed possible. He shook his head. "But . . . he said nothing of this. He didn't even . . . " Faintly.

A flicker of sympathy passed over Windu's features. "Perhaps he thought it best this way. You need time to recover as does he, young one. And that's what you should concentrate on now . . . healing. You've suffered many wounds, Obi-Wan and not all of them are so easily treatable. The mind and soul must heal as well as the flesh. This should be your focus now, padawan, to the exclusion of all other things."

Obi-Wan felt himself flush deeply at Windu's words. He knew that Qui-Gon must have informed the Council of their disastrous mission but in what detail, he knew not. The shame was still raw and the mere mention of it hurt more than he was willing to admit.

But even that pain paled in comparison to Qui-Gon's departure. He thought back to his master's vows on their return to Coruscant, remembering how sincerely he'd promised that he wouldn't send Obi-Wan away.

But he'd never promised not to send himself away.

A band of grief tightened around Obi-Wan's throat. The dicing logic of such a betrayal was almost beyond belief, especially for Qui-Gon whom he trusted implicitly. He shut his eyes tightly. "Did you know he was leaving, Master Windu?"

"No. Master Yoda informed me after the fact and bid me to look in on you. I'm afraid my timing was a bit slow, and for this I apologize." Sincere voice. "But again, that is neither here nor there at the moment. I'm sure that Qui-Gon will return when he is ready and by that time, hopefully you'll be well and whole again, ready to r_sum_ your full duties as Knight apprentice."

Bitter laughter welled up, but Obi-Wan forced it down. "I fear I'm not as confident as you in that matter, Master Windu." Looked up, his eyes burning. "I don't know what you've been told, but I guarantee there is yet more to the story than could possibly have been explained. Even by myself."

There was a rustling of robes as Windu rose. He peered down at Obi-Wan with a look that bordered on profound sadness, but that quickly disappeared behind his usual stoic mask. "There will be time and time enough for everything, Obi-Wan. We will focus on the present for now and that means that you must try to get some rest. You have no need to fear as I will be sharing quarters with you until Qui-Gon's return. If you need anything do not hesitate to ask, for I will be in the common area, a mere call away."

Obi-Wan's eyes widened. Being given over to the care of a full Council member was something he'd never heard of before. But under the circumstances he supposed it made sense.

They'd nearly been taken over by Darkness, his master and himself, and who would be more interested, and more fearful, of such an occurrence than the Council he thought bitterly.

But he could not to dwell on that. He had enough worries of his own not least of which was the utter and despairing loneliness which was threatening to overwhelm him even as Windu stood over him, his hand resting gently on his shoulder.

He managed to nod politely. "Thank you, Master Windu. I appreciate your concern. I will do my best to cooperate fully with the Council's recommendations." Formal tone.

Windu sighed. "Not only for the Council, young one. For yourself you must be most concerned right now. But . . . " Kind voice. "As I said, there is time and time enough for that. Now, rest and be assured that no harm can come to you here. If you need me, I will be in the common area." With a final nod, Windu turned and left.

Obi-Wan felt a slight rush of relief that Windu wouldn't be staying in his master's personal quarters. He'd always felt protective over that space, especially on the rare occasions when Qui-Gon wasn't there. He'd hated those times, every one of them and old feelings of abandonment and sorrow suddenly crept up; to his horror he discovered he was actually fighting back tears.

Wiping his eyes on his sleeve, he berated himself. He was a man full grown, and this was no way to act. He was no longer a child, dependent on his master for every moment of his well-being and happiness and even if he was, it no longer mattered.

Qui-Gon was gone, had left to find his own way through the darkness without his padawan at his side.

Without so much as a goodbye.

A tiny stab of anger at this thought and Obi-Wan turned over on his pallet. Glanced at his keepsake table and grimaced at its contents. Small reminders of his many missions with Qui-Gon lay meticulously spread out on a soft bit of black vetlor, each one of them polished and proudly displayed.

None had any monetary value, but each one had a special meaning . . . and a special memory attached.

Bits of shale from the mines of Bandomeer. A tiny loop of colored ribbon from a victory parade on Ta'mest. A small glass from a toast he and Qui-Gon shared on his twenty-first naming day. And many more, all of various colors and sizes and so many reminders attached to each one.

He ran a finger over a few of them, lost in thought and then noticed something strange.

The dragon was sitting among them.

Qui-Gon's "special" dragon; the cobalt P'ryn carving that Qui-Gon had always entrusted to him when he was a child, so as to soothe the hurt of his being left behind. He stared at it for a long moment and then picked it up, holding it up the light and letting the deep blue refraction of the crystal splash onto the walls around him.

He remembered Qui-Gon's grave requests that he care for this small bit of crystal and how seriously he'd taken that responsibility. Even as a boy, he'd known in his heart of hearts that what he was really caring for was the sacredness of the covenant between them, but that made it even more valuable in his eyes. Returning it to Qui-Gon upon his return was a reaffirmation of their bond, that singular trust that time and distance couldn't break.

He slowly realized that this was Qui-Gon's "goodbye" but that knowledge gave him little comfort. He was a no longer a child and after his ordeal, his faith in all things was no longer a certainty.

Not even in Qui-Gon.

He needed more now, much more than tiny reminders of hope or vague assurances that all would be well. There were doubts nibbling on the edges of his very soul and he felt himself slipping down a black hollow that held no promises of an eventual return to the light. He hadn't wanted to face it alone, had no idea where to even begin, but now he realized that he had no choice. It was up to him alone to keep from sinking into that blackness. . .

Precious dragons be damned.

Opening his nightable drawer, Obi-Wan pushed the figurine down beneath a few common items and shut the drawer with a bang. Whatever happened would be left to fate and if it survived, so be it. If not . . . then it was doomed from the start.

With that unhappy thought, he closed his eyes tightly and let sleep take him, preparing himself as best he could for the nightmares that were sure to begin again.

Chapter Five: Shatter
Broken covenents revealed

//Obi-Wan is beautifully naked, beautifully aroused, and he cannot help but feel his body's response to that as he watches the dark man take his apprentice, as the dark man touches Obi-Wan in places that he himself has only occasionally allowed himself to think of touching.

Beautiful, and his eyes are closed, he calls the dark man 'Master', and the resonance tells him that Obi-Wan is not truly seeing Maul, but is seeing him, Qui-Gon.

Feeling him.

His body stirs, he holds the dark man's gaze, willing him to understand that no matter what he does, he cannot hope to own Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan belongs to himself.

And to his true Master, only because he chooses it so.

Never to Maul.

In the curious logic of dreams, he puts his hands to the collar and tears through it as if it were nothing more than rice paper, steps forward and finds his lightsaber at hand.

Feral joy fills him; he activates it, takes two long strides forward and Maul leaps back, away from Obi-Wan, fumbling for a weapon--and Maul's head rolls aside when his strike is done.

The headless body falls, and he is already turning, kneeling, savage in hunger and victory, claiming Obi-Wan's body with his own, brutal and rapid thrusts, an ungentle bite on the back of Obi-Wan's neck and then the intensity of pleasure spirals and//

Qui-Gon woke, gasping and shaking, feeling the after shock of orgasm before he could process anything else.

Obi-Wan, he thought again, and threw himself out of the soiled bed, sickened by the dream, by the memories. That he should have dreamt of that scene and taken pleasure in it--his stomach roiled abruptly, he thought briefly that he was going to be ill, but it receded.

He needed to wash, he told himself and moved toward the bathroom; it was still very early, but the monks were habitually early risers, he could probably find some tea in the refectory.

Which is where he went once he'd washed and dressed and removed the sheets from his bed.

The monk in charge of laundry took the bedding incuriously, which enabled him to maintain a stoic silence about why, the day after arrival, he needed new. He directed Qui-Gon toward the kitchens, where he found hot tea.

