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Hope's Dying Breath

by The Rose (rosarocaminis@yahoo.com)

Obi-Wan Kenobi came to his senses slowly. The first thing he was aware of was that he hurt, badly. His left side felt on fire. Vaguely, he remembered the sense of being stalked, a moment's warning from the Force, a flash of light, a flush of heat. A blaster wound, then.

The next thing he noticed was that he was naked, and wherever he was, it was quite cool. He reached for the Force, only to make his third discovery - he couldn't access it. Frowning, and more than a little worried, he opened his eyes.

He was in a stone walled room, only about 3 meters square, and was currently slumped into one corner. In the center of the room was a large, wooden contraption, rather like a long, narrow bed, with shackles at top and bottom and a spoke-like wheel near one end. Obi-Wan wasn't certain what it was, but he didn't like the looks of it at all. Near where he lay there was a closed wooden door, possibly leading to the 'fresher. With that thought came an incessant reminder from his full bladder. He squelched it firmly and struggled to his feet. The door was securely locked. Big surprise, he thought. Across the room was another door, complete with a small porthole shaped window. He went over to it, moving carefully so as not to jostle his wound, and found he had to stand on tiptoes to look out.

A man's face was looking back in.

He managed not to gasp in surprise, but it was a near thing. He stumbled backward, clutching his side as the sudden movement sent fresh pain streaking through him. He made himself stop, carefully composing his face into Jedi serenity, and waited while the door slowly opened.

Instead of the man, two large class Y droids entered. They headed straight for him, grabbing his wrists in their claw like metal hands. He struggled, but without the Force, he was helpless against their strength. They dragged him to the wooden bed and forced him down onto it. Soon, they had secured his wrists and ankles. One rolled out of the room. Thinking they were done, he dropped his head back, closing his eyes, then he gasped as a cold metal claw grasped his penis none too gently. Pressure and a slow burn told him he'd been catheterized, but the draining of his bladder was a relief, if an uncomfortable one. Finally, the tube was withdrawn and, still silent, the droid left, leaving the door open.

The man whose face he had seen stepped into the room and pushed the door closed behind him. He was tall and slender, with a narrow face and well groomed dark hair. "Welcome, Knight Kenobi," he said in a crisp, cultured voice. "Comfortable?"

"Not particularly," Obi-Wan answered, content to return the politeness for the moment. "I'm afraid you have me at something of a disadvantage here. Have we met?"

"Not formally, no," the man said, stepping up to Obi-Wan's side and looking him up and down, his gaze lingering first on the blaster wound and then on the Jedi's exposed genitals. The Knight fought down the flush that threatened to redden his face. "But, I've been watching you, and planning."

"Planning what?"

The man waved one well-manicured hand over the naked body before him. "This, of course. Did you suppose it would be easy to capture a fully trained Jedi? You may call me Xell, by the way. "

"May I be permitted to know why?" Obi-Wan asked, pointedly not using the man's name, which was probably an alias at any rate.

Xell gave a curt nod. "You may know all that I'm allowed to tell you, which is this: I've been hired by someone who bears a very strong grudge toward you."

"Who would that be?" Obi-Wan asked, trying to keep the man talking. The longer he talked, the later any unpleasantness would begin.

"I'm being paid well not to tell you that."

"What else is he paying you for?" the Jedi asked, fearing that he already knew the answer.

The man shrugged. "Ultimately, to kill you. But, that won't happen for some time yet. My instructions are for you to suffer - and suffer a great deal - before that happens."

Obi-Wan tried again to reach the Force, and again he failed. "What have you done to me?" he asked. "Or is this merely a Force shielded room?"

"Force shielding is very expensive," Xell said, shaking his head slightly. "And therefore prohibitive for one such as me with no regular base of operation. No, it's a lovely little drug that my employer supplied. It has the effect of suppressing your midichlorians. Quite effective, isn't it?" He reached out and took Obi-Wan's quiescent cock in his hand, studying it as if it were some rare sort of fauna.

Obi-Wan felt his mouth go dry, but didn't let the fear show on his face.

Xell closed his hand, pressing inward with his short, blunt nails, until Obi-Wan was clinching his jaw to keep from moaning at the pain. Abruptly, he released him, stepping instead toward the head of the bed. "Do you recognize this device, Obi-Wan?" he asked with all the familiarity of an old friend.

"No."

"Well, I'm not surprised," Xell said. "It's quite an antique. You should consider yourself fortunate, actually, to be able to see one, let alone to experience its charms first hand." He reached up to grip the wooden wheel. "You're probably wondering what this is for. Allow me to show you."

He spun the wheel and Obi-Wan felt the wrist restraints tighten, tugging his arms further toward the top of the bed. Another turn and his wrists began to throb, then his elbows. A half turn made his ankles burn as the shackles bit into them. Another half turn and he was stretched tight, his blaster wound reopened, every muscle and joint screaming in protest. He bit his lip and somehow managed to remain silent.

"Ingenious, isn't it?" Xell asked. "It's been called by many names over the centuries, but I believe the Corellians have the most practical name for it. They call it simply 'The Rack'."

He glanced down again at Obi-Wan's wound and managed to look sympathetic. "Oh, my. It appears I've made you bleed again. Well, no matter. There are far worse things to come, aren't there?"

"So," Obi-Wan said, though his voice was tight with pain, "who is this man who wants me dead?"

Xell didn't seem at all surprised by his captive's inclination to seek answers. "I didn't say it was a man."

Obi-Wan would have shrugged had he been able to. "The woman then."

Xell smiled and patted him on the cheek. "I didn't say it was a woman, either."

Obi-Wan's patience was wearing thin. "Just tell me who the blazes it is!"

Xell didn't react to his raised voice, merely turned away and returned to the closet. "You know I won't do that," he said, rummaging around for something. He returned a moment later with a metal ring with a small metal box attached. Although he had no wish to examine it too closely, Obi-Wan's Jedi trained mind took in its details in the space of a heartbeat. The box was small, small enough to conceal in the palm of his hand, with two contact points on one side and a set of switches and dials on the other. The ring was large enough to slip over three of his fingers. About the size, in fact, of his . . .

Obi-Wan felt his heart catch. Oh, Force, no. He watched, barely breathing, as Xell reached out to gently stroke his cock. "Do you realize," the torturer said, in a conversational, all-among-friends tone, "that it is much easier to torture a male than it is a female? Since males of most species carry their genitals on the outside, they are easily accessible, and quite sensitive." He slid the ring over Obi-Wan's cock. "Don't worry, Obi-Wan. Oh, you don't mind if I call you that, do you?"

The Jedi clamped his lips shut, deeming not to answer, and Xell shrugged.

"Anyway," the tall man continued, adjusting the devise at the very base of Obi-Wan's cock, "you needn't worry. This won't be too bad. This is merely the softening up stage of our little game, after all."

"Game?" Obi-Wan managed to gasp as the thing tightened to the point of discomfort. "Is that what this is to you? A game?"

Xell smiled, showing a perfect set of gleaming white teeth. "One must enjoy one's work." He turned his attention back to the metal box, making adjustments, then he looked up to meet Obi-Wan's eyes. "Ready?" he asked, and he switched the thing on.

A powerful surge of electricity knifed through Obi-Wan's genitals. He grunted in pain, unable to stop himself, and pulled a tightly drawn muscle in his thigh as he tried to flinch away. The current stopped after only a few, endless seconds, leaving him panting and covered with a fine sheen of cold sweat. Xell was gazing down at him fondly.

"See?" he said, one hand caressing the Jedi's throbbing thigh, and Obi-Wan realized that he somehow sensed the injury there. "That's not so bad, is it? Of course, it will continue at random intervals for quite some time. I suggest you attempt to rest between jolts." He patted Obi-Wan's leg then turned for the door. "I'll see you in a few hours."

A lump of ice settled in Obi-Wan's stomach as he watched his captor leave. He didn't have long to dwell on it, though, as the device on his cock flared to life again. This jolt was very brief, but it was followed almost immediately by a longer one that lit up his entire spinal cord. He choked back a cry of pain, thrashing as much as his taut body would allow, even though it tore at the wound in his side. // Master! // he screamed mentally, though it had been a very long time since he'd called out that title, and he no longer had the right to do so. The current ended and he sagged onto the hard wood surface beneath him. Master, he said inside the isolation of his own mind. Help me.

The hours after Xell's leaving were endless. True to the torturer's word, the devise on his cock fired completely randomly, never giving him a chance to prepare himself for the next jolt. Sometimes the electricity coursed through him for only a second or two, sometimes for excruciatingly long minutes that left him breathless and trembling. Already, his whole body ached, his muscles torn and stretched and spasming with strain, his joints pulled nearly apart by the tension of the restraints.

On the plus side, however, whatever Xell had done to cut him off from the Force was wearing off. Already, he could feel its comforting presence swirling about him, seemingly just out of reach. He could feel - or almost feel, at any rate - another Force user nearby. Not a Jedi, though. Xell, then. It had to be.

He struggled to bring the sensation into focus, trying to regain his abilities. He poured all his concentration into it, and felt the drug's hold slip a bit more. Soon, he hoped, he would be able to use the Force to free himself. If he was just given enough time . . .

The door to his cell opened, but instead of Xell, one of the service droid entered. Silent as only a voiceless, soulless droid can be, it rolled to Obi-Wan's side, switched off the device on his cock and removed it. Blessed relief washed through him, and he sagged, exhausted, onto the hard surface beneath him. Something pricked the side of his thigh, and he raised his head slightly, wincing against the pull of muscles it caused. The droid had slid a needle into his vein, and was shooting a small syringe-full of reddish liquid into him. Immediately, what little grasp of the Force he had managed to regain slipped away, making him groan at its loss.

The droid pulled the needle from his leg and replaced it with a much larger one, this time shooting a large quantity of some milky fluid into his leg.

More drugs? he wondered, but he knew it was pointless to ask. Then, he answered his own question. No, more likely it was a nutrient of some sort, something intended to sustain his body during the ordeal to come. Finally, the droid withdrew. Xell entered a moment later.

"Good morning, Knight Kenobi," the man said amiably. "I trust you slept well." He glanced down at the blaster burn. "Tell me, how is your wound this morning?"

"It's gotten quite painful, thank you for asking."

Xell leaned closer, poking a fingertip near the edges of the wound. Obi-Wan steeled himself, refusing to flinch, although he could not stop the gasp of pain that escaped.

