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Nothing in the Dark - continued

(continued from part 4)

When Mekall came to, he was lying in his bed holding Obi-Wan to him. It was night and Yls was sitting beside them in a chair.

"Are you here?" Yls asked quietly.

Mekall tried to say yes but it did not come out. He cleared his throat.

"How long?" Mekall rasped.

"It's the night of the second day," Yls replied.

Mekall grunted acknowledgment. Obi-Wan made an answering sound in his sleep.

"You okay?" Yls inquired.

"Mm hm," Mekall responded. "Beat."

"Get some sleep," Yls recommended. "I'll be here."

Mekall did not want to sleep, but he could not keep his eyes open. He tucked Obi-Wan even closer to him, slurring, "Watch him," as his eyelids lost their battle with inevitability.

It was still night when Obi-Wan awoke. He looked blearily puzzled by seeing Yls. It took him a while to recall where he was and why, then he looked behind him to find Mekall.

"Is he all right?" the Jedi asked.

"Yes," Yls told him, "although I think we almost lost you."

A chill passed through Obi-Wan.

"Are you all right?" Yls questioned him.

"Yes, I'm . . . Yes."

"Is there anything I can -"

"No . . . no"

Mekall stirred behind Obi-Wan. Yls got up and discreetly left the room.

"Are you all right?" Obi-Wan asked.

"Yeah," Mekall answered with a slight smile at the younger man's persistent diplomatic streak. "You?"

"I think so," Obi-Wan said. "I feel . . . strange."

"It's been a strange few days," Mekall tried to joke.

"Yes," Obi-Wan said, almost to himself, sliding away from Mekall.

Mekall reached for him automatically, but withdrew his hand when Obi-Wan shied even further. Having moved all the way to the edge of the bed, Obi-Wan got up and went to the chair that remained by the window. As he was wearing only sleep leggings, the cold hit him and he shivered. Mekall got out of bed, took a blanket from one of the storage cubes and brought it to him. He held it out, making sure to keep his distance.

Obi-Wan took the blanket with a mumbled word of thanks. He wrapped it around his shoulders then drew his legs up and enclosed himself in it. Mekall sat on the floor near Obi-Wan's feet. Obi-Wan was looking at the window.

"Are you warm enough?" Mekall asked softly.

"Yes," Obi-Wan replied.

Obi-Wan looked down at Mekall waiting patiently at his feet, staring at him as though Obi-Wan had something profound he would soon impart. He wondered how much time had passed. It was night, but was it night of the same day? He thought not. He was cold despite the heavy blanket. It was a cold no outer covering was going to reach.

The creature's voice echoed in Obi-Wan's mind; the feel of his body ghosted across Obi-Wan's skin. He shuddered. Tightness in his chest crept up to his throat, threatening to close it as he struggled with his emotions. He would not cry. He would not. He directed his mind elsewhere, seeking to pinpoint the last thing that had occurred before . . .

They had been reading, in the study, about the Force and bonds. He had grown tired and Mekall recommended he go upstairs.

Something more. There had been something . . . more. Obi-Wan strove to bring to mind the last moment he could. A voice, a deep human voice, as familiar as his own. Obliterated by terrible pain in his head. Another shudder diverted his train of thought. Kiradian, the Sector's garden, a break in the negotiations. He and - he and - Dammit! He stood and walked to the window. Larral's two moons were rising. Kiradian and Larral. The creature was the connection. His only connection to his past. The perversity of it made his stomach churn.

"Does that thing live here?" Obi-Wan wanted to know.

Mekall did not answer. His hesitation led Obi-Wan to attempt to touch his thoughts. Mekall felt it and shielded.

"You know him," Obi-Wan accused expressionlessly.

"Dharuje," Mekall confirmed. No point in denying it. "He's a black marketeer. An Ecenian. He's based on Larral."

"A black marketeer," Obi-Wan drew a barely controlled breath. "So you lied," he said quietly.

"No. Yeah. Well . . . I thought you'd remember on your own. When you didn't, there didn't seem much point to . . . to telling you, to hurting you . . . more."

Obi-Wan was silent for some time, then he asked, "He bought me?"

"Yeah. He bought you. From separatists on Kiradian," Mekall continued despite Obi-Wan's increasing pallor.

"Separatists?"

"You were kidnapped. To disrupt the peace talks. Remember?"

"I re - He bought me. To . . . To -" Obi-Wan swallowed hard as his gorge rose. He took a shaky breath. "How did I get here? Really."

"I won you from Dharuje. "

"Won me? Gambling?"

"Yes."

"A game?" Obi-Wan responded, temper igniting. He advanced threateningly on Mekall. "You won me in a game?"

"Yeah. Hilty saw you and -" Mekall protested.