There were gardens through the back kitchen door; he took his tea out into the neatly ordered plots, found a low stone wall to sit on. The sun was just coming up, and watching it soothed his inward turmoil again.

An elderly monk was weeding what looked like quintan, he watched idly. Although elderly, the man was far from frail, sun browned and wiry and as bald as an egg; he glanced over at Qui-Gon and snorted. "Are you just going to sit there and listen to the plants grow, Jedi?"

He stared, then grinned, set the tea aside and went to kneel in the plot near the old man. "Very well, Brother, what would you have me do?"

"Put those hands to work doing something besides waving a lightsaber about." Irascibly.

He had to bite back a retort; it would not be courteous, and besides, the Herresian monks were z'raketh, followers of a philosophy of utter detachment. The idea of affording amusement to them was irritating. Which meant, of course, that true z'rakethi was beyond him Kneeling, he began to weed carefully around each plant, losing himself in the mindless rhythm of the work.

The sun rose, his tea grew cold, sitting on the stone wall, but he persisted. After the nightmare of the early morning, it was clean, never mind he was staining the knees of his leggings and getting dirt beneath his fingernails.

"Are you sure you're a Jedi?"

He looked up into dark eyes that glinted with almost malicious amusement. "Quite sure, why?"

Another snort. "Most of 'em would be spouting nonsense by now, or else have given up. You know the value of silence and of work-- not a renegade brother masquerading as Jedi?"

He felt his mouth curve slightly. "I'm afraid not. Z'rakethi is probably beyond me."

The old monk picked up a thin stick and whacked him on the shoulder with it. "Z'rakethi is not beyond anyone." Sternly.

Taken aback, he sank onto his heels. "Why did you hit me?"

"To make certain you remembered." A sly smile. "It is the way we teach our initiates, young man."

That did make him laugh. "I'm far from young, Brother."

"You're young compared to me, Jedi." Narrowed eyes. "What brings you here? Had a bad encounter, need to cleanse yourself of it?"

"Yes." He knelt again, continued weeding.

"Pah. Jedi nonsense." The old man returned to his weeding. "Live in the moment, young man. The past is past, let go of it and do what you must to redress any wrongs now."

It stirred his temper. "You don't know--do you recall the Sith?"

"I'm not senile yet, am I?" Snappishly. "As idiotic in their way as the Jedi."

"What?" He leaned back again, stared. "How can you even compare us?" Harshly. "My padawan was taken and tortured! To deliberately twist him toward Darkness." The stick came up, came down, whacked him again. He fended the second strike away, genuinely angry at this point. "I am not one of your initiates."

"You should be," the old man snapped. "Listen to yourself. You and the Sith, dividing what is naturally together--no wonder you cannot achieve z'rakethi, you're fixated on either or!"

He stared again, swallowed hard. "That's not wholly true, I recognize that we all have shadow within--"

Whack! He bore it this time, fascinated in spite of his temper. "What nonsense! And you Jedi are the defenders of justice? Pah!" Disgusted tone. "Does the day follow the night, the night follow the day? Each are necessary--should the sun burn too long in the sky, who could rest? Do fall and winter not follow spring and summer? When would the ground lie fallow if not for that? You Jedi--the Force has been divided between you and the pestilent Sith, and still you do not see the need for balance."

He stared, considered and nodded. "Well, of course--"

"And until there is balance, Jedi, there will be Sith, as well as Jedi." Shrewd look. "They think you are tainted by Sith Darkness, do they not? That you're going to snap and become a Dark Lord right in front of their eyes. What idiocy. I suppose it's wise Master Yoda, that frog--does he remember that you are human and therefore more inclined to multiple co-existing states of emotion? Of course not. Pah." Disgusted again.

His mouth only quivered slightly, the result of an heroic effort to control startled laughter. "A frog?" Unable to completely ignore it.

"You know what I mean. He's an amphibian." A vague gesture and the stick went down. "So, what are you doing to purge yourself of this evil, Jedi? Staring at your navel?"

He opened his mouth. Closed it. Pulled a few more weeds. "I'm using the K'rya Shar to examine the events." Mildly.

"Oh, even better." But this tone was almost amused. "By all means, go back into the past and relive it differently--live in the moment, Jedi. Let go of rage and fear and move on to what must be done. Be z'raketh."

Z'raketh. He pulled a few more weeds, sighed. "I had rather not be here at all," he confessed. "My padawan was harmed, and I sent on retreat."

"Frog," muttered the monk. "Was this a Council directive?"

"No." Qui-Gon sank back on his heels, stared again. "No, it was from Master Yoda himself. But he was my Master."

Whack!

He didn't attempt to avoid it--who knew, he was hardheaded enough, maybe it was helping.

"When you were padawan, Jedi. Are you still padawan?"

"Of course not, but I still owe him obedience and respect." The words sounded hollow. "Besides, I'm not certain how he would have reacted if I had refused."

"Declared you renegade, no doubt, the silly frog." Another snort. "So, tell me, if that's why you obeyed, why are you here? What is the correct path for the moment, Jedi?"

He looked away, and his throat tightened, thinking of Obi-Wan. "I don't know."

The stick had come up slightly, but lowered. "Good answer," approved the monk. "Always, don't know. Only a fool claims certainty."

Maybe he had more facility at practicing z'raketh than he thought, Qui-Gon told himself, half-amused, half-despairing. "So, how do I find the correct path?"

"What face did you have before you were born?" Narrowed eyes.

"I didn't have one," Qui-Gon began, and winced as the stick came down again. "I don't know."

"Better." Mollified, the old monk gazed at him. "Go in and bathe and meditate on something besides your navel and the past. And when you're ready, come to me and tell me what your correct path is."

For a moment, Qui-Gon regarded him thoughtfully, then bowed in respect.

The old man sank back, studied him, and smiled slyly. "And don't forget to get clean sheets."

Against his will, his face went scarlet, he felt the tide of heat and color. "Thank you, Brother."

No answer. The monk returned to weeding; he collected his cold tea, stopped and collected clean bedding and returned to his room.

What was his correct path? If not knowing meant he was on the way to z'rakethi, perhaps he had made some headway after all; on the other hand, it left him no less worried about Obi-Wan, and that sense of foreboding had only grown stronger, as if the Force itself were telling him something.

He hoped it was not.

Meditation did not help. Nor, after all, did K'rya Shar. He watched himself die, watched Obi-Wan die, watched Maul die at the hands of his master while helpless to do anything. Watched himself die at Obi-Wan's hands, once the Sith had turned him. Once, even, he watched Obi-Wan die at his hands, as Obi-Wan had demanded.

A dozen different permutations, and he had not yet found one in which they both lived, in which he could break free from whatever fate had tangled theirs with Maul's and save his padawan's life.

It unsettled him profoundly.

His sleep was even more unsettled, visions again of him taking Obi-Wan with brutality, of taking possession of him no differently than had Maul.

When he woke this time, before the brink, he went to the bath and used icy water on shrinking flesh, furious and frightened, both for himself and for Obi-Wan.

If he was suffering this, what was Obi-Wan suffering? Yoda was compassionate, but could also be stubborn, blind to human weakness, human needs.

Standing there, covered with gooseflesh, he suddenly doubted his master's wisdom.

Dressed hurriedly and slipped downstairs.

Once on retreat, it was accepted that he would not contact Coruscant. That he would remain here, not slip into the city.

But he slipped a credit chip into his tunic and slipped through the back kitchen door again.

The monk was weeding again.

"Ho, Jedi, up early again are you?" Mild tone at variance with the evil glint in dark eyes.

Hesitating, Qui-Gon considered. It was early still, the sun just rising again. "Yes." Flatly. "I have something I must do."

"Ah, have you discovered your correct path?" Deceptive smile.

"No." He said it flatly. "But I have discovered part of the wrong one."