"Oh, yes, that's not looking good at all, is it?" His captor clucked his tongue, turned to open the locked closet. "You know what I'm thinking?" the man said over his shoulder, still talking as if he and the Jedi were old friends. "I'm thinking that wound needs disinfecting."

He chose something at last and turned back toward the helpless Jedi, leaving the closet door open. Obi-Wan scanned the interior briefly, and fought back a shudder. The small space was crammed full of whips and clamps and numerous other painful looking implements that he didn't recognize. His captor cleared his throat, bringing Obi-Wan's attention back to him as he stopped beside the bed, bottle in hand.

"I'm afraid this is going to sting a bit," he said apologetically.

The Jedi turned his head as much as his tightly stretched arms would allow, staring at the blank wall to his left, trying to slow his breathing and relax into the pain that was to come. He knew it would be bad . . .

The liquid was cool, sloshing into his wound and down onto his naked hip, but only for an instant. In the next second, it turned into white fire. Obi-Wan arched up, further tearing already torn muscles and choking back a cry of agony as it burned through his nerve endings. It seemed to go on forever, that liquid flame, but finally it began to ease,

"There, there," Xell soothed, his voice mockingly gentle. He patted Obi-Wan's head as if he were a favored pet. "Now at least you won't succumb to some pesky infection." He stepped towards the head of the rack, his fingers stroking upwards along the trembling, throbbing muscles of Obi-Wan's right arm. He stopped at his wrist, then reached up suddenly to uncurl the Jedi's little finger, straightening it and pulling it awkwardly to the side.

"Did you know," the man said as he increased the pressure, "that there are twenty two bones in the human hand?"

Obi-Wan set his jaw against the growing pain and forced his voice to remain steady. "Yes, I did, as a matter of fact."

Xell chuckled. "Oh, you are a stoic one, aren't you?" He reached out with his free hand and patted Obi-Wan's cheek. "You and I are going to have a lot of fun together." Without warning, he twisted the finger he held, snapping the bone like kindling. As Obi-Wan gasped in pain, he shrugged. "Well, perhaps you won't."

He reached the Jedi's ring finger, forcefully uncurling it from the tight fist, and soon it was broken as well. One by one, each finger on Obi-Wan's right hand was twisted and broken, and still the Jedi did not cry out, though his eyes were tightly squeezed shut, his mouth a thin, bloodless line above his neatly-groomed beard.

"I must say," Xell began, casually taping the distorted digits together with a length of mechanic's tape, "that I was hesitant at first to take on this job. I mean, to kidnap and kill a Jedi Knight is a daunting task." He pressed Obi-Wan's bound fingers down toward his palm, listening with apparent satisfaction to the sharp intake of breath it caused. "But, I must say, I'm thankful that I did. You're quite entertaining, Obi-Wan."

He ripped off another short length of the strong, gray tape, and pressed it quickly over one of the Jedi's closed eyes. Immediately, Obi-Wan's other eye snapped open, not wishing to be blind, but a harsh thumb closed his eyelid and that eye, too, was taped shut. His vision cut off, Obi-Wan reached out with his other senses, trying to keep track of Xell's movements.

He heard some soft footsteps as the man crossed the room, then heard him moving things around in the closet. After a moment, the footsteps returned. He waited, holding his breath, for some sign of what was about to happen.

With a suddenness that wrung a startled gasp of pain from him, something crashed down on his broken fingers. He arched off the wooden table as agony streaked through him. The whip - for whip it must be - struck again, this time across his abdomen, frighteningly close to his vulnerable and exposed genitals. Three more blows fell, in rapid succession, first across his thighs, then his chest, then on his broken fingers again, and this time he did cry out, unable to help himself. Immediately, Xell stopped.

"There now, see? That wasn't so hard. I knew we'd find your voice eventually."

Obi-Wan waited tensely for the next blow. Instead, something soft trailed across his flaccid cock. The tails of the whip, he realized. The action was repeated, again and again, until his body began to respond to the gentle, sensuous touch.

Obi-Wan bit his lip, trying to will the reaction away. But, without the use of the Force, his control over his body's natural functions was severely lacking. No matter how he fought it, his cock continued to fill and lift. Hands replaced the whip fronds, one gently pumping him, the other reaching beneath to fondle and roll his balls. He felt something constrictive and cool slide down his length to nestle snuggly at the base of his cock. Still, the hands continued, working their devilish magic until Obi-Wan was rock hard and throbbing.

The hands disappeared a moment later and the whip was brought down hard on his engorged member. Obi-Wan bucked, a throat-stripping scream tearing out of his chest, as Xell struck again. The Jedi could swear he felt every millimeter of every single lash as they curled around him with the force of the blow. He thrashed against his restraints, that horrible, inhuman sound escaping him again.

Then, the whip hit his balls.

He thought he had known agony before, thought he had experienced every kind of pain imaginable, but this was like nothing he'd felt before. It lit up his whole being like the touch of a lightening bolt. Every nerve ending sizzled, every muscle spasmed. His lungs seized up, along with his vocal cords. He still screamed, feeling as if it was turning his throat inside out, but silently now, his mouth open in a parody of torment.

He thought he'd die if the whip struck him there again. He waited, gasping for air like a beached fish, but the blow never fell. Instead, a gentle hand stroked his cheek, wiping away tears he hadn't known had escaped.

"Yes, yes," Xell soothed, his fingers trailing through Obi-Wan's damp beard. "I know. That hurt a lot, didn't it? It's all right. It's over for now."

The tape was removed from his eyelids, surprisingly gently, and Obi-Wan blinked up at his captor. Xell smiled down on him, as benevolent as a Healer. Unable to resist, the Jedi raised his head and looked down the length of his body. His cock strained upwards, kept erect by the cock ring, twitching in time with his pounding pulse. He winced anew at the bands of blood red welts that ringed it.

"See?" Xell said, one hand stroking tenderly through Obi-Wan's hair. "It's still there. Although it might hurt less if it wasn't, hm? Well, perhaps later we'll find out if that is true. But that won't be for a few days yet. In the meanwhile, we have many other avenues to explore."

He turned away to rummage through the closet, leaving Obi-Wan to sag onto the hard wooden surface beneath him. As the pain in his abused genitals began to lessen from excruciating to merely unbearable, the blaster wound reasserted itself. He longed to close his eyes and disappear into some distant, mindless place. But, he could not. He was Jedi, and Jedi did not break.

Xell stepped up beside the Jedi's head and gazed down at him. "This is something I don't usually do on the first day. But, I'm going to make an exception for you," he said, still in that conversational tone that Obi-Wan had learned to hate. He flashed his brilliant smile. "Let's just say that you've inspired me."

He stroked the pad of his thumb across Obi-Wan's lips, something shifting in the depths of his eyes. "You have a lovely mouth. Did anyone ever tell you that? And I'm sure you'd like to show me how well you can use it."

The Jedi tried to flinch away as Xell fastened a heavy clamp on his nose. The device bit into his skin as it cut off his oxygen. He tried to rub it off on one arm, but found he was stretched too tightly to allow it. Xell raised his other hand. He held some sort of dental gag, a large metal U with two inward facing knobs and a tightening wheel on one side.

Obi-Wan called on his Jedi training, holding his breath as long as he was able. But, eventually, he had to open his mouth to gasp in a breath. Instantly, Xell fitted the gag into place. It didn't slide between Obi-Wan's teeth as he'd expected. Instead, it pressed against his cheeks, pushing the soft tissues inside his mouth inward until his molars grated on them painfully.

"Open wide, little Jedi," Xell encouraged. He continued to tighten the instrument, forcing Obi-Wan to do as he bid.

Soon, the Jedi's jaws were open as wide as they'd go, his lips stretched to the point of tearing, and still Xell cranked the gag tighter. A moan he couldn't stop escaped Obi-Wan, and his torturer stopped at last.

"All done," Xell said. He stroked the hair off Obi-Wan's forehead, wiped a bubble of spittle off the Jedi's mouth, and smiled like an old friend. "I'm going to give you something to suck now, Obi-Wan," he said, climbing onto the head of the table and straddling the bound arms. Obi-Wan watched, stricken, from his upside-down vantage point, as the man unfastened the dark blue pants he wore and freed his erection- It was thick and long and already dripping precum. Carefully, he guided it into Obi-Wan's mouth.

"Be nice now," the man advised as his cock filled the Jedi's mouth. "I'd hate to have to pull out your front teeth so early in the game, but I certainly will if you attempt to injure me."

Obi-Wan gagged as the cock pressed against the back of his tongue. He gagged again as it slid into his throat. The clamp was still holding his nose shut, and the obstruction in his throat cut off his air supply, making him gasp and retch.

"Oh, yes," Xell said, ignoring his captive's need for oxygen. "I knew your mouth would be delicious."

He pressed in further, the crotch of his pants mashing down on the clamp, causing it to bite even more deeply into Obi-Wan nose. A sea of deep blue blocked the light as Xell began to thrust, slowly at first, then with increasing speed. Obi-Wan struggled for breath, drawing in as much as he could on each outstroke. It wasn't enough. Soon, white spots were dancing in his vision, and all he could see was blue, blue, blue . . .

Blue like Qui-Gon's eyes, he thought, hovering on the verge of asphyxiation. He tried to remember the last time he'd looked into those eyes, the last time he'd been privileged to do so. So long ago now. He focused on the memory of that beloved face, barely feeling the thick penis that was raping his throat. Those eyes, those incredible eyes, looked down on him. But, there was no pity in them, only indifference. As he watched and remembered, his heart breaking anew, the man that had always meant the world to him turned away, turned toward another, towards one with a thatch of blonde hair and blue eyes of his own.

The cock in his mouth pulsed, dragging his attention back to it. Salty, bitter semen filled his mouth, trickling down his ravaged throat. He couldn't swallow, couldn't help himself as it seeped into his windpipe, momentarily blocking what little air he was able to obtain. Then, mercifully, the wilting cock was withdrawn.

Obi-Wan turned his head as much as possible, gasping as he tried to spit out the hated mouthful. But with his mouth still clamped open, he was unsuccessful. He swallowed as best he could. Xell, meanwhile, had climbed off the table and was setting his clothes to rights.

"Well done, little Jedi," the man said. He leaned over, examining the gag, and Obi-Wan breathed a sigh of relief that it would be removed at last. But, instead of removing it, Xell tightened it another few turns.