"A game," Obi-Wan's voice rose. "Playing. For fun."

"No, not for fun. For your life."

"Oh good. Good," Obi-Wan shot back. "I'm glad it wasn't just for sport. Not that I'd want to disrupt your normal routine. Everyone should have a hobby." "Obi-Wan -"

"Shut up. Shut up!" Obi-Wan yelled. He turned away, then back. There was nowhere he could go to get away from what he had heard and what was his in mind. He drew a stuttering breath.

Mekall stood. He was going to approach him, then thought better of it.

Obi-Wan searched Mekall's eyes for duplicity. He found only truth. Mekall looked down, unable to withstand the scrutiny.

Obi-Wan walked around Mekall out of the room, heading to the 'fresher. Mekall stood immobile, feeling more exposed than he had in many years, hating the gnawing hole that seemed to grow larger inside him with every step the Jedi took.

He heard Obi-Wan run water into the basin. It splashed once, twice, then the door closed. Mekall heard the faint sound of retching, not that Obi-Wan had anything on his stomach to bring up. A short time later, the shower came on. Mekall walked into the hall, to the 'fresher door, but did not enter. He stood in front of it, waiting. For what, he did not know.

The water cut off. There were a few small sounds of movement. Mekall stepped back as Obi-Wan opened the door. His skin was dark pink and overscrubbed, in stark contrast to the white towel covering him from hip to mid-thigh. Their eyes met, then he walked past Mekall to the spare room. Mekall found Obi-Wan staring out the window into the depthless Larral night sky.

"No stars," Obi-Wan commented.

Mekall felt a moment of unbridled pity; everything recognizable had been stripped from Obi-Wan, until even the stars were not where they were supposed to be. Stars rarely made their way through the planet's tempestuous atmosphere. If I had what stars had, Mekall thought, I wouldn't dirty myself putting in an appearance on Larral either.

Shaking off his melancholy, Mekall directed his mind to the practical. "You need clothes," he said aloud.

Obi-Wan showed no sign he had heard.

Mekall went into the other room and picked out a selection of clothing. With the way his skin looked, Mekall was not sure Obi-Wan could put any of it on. He left the clothes and went to the 'fresher to get two of the large towels. They were soft and he thought Obi-Wan might just want to curl up in of them and get into bed. Mekall felt like he wanted to hide under a couple himself. He pushed aside the uncharacteristic thought and returned to Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan was still staring out the window. Mekall put the towels down on the bed. He walked toward Obi-Wan until he could see his own reflection in the window, so that he knew Obi-Wan knew he was there. He held the other towel out. Obi-Wan took it and turned back to the window. Staring out into the endless night, he absently ran the towel over his padawan spikes until they were dry, then he squeezed it around his still-twined braid.

Mekall sat on the end of the bed. "Is there anything you want to talk about?" he asked.

"I . . . " Obi-Wan attempted to form an expressible thought. "I don't know what to do now."

"What do you want to do now?" Mekall inquired.

"You mean after I finish tearing off my skin?"

Mekall winced involuntarily remembering the night Obi-Wan had tried to do so, thankful Obi-Wan did not retain the memory. He made himself be pragmatic, although he was feeling anything but. "Don't see much profit in that."

"Profit?" Obi-Wan queried.

"No point to it," Mekall reworded. Fine time to pour salt into the wound of how Obi-Wan got here, he kicked himself mentally.

"No," the Jedi said, "no point. Mekall, what profit was there in rescuing me? Why did you do it?"

"Hilty asked me to."

Obi-Wan considered that. "You love him," he observed.

"I do."

"Yet you took the risk of gambling."

"It wasn't a risk. I knew I would win."

"By cheating?"

"By being better at it."

"Are you good at everything?"

"So far I stink at this." Mekall did not quite manage to smile. His humor was lost on Obi-Wan.

"What about the second time?" Obi-Wan turned, his eyes beseeching.

Mekall joined him by the window, cautiously putting a hand to his shoulder.

"Because I wanted to," Mekall's voice heavy with emotion.

"You should have left me there," Obi-Wan said, moving out from under Mekall's hand, turning back to the window, leaving Mekall unsure if he meant at Dharuje's or in the void.

"No," Mekall refuted both.

It was a long time before Obi-Wan spoke again. "How do I go on?"

"By learning to live with it," Mekall informed him.

"How did you . . . go on, after your parents . . . "

Mekall felt choked by the jumble of emotions the circumstances and the question were evoking. He battled his mutinous sentiment back. "It was hard. I didn't think I would survive it. At first, it wasn't even one day at a time, it was minute to minute, then hour to hour. I didn't know what to do or how to. I turned my back on everything I had known, everything familiar, everything that would remind me of - "

He could not continue. The words would not come. He felt like a hypocrite, a liar. How could he help anyone?