One silver eyebrow rose. "Indeed." A vague gesture. "When you get back, I expect some weeding."

He blinked, stared, and then nodded. "Very well." Relieved. Even grateful.

"There's a gate at the far wall." And the monk turned back to the ashla plot, fingers busily plucking.

Definitely grateful. "Thank you, Brother."

And before he could rethink this, he moved toward the gate.

The soulhealer looked exactly like a large womp rat.

Obi-Wan found it difficult to see past the narrow fur covered face and translucent whiskers long enough for any words of wisdom to be absorbed, so instead he concentrated on the louse that was attached to Master Osaksia's ear and was drinking heartily from an elongated vein that stretched from its tip to the bulbous cheek. Watched the insect sip and swell, keeping his face a study in serenity as the Master's long tail unconsciously swatted at the annoyance.

Their hour-long session was over soon enough and Obi-Wan bowed upon leaving, smiling broadly enough to cause his cheeks to ache.

He made his way back to quarters slowly. There would be no training sessions for the time being, so haste wouldn't be necessary. He could stroll and contemplate to his heart's content and not be reprimanded for it in the least. In fact, Obi-Wan began to think that nothing he did would ever be reprimanded again so fearful and cautious were his superiors when in his presence. They mentally tiptoed past him, their smiles and welcomes laced with a forced casualness that bordered on the ludicrous.

Walking out onto one of the outdoor balconies of the Temple, Obi- Wan looked out over the teeming city, watching the everyday world rush by carefree and oblivious. Wondered vaguely how far above the ground he stood and peered over the balustrade to the empty walkway far below.

It was very high up, a thousand meters or more, he noted idly. Leaned further over and grasped onto the lower rungs of the short fence that kept him from toppling over, his fingers curling lightly around the cold metal. I wonder why Jedi can't fly, he thought wryly. They can do just about everything else. They can leap over the heads of their enemies, defeat an opponent blindfolded, see into the future and read into men's souls when the occasion called for it.

They can keep the straightest faces imaginable when their entire world is collapsing around them.

He almost laughed aloud at this, then pondered what it would feel like to fall from such a height. Would he flail downwards to death, fearful and howling or would he be a Jedi still, his arms folded within his cloak, his expression stoic even as the ground rushed up to meet him?

An interesting experiment, he thought. Maybe someone could learn something from it. Maybe he could learn something from it. Maybe if he ...

A tight clasp on his shoulder stopped his reverie in its tracks. "Obi-Wan?"

Startled, he immediately straightened up. "Master Windu." Fixed his cloak and bowed perfunctorily. "My session had just ended and I ..."

"Was contemplating something that you shouldn't be?" Bluntly, but Windu's gaze was kind.

He looked away from the searching brown eyes and shook his head. "Not really, sir. I was just about to return to quarters actually. The view here distracted me, that's all."

Windu didn't look as though he quite believed this, but let it go. "I see. I have supper waiting for us and if you are so inclined, you can tell me how your session with Master Osaksia went while we eat."

Obi-Wan's stomach roiled at the thought of food, but he said nothing. He merely followed Windu back to quarters, divested himself of his cloak and obediently sat at the dining table, watching with an odd mixture of amazement and disgust as a Jedi Council member poured him tea and served him his food.

He was certainly padawan of the moment, wasn't he, he thought drily, taking a sip of tea and choking it down with as little outward effort as he could manage.

He picked at his food in silence, watching as Windu began to eat. "So, Obi-Wan, are you comfortable with Master Osaksia?"

He shrugged, forced himself to take a small bite. "I suppose so." Chewed slowly, swallowed carefully, and washed it down with a bit of tea. "It went well enough."

Windu took a sip of his own tea, eyed him for a long moment. "Perhaps another healer would be better--you need to be able to talk about this, Obi-Wan."

Bitterness made his throat tighten. "No one really wants to hear it. They want it to go away, to evaporate, I've seen how they look at me."

Windu's expression was startled. "That's far from true, Obi-Wan."

"They're afraid of me." He hadn't meant to say it, it had slipped out. "Because I'm tainted."

Windu gazed at him for a long moment. "I'm not afraid of you." Gently. "And I don't believe you're tainted. Obi-Wan, would it help you to tell me what happened?"

He stared at Windu. "Do you really wish to hear it?"

Astonishingly, Windu reached out, put a hand over one of his. "If you wish to share it with me, yes. I will not press you, Obi- Wan."

It made his mouth want to tremble; he firmed it, studying Windu. Almost, almost he could believe Windu, believe in the man's kindness. How long would it last, once he knew the truth? Closing his eyes, Obi-Wan began.

At first, he hardly recognized his own voice; so cold and clinically detached it sounded. His experience at Maul's hands was broken down into a brutally logical sequence of events -- a methodical attempt to make sense out of madness. There were no tears, no mincing or breaking of words, just a quiet, steady stream of sentences, a river of words describing horrors as correctly as one would describe an outing in a park.

He finished his recitation stonily, and opened his eyes.

Windu's eyes were unchanged, but his expression was disturbed. "Are you sure that this is all you wish to say, Obi-Wan?" Soft voice. "Remember, I am not here to judge you. I am here to help you as best I can, in your master's place."

A combination of relief and sickness made Obi-Wan dizzy, he managed to shrug. "I appreciate that, but I'm afraid there is no more to the story, Master Windu. I have told you all there is to tell." He rose, feeling oddly shaky, as if the ground beneath his feet were tilting to one side. "Now, if you don't mind, sir, I'm very tired this evening. I think I'd like to rest now." Belatedly, remembering his manners. "If that is all right with you, of course."

Windu said nothing, but nodded his assent, released his hand with a final pat.

Obi-Wan avoided the gaze that followed him as he made his way to his private quarters and sat down hard on his pallet. The room was tilting, dizzying him, making him wish he'd eaten more when he had the chance to.

He lay down, shaking and trying to catch his shortening breath. Fighting panic, he chanted litany upon litany, trying to reach some semblance of calm. You are a man full grown, a Jedi yet, more than capable of controlling yourself, he swore silently.

Or was he?

He heard another voice, one that was at once welcome and distressing.

//It is only flesh, padawan. He can't touch your soul.//

Perhaps that was true, but his flesh was what had betrayed him in the end. Betrayed him to Maul, who took full advantage of the feast it presented to his twisted ambitions. Betrayed him to all the Temple and the Council as a poor excuse of a Jedi unfit for anything besides pity and fear.

Betrayed him to his beloved master who had finally fled from his student in disgust and shame, but was too afraid to admit it.

The sheets curled between whitening knuckles and the sweat began to drip from his forehead, down into his eyes, burning them. His master was far too softhearted and kind for his own good, and would never dare tell Obi-Wan the truth as to the real reason he'd chosen to leave and seek his own salvation in a holy retreat.

It was because his student, his padawan, was filthy.

Filthy inside and out.

And it wasn't Maul who had made him that way ... it had always been so. Maul had simply taken advantage of what was presented to him, sins that were handed to him by a padawan who lacked morals. One who lacked control and respect for his master. Whose own inappropriate desires had invited the darkness that nearly devoured them both -- a creature who was rolling in filth of his own making.

Trembling, he rose and made his way to the bather, turned it on, undressed quickly and ducked beneath the steaming spray. Sat down cross-legged on the tiles and let the hot water scald him as he began to scrub in a rough, haphazard manner -- his face and arms, his chest, then his legs.

Perhaps if he could somehow manage to clean himself, Qui-Gon would return and everything would be as it was. His master would once again take happiness in his company, and he could be as innocent, as clean, as he'd been before ... a good student and apprentice, worthy of his master. If he could just get clean . . .

He stayed in the bather until the water ran cold.

