Master Apprentice Archive The Red Band - Part 6: Hope Quick search:

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Archive: M_A. Others please ask. Also archived at http://www.jediphiles.com/index69.htm

Category: Angst

Rating: NC-17

Spoilers: none

Series: The Red Band. Best read in order.

Summary: Amidst soul-shattering agony, the two Jedi vow to start anew.

Disclaimer: George Lucas is da man. He owns everything. We just play.

Warnings: Explicit m/m sex, flashbacks to graphic domestic violence.

Note: Thanks once again to the inimitable Fox for her beta. Despite my ignoring a few of her criticisms, I do consider her to be the best darn beta reader in the known galaxy.

  "While there is life, there is hope." -- a Jedi maxim

AGE 22:

The strangled cry of a newborn woke Obi-Wan from a light doze. He groaned and got to his feet, using the ambient light from Coruscant's traffic to navigate in the darkness. He'd been having another one of his increasingly violent dreams: fire and death, sand and wind, pain, the clash of lightsabers, and over it all the sneering face of a demon straight from every galactic myth of the Abyss.

He wondered if the little ones could sense his dream. They seemed restless. There were seven of them, all too young to walk yet. The "crybies," he called them. He sent a wave of calm and peace to them, then went to pick up the one that was still complaining insistently. It was a Rodian child, a male only a few weeks old. Usually the Jedi didn't take a child until it was weaned, but this one's parents had been killed in a speeder crash, and the authorities had gone ahead and sent the child to the Jedi early.

Obi-Wan held the child against his shoulder with one hand and bounced as he used the Force to warm a packet of Rodian infant formula to the correct temperature. The child bumped his face frantically against Obi-Wan, his little green snout rooting through the layered tunics on instinct. Obi-Wan grinned, then gentled the child into position, stuck the nipple in his mouth. The little one sucked greedily.

Once the initial frantic feeding settled into normal sucking, the infant's eyes opened. In the low light from the window, Obi-Wan could see the giant, dark orbs staring at him. He was struck to the heart with a sense of protectiveness. The infant was so utterly helpless, so innocent and trusting. One tiny, green-suckered hand flailed for a moment and then curled around Obi-Wan's braid, tugging gently to the rhythm of the suckling. Obi-Wan's heart overflowed. _How could anyone hurt such a creature?_ he wondered.

Then he remembered what Yoda had told him about Qui-Gon's infancy, and a wave of outrage jolted through him, making him grit his teeth against a primal growl. The little one in his arms jerked and began to wail. The other crybies awoke at the same time, all of them screaming with the unique infant-cry designed by nature to be irritating and impossible to ignore. The cries assaulted Obi-Wan's senses, and he gripped the child in his hands too hard, feeling a strong urge to shake him to make him stop. At the last second he realized what he was about to do and recoiled. He put the infant back into the crib and stepped back, shaking his head in denial, trying to block out the sounds even as he battled desperately to still the roiling emotions that filled the room. Their bewilderment and terror assaulted him in waves, like a spiraling feedback loop, and he felt a scream building in his chest. He clutched at his head, whimpering.

The door flew open, and the Knight in charge of the creche strode in, her eyes puffy from sleep but blazing nonetheless. "Padawan! What in the nine hells of Aquilae do you think you are doing?"

Obi-Wan was beyond coherent speech, panting for breath, fighting against the negative emotion swirling around him and through him. He raised his eyes to Knight Yhanu, and she froze for a moment. She recovered quickly and rushed to his side, taking him in her arms. "Trance down," she urged.

He shook his head. "I can't," he said hoarsely.

She put a bit of Suggestion into her voice. "Sleep."

He shook his head again. His body was pumped with adrenaline, the fight-or-flight impulse barely contained. He was shaking all over. "Help me," he begged.

She put her fingers against the pulse point of his neck. He felt the swift, roaring blackness of impending unconsciousness and did not fight against it. _Thank you,_ he mouthed at her, as the darkness took him.

Qui-Gon emerged by degrees from a deep meditative trance. He lay naked on a bed of thick, green moss, with nothing but forest and woodland creatures for miles in any direction. The rush of water over stones in a nearby creek reached him faintly. His senses floated on the scent of sweetpine and suckleweed, the kiss of a pleasantly cool breeze, and the warmth of dappled sunshine on his skin. His Force sense was filled with the pulse of life all around him, abundant and balanced, fecund, powerful, and good. The living Force was strong on Dantooine -- one reason the Jedi Order had chosen it as a retreat.