"You just do," Mekall finished, walking away. "You just do. You should get dressed, Obi-Wan," Mekall advised as he went toward the door. "I'm going to get you something to eat." Ignoring the incongruous desire to stay near the Jedi, Mekall left the room.

Obi-Wan felt him moving farther away like a chill hand on his back. He silently cursed as a tremor ran through him, then reluctantly turned around to review the pile of clothing on the bed.

Mekall went down to the galley.

"How goes it?" Yls asked, seeing Mekall's troubled visage. Mekall looked at him as if he was sizing up an enemy. "Mekall?" Yls persisted, knowing him long enough not to be cowed by a look that halted others in their tracks.

"How do you think?" Mekall responded.

Yls watched Mekall prep food and chai then risked, "Do you want me to stay? Mekall?"

Mekall's eyes met his but were unreadable. "What do you want me to say?" he spat. "Stay if you want. Go if you want. Nothing -" he stopped short, made a couple of trips back and forth across the galley, picked up the tray he had put together and walked toward the stairs.

Yls stood in his wake, feeling useless, but too hard- headed to leave.

Obi-Wan was dressed and sitting on the floor in front of the window when Mekall reentered the spare room.

Mekall had brought in an assortment of clothes, the softest things he could put his hands on, some dark colored - his preference - some light colored. Obi-Wan had chosen black from head to foot. His knees were drawn up tightly to his chest and his arms were wrapped around them.

Mekall wanted to go to him and put his arms around him and push the world away. Frowning at the unfeasibility of the idea, Mekall placed the tray on the bed.

"Obi-Wan?" Mekall tested the waters.

Nothing.

"Obi-Wan, I . . . " I what? Mekall thought. What could he possibly say that would help? "Do you want me to stay with you?"

"I think I'd like to be alone," Obi-Wan responded without turning around.

"I'll go," Mekall said, "but please eat. You can't . . . The com - If, if you need . . . " He stopped, sickened by the ineffectual tone in his voice.

Obi-Wan turned to him. Mekall met his gaze but said nothing. Obi-Wan looked back to the window.

Mekall went into his bedroom, then downstairs to the shop, but that distance did not feel right so he went back upstairs. He looked in on Obi-Wan who sat motionless. Mekall observed the slight rise and fall of his back, lost to any other thought. Coming to himself, Mekall left again. He went next door to the exercise room and worked out until his muscles would take no more. He meant to pass the spare room and go to his own bedroom, but the open door drew him in. He saw Obi-Wan had entered into meditation, his nature and training leading him to where his healing could begin.

Mekall sat down with his back against the opposite wall. Maybe he would give it a try too. Nothing else was working. It could not hurt any more than everything was already hurting.

Yls went into the study, busying himself by checking his home system and making a few calls. In time, he too went upstairs.

Passing the second bedroom, Yls saw that both men were meditating, Obi-Wan by the window, Mekall against the far wall. Yls did not know what good he could do, but he was not going to leave the two alone.

Yls went into Mekall's room, pulled the bed up and laid down on top of the covers to get some rest. The coming of dawn passed him by. He slept until Lure arrived for work.

"This is becoming a habit," the Niadan greeted him, the joke for his own amusement, leaving the healer newly perplexed. "Never mind," Lure added. "What's going on?"

Yls sat up, rubbing his hand over his face and through his hair. "Your guess is as good as mine," he admitted with a sigh. "They were both acting pretty strange."

"How could you tell?" Lure cracked.

"Yeah, well," Yls said, "I wouldn't anticipate seeing much of Mekall today."

Lure nodded. "If you run into him, let him know I'm here," he said. "For whatever that's worth. You need anything?"

"No," Yls smiled, "I'm just . . . waiting."

Lure inclined his head in understanding. "Aren't we all," he commented and ducked out of the room.

Two more days passed.

Lure showed up for work. Yls observed Obi-Wan and Mekall. Obi-Wan sat in front of the window, partaking occasionally of the food and chai and water that were being supplied, otherwise unmoving.

Mekall came and went from the bedroom, replenishing the food and drink. Otherwise, he stayed nearby but kept out of Obi-Wan's way. Still, Obi-Wan increasingly felt him, a sort of itch at the edge of his perception. It was that which caused Obi-Wan to abandon his solitude. The separation from Mekall began to outweigh his need to be by himself.

Obi-Wan found Mekall in the study. Screens of data flashed across the system in front of him. A barely audible announcer's voice was reading the newsfeed.

Obi-Wan stood in the doorway, feeling like an intruder now.

"What are you listening to?" he asked.

"Meteorological reports," Mekall answered.