Shivering, Obi-Wan rose and dried himself, catching his reflection in the looking glass. He studied himself, hardly recognizing the wraith that stared back at him -- haggard and gaunt, with hollow cheeks and haunted eyes. His skin shone an angry red in places he'd scoured too vigorously and rinsed with water that was far too hot. A faint outline of the scars that Maul bestowed upon him in those final moments stood out in livid red lines, carved onto his chest across his breastbone.

For a moment he thought he was truly going mad, but upon closer inspection he realized that he was seeing words in those scars, that there was actual writing scrawled into his flesh and he knew the language.

It was an ancient form of Sith, one that was studied by all Jedi so as to know their enemies should ever the need arise again. Three short words, engraved by Maul, directly above his heart.

"I AM HERE"

He stumbled back from the glass, hitting his leg on the edge of the bather, nearly falling. Regained his balance and panting, he ran into his private quarters. Reached into his night table drawer and threw aside discs and papers, strewing them to the floor.

His hand closed over the dragon. He lifted it, stared at it, felt rage bubbling up under terror and self-hatred. Qui-Gon had seen him for what he was and hadn't had the strength to tell him; he suddenly hated Qui-Gon as much as he hated himself. The dragon flew across the room in an arc and struck the far wall. It shattered into three pieces, both wings breaking off, leaving behind a broken, flightless creature in place of what was once a whole and beautiful creation.

A shattered creature, just as he was shattered.

Tainted by the Darkness.

"I AM HERE"

He ran his fingertips over the scars and heard someone screaming.

Realized that it was him, that someone was holding him, talking to him.

The arms that held him were stiff and unfamiliar, but he huddled against them anyway. It was better than nothing, better being alone and realizing this truth, he finally let go.

He was a marked man he cried out, filthy and useless now. Not worthy of the Jedi, not worthy of his master, not worthy of love. Tainted and scarred, see, look at the words that marked him, that named him monster.

"No," Windu kept saying, "No, Obi-Wan, no, it is not true."

He knew better. But it felt better than being alone with his terror and loathing, and he clung tightly to the arms that enveloped him.

It was true and one only needed to look at him to see it. To see exactly what and who was lurking there beneath the shattered facade.

"I AM HERE"

Mace Windu's com did not answer when he placed the call. And yet, it was planet night on Coruscant, well into the small hours of the morning, and his old friend was not prone to late nights.

Breaking contact, he stood in the public com booth and considered, tried to listen to his heart in light of what the old monk had said to him. Just let go, not thinking of what he must do, or even what he desired to do, but what felt right to do.

His hand rose of its own accord and punched in the code for his own private com; heart thudding, he waited, and to his astonishment, Mace Windu's face appeared, drawn and haggard and sleepy.

"Qui-Gon!" Hushed voice, almost a hiss. "What are you doing?"

"Following the advice of the monks," he said sharply, "What are you doing answering my com? And where is Obi-Wan?"

"Asleep, thankfully." A frown. "What were you thinking of, to leave without telling him?"

"I was forbidden to tell him," Qui-Gon grated, trying to hide his sudden terror. "Mace--how is he?"

"Forbidden?" Windu frowned, then sighed. "Master Yoda--he's not well, Qui-Gon. I can't imagine--Master Yoda told me to look in on him, but I did not realize that he was here in your quarter alone the first night. He was insistent that the healers release him from the infirmary, but there was a terrible scene when he realized you were gone."

His vision blurred. "What happened--no, never mind." Sweating, trying to think. "Mace, be careful of him. I don't know how much Master Yoda told you--"

"Not enough." Windu's frown deepened. "But Obi-Wan told me himself. Qui-Gon, I--how long did Master Yoda direct you to stay in retreat."

"He didn't." Qui-Gon swallowed against the acid that rose in his throat, the sickness that twisted his gut at the thought of Mace Windu--Mace Windu!--unsettled and worried. That alone told him more than words could have. "But I suspect he meant for me to be here the usual number of days."

If anything, Windu looked even less pleased. "That may well be-- I'll talk to him, Qui-Gon. I think Obi-Wan needs you here more than you need retreat."

That boded even worse, for Mace Windu was among the more conservative; his heart sped again. "That bad?"

After a moment, Windu nodded gravel "Although I don't want to mislead you, Qui-Gon--I think there was a breakthrough of sorts tonight. I pray there was."

"I should be there," he grated, anger rising up to mingle with his fear. "Mace, take care of him. I will...I'll call again tomorrow night. Please, I want to speak with him."

A reluctant nod. "I'll speak with Master Yoda, Qui-Gon. I have to bring this to the Council anyway, poor lad."

That only intensified his sickness. "Very well. I'll speak with you tomorrow." He hated to break the contact, hated to close the call. "Mace, tell him that I did not wish to leave without telling him."

"Good night, Qui-Gon. I'll do my best for him, you know that." Somberly, and Windu broke the connection.

Damn and damn and thrice damn.

He made his way back to the retreat house, through the back gate in the wall. The old monk still knelt, weeding the ashla; he moved to kneel across from him, hands moving, both of them silent.

He couldn't think what to do. He wasn't the most obedient Jedi Master, he never had been. But what lay on the edges of his mind was a disobedience so marked that the Council would have to act to discipline him. And if that happened, would he not be separated from Obi-Wan anyway?

Wait, this was fear again. He glanced up at the old monk. "How do I separate my fears from the voice which guides me?" Softly, almost shakily.

"Let the fear go," the old man told him, eyeing him with sudden interest. "Let it pass through you and out to the wind."

He nodded, focused on his fingers for a moment, still tidily tugging up the sprouting weeds. Amazing what the soil of any planet could produce, he thought, and recognized it for evasion.

"I fear losing him." A whisper. "And not just to darkness."

"Let yourself feel that fear and let it go. You cannot own another soul." Calmly, hands moving like his, in a regular rhythm.

He let it free, felt tears of grief, of loss, nearly gagged on them. His mind wanted to take refuge in the Code. There is no passion, only serenity, said the familiar voice in his head, and whack!the stick came down again on his shoulder. Fear and sorrow washed over him, the helpless rage, the disgust at himself he had felt at his own arousal, at his failure to comfort Obi-Wan immediately after, at his tame obedience to Yoda's command.

Tears burned his face, he kept weeding, let it wash over him, nearly drowning him, barely able to see. He let himself feel again the fear that Mace Windu's expression had fed, the fear of Obi-Wan suffering again, without him there to comfort, to support....

Fear of loss, of being forcibly separated, and what was this but forcible? What was this but more darkness, this time forced on him by members of the Council?

The fear ebbed, taking anger with it.

The K'rya Shar had not worked because there had been no other solutions. He had chosen correctly after all, despite everything. He had done the only thing that would have let them survive, let Obi-Wan survive. And then had let himself be ordered away at a time when he should not have left.

At a time when his padawan needed him most desperately.

So, there were fears layered within fears, and he let each one peel away, clearing his thoughts, clearing away the filth left by Maul.

"What is your correct path, Jedi?" Very softly.

He opened his eyes, surprised to find that he had closed them after all. The sun was high now, at meridian, and that was no less a surprise. "I don't know." But there was nothing fraught about it. "But it is not to stay here."

"Wiser, then." The old man offered him a wintry smile. "What will you do?"

He thought about it, licked dry lips. He felt tired, yet revitalized, no longer sapped by the rage and the terror and the confusion. "I'm going to see if there is a freighter leaving for Coruscant who would be willing to take a Jedi passenger."

"Go then." Another thin smile. "You weed well. If you find yourself ill suited for Jedi obedience and frivolity, come back."

He laughed humorlessly. "I may well do so, Brother." He rose, wincing at stiff muscles. "I don't even know your name."

"Name? We have no names." A gleam in the dark eyes. "But you may refer to me as Abbot."

He stood still, rocked, then grinned and bowed properly. "I thank you profoundly."