Oh, it hurt! Obi-Wan could feel blood seeping from the corners of his mouth as his lips tore, could taste more as the inside of his cheeks was ground against his molars. Though his jaw was threatening to dislocate, he forced himself to open his mouth wider, taking the pressure off those sensitive tissues. His jaw muscles rebelled at the effort. Xell at least removed the clamp from his nose. That hurt, too, of course, but not as much as having it on.

"That was very pleasant, Obi-Wan," Xell said as he straightened. He glanced at his wrist chrono. "No wonder I'm hungry!" he exclaimed. "Would you look at the time!"

He smiled down on his prisoner. "You won't mind if I take a short dinner break will you? Well, perhaps not that short. But, I'll definitely be back to see you before bedtime." He smiled again and patted Obi-Wan's still painful, still erect cock. "We have much more I wish to do today, you know."

Oh, Force, no! Obi-Wan thought as he watched the man leave. Please don't let him leave me this way!

He couldn't relax his jaw, couldn't lessen the terrible strain of holding his mouth open so wide, without the very real risk of biting completely through his cheeks. His blaster wound burned and, further down, his restrained cock was throbbing a staccato beat, sending pain streaking through him with each pulse of his heart. There was one consolation - he'd long since lost all feeling in his arms and legs. What sort of long-term effect that would have, assuming he got out of this alive, he didn't want to consider. For now, all he could do was endure.

"Master? Master?"

The incessant voice calling his name finally drew Qui-Gon's attention back to the here and now. The boy was standing in front of him, hands on his hips, his face twisted with thinly disguised impatience.

"Were you even watching?" Anakin asked, a hint of a whine in his voice.

Qui-Gon cleared his throat. "Yes, Padawan," he said, although in truth he hadn't been. Something was niggling at the back of his mind, some dark something that felt like danger, like a warning. But to whom, and from where, he didn't know. He shook his head to clear it. "Yes, you did very well."

Anakin frowned. "No, I didn't," he corrected. "I completely missed the tenth movement, and I nearly fell on my face in the closing move." He narrowed his eyes in that way that told his master of nearly six years that he was drawing on the Force. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, Padawan," the master said. Whatever the feeling had been, it was gone now. He motioned Anakin to resume the advanced kata he'd been working on. "Again. I promise to watch more closely this time."

Still frowning, Anakin obeyed, moving to the middle of the mat and centering himself. Qui-Gon basked in the strength of the boy's Force aura. His padawan was so powerful, so attuned. He was a pleasure to teach, much as Obi-Wan had been.

He blinked. What had brought that on? He hadn't even thought about Obi-Wan in years, had forced himself not to. He had missed that bright presence more than he'd deemed possible. The changeable eyes, the quick if subtle wit, his easy going personality. He deeply regretted how it had ended, but -

No, he told himself firmly. I will not reopen old wounds. Obi-Wan is a Knight now, capable and independent. He doesn't need me, and I have the Chosen One to train. He must be my focus now. Yet, he realized with a flash of remorse that Anakin was just about to finish the Falling Leaves kata and he had missed it again. The boy stumbled in the closing move, going this time to one knee, shooting a quick look up at his master.

"Enough for one day," Qui-Gon told him.

"But, I know I can do it, if you'll just show me that balance point one more time . . ."

"I said, enough."

Anakin conceded with a nod, but his blue eyes were on Qui-Gon, narrowed slightly with the depth of his concentration. "Master, you're pale."

"I am?" Qui-Gon asked, genuinely surprised.

Anakin nodded. "You should go to the Med Center," the boy said.

"Yes, perhaps I will," Qui-Gon answered, though he had no intention of doing any such thing. "Now, you, young man, have studies to complete."

Anakin sighed. "Yes, Master." He turned for the door, but looked back over his shoulder. "Are you sure you're going to be all right?"

Qui-Gon waved him off. "Yes, yes. Go. Ithorian Philosophy awaits you."

"Yes, Master," Anakin replied grudgingly. Qui-Gon watched him leave, then straightened. There it was again, that sense of foreboding. He tried to trace it, tried to follow it back to its source, but it was too illusive to grasp. Frowning, he left the training room and headed for the Council tower. Perhaps Master Yoda would be able to cast some light on the matter.

Lying there, alone in that cell with nothing to do but hurt and think, Obi-Wan did a lot of both. Phrases his captor had used kept replaying in his mind like some malfunctioning recording. --- still there. But it might hurt less if it wasn't --- --- that won't be for several days yet --- --- pull out your front teeth so early in the game --- --- many other avenues to explore --- Facing days, possibly weeks, of torture, pain, and mutilation, Obi-Wan began to rethink his life. He had few regrets, he realized. Very few.

One.

He had one regret.

I should not have ostracized myself from Qui-Gon, he told himself. He may be a self-absorbed, self-righteous, sanctimonious old bastard, but I loved him. Sith. I still love him!

What would he do differently, he wondered, if he had the chance? Not lose faith when his master set him aside for the boy? Not have argued nearly all the way to Naboo? Not have let the distance grow between them, until finally the mental distance became physical distance that nearly cost Qui-Gon his life?

He shuddered at the memory, and instantly regretted it, as it reawakened the slightly ebbed agony in his stretched body, his mangled fingers, his blaster burned side, and the lacerated tissues inside his mouth. A long, low moan of profound suffering escaped him. Scarcely aware that he was doing it, he reached for the fragments of the long dormant training bond.

// Help me, Master, // he sent, or tried to, though the Force was nothing more than a distant echo in his head. // I'll make it up to you. I swear by all that I believe in, I'll make it up to you. //

Qui-Gon wouldn't hear, of course. Since those last few days, when Obi-Wan had shut their bond down to a mere whisper, Qui-Gon hadn't heard anything.

My fault, he thought. My own Sith-damned fault. Now, we'll never - He let the thought die, feeling tears of despair well up in his eyes. He had loved Qui-Gon desperately for years, had intended to wait until the day of his Knighting to speak of it, knowing that Qui-Gon, dogged in his masterly responsibilities, would have had none of it before then. If I had told him, would it have mattered? the Knight wondered. If, on that cold, dark day of my ceremony, when the blank wall that my master had become severed my braid, would he have listened? Would he have rejected me yet again? Or would he have welcomed me back with open arms?

Obi-Wan closed his eyes, feeling drops of moisture roll down his tortured cheeks. It didn't matter now. He was never going to leave this place, never going to see Qui-Gon again. He would die here, alone and suffering, and perhaps no one would ever know what had become of him.

He released his regrets as best he could to the Force and steeled his resolve.

No, he would not give up. There were always alternatives. All those years at Qui-Gon's side had taught him that. Eventually, Xell would make a mistake. There would be a way to free himself. There had to be.

There it was again, that subtle sense that the Force was trying to tell him something.

Qui-Gon had waited for Master Yoda for over an hour, assured by the padawan in charge that the Council session would be ending very soon. Finally, wearing of sitting, he had paced, only to stop that too at a cold look from the young girl.

"I'm going to the Garden of a Thousand Fountains to meditate," he said, striding for the door. "Please inform Master Yoda that I wish to speak to him at his earliest possible convenience."

"I will, Master Jinn," the padawan said. Her eyes watched him as he stalked out of the room, probably glad to see the last of him.

His favorite garden was nearly deserted at this time of day. The nocturnal species in the Temple were already asleep, the diurnal ones mostly engaged in classes or training sessions. He slipped into a quiet, secluded alcove and lowered himself to his knees. Within moments, he was deep into a meditation trance.

He felt it immediately, that barely there whisper of danger. He opened himself to it, but it grew no stronger. He reached out for it, needing answers, only to have it slip through his grasp like a handful of water. Was it a forewarning of some sort, an indicator of danger to himself or his padawan? He had never held much stock in precognition, preferring to live in the here and now, and taught his apprentices to do the same. For that very reason, he couldn't ask Anakin about this. The boy showed entirely too much of a predilection toward the Unifying Force as it was. To ask him to investigate this vague uneasiness would counter Qui-Gon's attempts to ground the boy, determined as he was to keep Anakin well balanced between the two aspects of the Force.

Better to wait for Yoda. The small, ancient Jedi would perhaps be able to get to the bottom of the mystery.

For the first time in years, Qui-Gon wished that Obi-Wan was here. His former apprentice had shown a distinct gift for prescience. It had saved their lives more than once. If he were here now . . .

No. Even if Obi-Wan were here, and even if they were on speaking terms, he would not ask that thin-skinned, hotheaded, sullen young man for anything. Except perhaps for his love.

Qui-Gon blinked, coming out of his meditation with a start. Where had that thought come from? He shifted off his aching knees, realizing he had been in the garden much longer than he had intended, and sat down against the sturdy trunk of a cala tree. Did he love Obi-Wan, he wondered? Yes, of course he did, his heart told him. But was it more than the affection of a master for his padawan?

Rising, Qui-Gon put the notion out of his mind. It didn't matter, regardless. Obi-Wan was a fine Knight, busy in the service of the Order. And, besides, the young man had never shown the slightest romantic interest in his dreary old master. Oh, he'd been solicitous, for certain, and serious in his responsibilities to see to Qui-Gon's health and comfort and safety, as was fitting a Jedi apprentice. But love?

Qui-Gon shook his head at his own foolishness. Such silly meanderings were very out of character for him. He put the matter behind him. It wouldn't help his presence dilemma at any rate. Yoda was the only one who could possibly do that, and his former master obviously wasn't going to answer his summons. In the meanwhile, he had a fifteen-year-old padawan who was probably worried about him. He dusted off his clothes and headed back to his quarters. Time enough tomorrow to ponder the mysteries of the universe.

Xell was back, all smiles and apologies for the delay. Obi-Wan's time sense told him that four hours or so had passed, and he eyed the man warily as he stepped up to the table, a half-full snifter of wine in his hand.

"I had an excellent supper," he said, swirling the liquid slightly and taking a sip. "Roast skob with tubers and an excellent fruity salad." He paused as Obi-Wan's stomach growled. "Oh, yes, I know you're hungry. The nutrients the droid gave you will sustain your body, but they don't do much to satisfy the cravings, do they?"

He sipped his drink again. "Well, I have nothing to offer you but a bit of my wine, if you'd like that."