Obi-Wan came into the room and sat down. "Where is everyone?" Obi-Wan queried.

"I tried to kick Lure home, but I think he and Yls ended up going out for food. Not much left here," Mekall stated.

"Of course," Obi-Wan said. "Mekall, thank you for, well . . . thank you."

"Not at all," Mekall demurred. "Do you feel better?"

"Hm?" Obi-Wan replied. "Oh, I guess so."

Mekall looked back to gauge Obi-Wan's response, but he could not, so he returned his attention to the information on his system.

"I," Obi-Wan started disjointedly, "I was back on his ship. I couldn't see, couldn't move."

Mekall swung around to face Obi-Wan as his voice dropped and his eyes took on a far away look.

"He was . . . all over me," Obi-Wan continued, "I couldn't . . . I couldn't . . . "

Obi-Wan shut his eyes against the vision. Mekall went to him, but when he made contact, Obi-Wan struck out, knocking Mekall down. Freed from the morass of memory, Obi-Wan stood, shaking with anger, looking alarmed at his own actions. He took a step toward Mekall who held up his hand to stop him.

"Don't," Mekall said.

"I -" Obi-Wan began.

"No need," Mekall assured.

Obi-Wan wanted to explain. "You weren't upstairs, I needed to know where you were," his voice trailed off.

"I understand," Mekall said. "I can't help it either."

Obi-Wan walked over to his chair and dropped into it. "There's so much -" he broke off, distraught, pressing the heels of his hands against his closed eyes. "I didn't mean to -" He could not complete that thought either. He steadied himself with a concerted effort and looked up. "I, I'm sorry that -"

"Don't you dare apologize, " Mekall warned him, then looked ashamed.

Obi-Wan negated that with a tiny shake of his head. He understood as he was feeling just as mixed up. He went over to Mekall and held out his hand. This time Mekall let him help him to his feet.

"I'm going back upstairs for a while," Obi-Wan said.

"If you want . . ." Mekall started, but he had no more idea of what he might offer than he had two days before, so settled for, "I'll be up in a little bit."

Obi-Wan nodded and walked away. He ran into Yls in the hall.

"How are you?" the healer asked.

"All right," the Jedi replied.

"I'd prefer to hear how you're really feeling."

"When I figure it out, I'll let you know," Obi-Wan informed him, and kept walking.

Yls went into the study. Mekall was back at the computer. "This is much better," Yls commented drily.

"What would you have me do?" Mekall inquired.

"I think you should contact Coruscant," Yls stated.

"No."

"Why?"

Mekall gave him an are-you-joking look.

"Things have changed," Yls said.

"Not for me," Mekall countered.

"You think not?" Yls responded pointedly.

Mekall's eyes flashed, but his ire turned to exhaustion before he could even express it. "He can call them, if he wants to. I won't do it."

"Not even to let his Master know -"

"If he's such a Master, he ought to know. Anyway, I'm not."

Yls sighed and gave up. Mekall's opinion about one Jedi might have changed, but his opinion about the order likely never would. "You should get some rest. He should too," he prescribed instead of arguing.

"Leave him be. I'll go up shortly," Mekall told the healer. "Not like I can help it."

"Mekall," Yls hazarded, "this has got to stop. You've got to get it over with. I don't think either one of you can withstand much more."

"Neither do I," Mekall told him wearily, "Neither do I."

Obi-Wan walked up the stairs slowly. Since access to the Force had returned, he was feeling everything much more acutely. The pull toward Mekall was strong, but it was met at every turn by turmoil within him he could not expunge. How could he surrender another piece of himself when he was feeling so fragmented already?

Bonds were supposed to be about balance in the Force, about trust and sharing. Soul bonds were about love, a meeting of kindred spirits, a commitment to the future. A thing that was meant to be. He had spent a good part of his life hoping when this happened, it would be with -

with . . .

Was it never going to come back to him? Everything that had returned seemed to be pain and suffering. What could his life have been if this was all there was to remember? Who was he?

To have fallen prey: on Kiradian, then to Dharuje, finally to Mekall. He could not seem to find himself in that picture. It felt as if he had been shattered and inexpertly reassembled. None of his pieces fit quite the way they were meant to and parts that should have been on the inside were turned out to the world.

After two days of solitude, he thought he had gotten things ordered, only to have fallen to pieces downstairs. He settled himself by the windows to think. Finding he could not, he got up and lay down on the bed.

He fell asleep instantly.

Obi-Wan reentered the world in darkness, pain spiderwebbing through his chest where the stunner blast had hit him. His eyes were covered. His hands were immobilized behind his back. There was a cold, metallic ring around his neck. In an attempt to orient himself, his mind naturally reached out for the Force. It was not at his call. Calm, his inner voice counseled. He extended the rest of his senses to assess the situation.