"Pah," the old man said, waving a hand again. "You're still a Jedi, you have not found enlightenment. Go, seek your path, young man." At last, a faint smile, this one compassionate.

He bowed again, went back inside.

With any luck, he could find a freighter and be on his way before day's end.

Chapter Six: The Summoning
A call is heard

Whatever Qui-Gon had expected on his arrival on Coruscant, it was not what he found. He arrived at night, moved like a thief through the darkened corridors to his own quarters and keyed the door open.

The light in Obi-Wan's room shone into the common room, but there was no sign of Windu. Frowning, Qui-Gon dropped his bag and moved toward the doorway, stopped dead at the sight of Windu seated in a chair near the bed, reading.

His eyes moved to Obi-Wan and shock held him still, voiceless, almost breathless. The young man he had left injured, but healing, lay curled on his side, almost a fetal position, hands tucked under his chin, too thin, too pale, with chafed and scraped spots visible on hands and arms and face. Even asleep, there were bruised crescents visible beneath his eyes, and the sight was like a blow to his gut.

Mace Windu stood before him suddenly. "Don't wake him." Urgent whisper. "Please, Qui-Gon, he's just gone back to sleep."

A hand guided him back into the common room. "What's happened to him?"

Windu's expression was weary; he bent and picked up Qui-Gon's bag. "Let's go in your room, I really don't want to wake him."

That said more than any explanation. He followed Mace into his own room, sat down on the bed and froze when his eyes fell on the table near the bed.

For a moment, he didn't understand, didn't recognize what it was he was looking at -- and then, pain struck, talons in his gut. Reaching out, he scooped them into his palm, stared at them for a moment before clenching his fist on them. "Tell me." Hoarsely. Clenching his fist so tightly that the shards cut his palm.

Windu told him. The healer who seemed unable to connect with Obi- Wan, Obi-Wan's reaction to his absence, the nightmares, the fugue states where Obi-Wan seemed to go inward, unreachable. "Two days ago, I found him on a balcony." Tiredly. "I swear to you, Qui- Gon, for a moment, I thought he was going to throw himself over. And then, at dinner, he told me every detail of what the Sith apprentice did to him. No emotion whatsoever. Once the tale was done, he went to bed; I heard him scream, I found him still wet from bathing, skin chilled, scrubbed raw, screaming and tearing at the scars on his chest." Windu sat down beside Qui-Gon, rubbed his face. "The healers did not recognize what had been carved in his skin, they didn't see it as words. I've had him in the infirmary, they've done some work on the scars, you can't read them any more."

He felt dizzy and sick. "What did they say?"

Windu gave him a long, compassionate look. "I am here."

Qui-Gon closed his eyes, still clutching the shards; the pain was welcome, it overwhelmed the ache in his chest.

In theory, any Jedi could summon the Council, although it was not usually done that way. It was an old tradition, dating back to the beginning of the Order. He considered that, considered the shards of his bond with Obi-Wan, considered the shattered heart and mind of the young man who slept in the next room. "I need your help, Mace." Opening his eyes, he looked at his hand, saw blood welling between his fingers.

"You have it." Windu sounded weary. "I'm a Council member, I'll back you on whatever you want to do."

Rose and let the broken crystal fall to the rug, staining it with his blood. He heard Windu's soft intake of breath, ignored it. "Stay with him now," he told Windu, staring at the rug. "I will need your backing."

Windu looked away, his jaw set. Nodded. "Whatever you need, Qui- Gon."

There was nothing more to say; he left his quarters, strode down corridors to the great central hall. At one time, it had been used for public Council meetings, but that time was past; now, it was a meeting place, Jedi not on assignment, padawans not in training, even some of the older children who had been released from the crechemaster's watchful eye.

He ignored all these, strode through to the dais at the far end, where the ceremonial gong still hung. Dropped his bag and took up the rod, struck the gong with all his strength, wincing at the sting in his bleeding palm. "I summon the Council," he said, when the sound had died.

A knight he didn't recognize sent a young man scrambling; he watched, grimly pleased, knowing the errand, stood waiting until figures began to appear under the arched entrance.

Yoda appeared last, moved into the room slowly; he was patient, he waited. "Summoned we are." Drily. "On C'hai T'an, you should be."

Qui-Gon ignored this. "Hear me, Jedi." Loudly, clearly. "Some little time ago, my padawan and I met with misadventure. Upon our return, I was ordered to retreat, assured that my padawan would be cared for. I obeyed, though it went against my instincts, and on my return, I find my padawan has suffered, that he was not informed of the reason for my absence, that he has been allowed to suffer save for Mace Windu's attempts to ease and help him. So frightened was the Council of my possible taint, they sent me away, so obsessed were they with the necessity for cleansing me, that they failed my padawan, and badly. I have striven to serve the Order all my life, although I am far from the perfect knight. I have striven to serve, and I have obeyed, usually without question. No more. I can forgive many things, but I cannot forgive the fact that the Council's actions have caused more harm to my padawan than the encounter which led them to send me on retreat." He reached for his lightsaber, heard a murmur pass through the room like a wind and smiled grimly. Balancing it on his palms. "I can no longer serve, I can no longer be Jedi." Getting down from the dais, he knelt at Yoda's feet, held the lightsaber balanced still. "I can no longer serve a Council which ignores the needs of the wounded."

Yoda's ears tipped downward; he said nothing, made no move to accept the lightsaber.

Smiling again, grimly, Qui-Gon laid the lightsaber on the floor, rose again in one swift movement and moved back toward the archway. The Council members who stood there parted, some with grave looks, some with murmuring to one another.

He ignored these, strode down the corridors for his quarters again.

He heard a small cry when he entered, hurried to Obi-Wan's room to find Windu holding Obi-Wan. "No, no, Obi-Wan, it's only a nightmare, see, you are here."

"Obi-Wan." He whispered it, and Obi-Wan's head turned, eyes wide and wild. "Obi-Wan, I am here."

Obi-Wan stared at him, shivered. "You left." Faintly.

"I had no choice." He moved to the bed, knelt there. "Or thought I had none. I thought better of it."

"Master Yoda sent him on retreat, forbade him to speak with you." Windu's voice was low, almost reluctant.

Obi-Wan made a sound in his throat, looked away.

Windu let go of him, patted one thin shoulder. "What do you need of me?"

"I can't stay now, I've told the Council I can no longer serve as Jedi." Qui-Gon reached for Obi-Wan, swallowed hard at the flinch.

"You're leaving again?" Thickly and Obi-Wan wrapped his arms around himself, hugged himself tightly.

"Not without you, my Obi-Wan." Softly, hoping to reach him. "Unless you wish to stay."

Suddenly, Obi-Wan was in his arms. "Don't leave me here, please, don't leave me here." Desperate whisper. "If you leave me, I'll die, I swear I will, he's here all the time, he won't let me sleep, I can't feel anything, I can't touch anyone." Feverishly, and he was freshly appalled, freshly enraged.

"I won't leave you," he promised and looked for a long time at Windu, who nodded. "I swear it, my padawan, I will not leave you."

"What will you do?" Windu's voice was very soft.

"Take him to C'hai T'an. There is a monk there--" He stopped, stroked sweat-damp, matted hair. "I'm taking him to C'hai T'an, to the monastery."

One dark eyebrow went up, but Windu's mouth curved up at one corner. "Oh, you have set me a task, haven't you? Obi-Wan, you must dress, the two of you must leave, and quickly." Another faint smile. "How will you get there?"

"Passage on a freighter. No one will think to look for us on a freighter."

"I'll get you a credit chip, get him dressed."

For a moment, he saw the ghost of a reckless young knight in Windu's eyes, the man who had been his friend before joining the Council. "Thank you, Mace."

Windu shrugged, patted Obi-Wan's shoulder. "Take good care of him." Roughly, and then he rose, left the room.