Obi-Wan felt his eyes go round with horror, thinking what the alcohol would do to his lacerated mouth. He tried to shout out a refusal, a plea for Xell to stop, but it did no good. Already, the man was bending forward, and a fiery cold mouthful of wine sloshed over his tongue.

His garbled shout became a scream, punctuated by desperate attempts to swallow before he aspirated. He thrashed in his tight restraints, sending pain streaking through his limbs. It seemed to go on forever. Finally, however, the fire in his mouth began to ease, and he was aware of Xell talking quietly to him.

" . . . a wonderful cover story for your disappearance," he said, as if Obi-Wan had been listening all along. "My sources tell me that the Jedi aren't even looking for you yet. It's my guess that they won't realize you're missing for at least a tenday. By that time, I fear, our time together will be over."

Obi-Wan blinked up at him bleakly, and Xell seemed to notice the gag for the first time.

"Oh, do forgive me, little Jedi!" he said, bending over his captive. "I had truly not intended to leave that on quite so long."

He loosened the device and pulled it away, letting Obi-Wan close his mouth for the first time in hours. He almost couldn't do it, so locked were his jaw muscles. The relief was an agony unto itself, and he couldn't restrain a groan. Xell merely smiled at him.

"You're welcome," the man said. "Well, we only have one thing more to do before you can sleep." He must have seen the Jedi blink in surprise, because he smiled again. "Oh, yes. You will be allowed to sleep. We must give your body and your mind some rest, or they will begin to shut down much too early."

He stepped toward his mangled hand, and Obi-Wan clinched his teeth, determined not to cry out. The first pull of the tape being removed, however, made him groan again.

"Yes, I know," Xell said sympathetically, but he did not pause in his gruesome work.

Obi-Wan sank his teeth into his lower lip, struggling to distance himself from the pain as his broken fingers were roughly manipulated and straightened. He couldn't bite back a yelp, however, as his hand was lifted and a cold metal wedge pushed under it.

Xell patted his throbbing cheek affectionately. "One more little task, and then you can rest," he said, crossing to the closet.

This is it, the Jedi told himself. All I have to do is suffer through the next few minutes, and the droids will come to release me. Once I'm off this rack, I'll find a way out of here. His musings were cut off as Xell returned, holding - Obi-Wan swallowed hard - a heavy wooden mallet.

"This is going to hurt, Obi-Wan," Xell said, and he slammed the instrument down on the unprotected hand.

A hoarse scream of pain tore from Obi-Wan despite his control as bones shattered under the blow. His body galvanized, reawakening the pain in his burned side and his abused genitals and the ferocious ache of his arms and legs. Dimly, he heard Xell crooning some soft words of comfort, even as he removed the wedge and shaped the shattered hand into a loose fist.

" . . . all for tonight," the torturer was saying when Obi-Wan's mind finally began to function again. "You have had a rough day, haven't you, little Jedi? I wish I could tell you that tomorrow will be easier, but of course it won't be." He stepped away from the bed. "The droids will give you something to help you get some sleep. We'll be starting fairly early in the morning. Until then, good night."

Xell stepped out of the room, leaving the door ajar behind him. It was a torture in its own right - seeing freedom so near and yet so unreachable, that and the thought of being drugged into unconsciousness.

Pull yourself together, Kenobi, Obi-Wan told himself, struggling to master the pain. The droids will be here soon to free you, and you must be able to move before their drug can kick in. He wriggled his toes, trying to increase the circulation, and bit his lip as fresh pain shot through him. He tried to shift position, to force any movement whatsoever from his muscles, but he was too tightly stretched. He watched the door, silently praying for a few more minutes, a little more time to prepare. Once the restraints were removed, he'd have to act quickly in order to disable the droids and escape.

His hopes rose as only a single droid entered. It carried a pale blue blanket, which it carried to a corner of the room and dropped to the floor, and a hypodermic full of blue liquid. Returning to the rack, it plunged the needle into his thigh and drained it. Then, it spun the wooden wheel, and Obi-Wan cried out as a rush of blood sent needles of pain through his tortured hands and feet. The restraints around Obi-Wan's ankles were unbuckled first. He struggled to move his legs, barely able to think past the agony, then yelped as his wrists were freed and his arms were roughly lifted and folded across his chest.

Move, dammit! he screamed silently, his eyes locked on the still open door. Metal arms slid under his back, lifting him, then catching him as he nearly pitched headfirst off the rack. You're a Jedi! he told himself firmly. Act like it!

But, no amount of determination could force his abused body into action. He was lifted like a sack of spare parts and dumped unceremoniously onto the blanket. He fell to one side, barely managing to keep his mangled hand from impacting the hard, cold floor. With tears of pain shimmering in his eyes, he watched as the droid rolled out the door and pulled it shut. As the lock clicked into place, Obi-Wan sagged.

Despair washed over him. With each torture session, his ability to function would decrease. He had failed to escape tonight, and tomorrow would be even harder. He didn't know how he was going to survive this.

Tomorrow morning, he told himself firmly as he wrapped himself gratefully in the blanket, already feeling the warm lassitude of sleep beckoning him. Tomorrow morning I'll be stronger. I'll get past the droid then. With that thought in mind, he cradled his throbbing hand against his chest and settled back against the wall. Despite the agony raging through him, he was soon asleep.

"What did the Healers say, Master?" Anakin asked the next morning at the breakfast table.

"Nothing," Qui-Gon said between bites of warm biscuit. "Because I didn't go to see them."

Across from him, his padawan frowned. "Master -" he began, but Qui-Gon cut him off with a look.

"Stop fretting," he told the boy. "I'm sure it was nothing, merely my imagination running away with me. Now, you'd better get to class. You don't want to be late."

Anakin sighed audibly, but swallowed his last bite of biscuit and got to his feet. "Yes, Master."

Qui-Gon watched him go. Yes, he thought. It was my imagination. Only my imagination. He rose and began to clear the table, trying to ignore the tickling of warning that was already beginning anew at the back of his mind.

Obi-Wan slept fitfully, in a drug-induced haze, but at least he gained some desperately needed rest. He was awakened the next morning by the sound of the door being opened. He blinked rapidly to clear his vision, then tensed as the two droids rolled into the room.

This is it, he told himself, refusing to acknowledge the complaints of his body as he shifted position. If I don't escape now, I may never.

He watched as the droids approached. One reached for him, and he grabbed the metal hand, jerking with all his strength. The mechanical toppled forward, crashing into the wall and sliding down it with a metallic clang. The other halted warily.

Obi-Wan surged to his feet, ignoring the agony streaking through him, and rammed the droid with his shoulder. He shoved past, but the thing's claw hand caught him by the hair and yanked him backwards. He fell, hitting his elbow as he fell and sending fresh pain tearing through his broken hand. A cry he couldn't suppress escaped him but he forced himself back to his feet.

Have to get out, have to get out, he repeated over and over in his head like a mantra.

It was already too late. The second droid was upright again, and it reached out to grasp his ankle, giving it a swift jerk. He fell face forward this time, crashing into the stone floor hard enough to knock him nearly unconscious. Dimly, he felt himself being lifted and arranged face up on the rack. His arms were drawn upward and shackled, his ankles fastened as well, and Obi-Wan groaned in defeat.

"That was quite a show," Xell's voice said from somewhere near the doorway.

Obi-Wan ignored him, closing his eyes against the spinning room and the prick of two needles in his right thigh. The Force, already out of his reach, retreated further until it was little more than a distant memory. He moaned as his bruised and swollen penis was grasped and a catheter roughly inserted. A corner of his mind recognized the sound of Xell's footsteps approaching.

"You're looking rather the worse for wear this morning," the torturer said. A prodding of the blaster wound made Obi-Wan moan again, and he heard Xell clucking his tongue. "Shame on you. If you keep refusing to accept your fate, you're only going to cause yourself more pain."

The droids left, and Obi-Wan heard them roll out of the room, closing the door behind them. The sound of another door opening told him that Xell was at the closet, but he refused to look. A moment later, antiseptic sloshed over his side, and he didn't try to hold back a scream as it seared through the raw wound.

"There, that's done," Xell said. He took a step toward the head of the rack, and Obi-Wan bit his lip as the torturer began to examine his broken hand. "Look at me," Xell demanded.

Obi-Wan squeezed his eyes closed even tighter, then screamed again as his hand was crushed into a tight, misshapen fist.

"Look at me!" Xell repeated.

Reluctantly, Obi-Wan pried open tear-filled eyes.

"Better," the man said, stroking one hand soothingly down his captive's forearm. "Now, we have a great deal to do today, so we had best proceed." He reached for the wheel and began to turn it.

Obi-Wan groaned in agony as his body was stretched. His wrists throbbed, then his ankles, then his knees and elbows as Xell continued to tighten the restraints. He felt the muscles along his ribs began to tear, pulling agonizingly at his injured side, then gasped out loud as his hips dislocated with an audible pop.

"There," his torturer said. "That's tight enough for today." He reached down to stroke the bearded jaw before turning away. Obi-Wan made himself not look, not wanting to know what Xell had in store for him next. He closed his eyes again, trying as best he could to center himself and blank his mind. They fluttered open, though, as something hard and cold touched his face just below his right eye. The gleam of metal blocked part of his view, but not enough to hide the wooden mallet in Xell's other hand.

"There's quite a fine art to this," the man said conversationally as he shifted the blunt piece of metal pressing against Obi-Wan's cheekbone. "Too light a blow will only bruise, too heavy, and bone fragments will be driven into your brain. That would end things much too quickly, wouldn't it?"

Obi-Wan tried to steel himself, but he began to sweat profusely as he saw Xell raise the mallet. It came crashing down a moment later, shattering the bone beneath it. A shriek like that of a dying animal escaped him, the sound loud and high-pitched and entirely inhuman. Dimly, as his scream finally faded, he heard Xell talking to him.

"There, there, little Jedi. All over." The man bent over him, fingers prodding where the metal wedge had been. "Oh, yes. That's perfect," he said as bone shifted under his touch. He picked up something from beside Obi-Wan's arm, and the Jedi groaned as he saw the metal gag from the day before.

Above him, Xell shrugged apologetically. "Is it my fault that you suffer so beautifully?" he asked, leaning over Obi-Wan and forcing his mouth open. The Jedi could do little to resist. The clamp was slid into place against his cheeks and swiftly tightened. Obi-Wan moaned as the skin stretched tight over his shattered cheekbone, increasing his pain. But, he had little time to dwell on it as Xell climbed onto the rack, sitting this time on Obi-Wan's chest as he unfastened his pants and exposed his oozing erection.