He heard three or four muffled voices close by. He judged they were in some type of speeder. The air smelled and tasted the same as it had. They must still be on the surface of Kiradian.

The craft came to a halt. The voices exited the vehicle. Briefly, Obi-Wan thought he might be left where he was. Then he heard what sounded like hatch hydraulics and he was roughly lifted up.

The man who was handling him seemed to enjoy not quite letting Obi-Wan get his footing, jerking at his bonds or pushing him whenever Obi-Wan was close to getting his balance. Obi-Wan stumbled to his knees as his robe wrapped itself around his legs. His captor cursed him in Kirash. It was a voice Obi-Wan recognized: Mandem Hass, the Xasx Co-Orator, the Second on their negotiating team.

Obi-Wan was yanked up by his manacles. He felt the skin of his wrists tear beneath them. He drew on his center - Force or no Force, he was still a Jedi - got to his feet and successfully resisted any further attempts to knock him off them.

The feel of the sun disappeared and the scent of the air changed as he was led indoors. If it was day and this was Kiradian, he could not have been unconscious for long.

Obi-Wan was pulled forward by his arm and shoved hard. He brushed through what felt like a door frame and landed on his knees against the wall. He took a calming breath and turned around into a sitting position. As he did, the blindfold dropped from his eyes.

Two men stood on the threshold of the room. He could not see the one on the outside; the one inside, he did not know. A noise to his left made him aware of a third presence. It had, indeed, been Mandem Hass' voice he had heard earlier.

"It won't work," Obi-Wan told him. "The Jedi Council -"

Hass wheeled around from attaching a chain to a ring in the wall, swooping up to Obi-Wan's face, snarling like a deranged canine. Obi-Wan drew back protectively as Hass swung a fistful of chain toward his jaw, but it connected. The Jedi fell sideways, the room dimming around him. The blindfold was harshly tugged back over his eyes.

Furious at being seen, Mandem Hass let loose a barrage of obscenities in Kirash, spat on Obi-Wan and kicked him in the chest with a heavy boot.

Obi-Wan felt his longevity might well depend on remaining conscious. He relaxed his body completely - as much defense as he could muster in his position - prepared for the assault to continue. Instead, Hass dragged him across the uneven floor and chained him to the wall. As one length of chain was tugged through the other, Obi-Wan tried again to reach the Force. "There is no point to this," he said. "The Jedi Council will not negotiate with you."

Hass struck him hard on the left side of his face. Obi-Wan fell, landing on a thin, fetid sleep mat. His vision, which had been grey, grew darker. A dirty rag was shoved cruelly into his mouth. As he fought to remain awake, his consciousness narrowed to each passing second. He began to count them internally. In time, his head cleared. He kept up the count, using it as a means of finding and holding onto his center.

When no more blows were forthcoming, Obi-Wan let his mind work on reconstructing how he had gotten into this predicament.

He had been walking in the gardens with his master during midmeal break. The talks had been going reasonably well. The leaders of the Xasx and the C'Sthen were determined to begin the peace process, though large segments of both populations still felt great hostility toward the other. Qui-Gon was managing the unmanageable with his usual skill and aplomb.

What of Qui-Gon? Had he been shot as well? Obi-Wan found he had no idea what might have befallen his master. He shivered with worry. No, he thought, I would know if he was not alive. If he's free, he will find me. If he is not, the Jedi will find us. All will be well. He would bide his time and look for an opportunity to speak with someone other than Hass or to escape.

Time. Obi-Wan went back to keeping track of it, refusing to let his mind wander down any darker path. The Jedi would know. They would find him. He tested his bonds and his limited range of movement, then arranged himself as comfortably as he could in order to meditate.

The effort was short-lived. The cell door opened and he heard the sounds of several sets of feet shuffling in. His manacles were removed from the wall ring. He was tugged forward, his hands were briefly freed, his arms were pulled over his head and rebound. With no warning, they began to hit him, the silence in the room broken only by the clank of metal and grunts of exertion.

Obi-Wan was left hanging from the ceiling, his feet barely able to touch the floor. He lost all feeling in his arms. His legs stretched to something beyond numbness; exhaustion began to overcome him. He meant to keep up his count of time, but must have lost consciousness as he was jarred by the sound of the cell door opening and men's voices returning.

There was a minute or two's commotion, the sounds of dragging and effort. Then he smelled food. His stomach recoiled. Though it had been some time since he had eaten, the thought of it was nauseating.

"Baksa," one of the room's occupants toasted in Kirash. Obi-Wan heard glass clinking against glass. Salute!

Obi-Wan's heart dropped to his roiling stomach as he realized his torture was the entertainment to go with their evening meal.