He took a deep breath and let it out, along with any lingering anxieties. He felt calm, centered, and serene as never before. He rose gracefully to his feet, dusted a few leaves from his skin, and stretched. He did not even need the position of the sun to tell him how many hours had passed; he had long ago trained his mind to keep track of the time, wherever he happened to find himself. He felt in his bones the lateness of the afternoon, and with a small effort he could switch his awareness from Dantooine's rhythms to those of Coruscant, and know that it was the middle of the night at the Temple. He could have reached further, into that one bright mind that even now was linked to his in defiance of anything the physical sciences could explain in rational terms.

He could, but he should not. Master Sag-Dho had advised both of them to maintain their strongest shields, even at this distance. A sudden intrusion of the other's mind at the wrong moment -- such as during a training duel -- could get one of them killed. Still, it was tempting to reach out and touch, for just an instant. He had not seen or touched or ... tasted ... his bondmate in such a long, long time, and Obi-Wan would be sleeping now ...

He took another breath and released the longing into the Force. One of his tasks -- his biggest and hardest task -- was to learn to want nothing. Only in the absence of want could he find peace. He knew this. It was something the Jedi were taught from before they could talk. It was something they instilled in the creche babies by fulfilling all their needs as quickly and as thoroughly as possible, and in the toddlers by constant sharing, physical affection, and a judicious application of Force to inhibit their natural selfishness and fears. By the time they were ready for instruction at about age four, most initiates were already as well-trained in the denial of self as any Zhiklamite shaman.

Qui-Gon had not had a typical Jedi childhood; he knew that now. Master Sag-Dho had let him read his files. It had taken him many weeks simply to purge his anger and disgust at what he had found there -- not only for the actions of his birth parents, but for the actions of the Council, and Yoda in particular. Yoda had decreed that Qui-Gon was too valuable an asset for the Jedi to lose, so Yarael Poof had been called upon to use his not inconsiderable mind-warping abilities to purge the young child of his memories and negative emotions, to replace the trauma in his mind and body with false memories of peace, tranquility, and love.

Even that might have been acceptable, had they informed him of his true past at some point. But they had not. They had let him blunder blindly on, feeling a horrible dissonance inside for which he had no explanation ... until now. Now, it was starting to make sense. All the feelings of unworthiness, skewed perspectives on affection, inability to feel strong positive emotion -- even his slight addiction to Ksig-root tea -- stemmed from the web of his deepest subconscious that had been unreachable even by the highly skilled manipulations of Master Poof.

Together, Qui-Gon and Sag-Dho had worked together to dredge up the scattered fragments of Qui-Gon's memory and expose them to the light. His mother had been a prostitute, having sex with all manner of beings while her baby looked on. The man she lived with -- her "manager" Danton -- had been a sort of twisted father figure to him; he'd even called the man "Da." Danton had abused Qui-Gon's mother both physically and mentally, all of which the young child had witnessed and, even in his pre-verbal state, had felt keenly as shared emotion through the Force. The man had abused Qui-Gon, too, when his mother wasn't about. He'd been sexually molested, fed narcotics and stimulants, beaten, neglected, starved, burned. Yet Qui-Gon had felt a childish sort of dependence and longing for "Da" that, in his infantile mind, he'd equated with love. Even now, the horror of it filled him with a constant low level of nausea.    

With each revelation, Qui-Gon went through a period of grief, anger, fear, guilt -- releasing the negative emotions to the Force -- until finally he reached acceptance. Then the cycle began again. It was a painstaking, excruciating process that had lasted for many months ... almost a year. In that time he had not seen Obi-Wan, had not contacted him at all, even on his birthday -- or the anniversary of their bonding. That deprivation was somehow more painful than all the horrible memories combined. Yet he had deemed it necessary. Until Qui-Gon had exorcised his demons, he might cause even more harm to his beloved should they make contact. Best to heal himself completely first, then work on their relationship.

Yet to heal, he must face one last memory. One trauma buried so deep it had refused to come out, despite all the gentle poking and prodding from the healers on Dantooine. Sag-Dho had assured him that this memory, when finally dealt with, would be the key to everything that had gone before. It would be the explanation, if not the excuse, for Qui-Gon's cruelty to Obi-Wan, the almost feral instinct that had caused him to rip their training bond apart.