"I'm sure you remember how to do this," Xell said, guiding the head of his penis into Obi-Wan's mouth. The Jedi gagged as it was pressed against the back of his throat. "Now, suck," he was ordered.

Obi-Wan refused to comply, willing his muscles to go slack.

After a moment, Xell rammed in even deeper. "If you won't suck, then you'll just have to scream." With that, the torturer laid the palm of his hand over Obi-Wan's right eye and pressed.

And scream the Knight did as bone fragments shifted. Above him, Xell grunted in satisfaction and began to thrust, blocking Obi-Wan's air even as he leaned harder on the broken cheekbone. Spots began to dance behind the Jedi's eyes, his blood singing in his ears, and he gave up his hold on consciousness as the world went dark around him.

Obi-Wan regained consciously slowly. He opened his eyes to see Xell bending over him.

"Well, good," the man said, looking relieved. "There for a moment, I thought I'd killed you." He smiled as if that were a wonderful joke. "That wouldn't do, now would it, so early in the game?"

Obi-Wan didn't try to answer. It would have been pointless, since the gag was still in place. Wearily, he forced his jaws open wider, tasting blood where the inside of his cheek had been shredded by his molars.

"One more little task before I leave you," Xell said, moving out of Obi-Wan's line of sight.

The Jedi felt his penis tenderly lifted, and something larger than the catheter tube was forced into his urethra. It felt like a metal bar. The square edges cut into the tender tissues, abrading them, and the Jedi flinched as it was pressed in deeply. When the device was finally in place, Xell fastened a clamp snuggly around the organ, compressing it and preventing the implement from sliding out. Elegantly manicured fingers found Obi-Wan's right nipple, pinching and tweaking it to hardness, before fitting a metal clamp over it. The young Jedi groaned as its sharp teeth dug into his flesh, then groaned again as another clamp bit into his right earlobe.

"Nearly done," Xell said, as if Obi-Wan were some pathetic creature like the ones his former master had often taken in, frightened and in pain as its needs were tended. He strung wires from both the clamps and the metal rod and ran them down off the side of the rack, fastening them to something unseen on the floor.

"Now," Xell continued, "I'm sure that, as a Jedi, you will not appreciate the crudeness of this particular form of torture, and I apologize for that. But, at least I'm not flaying your skin away millimeter by millimeter with one of the whips my employer provided. No, this is far subtler than that, if still a bit barbaric." He stooped again, and Obi-Wan heard a switch being thrown.

A scream he could not prevent stripped Obi-Wan's throat raw as an electrical current sizzled through him, arching visibly between cock and nipple. It seared a path up his spinal column, making his tightly stretched limbs spasm helplessly, and made a volcano of fire erupt in his scrotum. He screamed again, the sound high and thready and entirely inhuman, as the current shifted to his ear, sending a lightning bolt of agony through his skull, into his shattered cheekbone, and finally into the metal gag holding his jaws open. It moved to his cock again, making the organ feel as if it had been dipped into a plasma core.

Then, as suddenly as it had started, the electricity stopped.

He peeled open tear-filled eyes to see Xell gazing down at him. "See?" the torturer said with a slight shrug. "Males are remarkably easy to torture." He glanced at the timepiece he wore strapped to one wrist. "And now, I'm going to leave you for a few hours, although I'm sure my little play toy here will keep you entertained, hm?" With a deceptively pleasant smile, he leaned down to switch the device on once more.

"Enjoy," he said dryly. But Obi-Wan couldn't hear him over his own screams.

"It won't stop," Qui-Gon said. He sat hunched forward on the floor in Yoda's quarters, his face buried in his hands. "I don't know why this is happening."

The small green master stroked Qui-Gon's hair as if he were still an insecure padawan. "A warning, this may be," he said softly.

Qui-Gon looked up. "Yes, but a warning of what?"

Yoda's ear tips sagged. "Know this, I do not. Meditated on it, have you?"

"I've tried!" the tall Jedi said, surprised at how sharp his voice sounded. He took a deep breath and reached for serenity. "Forgive me, my master, but this is troubling."

"Hmm. Yes." Yoda rose from his cushion. "A new mission the Council was considering for you, to Melistadt," he said. "Changed my mind, you have. If a premonition this is, send you we will not."

Though a mission was the last thing Qui-Gon wanted to think about now, he felt compelled to argue. "I'm quite capable of handling a mission," he began, but Yoda cut him off with a look.

"Decided, it is. More research the Council will do, before sending a team to Melistadt. Send a team into such danger we will not."

"But, we don't even know if what I'm feeling has anything to do with the mission. I don't even know if the warning is real."

Yoda's ears rose. "Feel real, does it?"

Qui-Gon frowned, but he couldn't truthfully say no. "Yes."

"Then, speak no further of it we will, until such time as the Force chooses to tell you more." He moved to the door and opened it, a clear dismissal.

Qui-Gon lumbered to his feet. "Yes, my master," he said. He stepped into the hallway and paused, considering what to do next. His feet made the decision for him, and in the next moment, he was striding briskly toward the Garden of a Thousand Fountains.

Obi-Wan's second day of torture finally ended. This time, when he was released from the rack, he gave no thought to escape. His dislocated hips made it impossible for him to even stand on his own, and any sudden movement sent pain streaking through the broken bones in his hand and cheek, and through the new break in his lower ribs. Even breathing was painful, and swallowing was out of the question, his throat too raw to even consider it.

He sagged against the cold wall, barely able to draw his blanket up over him, before succumbing to the sleeping drug.

Even his dreams were of torture. He saw himself, naked and vulnerable, stretched tightly on the rack, as the imposing form of a large man bent over him.

"This will hurt, Padawan," Qui-Gon's voice said. "But, do try to take it like a man."

Obi-Wan watched himself thrashing in agony as his former master began to slowly peal away the skin from his abdomen. He could hear himself scream, could hear his flesh as it tore away from his body.

"Please stop, Master!" he shouted. "Please don't do this to me!"

Qui-Gon Jinn thrashed, caught up in a dream. In his mind, Obi-Wan knelt before him, his padawan braid clutched tightly in his fist, as if to prevent his master from severing it.

"Please stop, Master!" the young man cried. "Please don't do this to me!"

Silently, Qui-Gon stepped forward and cut it off close to the scalp, before stepping back to glare down into the gray-green eyes. "It's done," he heard himself say. He walked away, leaving the young man sobbing audibly in the lengthening shadows. He didn't look back. He had the Chosen One to train, and that was all that mattered.

Morning came, and with it, the two droids. This time, Obi-Wan did not resist as they dragged him to the rack. One of them held his shoulders down while the other took care of the morning rituals. Then, he was rolled over.

He groaned as the unyielding wood under his chest made his broken rib shift. More pain told him that his wrists and ankles were being secured, the rack tightened just to the point of pain but not beyond. He closed his eyes, fear like a cold lump in his throat, and listened to the sound of approaching footsteps.

"Good morning, little Jedi," Xell said. "I trust you slept well."

Obi-Wan bit his lip and tried to calm his racing pulse.

"Not talking today?" Xell asked. "Well, we'll find your voice again soon enough." He reached out with one hand to caress Obi-Wan's lower back. "Have you even been caned, Obi-Wan?"

Fear tightened its grip, making his tightly bound limbs tremble, but Obi-Wan held his silence. A brief whistling was the only warning he got before something thin and unyielding struck him across the buttocks. He cried out, then repeated the sound as the cane fell again, this time across his shoulders.

"Yes, I know," Xell said. "It does sting, doesn't it?

Xell beat him for a long time, until Obi-Wan could feel blood trickling hotly down his sides. Finally, the torturer laid the cane aside. A hand caresses him again, this time probing into the crack of his ass.

"Have you ever had anal sex, little Jedi?" the man asked, one finger prodding Obi-Wan's anus.

The Knight didn't answer, knowing his answer wouldn't matter. He closed his eyes, trying to distance himself from what was to come as he felt Xell haul himself up onto the rack and sit down straddling Obi-Wan's thighs. He bit his lip again, determined to hold his silence, for all the good it did him. A moment later, as a hot, impossibly thick cock was rammed into him, he couldn't suppress a wail of agony.

Xell immediately stopped. "Oh, stars and planets, you're tight!" he groaned. "I'm afraid I won't be able to give you the long hard fucking you deserve, simply because I'm not going to last that long. Perhaps next time, I'll be able to draw it out a bit, hm?"

He shifted, pressing in a bit deeper, then withdrawing slightly. "I feel your pain. Did you know that, Obi-Wan? Probably not. I do feel it, through a Force connection not unlike yours, and it inspires me. You do suffer beautifully."

He pushed forward until he was embedded to the balls, then began to thrust, driving in hard and pulling out fast. Obi-Wan screamed with each stroke. Finally, he felt Xell drive in hard, one more time, then grow very still. Hot liquid spurted inside Obi-Wan's torn rectum, and the man's weight collapsed on him for several endless, painful moments, crushing him against the unforgiving wood. The man began to stir finally. He pushed himself up, then pressed a parody of a kiss against the back of Obi-Wan's neck. His lips were cool and uncaring, but they reminded the Knight of another kiss.

It was a treasured memory; waking up in the Temple's infirmary, flat on his back and drugged to the teeth. He'd opened his eyes to see those incredible blue ones above him, narrowed with worry and brimming with tears.

"Thank the Force!" Qui-Gon had whispered, his breath washing warm and sweet over the teenager's face. What came next was sweeter still - a kiss, brushed softly across his forehead. A father's kiss, a mentor's, and easily the most wonderful thing Obi-Wan had ever experienced. A single tear had fallen from those blue eyes. Hot and salty, it had splashed on the boy's skin and trickled down his cheek, speaking of his master's immense relief.

This kiss was nothing like that. Obi-Wan was dragged back to reality as Xell pulled out of him, causing still more pain. His hip was patted as if he were a favorite pet.

"That's all for now," Xell said. "Mustn't overload your system, you know." He stepped to the head of the rack and spun the wheel, stretching Obi-Wan until his shoulder joints threatened to dislocate. He caught a handful of the Jedi's hair and pulled his head back painfully. Leaning down, he lightly kissed Obi-Wan's forehead before leaving him alone.