They beat him systematically, taking turns inflicting slow damage. They continued until he no longer had any idea how long they had been hitting him. It might have been hours; it might have been days. If he had thought they would kill him, this was infinitely worse. Clearly they intended to keep him alive as long as possible, to vent their rage and fear.

As it went on, Obi-Wan was forced to admit to himself that, having seen his captor's faces, he did not have much of a chance of walking out this room. He had started out a bargaining chip. He was now a liability and a threat. He began to slip in and out of consciousness. His thoughts fastened on maintaining his silence, a last stand of dignity against a pointless annihilation. Obi-Wan jerked awake with the sense that he had heard a noise, but there was only the faintest reverberation of sound. He was still hanging from his bonds, hurting as badly as he could ever remember hurting. He shifted minutely and his limbs screamed their protest.

There was a distant bark of blaster fire and the closer sound of returned fire.

Obi-Wan jumped at the sound of the cell door banging open. It was followed by an explosion.

Hands fumbled at the locks behind and above him. Obi-Wan crashed to the floor. His legs would no more move than they would support him. Was this it, then? Were they going to kill him?

"Obi-Wan!"

The padawan's heart nearly burst from his chest at the sound of his master's voice echoing down the stone corridor. A great wash of relief flooded through him along with a surge of adrenaline. He struggled to get his unresponsive limbs to work.

"Not so fast, Jedi," Hass slurred unexpectedly from beside him. A chunk of loosened duracrete struck his temple.

As the world faded to nothing, Obi-Wan felt a cold, wet tentacle slither into his tunics.

"Master!"

Obi-Wan's scream rang through the house. Mekall was on his feet and out the study door in a heartbeat, leaving Yls and Lure standing uncertainly in the doorways of the study and the shop respectively.

At the bedside, Mekall tried to bring Obi-Wan around by calling his name. That did not work, so Mekall touched his arm. Obi-Wan struck him. Mekall sat on the bed. Obi-Wan kept hitting him hard enough to do damage. Heedless, Mekall repeated Obi-Wan's name and gently shook him until the Jedi opened his eyes.

"Obi-Wan?" Mekall asked. "Do you know where you are?"

Obi-Wan looked at him, stunned, groggy and scared, the dream haunting his eyes, then grabbed Mekall and burrowed into his chest. Mekall covered Obi-Wan with his body. He shared the sense of danger through the bond although rationally he knew they were safe.

"It's okay, take it easy. It's gone, Obi-Wan," Mekall soothed, sending the reassurance aloud and through their mental bond. "It's over."

"Is it?" was all the Jedi said.

They remained as they were for hours, neither willing to risk disturbing the fragile peace their unity was bringing them. As it was getting light outside, Obi-Wan slipped back into sleep. Mekall had almost done the same when Yls came into the room.

Without a word, the healer took the chair from the bedside and placed it back by the window. He pulled the blinds, sa down and turned on a lamp. The two men exchanged a look, then Mekall closed his eyes and slept.

When Obi-Wan and Mekall awoke again, it was simultaneously. Lure had put them both back in Mekall's bed. Here too, Yls sat in a chair by the window, reading. As he had before, he stopped what he was doing and left the two men alone.

Obi-Wan looked at Mekall, longing to speak, but with so much going through his mind, he did not know where to begin. Had he been more himself, he would have noticed it made for a nice change.

"Did I hurt you?" Obi-Wan asked.

"No," Mekall shook his head. "What were you dreaming about?"

It took Obi-Wan a moment to remember the dream. "Kiradian. I remember what happened on Kiradian. The man, in my dreams . . . the voice. It's the same voice. Advising me on the stairs and calling to me on Kiradian. I can see him. I know him, but I can't . . . I can't -" Obi-Wan thrust his face into his hands, at wit's end.

Mekall put his hand to the back of Obi-Wan's hair. "Obi-Wan, I wanted to show you something before, but . . . What I told you, about my parents . . . it wasn't true. I am Lev, but I was a war orphan. I was brought to Coruscant as an infant."

Mekall got out of bed. He crossed the room and took an object from one of the storage cubes. As he walked back to the bed, he held out a flatpic in a frame. "This is me," Mekall said, "sixteen years ago."

What Obi-Wan saw was a younger version of Mekall dressed in cream legging and tunics, smiling. The picture had been taken in a common room. At -

"I was an initiate. At the Jedi Temple."

The Jedi Temple. Yes. In a flash of memory, in his mind's eye, Obi-Wan saw Mekall's image replaced with his own at the same age. The clothes, the place. The pieces began to fit together: the architecture, the hush, the robes . . .

The Jedi.

He was a senior Jedi Padawan. Approaching his trials. Another year. Maybe two.