They were going to try again today, using a combination of psychotropic drugs to let him sink deep into his subconscious. It was fairly dangerous, but Qui-Gon felt ready. His week-long meditation in the forest had settled him, and he looked forward with something akin to eagerness to the pain that awaited him, knowing that the agony of revelation would be like a cleansing fire, leaving his soul pure and whole at last. He could see the metaphorical light of dawn on the horizon, and it filled him with anticipation.

It would be the first step on his way back to Obi-Wan's side, where he belonged.

He shrugged on his clothes, pulled worn boots onto his feet, picked up his survival pack. Sinking deep into the living Force of the forest, Qui-Gon began to run the twenty-odd miles to the Temple.

"I regret the need for this meeting, Padawan Kenobi." Mace Windu's usually stern face had softened with what looked like pity.

The sight only made Obi-Wan unaccountably angry. "Thanks for the sentiment, Master," he said with a hint of sarcasm. "What's my punishment this time?"

"Punishment, this is not," Yoda said. "To help you, our only wish is." The little Master's ears were drooping in disappointment.

Obi-Wan made a conscious effort to release his anger and apprehension. "My apologies," he said through gritted teeth, and gave Yoda a little bow. "I _do_ appreciate your help, Master." He should be grateful Yoda had not brought the whole Council into this; to have Windu witness his humiliation was bad enough.

"To be frank, your Master is at a loss as to what to do with you, Padawan Kenobi," Mace said, his tone indicating he would brook no more insubordination. Obi-Wan remained mute, waiting for the head of the Council to continue. "As are we all. We understand your ... difficulty in coming to terms with what has happened to you --"

"Do you?" Obi-Wan muttered under his breath.

"-- but that is no excuse for your continued lack of control, especially with regards to your temper. You have already failed at teaching acrobatics, having come to blows with an inititiate half your age. Your one diplomatic mission with Yoda was a miserable failure due to an ill-advised verbal attack on the Minister of the Environment -- we're lucky your Master managed to smooth their ruffled egos enough to avoid a diplomatic incident. And now the Creche-Master tells me she found all the infants screaming in terror, with you right in the middle creating a massive Force disturbance while in some sort of fugue state. I ask you, Obi-Wan, why, after all these months, have you not been able to find control and serenity, as a Jedi should?"

Obi-Wan's jaw clenched for a moment. _Perhaps because I am brain damaged, you moronic sack of slime,_ he thought silently. "I don't know, Master," he bit out. "I have no excuse."

Windu looked at him sharply. "The healers tell me there's no lingering damage that can explain these lapses."

Obi-Wan contained his shock -- just barely. Surely Windu hadn't heard that last thought? The man was still speaking ...

"So far none of this has gone on your record, but that cannot continue. Another such incident, and you will be in danger of washing out of the program."

"I understand, Master."

"What do you think we should we do with you?"

"I don't know, Master."

Windu sighed. His dark eyes turned to Yoda, and the little Master gave him an imperceptible nod. Yoda's ears had sagged even lower, if that was possible, and Obi-Wan suddenly had a bad feeling about what was to come next.

Mace stood and took something from the folds of his robe. It gleamed faintly in the fading light from the window. "Do you still want to be a Jedi, Obi-Wan?"

Obi-Wan nodded, swallowed, then finally croaked, "Yes, Master Windu. It's all I've ever wanted, as long as I can remember."

Windu held up the item in his hand. It was an implant of some sort; Obi-Wan had seen them used in healing or for restraint. He had a sinking feeling he knew what this one was for.

"This is a Force inhibitor," Windu began, and took a step toward Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan flinched back a half-pace before bringing himself under control. So this is what it came down to, then? They were going to take away his access to the Force, the lifeline that had been his comfort and joy since before conscious memory. He'd been deprived of the Force before; he didn't know if he could remain sane if they did it to him for any length of time. He began to shake as he forced himself to remain still.

What hurt the most was knowing that his new Master lacked either the courage or the courtesy to do the dirty work himself. Did Yoda think it would somehow make things easier to bear if Obi-Wan's disgrace came by other hands?

Windu approached and brushed aside his tunics with gentle fingers. He laid the cold metal of the implant in the center of Obi-Wan's chest. "There's nothing to fear, Padawan," he said. "Just a pinch, now." He activated the implant, and Obi-Wan felt the sting as dozens of tiny hooks insinuated themselves into his flesh. He waited for it to take effect -- for the terrible emptiness of being cut off from the Force -- but nothing happened.