Qui-Gon tightened his arms. "Obi-Wan, I'm going to let go of you to find you some clothes. I'm going to pack some things for you while you dress."

"Yes, master." Faintly. Almost inaudibly.

He pressed his cheek against Obi-Wan's hair. "I swear it, I won't leave you again. Never."

A shiver and Obi-Wan finally drew back; haunted eyes met his. "All right." Wanly.

He packed quickly, and included the box of keepsakes; Obi-Wan dressed slowly, as if it were difficult to concentrate on each small task, stopped when Qui-Gon put the box into his bag and gave him an anguished look. "I b-broke your dragon."

"It's all right, Obi-Wan." Softly. "It was only a piece of crystal." Stuffing the last few items into the bag, he moved to fasten the buckles on Obi-Wan's boots for him. "You are far more important to me than a piece of crystal, love."

Obi-Wan shivered again, tried with clumsy fingers to help him. "I'm sorry." Shakily.

"No, don't be." He briefly cupped Obi-Wan's cheek with one hand. "It was only a crystal dragon, love, dear to me only because of your care of it. You are far more dear, I promise you." Another wan, doubtful look that tore at his heart. "Come, we must go."

Obi-Wan rose, allowed Qui-Gon to help him with his robe. "I should have a bath." Vaguely.

It frightened him a little, cold fear that touched his heart. "You can bathe on the freighter, my padawan." He took an unresisting arm and guided Obi-Wan out of his room.

Windu, standing at his desk, turned, held out a small credit chip. "There, this should see you through." Drily. "I'll walk you out, just to be on the safe side."

It was more than he could have hoped for. "Thank you, Mace."

"All the thanks I need is for you to take good care of this lad," Windu told him, a little brusquely. "And of yourself. Obi-Wan, heed your master, what he lacks in diplomacy, I think he gains in wisdom about the human heart."

Obi-Wan gave him a blank, bleak look, but nodded.

They made it out of the temple without comment or commotion, taking the back way out through the gardens.

"You have doubtless stirred up a hornet's nest," Windu told them, at the gate. "Go, and be well. I don't despair of your return, Qui-Gon, but wait until I contact you. The monastery?"

Qui-Gon nodded. "Don't trouble yourself, Mace, I cannot see returning." He touched Obi-Wan's cheek lightly. "But I will keep in touch." Then, with only one look back at the temple, he drew Obi-Wan out the gate.

Once on the freighter, he used his own credit chip to stock the cabin with edibles; he did not want Obi-Wan out of his sight, out of his reach.

Obi-Wan was quiet and biddable, too quiet; he sat on the edge of the berth with shadowed eyes and looked up at Qui-Gon. "You're really here." Wondering tone. "Why did you come back for me?"

Oh, how it hurt. He sat down beside Obi-Wan. "Because I should not have left you." Put his arm around shoulders that felt too thin. "Because I love you, I want you to be well, and I don't trust anyone else to help you."

Obi-Wan shivered, looked down at his boots. "I thought you left because of me." Very faintly.

He tightened his arm. "No. Never. I left because I was ordered to leave, and I came back because I should never have obeyed." Huskily, and he had to swallow. "A wise man on C'hai T'an helped me realize that. I hope he will allow us to stay at the monastery, Obi-Wan, until we are both well."

Finally, Obi-Wan leaned against him. "He's still inside me." A whisper.

"No, love, he is not." He pulled Obi-Wan closer. "I swear, he is not. There is pain and there is sorrow, but Maul is dead, he can no longer touch you." Shifting, he tilted Obi-Wan's chin up. "I swear to you, he cannot."

Obi-Wan blinked hard. "I'm tired." Faintly. "I want to sleep now."

"Yes, that's a good idea." He kissed Obi-Wan's temple lightly, surprising himself. "We both should rest."

Obi-Wan nodded vaguely, rose to fumble his robe off. Qui-Gon moved to help, feeling that cold finger touch his heart again.

He didn't feel warmed at all until they were both in the berth and Obi-Wan let himself be drawn close. "Sleep, love." Softly. "It's going to better, I promise you."

"I didn't take a bath." Faintly again. "You shouldn't touch me."

"Hush." His fingertips touched skin that had been scrubbed raw. "You are clean enough. Now sleep."

And astonishingly, Obi-Wan did.

Wake up, pretty one.

The red and black lines were in front of him again, weaving in and out of his bleary focus.

Thought you'd never hear from me again, did you? Filthy little creature, did you think that I'd abandon you so easily? My pawn and pet and now, my soul's new home?

Red eyes, blazing with hatred and darkness and an odd, fierce joy that he couldn't quite place. He'd sworn the creature was dead, but there it stood before him, looking hungry -- and very much alive.

Never forget, pretty one. Now repeat after me . . .

The reflection glass shattered and there was nowhere left to run to.

I AM HERE

Obi-Wan's eyes flew open; he awoke too frightened to scream. Sweating hard, he fought to catch his breath and carefully, he slid from Qui-Gon's sleeping grasp. The freighter cabin was ice cold and he welcomed the chill against the dampness of his skin, at least for the moment. The sensation quickly turned into a sticky bit of discomfort and he grimaced when he wiped a trembling hand over his eyes.

By the Force, he was dirty.

He stared at his knuckles, scrubbed raw and red, but yet, not quite clean enough. It was still there, the filth, just below the skin's surface and he shuddered to think that his poor master might somehow become infected with it.

Oh, he was glad for his master's return, he'd prayed for it even during the worst of the rages, but now it was all he could do to keep himself from forcing quarantine on himself, maybe somewhere out in the cold of space. The ship did have pods and airlocks and beyond that was a clear, clean vacuum. He could slip past the locks if need be and let the great sucking vastness take him and cleanse him.

He then remembered the louse on Master Osaksia's ear and trembled again.

A sucking darkness, in a black universe full of bloodsuckers. Soulsuckers. They surrounded him, standing over him while taunting him for his uncleanness and while they were laughing there was never going to be a healing of any sorts, not even in the vacuum. No, never.

Not while the filth remained.

Shuddering, he made his way to the cabin's bathing stall and undressed hurriedly. If he made haste he could bathe quickly and sneak back into his master's arms, somewhat cleaner than before. He turned on the water, cursed the light trickle that was meant to conserve and set the thermostat on "high."

He scrubbed mindlessly, forgetting the soap.

Raw skin began to sting and this was a good sign. Soon, it might peel away all together, leaving behind pure white bone. That would be the ideal, but oh, the work it would take to get that far. He might not even live long enough to see the desired result, but at least he'd be dying protecting his master from his taint.

Just as he'd swore to die for him in that dark place long before.

Vaguely he remembered how Qui-Gon had told him that his duty unto him had been survival, nothing less. Made him swear it under his sacred oath of obedience and he recalled disobeying the moment he was taken out of sight. How strange it was that dying for his master would have been the easy part.

He didn't know why living for him seemed the harder task.

He washed harder, the cloth in his hands ripping along one edge. He remembered how the gong had awoken him from the last nightmare in his quarters.

The ancient crash of summoning had snatched him back to reality and it was then he knew his master had returned. Ordering him to arise, to awake and follow him past the Council's unforgiving eyes, past the men and creatures that had stared him down into the abyss with their fake and frightened smiles.

Summon your strength padawan, for we are going on a journey.

What were they called in the ancient days? Knights errant, he thought, leaning against tiles that were starting to turn warm to the touch. Or were they now simply rogue knights, tainted Jedi, living eternally on the fringes of the Council's good graces?

Or did that matter now? Obi-Wan slid to the bottom of the stall and let the cloth fall from his hands. If he were a worthy knight, even a rogue, he'd summon the courage to take his own life and set Qui-Gon free. His master deserved better, better then a padawan that was possessed by demons and covered in shame and filth.

It was unfair and no small discredit to himself to ever believe otherwise.