Sith! Qui-Gon thought as the Force-warning shivered through him yet again. He reached up to cup his hand over his right eye, wincing at the phantom pain streaking through it. He'd worn his knees out in meditation, worn the soles of his boots thin with pacing, and still there were no answers. He knew Anakin was worried about him, and Yoda as well, the small master on the verge of ordering him to the soul healer.

It must be a warning about Melistadt, Qui-Gon thought as he dragged himself to his feet. His tunics rubbed painfully across his back, and he felt the sudden need to bathe, to just luxuriate in hot water and let it soothe the aches away.

Limping slightly, wondering why his hips were throbbing so, Qui-Gon headed for bed and some much needed sleep.

In the wee hours of the morning, before the sky had even begun to lighten, Qui-Gon sat bolt upright in bed.

"Nooooooo!" he screamed, feeling the sound ripping through his chest, shifting broken ribs that weren't broken, sending pain streaking through dislocated joints that were somehow still intact. He blinked into the darkness, panting, struggling for air, and was not surprised to hear the door to his room burst open.

"Master?" Anakin's hair was mussed from sleep, his pajamas wrinkled, but his eyes were bright and full of concern. "Master, what's wrong?"

Qui-Gon composed himself with the effort of a lifetime. "Nothing," he said, though his voice sounded shaky to his own ears. He waved a hand negligently at his padawan. "Nothing, Anakin, I'm fine. Go back to bed."

Instead, Anakin stepped further into the room, bringing the lights up to half strength. "No, you're not fine." He peered at his master from under lowered brows. "I'm calling the healers."

"You'll do no such thing," Qui-Gon ordered. "It was just a dream."

"Master, it wasn't just a dream!" the young man argued. "I felt your pain as clearly as you did!"

"It wasn't my pain," Qui-Gon said in a hushed tone. He waved him away. "Please, Padawan, go to bed."

Anakin compressed his lips tightly, but he obeyed. Qui-Gon swung his feet out of bed and pulled on his robe, knowing sleep would not come again tonight. He made his way into the kitchen and began brewing a pot of his favorite, soothing tea. He started a few minutes later when the front door chimed.

Grumbling under his breath, he crossed the common room and opened the door. Healer T'brok stood there, professional concern showing in the depths of his almond colored eyes.

"Damn it, Anakin," Qui-Gon growled half under his breath.

"Call T'brok your padawan did not," an all too familiar voice said from nearby. Qui-Gon turned to watch his master move slowly up the hall to join them. "Shared your vision, I did," Yoda finished, leaning heavily on his walking stick. "Feel your pain I still do."

But I'm not in pain, Qui-Gon started to say, before he realized it was a lie. He did hurt, quite badly in fact. His chest, his back, his right hand . . . He lifted it and flexed it experimentally, surprised when fresh pain streaked up his arm. T'brok stepped inside immediately, grasping his hand between his own. The healer closed his eyes.

"Hm," he said a moment later. "There's no sign of injury." He peered into Qui-Gon's eyes, then peeled back the robe and ran a gentle hand across his aching ribcage. "Nor here." He touched the master's forehead, and the pain all but disappeared.

"Thank you," Qui-Gon managed, feeling himself sway slightly as the sudden relief made him lightheaded.

"Whatever it was," T'brok said, "it's gone now. Do you need something to help you get back to sleep?"

Qui-Gon felt his eyes widen at the thought of sleeping again, of possibly falling back into that dream.

"Dream it was not," Yoda said softly. He looked up to meet T'brok's gaze. "See to Qui-Gon I will now," he told the healer. "Appreciated, your help has been."

T'brok nodded silently and left, as Yoda pushed past Qui-Gon and entered the apartment. He nodded to Anakin, who had disobeyed his master's orders after all and was standing in his doorway, watching.

"Anakin," Qui-Gon said in annoyance, "I thought I told you to go to bed."

"Stay, the boy can," Yoda said, hitching himself up onto the couch with difficulty. "Concern him too, this does." He patted the cushion beside him, and Qui-Gon reluctantly took a seat.

"I'm sorry, my master," he began, more embarrassed than anything else at having been broadcasting his misery. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"Wake me, you did not," the small Jedi said. "Experienced the vision as well, I did."

Qui-Gon blinked, a cold twist of dread settling in his chest. "Vision?" he echoed.

Yoda nodded. "Tell me," he said. "Of whom have you been dreaming lately?"

Qui-Gon felt his face color. He cleared his throat. "Obi-Wan," he admitted softly. He looked up as Anakin knelt beside him, one of the boy's hands finding and squeezing his knee. Then, Yoda's meaning hit him like a blaster bolt. "Obi-Wan!" he said, all but shouting it. "He's the one in pain!"

"Yes," Yoda confirmed. "Felt it, I did. In terrible danger, your former padawan is."

"Where is he?"

Yoda closed his eyes, his forehead creasing. "Unknown." He peered up at Qui-Gon, the tips of his ears sagging. "Deep undercover Knight Kenobi is, his present location, uncertain."

"But, you must have an idea!" Qui-Gon demanded. He jumped to his feet, too agitated to sit, only to have Anakin catch him when he swayed.

"Sit you will!" Yoda ordered, his gimer stick impacting stingingly with Qui-Gon's knee. "Notify the Council I have. Find Obi-Wan, we will."

"In time?" Qui-Gon asked, feeling despair wash over him as he reseated himself.

Yoda's ears drooped again. "Strong, that young man is," he said, though it was not the answer Qui-Gon wanted to hear. "Hold on, he will I believe, until help arrives."

"We don't even know what's happening to him."

"No," Yoda agreed. "Meditate on this we will. Strong still is your connection to Obi-Wan, though realize it you may not. The Force will guide us to him. Until then, release your fear, you must. Centered you must be."

Qui-Gon nodded numbly. Already, whatever the healer had done was wearing off. Residual pain was seeping back through the long dormant training bond. Too strong to break completely at Obi-Wan's knighting, it had been relegated to a distant corner of Qui-Gon's mind, allowed to go rusty with disuse. Even so, through it he was feeling some of what his former padawan felt, though probably only a small measure of it.

If this is a small measure, he thought, wincing at the flares of sharp pain shooting through him, then Obi-Wan must be in agony.

"Let's get started," he said aloud, slipping to his knees on the carpeted floor. "The sooner we start, the sooner we can help him." He closed his eyes, feeling the reassuring, timeless strength of Yoda on one side, the strong, clear light of Anakin on the other. Bracketed with their support, he willed himself into a meditation trance.

Day four of his ordeal found Obi-Wan once again face up on the rack, this time stretched so tightly that his shoulders had dislocated. The pain in the rest of his body slipped from his memory as Xell hefted his knife again. For the past endless hour, he had been slicing away pieces of Obi-Wan's chest, peeling the skin back as one would peel a nara fruit before eating it. Now, as that knife moved lower, onto the flesh of his abdomen, Obi-Wan began to beg uncontrollably.

"No!" he screamed, his voice unrecognizable. "No! Oh, Force, please no! I can't take anymore. Noooooo!"

"All right," Xell said, his tone all false sympathy. He laid the knife aside and patted Obi-Wan's cheek affectionately. "Enough of that for now. Let's move on to something new, shall we? You know, I almost hate to do this, since it will put an end to any stimulating conversations we might have had."

He reached for something off the edge of the rack, and Obi-Wan winced to see two long, thick metal needles in his hand. He laid one on the Jedi's chest and held the other up for him to see.

"Steady now," Xell said. "This will be over soon." He grabbed a fistful of Obi-Wan's hair, yanking his head up and turning it as much as was possible. Without another word, he inserted the needle into Obi-Wan's ear. The knight shuddered as the cold metal slid down the canal, then screamed as his eardrum was pierced. The needle was withdrawn, his head twisted to the other side.

"No! Please!" he pleaded, but his words were cut off with another hoarse cry of pain as the other ear was similarly assaulted. Abruptly, all sound ceased.

Xell released his hair, letting his head thud back onto the hard wood beneath him. Obi-Wan panted, the effort burning his lungs and streaking pain through all of his over-stretched muscles, dislocated joints, and broken bones. He cracked open tear-filled eyes, then opened them wider. Xell was speaking, and although Obi-Wan couldn't hear the words, he struggled to read his lips.

" . . . hate to do this . . ." he thought the man was saying as he held up one blood-tipped needle and reached for the second, unused one. " . . . such lovely eyes . . ."

A firm hand settled on Obi-Wan's face, and fingers pried open his right eye.

"Oh, ghods, no!" he screamed, or thought he did. He couldn't hear his own voice. Then, it was too late, as Xell bent over him. White lightening flashed through Obi-Wan's vision for a split second, accompanied by agonizing pain. It happened again, to the other eye, and the world went dark.

// Master! // he shouted into the dark, silent void. A face swam into focus in the front of his mind. A beloved, bearded face, with hawk-like blue eyes and a crooked nose. The mouth moved, and Obi-Wan read the words on the lips.

"Hold on," they said. "I'm coming."

If Obi-Wan had believed for a moment that Qui-Gon was actually on his way, or that he would somehow arrive in time to save him, he would have leapt to his feet had he been able. He would have danced, have laughed, have screamed out his joy. But, what meager hope he had held onto had long since died. No one would come. If they did, it would be to find his cold, still body. He did, however, manage to gasp out one, simple word. "Master . . ."

Xell froze, staring at his prisoner's face. That's hadn't sounded like a plea for help, like the strangled ravings of a tortured mind. No. That had sounded like . . .

Alarmed, he reached out with his senses, and stumbled backwards as he felt the powerful Force users who were rapidly approaching. Without a word, without stopping to collect his tools or his droids, he ran out of the room.

Qui-Gon burst through the door, lightsaber in hand, ready for anything. Anything, that is, but the sight before him. Obi-Wan was before him, naked and bound to a long wooden table, his limbs stretched tightly. His body was covered with bruises and cuts and patches of raw, blistered skin. His fingers were twisted, his face swollen, trickles of fresh blood visible inside his ears.

The Jedi master stepped closer, aware of his companions' arrival. They stopped in the doorway as he looked down into Obi-Wan's face. Bile rose in his throat at the sight. Obi-Wan's pale eyelashes fluttered weakly against the long, thin needles that had been embedded in his eyeballs. Immediately, he reached to remove them.

"Qui, no!" Neesi Vortrela's voice said, accompanied by a Force shove that pushed him away. Mace was there a moment later, his powerful hands biting into Qui-Gon's biceps, restraining him as the healer stepped up to Obi-Wan's side.