The man. The man was his master. Qui-Gon. Qui-Gon Jinn.

"I, I'm . . ." Obi-Wan stammered, rubbing at his forehead as if to draw out the thoughts. "You . . ." He got out of bed. He reached for the picture, but turned away as Mekall handed it to him and it fell to the floor. "The . . ."

Memories began to flood back. He felt his head might explode from the volume and pace at which connections were reforming. The physical weight of the returning images drove him to his knees.

Obi-Wan picked up the frame, turning it over to view the picture. He touched the flat image gingerly with the tips of two fingers.

Jedi. Mekall's voice saying it was replaced by the Xasz negotiator's, then his captors' and then Dharuje's in rapid succession. Obi-Wan's shoulders hunched.

Mekall sat down beside him. He put his hand on Obi-Wan's shoulder. He'll probably smash me in the face, Mekall thought. I'm pretty sure I would. When the Jedi did not resist, Mekall encircled him within his arms.

Obi-Wan broke from Mekall's embrace. "Why didn't you tell me?" he pleaded, his breath hitching. "How, how could you . . . "

He pressed his fingers to his temples as his face contorted around a formidable effort to gain purchase over his emotions. He stood up with slow deliberation. His back straightened; his bearing took on what came across to Mekall as a Jedi stance. The proud modesty, the presence, the control.

"Where is Qui-Gon?" Obi-Wan asked, flexing a little vocal Force.

Mekall was tongue tied by a rush of resentment. Obi-Wan had suddenly turned into a full-fledged Jedi right before his eyes.

"Where is my master? Is he dead?" Obi-Wan persisted.

"No, " Mekall said, undecided if he was annoyed with Obi-Wan for trying to use the Force on him or happy that he thought he could. "He came after you on Kiradian, but it was too late. Dharuje already had you."

Mekall waited for a reaction.

Obi-Wan took a deep breath and let it out slowly as he strove to maintain his calm and begin to integrate all the information he now possessed. "Yes, Dharuje. Of course."

To concentrate outside himself, Obi-Wan addressed the other part of this equation. "You were Jedi," he said. "What happened to you?"

Mekall found himself without what should have been simple words.

"You weren't chosen," Obi-Wan theorized.

"Yeah," Mekall retorted bitterly, getting to his feet, "no takers. Sorry, sonny. Thank you for your devotion. Here's your ticket for the public transport. Have a nice substitute life."

Obi-Wan attempted to imagine what would have happened to him if Qui-Gon had not taken him as his padawan. He found he could not. Obi-Wan wanted to reach out to Mekall but he could not deal with any more information or emotion without collapsing completely. He went to the chair by the window, to sit down before he fell down again. His eyes closed of their own accord and he slept.

It was hours later when he awoke.

Mekall was sitting on the bed.

"Come here, Mekall," Obi-Wan requested.

Mekall brought the chair from the bedside over to the window to sit beside Obi-Wan.

"How do you feel?" Obi-Wan asked.

"How do _I_ feel?" Mekall repeated. "I don't know. I can't tell. Upside down, inside out, backwards and exactly right. I look at you and I can't tell if I've gone mad or sane."

"Eloquent," Obi-Wan commented.

"Forceshit," Mekall replied.

Obi-Wan smiled at the intentional taunt, then his eyes got serious. Knowing what he was and what Mekall had been changed everything and nothing at the same time. He had to deal with whatever was going on between them before he could progress.

"I can't either. I feel the Force now. I know who . . what, I am, but there's no . . . I . . ." He could not suppress a tremor. Mekall's eyes grew concerned. "I'm cold," Obi-Wan explained. "I feel . . . empty."

"I do too," Mekall said.

"You feel it too?" Obi-Wan sounded amazed.

"I think it's the bond," Mekall affirmed.

"The b -" Obi-Wan began, then their eyes met and he felt the impact of the force behind Mekall's hypothesis. A whispered, "Oh," was the completion of Obi-Wan's thought.

They stared at each other until Obi-Wan collected himself to a degree. He had come awake as worn as when he had passed out and with no more idea of what in the galaxies he, and they, should do next. Now he eknew, with a certainty that felt most definitely Force-sent.

"I want to finish it," Obi-Wan declared.

"No," Mekall said. "We can't. What about your training? Your master?"

"My master and I are very close," Obi-Wan clarified, "but we never . . . I suppose I thought . . . when I became a Knight. I believe he has feelings for me as well. But, despite the fact that he has been known to circumvent the Code when it's so hidebound as to tie his hands unnecessarily, he would never breach it about anything as important as my welfare, my education or my future as a Jedi Knight.

"I don't fully understand yet all that's happened since I stepped into the middle of Kiradian politics, but the Force brought you and I together and kept us together, against all odds and circumstances."