He huddled against the corner tiles and the water continued to trickle over him in a steady, scorching stream. Picking up the cloth he started to wash again. My master is far too softhearted, he thought. Always picking up those pathetic life forms and mistaking their flaws for greatness. He couldn't help himself even when presented with a little fool padawan whom no other master would touch.

This thought made his throat tighten and his eyes burn, but he ignored it. There was more washing to be done, just a bit more, and when he was done, he'd be able to take more serious matters under consideration.

Such as if a lightsaber could possibly be used in the exorcism of starving red-eyed demons.

It was the sound of the shower that woke Qui-Gon; he was up and moving before he was completely awake, driven by a stab of fear. The tiny room off their cabin was filled with steam, he reached in and shut off the spray, stared down at the young man huddled in the bottom, skin rubbed almost raw in spots, eyes wide with pain and confusion.

"I can't get it off me." Plaintively. "I keep trying and trying, but it won't come off."

He snatched after the thin bathsheet in the cupboard next to the shower, draped it over Obi-Wan. "Can't get what off?" Gently, even though his pulse was too fast, even though he felt the fear again.

"I can't get him off me, don't touch me, I can feel how dirty I am."

He took the scrubbing cloth from clenched fingers, had to pull it. "No, Obi-Wan, there is nothing on you." Softly. Whirling, he went out, plumbed his bag for his nightrobe, for the small medical kit he'd thought to pack. Returned to find Obi-Wan still huddled, knees drawn up, arms wrapped tightly around them. "No, love, there is nothing on you, no dirt, nothing of Maul, it was only a bad dream."

Obi-Wan shook his head, hair spiky and wet. "No, he's inside, don't you understand? I let him in, because I wanted you, I was already filth." A haunted, despairing whisper.

"No." More strongly, and he crouched, somehow got Obi-Wan out of the shower and into his arms, settled on the floor, wrestling unresisting arms into the sleeves of his nightrobe. His hands shook when he opened the kit, found burn ointment--it would have to do, he thought and carefully spread it on raw skin. Obi-Wan flinched away from him. "No, love, there is nothing wrong with you. Do you think I am filth because I feel desire for you?"

A doubtful look. "You aren't filth." Obi-Wan shivered under his touch. "But--"

"No." Very firmly, in contrast with what he was feeling. "I can tell you that much, Obi-Wan, you are nothing of the kind. There has been nothing, there never will be anything that could make me love you less or think less of you. You were brave and resourceful, he trapped us both because of our care for each other, and I swear to you, there was nothing else that would have allowed us both to survive. I know this, by the K'rya Shar. I have sought and tried to discover what I might have done more wisely, and each probability was worse than the one before." He set the ointment aside, tipped Obi-Wan's face up with one hand. "I swear to you, this is so. There were no choices. These are only memories, only nightmares, love, there is no darkness in you, I swear it on my life. Can you believe me?"

Another doubtful look. And then Obi-Wan's face crumpled. "I'm going mad, aren't I? He won after all--"

He put a finger over Obi-Wan's lips. "No, he has not. He will not. I will not lose you, Obi-Wan. I cannot." A little desperately. "I am here now, can you hold on to me when you need to? Can you hold on to what I tell you? I would not lie to you, love, not ever, and I never have." He drew Obi-Wan closer, into his arms; their legs were tangled together on the damp floor. "I love you, it's selfish, but I won't let you go, I won't let them win. Listen to me, if anyone is tainted, it's me, I felt desire watching him touch you, I prayed that in your heart it really was me touching you with love and desire, and not Maul, touching you in hate. I wanted to kill him, and even though I can find pity for him now, I feel hate, I feel hate for his master. I want his master's blood on my hands, that's how tainted I am with that darkness."

He pressed a kiss on Obi-Wan's forehead, on bruised eyelids. "You aren't tainted, love, there is only pain and confusion." Tightening his arms again, he put his face against wet hair. "And I will do whatever I can to help you heal it. Do you hear me, Obi-Wan? I will not let you go." His voice broke upward, he bit his lip, tugged the nightrobe closed. "Come, back to bed, and no more, I beg you, don't do this to yourself."

A faint sound, not quite a sob. "I will try." The faintest whisper. "I broke your dragon."

"Be damned to the dragon." He found wry laughter in himself. "Don't break my padawan."

A swift startled look before the pain and confusion marred those lovely eyes again. "I'm sorry."

"Shhhh." He kissed Obi-Wan's mouth gently, very gently, a friend's kiss. "You need to eat something, love, you're getting as thin as the blade of a lightsaber."

"I'm not hungry." But Obi-Wan let himself be lifted to his feet, let himself be guided.

He heated a packet of soup, tore open the lid and brought it. Got an almost sullen look, so he took up the spoon and offered Obi- Wan a bite. "I can feed you like I did when you had l'ras fever." Mildly.

"I can do it." Still sullen, but one bite disappeared and then another.

He talked of inconsequential things, of the foothills that nestled close around the monastery and the retreat, about the city, about the gardens--and bite after bite disappeared as he talked, Obi-Wan's gaze rested on him, almost hungrily, almost as if Obi-Wan feared Qui-Gon would vanish if he looked away or blinked.

Then, another almost comically startled look. "It's gone."

He almost chuckled. "Good." Took the container and disposed of it in the wall unit, returned to the bed. "Shift over, love, we both need more sleep."

A yawn and Obi-Wan blinked. "Oh." Moved over, but nestled back against him once he got into bed.

He put an arm over, drew him close. "Sleep, love," he murmured and used a touch of Force to ensure it.

It took him a little while to find his own sleep after.

There were nightmares of course. Qui-Gon slept lightly, and woke in time to ease Obi-Wan past most of them with a touch or murmur, but toward ship's morning, Obi-Wan woke with a smothered cry, going stiff and tense against him.

"It's all right, you're safe." A little muzzily. "It was just a dream, love."

Obi-Wan shifted beneath his arm. "M-master?" Shakily. "Is it really you?"

Fumbling, Qui-Gon found the light control, set it to the dimmest setting. "It's really me." More calmly than he felt. "I promise you, Obi-Wan, it's me."

His tone seemed to help. Obi-Wan blinked at him. "You're really here. I thought I'd dreamt it." Then, softly, nervously. "Where are we?"

"We're on a freighter bound for C'hai T'an." He risked easing closer to Obi-Wan. "Come, I've missed you, and you've had a difficult time." He let his fingertips run over the padawan braid, twisted with sleep, wordlessly coaxed Obi-Wan to lie down again. "Here, under the blankets, you feel a bit chilled."

Obi-Wan folded against him. "I've been so tired." Then, horribly, chillingly humble. 'I haven't done very well, Master."

He carefully tucked the bedclothes around both of them. "No, love, it's others who have not done well by you, myself included. But things are going to get better, I swear it."

A shiver. "There was a louse on Master Osaksia's ear."

It was such a disconnected statement that he felt that chill again. "Master Osaksia?"

"The healer they sent me to after--" A shaky breath. "I was cold and you weren't there, and I didn't think you'd mind if I used your robe to get warm, but it wasn't there and then I knew you were gone."

He didn't know what it meant, but it broke his heart again, he tightened his arms. "I'm so sorry, love." Huskily. "Are you warm enough now?"

"Yes." Small voice. "I'm so sorry, Master." Humble again. "I'll do better, I swear I will."

It undid him again. "No, no, you've done very well, Obi-Wan." Stepping carefully. "I am no longer Jedi, Obi-Wan, would you call me by my name?"

He felt Obi-Wan tense. "I'm not your padawan anymore?" Shaky voice.

Please, he prayed, let me choose the right words. "Always, Obi- Wan. But I am no longer a Jedi master, that's all."

There was a silence, and Obi-Wan's fingers wrapped around the edge of his undertunic. "You won't leave me behind?"