Qui-Gon watched, numb with horror, as she bent over the young Knight.

"Get him out of here," she said without turning. "I have to try to stabilize Obi-Wan."

"No!" Qui-Gon protested as the dark-skinned master pulled him from the room and into the hallway. Mace released him, but took up a stand in front of the closed door.

"Let her work, Qui-Gon," he said, his tone brooking no argument. Qui-Gon argued anyway.

"Mace, that's my padawan in there!"

"Your former padawan," Mace corrected, not unkindly. "And, you'll only be in Neesi's way. Give her time to care for him."

Qui-Gon conceded with a growl, but couldn't stand still. He began to pace the close confines of the hallway, aware of his friend's eyes on him. Eventually, Neesi emerged, looking grim.

"I won't lie to you, Qui," she said. "It's very bad. Obi-Wan has suffered terribly and his body is slowly shutting down. He's lost the will to live. The kindest thing now would be to just ease him on his way."

"What? No!"

"Qui, he's dying."

"No! He can't die! He can't! You have to save him!"

"I can't."

Qui-Gon shoved past her and into the room. Bacta packs covered Obi-Wan's eyes and various other wounds, and his arms and legs had been freed, his hands wrapped in soft bandages. His shoulders sat at odd angles, clearly dislocated, and there were bloody welts around wrists and ankles. His breathing was shallow, hitched now and then with whimpers of pain. Qui-Gon laid a gentle hand on his head, threading fingers through his sweat-dampened hair, and wept.

Nothing.

There was nothing left.

He was blind now, and deaf, the pain in his pierced eyes and punctured eardrums merging silently with the rest into the empty, hopeless void that his life had become.

His body's capacity to endure had long ago been met and surpassed. The unbearable agony was just that - unbearable. Nerves that should have screamed in protest simply didn't. Now, they just accepted. The pain was all that was left, all that made his lungs draw breath or his heart pump blood.

Soon, it would be over.

Already, he could sense, as if through a fog, the Force gathering around him, cradling him in its all-encompassing arms, waiting for his body to decide it had had enough. What a relief that would be, to just let go.

At least the needles had been removed from his eyes. Something soft and cool had been draped over them, soothing in a way. Other spots felt cool as well, and his mangled fingers had been straightened and wrapped again.

Not that it mattered. This was just a brief reprieve, like the others had been. Soon the pain would return. It always did.

Would he still feel it, he wondered, or was it too close to the end? Had his body lost the ability to feel?

His question was answered when a hand settled on the top of his head, stirring his hair. It was one of the few places where he didn't hurt. It would start there now, he assumed, way beyond caring as he waited for his hair to be jerked out strand by strand.

Other fingers settled on his chest, rubbing slow, gentle circles over his breastbone. Qui-Gon had always done that, he remembered. When he'd been younger and unable to fall asleep or when he'd awakened from a nightmare, his master would rub his chest, just there, and it never failed to calm him.

A single seed of hope exploded into existence in Obi-Wan's heart. He squelched it firmly, even when, a moment later, a forehead was pressed to his, warm and firm against his cool skin, No! he told himself. Don't hope! Don't think! It isn't him! It can't be him! Hope would break him, had broken him.

The hand on his chest continued to circle, the one in his hair gently massaging his scalp. The pressure on his forehead disappeared, only to be replaced by soft lips that tenderly kissed him A second later, a drop of hot, salty liquid splashed against his skin. It watered that ruthlessly suppressed seed, making it burst into life.

He opened his mouth, a single word escaping him. "Who ---?"

A gasp stirred his hair, and another kiss fell, almost frantically, then a third, this one on his cheek, well below the shattered eye socket. A fourth, on the cleft in his chin, had him struggling against the Force blocking drug, groping blindly in the dark for some sense of who this was.

// Obi-Wan?//

The voice in his head was barely a whisper, dimmed as it was by the drugs, but it sounded and felt like his master. It wasn't Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan reminded himself doggedly. It couldn't be. It was Xell, using his Force abilities to torture his mind now, since so little was left of his body.

He can't hurt me any more, he told himself, the thought comforting in its way. He felt his breathing beginning to falter and he didn't fight it. It was almost over. Soon, his heart would give out, and he would finally be free of the pain.

"Obi-Wan?" Qui-Gon said. He looked up to see Neesi and Mace standing across from him.

"He can't hear you, Qui," the healer said. "His eardrums have been ruptured."

// Shhh,// Qui-Gon sent directly into Obi-Wan's mind. The knight's Force aura was fuzzy, barely there, and Qui-Gon couldn't be sure his thoughts were being heard. // Shhh, Padawan. You're going to be all right. Healer Vortrela is here. She's going to help you.//

He looked back up, daring her to fail. "Help him," he croaked.

"Qui-Gon -"

"Help him, dammit!"

Neesi stepped forward, one hand finding Qui-Gon's shoulder, the other Obi-Wan's. "He can't access the Force," she said. "It's doubtful that he even knows we're here. Let him go, Qui. It's the kindest thing to do."

Qui-Gon bared his teeth, hunching his body over the broken one on the table. "If you won't help him, then I will," he growled. He set himself like a deeply rooted tree, refusing to let them drag him away, and gathered all his Force strength around him.

//Obi-Wan,// he said into the knight's mind. //I know you've suffered terribly, but you must hold on.//

There was no answer, no hint of recognition, but he would not give up. He pressed harder, struggling to infuse the other with his Force sense, drawing away more of the horrible, all-encompassing pain that even the painkiller hadn't eradicated. //Hear me! It's Qui-Gon. I won't let you die. Do you hear me, Obi-Wan? If you hear me, give me a sign!//

He felt hands on his shoulders and ignored them. //Obi-Wan! Obi-Wan, do you hear me?//

"Maas-ter?"

The word was nearly inaudible, more a puff of air than anything. But it was the most beautiful thing Qui-Gon had ever heard. The body under his hands stirred, and Qui-Gon felt his face twist into a smile, even as he held the young man still. Immediately, he felt Neesi beside him, Mace across the table. They joined their minds with his, all of them sharing their Force strength with Obi-Wan.

//Obi-Wan!//

The voice in his head was crisp and clear now, easily identifiable as that of his former master. There was another presence, too, but he was too weary to recognize it. His heart shuddered, skipping a beat or two. //Too - late,// he managed to send, the effort nearly draining him.

//No!// Qui-Gon said. //We're going to save you, but you must help us! You must try, Padawan.//

His chest was suddenly too heavy to rise, and he didn't fight it. // . . . can't . . . //

//You can!// Qui-Gon's mind voice left no room for argument. //Obey me, Obi-Wan! I won't let you die! Now breathe, dammit!//

Obedience to that voice, drilled into him over years of training, kicked in despite his despair. With the effort of his life, he sucked in a shallow, ragged breath.

//Again!// his master's mind voice demanded.

It hurt, oh how it hurt, but he breathed. Dimly, he felt the other Force presence split into two, resolve itself into Healer Vortrela and Mace Windu. One struggled to subdue his pain while the other fed much-needed energy into him. //Hurts,// he managed to send, feeling his broken rib shift against his lung.

Immediately, there was a hand there, gently supporting it, and that hurt, too.

//Hurts!// he gasped again, although silently. Then, his attention was drawn away from the pain as a mouth closed over his own.

It was tender, that kiss. Tender and erotic and easily the most wonderful thing he had ever experienced. He felt the warmth of those soft lips seep into the cold void of his soul, felt the whiskers tickling against his cheek, and his master's presence swelled in his mind until it all but blocked out the pain. He sucked in another breath, almost without effort, then another, feeling a bit lightheaded.

//Love you,// he send weakly.

He sensed rather than heard Qui-Gon's gasp. //I love you, too,// the man said. //I've loved you for years.//

He felt the other two Jedi react to that, felt Master Windu's shock, Healer Vortrela's quiet relief, as if she'd known all along. Then, there were words in his head, but this time in Neesi's bell-like voice.

//Sleep, Knight Kenobi,// she said, and Obi-Wan felt the strong Force compulsion wash over him, dragging him down into oblivion. He let his sightless eyes flutter closed, and he slept.

"Will he be all right?" Qui-Gon asked, still hunched over the now-sleeping young knight.

"He has a chance, at least," Neesi said. "But, only if we get him back to the Temple and into a bacta tank immediately."

Already, Qui-Gon was lifting the limp body into his arms, carefully avoiding broken bones and torn and injured flesh. Mace grabbed the blanket from the corner, used it to wrap around Obi-Wan as he hurried alongside. It would help against the chill of the late evening air, and would hold some of the bacta pads in place.

His speeder was just outside. There was room in the back for Qui-Gon, with Obi-Wan draped across his lap. Mace jumped behind the controls, gave Neesi a moment to get settled, then started the engine and gunned it to full throttle. Long before it seemed possible, they were approaching the Temple's private landing pad.

A handful of healers were waiting for them. They swarmed around Qui-Gon as soon as he stepped from the speeder and took his burden from him, placing Obi-Wan gently on an anti-grav stretcher.

"I'm going with him," Qui-Gon said, his tone brooking no argument.

"Of course you are," Neesi told him. "As long as you keep up." With that, she started the stretcher moving, trotting alongside it.

Qui-Gon, his hold on Obi-Wan's mind precarious now that he was no longer in physical contact, nevertheless kept the channel open. He could feel each shallow, in-drawn breath, could hear each faint heartbeat.

//Keep fighting, Obi-Wan,// he sent, even though he knew the knight would not hear him. //I won't lose you again. I couldn't bear it.//

"How is he, Master?" a soft, familiar voice said from the vicinity of his right elbow. Qui-Gon turned in surprise to see Anakin trotting next to him. He had not even sensed the young man's arrival.

"Not good," he said, his voice tight with strain. "He - was tortured."

Obi-Wan's heart fluttered again, the beat becoming erratic, and Qui-Gon felt both Mace and Anakin steady him as he stumbled. Neesi Vortrela was rattling off instructions to the other attending healers; naming medications she wanted administered, checking vital signs. They had reached the Critical Care unit finally, and Mace held Qui-Gon back as the stretcher was guided inside.

"I have to stay with him, Mace!" Qui-Gon shouted hoarsely, struggling against the other's grip. Then, he staggered and nearly fell as Obi-Wan's heart went into full arrest. "No!" he screamed, yanking free and throwing himself through the door.