"You need to -" Mekall protested.

"I need you," Obi-Wan cut him off, "where Dharuje was. With me. In me. I need to feel . . . " he paused, striving for words that would prove convincing.

"I need to take myself back, to erase him. Right now I still feel him. I hear him. I smell of him. I need to feel me, and you. If I'm yours," Obi-Wan told him, "I'm not his. Make me yours."

"I can't -" Mekall started to protest.

"You can," Obi-Wan insisted. "You must. You saved me."

"I stumbled onto a situation. "

"You saved my life. Make it worth having again. Put your power, our power, where he would taint me with his."

"I don't think -"

"Don't think," Obi-Wan ordered, moving forward to claim Mekall's mouth. Mekall's impulse was to stop. Obi-Wan's clever tongue and persuasive hands changed his mind. He gave in to the heat he had been craving so badly, devouring Obi-Wan's mouth and grinding against his body.

As they kissed, their hands explored one another. Obi-Wan tried to maneuver Mekall onto his back. Mekall stopped him. Obi-Wan searched Mekall's face.

"I don't want to hurt you," Mekall explained.

"You won't," Obi-Wan assured him, his voice roughened by desire. "I need this. I need to do this. I need to feel you in me. I need you now."

Mekall read the courageous resolve in the young Jedi's eyes, dark with passion. Obi-Wan pressed himself to Mekall's mouth again, intent on making Mekall forget his misgivings.

With Obi-Wan's memory restored and his desire in full evidence, Mekall at last allowed himself to savor what had been tormenting him. He switched their positions so that the Jedi was again the one on the bed and set about doing what Obi-Wan had asked, determined to mark every inch of the tawny-haired man as his own.

Mekall worked his way down to Obi-Wan's chest, licking and biting first one nipple and then the other to a taut peak. He mouthed a line to his stomach, covering it with kisses. His hands ranged down to caress Obi-Wan's cock and balls. He dipped his tongue into Obi-Wan's navel, then made a wet trail to where his hands already labored.

Mekall wrapped his lips around the head of Obi-Wan's penis, swirling his tongue over the tip. With Obi-Wan's encouraging moans in his ears, Mekall teased his tongue along the sensitive underside, working his way to the base and back to the tip. Then, as Obi-Wan whimpered at even the momentary loss of contact, Mekall swallowed him whole, drowning in the glory of what was somehow at one and the same time mindless and mindful abandon. The Force sang between them as he brought Obi-Wan skillfully to a powerful climax.

Obi-Wan lay very still in its wake, but just as Mekall truly became worried, Obi-Wan's eyes drifted open. The satiated heat there spoke volumes.

Obi-Wan craned up and kissed him, seeking to taste himself on Mekall. As their tongues intertwined, he spread his legs further apart, and, for the first time, opened the bond between their minds. Do it, he whispered ardently inside Mekall's head.

Mekall's lust-dazed eyes cleared at the unprecedented contact. He reached over to the bedside table for lube. Growling his frustration at finding a flat, empty container, Mekall got up to go to the med cabinet in the 'fresher. Obi-Wan's unguarded laugh of appreciation for mundane realities was at once challenge and incentive.

When he returned to the bed, Mekall rose up over Obi-Wan more carefully than he planned to, deeply divided between a physical need for completion of the bond that felt like it would only be satisfied by turning Obi-Wan into a puddle and his doubt that Obi-Wan was truly ready to do this. Obi-Wan reached out to trace his fingers over a series of scars on Mekall's left bicep.

Mekall took Obi-Wan's hand in his, then positioned Obi-Wan and gradually worked a well-lubed finger into him. Obi-Wan's voice came into his head, urging him on. He took Mekall's fingers readily, moving toward the other man in defiance of Mekall's caution, reclaiming his body's reactions as his own, as though he wanted it to hurt a bit.

Mekall, fueled by both his own and Obi-Wan's building need, removed his fingers and placed his cock against Obi-Wan's opening. He entered him in a sure, quick thrust. The younger man gasped and Mekall was about to withdraw, when Obi-Wan clenched around him, impelling Mekall further in, his own penis starting to harden again with his exhilaration at being filled.

Mekall established a rhythm, at first continuing to watch Obi-Wan for signs of discomfort or fear. When he saw it was unneeded, he let himself relax, luxuriating in the long-awaited sensations of true joining. The pleasure each man derived wrapped around them both and doubled back through the other's mind, drawing them irrevocably toward climax. Obi-Wan came just before Mekall, arching up, the muscles of his passage tightening around Mekall, bringing him to completion as Obi-Wan's seed spurted warmly against his belly.

The two men were left boneless and spent in its wake.

(continued in part 6)