"Never." Softly. "I love you, Obi-Wan." Then, gently. "I told you on the way back to Coruscant, remember?"

A sigh. "I forgot." Faintly chagrined.

Relief made him shaky. "That's all right, love, it gives me pleasure to remind you." He risked touching Obi-Wan's cheek, felt a wave of tenderness. Fragile, yes, but not completely shattered, and still fighting the pain and confusion. "You've been my brave padawan, love, holding on by yourself. Things will get better again, I swear it."

"I'm still so tired." A sigh. "Is it all right if I sleep again?"

"It is most definitely all right. Shall I turn the light out?"

"No, I like it on." Faintly. "I can see it's really you."

Oh, it hurt, he settled back, putting his other arm over Obi-Wan. "Sleep, love."

After a time, Obi-Wan did. And after an even greater while, so did he.

Mace Windu stood in the middle of the maelstrom that the Council room had become, holding a hand up for quiet. "No," he said strongly, his voice clear and loud, cutting through the debate and the murmuring. "Qui-Gon has not gone rogue. The only darkness that has touched him is anger and fear for Obi-Wan, his padawan." He looked around the room, weighing matters; things were chaotic, disordered, and he felt the faintest chill on the back of his neck, as if the Sith apprentice's master were responsible for all this discord. It might even be true, he thought and made his decision. "I sent them both to C'hai T'an." His voice firm, solid, it was the best he could do.

"You?" Ki-Adi-Mundi was incredulous. "How so, Master Windu, that should have been a council decision. Qui-Gon has disavowed his knighthood!"

"A Jedi is not immune to emotion," Windu countered. "And he had just seen Obi-Wan, who is not, I remind you all, doing well. As for Council decisions, the Council made no decision to send Qui- Gon Jinn on retreat, that was Master Yoda's choice."

"Because Darkness eats at his soul," muttered Yoda. "Perhaps they are both tainted, he and Qui-Gon."

"This is overreaction," Saesee Tinn objected. "I see no darkness in Qui-Gon. And I have not seen young Kenobi since his return. What signs are there that he has turned."

"Attend his sessions with his healer, he does not." Yoda told them. Thumped his stick on the floor. "Rogue, Qui-Gon has become. And with him, Obi-Wan."

"That's unfair, Master Yoda." Windu's skin prickled again; what ailed his fellow Council members? Instead of calm reasoned discussion, there was the taint of a mob's madness in this room tonight. Low lights, the room shadowed--he began to understand more intimately the level of Qui-Gon's fears and frustrations. "I am sure that Master Osaksia is a very good healer, but I am not sure he is the correct choice for someone who has endured what Obi-Wan has endured."

"And what has Obi-Wan endured," Yaddle demanded, frowning. "No one has told the Council."

Windu glanced at Yoda, suddenly uneasy. Yoda had failed to alert him in time to make certain that Obi-Wan was not left alone after Qui-Gon's departure. Had not told Obi-Wan that his master had been sent away. Was it possible that Yoda was under the influence of the Sith without knowing it?

The suspicion persisted. "He was raped and tortured by the Sith apprentice," he told them bluntly. "He had given himself up in exchange for his master, only to find that his master was held captive." That much, he knew, Qui-Gon had said in open Council. But...he glanced sidelong at Yoda, saw the frown.

"What?" Yaddle was clearly disturbed. "And yet Qui-Gon was sent away so quickly? Why was Obi-Wan not sent on retreat with him?"

Yoda scowled. "Hurt, Obi-Wan was." Dismissively. "A retreat C'hai T'an has, not a hospital."

"They should not have been separated," Yaddle insisted. "Until Obi-Wan had recovered. I must disagree with you, Master Yoda."

Plo Koon leaned forward, oddly intense. "Qui-Gon has ever been defiant, I concur with Master Yoda's decision." A long look at Windu. "Perhaps it is your friendship with Qui-Gon that makes you more tolerant."

Saesee Tinn roused. "That is hardly fair, Master Windu has never shown favoritism to Qui-Gon. Indeed, he has often been harsher than the rest of us."

"This discussion wanders." Eeth Koth leaned forward as well. "I trust Master Yoda's judgement in these matters as always. If Qui- Gon is correct, if these were Sith, we cannot trust that either of them have come through unscathed."

"They are not unscathed," Windu protested, "But they are far from turned, far from rogue. I do assure you, I have spent the last several days caring for Obi-Wan as if he were my own padawan, and the only thing in him is pain and confusion. Qui-Gon was not permitted to speak with him prior to his departure, and somehow messages went astray." It was the kindest explanation he could think of, and he was not yet willing to give his suspicion much credence. "I arrived a day after he had been released--too soon, mark you--from the infirmary."

"I think we are dwelling overmuch on the possibility of Sith contamination," Adi Gallia finally spoke, "If we do so, are we not prey to fear? And fear leads to darkness as surely as all roads lead to the Senate, is this not so?"

"I have long had my doubts about Qui-Gon." Andalu Nia, her crest flattened against her skull, spoke slowly, darkly.

Windu stared at her. "Qui-Gon has ever been a loyal and upright Jedi knight," he snapped, suddenly convinced that something was going very wrong in this shadowed room. "Are we so terrified of the possibility of the Sith that we allow that possibility to drive us? Please, listen to me. Obi-Wan required healing. I gave permission to Qui-Gon to return to attend to his padawan--" A dangerous thing to say, and Yoda's darkening countenance convinced him of it. "I sent them back to C'hai T'an. I am a Council member, am I not? As is Master Yoda, as are all of you. Do we each not make certain judgements when called upon to do so?"

"If you indeed sent them away, Master Windu, why did they not take an official ship?" Yarael Poof, quiet voice, honestly concerned--no blind judgement there.

He looked at Yoda, looked at some few of the others. "Because I no longer trusted the judgement of my fellow Council members." Flatly. Honestly. But Force, that it should have come to this.

There was a frozen silence. "What do you mean?" Yarael Poof again.

"I mean, I begin to suspect that there are some who may, in fact, be under some dark influence." His heart sped as he admitted that fear, he glanced around the room, saw surprise, anger, sadness-- "I suspect that in some way, the Sith Master still seeks to destroy Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan and uses us as his pawns."

He had only thought there was chaos before this. The room erupted in a barrage of sound, debate, argument, even shouting, and he stepped back, looked down at Yoda, who watched it, his expression unfathomable. "Rogue, is Qui-Gon," Yoda said, but thank the Force only he could hear it. "Rogue, is Obi-Wan. Taken and dealt with they must be."

For a moment, he felt genuine fear. "Only the Council as a whole may decide that, Master Yoda." Softly.

"Decide they will." Yoda looked up at him, held his gaze. "Damage you have done to us, Mace Windu."

"Do you name me rogue as well?" His palms were sweating slightly.

Yoda's eyes widened, he shook his head as if awakening. "No."

"We cannot decide this way," Lin Eret stood in the middle of the room suddenly. "Brethren, I implore you, we cannot so easily and quickly condemn one who has served us throughout his life. This must take thought and investigation, and evidence beyond what has occurred already. Let us adjourn and meditate for the moment. In two days time, we will again try to discuss it, let us send someone to investigate and no more. Qui-Gon has been a great Jedi, it's wrong to convict him so cheaply."

Yoda scowled. "Go, then, speak again we will. In two days time."

Windu felt the faintest flicker of relief. But he was not going to confine himself to meditating. He was going to narrow down exactly why Obi-Wan had been driven to breakdown, and try and determine if it had been deliberate. Force, that he should think such a thing of the eldest of them all--it was a frightening thought, for Yoda was the most powerful, most experienced of them all as well.

He hoped that he was wrong. But in case he was not, he was going to send a packet to C'hai T'an, detailing all that had happened in this room this night.

On to Book II, Part 2