The healers were working frantically, trying to re-establish a pulse, but Qui-Gon ignored them. He elbowed through the crowd and laid one hand on Obi-Wan's chest, another on his forehead.

//Live!// he sent, forcing the command into his former padawan's mind. //Don't you dare die on me, not after all this! I love you, dammit, and you love me! So, you fight! You breathe and you fight and you keep on fighting until you're well! Do you hear me?//

The heart monitor gave a soft ping, a long pause, then another ping. The healers stepped back, all of them holding their breath as they watched the screen.

Ping.

Ping.

Ping . . . ping . . . ping.

Neesi Vortrela leaned in close, her breath warm on Qui-Gon's ice cold face. "He's back, Qui. You saved him again. Now, step back and let us stabilize him."

Reluctantly, he let himself be moved aside. But, he stayed close by, dividing his attention between the monitoring equipment and the healers as they sterilized Obi-Wan's horrific wounds and washed the blood and dried sweat from his skin. Finally, he went with them as they carried the young man to the bacta tank and submerged him.

Qui-Gon literally sagged with relief. Anakin was suddenly beside him again, his hand supporting Qui-Gon's elbow. He led him to a chair and urged him to sit.

"Strong, Obi-Wan is," Yoda's voice said from nearby. The ancient master hobbled up and met Qui-Gon's eyes. "Told you that many times, I have."

"Will he live, Master?" Qui-Gon asked, not knowing if he could bear to hear the answer.

Yoda closed his eyes for a moment, his ear tips sagging as he felt along the eddies and currents of the Force.

"Hard to see," he said finally. He glanced across at Anakin and smiled, making Qui-Gon wonder what the Force had shown him. "But, know this I do. If live Obi-Wan does, change for the better many things will."

Qui-Gon sighed deeply, trying to release his fear to the Force. He nodded, then glanced over at the bacta tank, at the broken, abused body floating in its red depths. "I love him."

"Know this I have, for a long time." A small, three-fingered hand settled on Qui-Gon's knee and squeezed. "In love he has been with you since he came of age."

"If you knew this, why didn't you say something?" Qui-Gon demanded, angry despite himself.

"Because, believe me you would not have!" Yoda said, pounding his gimer stick on the floor. "Find out yourself, you had to. Now, strengthen Obi-Wan your love will. See him through, perhaps it can." Yoda broke off as Healer Vortrela stepped up beside them.

"I don't suppose I can convince you to go home and go to bed," she said to Qui-Gon. At the tall master's angry glare, she smiled. "I didn't think so."

She pointed, and Qui-Gon turned to see a bed already made up on the other side of the room. He looked up at Neesi in surprise. She chuckled, though there were worry lines between her brows. "Qui-Gon Jinn, I've known you for most of your life. I know how stubborn you are. Now, you go over there and lie down, or I'll sedate you. Understood?"

"Yes, ma'am," he mumbled. With Anakin's help, he managed to cross the room, amazed at how weak he felt. His padawan removed his boots and drew a blanket up over him. Within moment, he succumbed to his exhaustion and slept.

Obi-Wan awoke in an utterly dark room. His time sense told him that many days had passed, although he had no memory of them. He took stock of his surroundings as best he could. The bed beneath him was soft and the smell of antiseptic hung thick in the air, leaving no doubt that he was in the Healer's Wing. He shifted carefully, and discovered that he didn't hurt.

Well, not much, anyway. His hands, encased in some sort of light splints, still ached a little, as did the side of his face. He reached to touch it and discovered something else - his eyes were bandaged. He drew in a startled breath as memory returned. Xell! The needles! He struggled to sit up. Instantly, strong hands settled on his shoulders and pressed him back into the bed.

"Easy, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon's deep baritone whispered, though it sounded strangely hollow and so loud that it made Obi-Wan's ears hurt. "You've only been out of the bacta tank a few hours. You shouldn't try to move too fast yet."

"Master?" he asked, the word coming out as little more that a hoarse gasp.

He could hear the smile in the familiar voice. "Who else were you expecting?" Lips touched his forehead, and he let himself relax.

"You - found me."

"Yes." Qui-Gon's hand stroked through his hair, the way it had often done when he was a teenager. "It seems the training bond wasn't as dormant as I'd believed."

"Master, I'm sorry," Obi-Wan began, feeling the need to set things straight between them. But, a finger was pressed to his lips, silencing him.

"Shhh. We won't speak of that now. The important thing is that you're all right."

Obi-Wan reached again to touch the bandage over his eyes. "Am I?" he asked.

"Your eardrums have been repaired, although your hearing may be uncertain for awhile. Your broken bones have knitted, and only a few scars remain from the cuts and burns." Qui-Gon paused before continuing, and Obi-Wan feared the worst. "Healer T'bok is hopeful that he managed to save your eyesight."

"Hopeful?" Obi-Wan asked softly. Another kiss feathered across his forehead by way of answer. "And, if he didn't?"

"If he didn't, then you will learn to compensate." The hand in his hair stilled, and there was the sound of a long breath being drawn. "Obi-Wan -"

"I thought we weren't going to speak of that yet," the knight said, knowing instinctively what Qui-Gon was about to say, and suddenly afraid to broach the subject of the way they had parted.

"We won't," Qui-Gon said, but there was hesitation in his voice. "But I do want to say this - I was a bantha's ass, and I hope you can forgive me."

Obi-Wan would have blinked in surprise had his eyes not been covered. "Forgive you?" he repeated, a strong emphasis on the last word. "I'm the one who should be begging for forgiveness, Master. I behaved like a spoiled, immature child -"

He was silenced by a kiss. Firm, moist lips pressed against his, sending a tingle of need through him, and he arched up into it, wondering how he had lived for so long without this, and if he could survive if this were the last one he ever received.

//No, Obi-Wan,// Qui-Gon said into his mind, making him aware of the deplorable state of his mental shields. //This will not be the last unless you wish it.//

The kiss ended, leaving Obi-Wan feeling bereft without it. But, he could sense his master's nearness, feel his warm breath washing over his face.

"I love you, Obi-Wan."

Obi-Wan could have sworn that his heart exploded in that moment. A huge smile stretched his face, dragging across the still-healing bone in his cheek and making him wince. Immediately, Qui-Gon's hands settled on the sides of his head, holding him still as his mouth was plundered again.

A tongue slid past his lips, tangling with his and tasting the inside of his mouth. He reached up, intending to wrap his splinted hands around his master and pull him closer. But his wrists were caught and gently pressed to the mattress.

//Easy, love,// Qui-Gon sent without breaking the kiss. Obi-Wan felt the bed dip, and a strong, muscled body stretched out beside his, a powerful thigh insinuating itself between his legs. He thrust up into that weight, giving a little yelp as his abused cock protested. Immediately, Qui-Gon backed off with a soft chuckle. "I don't believe you're healed enough for this," he said.

"Want you!" Obi-Wan gasped, reaching up blindly to try to recapture that mouth. "Need you!"

"And you shall have me, beloved," Qui-Gon said. "As soon as I can take you out of this place."

"When will that be?" Obi-Wan asked plaintively. "I hate it here."

Qui-Gon chuckled again. "I know you do. Like master, like padawan. But, you will follow the healers' orders and remain here until you are well enough to go home. Is that clear?"

"Home?" Obi-Wan echoed. Then, he reverted to mind-speech. //Home to my empty knight's quarters?//

//Home with me, if you'll have me,// Qui-Gon sent back. //I've discussed it with Yoda, and I want you to move in, even to help with Anakin's training if you're interested. He's a brilliant young man, who is quickly outdistancing his old master, I fear. And, we would be together, you and I.//

//Oh, Force, yes!//

They kissed again, tongues battling for dominance, breath coming harsh and quick. Obi-Wan wished the splints were gone from his hands, wanting to sink his fingers into Qui-Gon's thick mane and pull him closer. His cock swelled, painfully, against the thin material of his gown and the heavy weight of his master's leg.

//Need you,// he sent. //Love you!//

//As I love you, my Obi-Wan.//

They continued to kiss, learning the taste and feel of each other, until the sound of a throat being cleared forced them apart. Obi-Wan reached out with his senses, and detected the Force presence of Healer Vortrela.

"Don't wear the boy out, Qui-Gon," she chided, not a hint of embarrassment in her voice.

"He's hardly a boy anymore, Neesi."

"No, I suppose he isn't." The healer stepped closer, and Obi-Wan felt her hand settle on his temple, gauging his condition. "But, he is still in some pain. I think this would be better kept for later."

"Spoil sport," Obi-Wan muttered somewhat breathlessly, drawing a surprised laugh from both of his companions. Qui-Gon's hand stroked his cheek briefly, and he leaned into the touch.

"Yes," Qui-Gon agreed. "Later."

"For now," Neesi said, "I want to check his eyes." She moved to the other side of the bed, and Qui-Gon merely sat up, giving her room to work but not yielding his position. The bandages were carefully removed, and Obi-Wan felt a wave of comfort and support reach him across the training bond, attempting to soothe his fears. "Open your eyes, Obi-Wan."

He did so, slowly. At first, there was nothing but a dark gray, shapeless blur. It gradually resolved itself, and Obi-Wan blinked to clear away a sudden wash of tears.

"You need a haircut, Master," he said, reaching up to brush the long silvered strands that draped across Qui-Gon's shoulders.

A pair of huge smiles rewarded him.

"You can see!" Qui-Gon said, leaning in to kiss him again. Neesi Vortrela just as quickly pulled him away. Much to Obi-Wan's disapproval, she replaced the bandages.

"What--?" he began, but she cut him off.

"Yes, your eyes are healing, but they still need time and protection," the healer said. "In a few days, the bandages will come off again. Perhaps then, they can remain off."

"Can't be too soon for me," Obi-Wan told her, reveling in the unmitigated joy he could feel resonating from his master. "When can I get out of here?"

"Perhaps two more days, if you behave yourself," Neesi said. "Is that soon enough for you?"

Obi-Wan laughed. "Well, it will have to do, I suppose."

Qui-Gon's hand stroked his cheek lovingly. "Yes," he said. "But, it's going to be a long time before I'm willing to let you out of my sight again, Knight Kenobi."

Obi-Wan smiled, feeling the rightness of the moment settle into his heart. "That's the best idea I've heard in a very long time."

The End