Obi-Wan realized he could still feel the Force flowing around him, and he let out a pent-up breath. "What is this?" he asked.

"Senses your emotions, it does," Yoda said. "The Dark Side -- anger, fear, despair -- these it detects."

"And deters," Windu added. "If you access the Force while experiencing negative emotion, it will give you a mild shock and cut you off from the Force for five minutes -- long enough, we hope, that you will be able to rediscover your center. If the device is activated more than twice in one hour, the Force-deprivation will lock on, and it will take Yoda or me to disable it. Do you understand?"

Obi-Wan had never heard of such a thing, and had a hard time believing such a device could exist. "You could have told me that _before_ you put it on," he said sullenly.

"Padawan, defend yourself!" Windu called, and before Obi-Wan could begin to understand what he meant, Windu's lightsaber was lit and slashing for him. Obi-Wan lunged backwards, igniting his own 'saber and bringing it up in time to save himself from a severe burn ... or worse. Windu attacked relentlessly and in only a moment managed to disarm the younger man. Obi-Wan's 'saber flew across the Council chamber and impacted with a transparisteel window before clattering to the floor. Windu held the tip of his blade against Obi-Wan's throat. "Is that the best you can do, Padawan?" he taunted.

Fury rose in Obi-Wan. He knew what Windu was trying to do, but somehow knowing didn't help. The blade kissed the skin of his neck, and Obi-Wan seemed to explode, twisting back and over in a stunning acrobatic flip while simultaneously reaching to pull his weapon back into his hand, the action fueled by his rage.

The 'saber was halfway to him when a bolt of agony seemed to fry his nerves. He dropped to his knees, clutching at the implant, only vaguely aware at first that the Force had left him and he was screaming out his agony and frustration. He lashed out at Windu, spewing invective, slashing with feet and fists. Windu had extinguished his lightsaber and simply backed away from him, avoiding his clumsy blows with ease. As he fought, Obi-Wan glanced over at his Master and saw something he'd never imagined he'd see; tears stood in Master Yoda's eyes.

All at once, the fight seemed to drain out of him. He froze for a moment, staring at his Master in disbelief. Then he bent and pressed his forehead against the cool floor, willing himself not to weep.

Windu left. Yoda sat, watching him silently for a long time. At last Obi-Wan picked himself up and straightened his robe. "What should I do, Master?" he asked softly.

The old Master rose stiffly from his seat and sighed. "Come, rest you need, and food. Decide later, we will, what to do with you."

"How are you feeling?" Sag-Dho asked. He perched on a too-small stool and curled his long limbs around himself. His overlarge yellow-and-white eyes conveyed compassion and serenity.

"Dreamy," Qui-Gon slurred softly. He lay half-reclined on a padded therapy chair which dampened both his physical actions and his access to the Force. "Everything's fuzzy and warm."

"I'd like you to think back to the day you came to the Temple. Do you remember it?"

"Yes."

"What do you remember?"

"Noise and color. Movement. Jostling. My mother's scent, the smell of hot metal, baking bread, crowds of unwashed people. I remember the great doors of the Temple swinging open, and inside, peace. I felt Mam's relief, the touch of another mind like mine, very gentle. I wanted more of that touch. I reached for the man in brown, and Mam started to cry. I didn't want her to cry. Why did she cry?"

"Why did she, Qui-Gon? You tell me."

"She was sad. She said words, to me, to the man. I didn't know what they meant but she was sad. She was so beautiful to me ..."

Sag-Dho struck the chime that was the trigger for Qui-Gon to sink deeper into his subconscious. "Do you recall the words now?"

Qui-Gon's words took on a childish tone. "She said, 'I love you, little Dubbin. I love you more than my own life. That's why I have to give you up. I'm bad for you, Qui. You're better off without me.' Then she asked the man, 'Will you take care of him?' The man said yes and took me. She kissed me one last time, then turned to go."

"How did you feel when she left?"

"I ... I knew it was my fault somehow. That she had to leave me because I was bad. I had done a bad thing. I had made her sad."

"What had you done, Qui-Gon?"

Qui-Gon began to wail out loud, the cries of young child whose mother has just left him. He tried to thrash, but the chair held him. "I didn't mean to, Mam!" he sobbed. "Don't leave me! I'll be good! Please, Mam! Maaaaam!"

Sag-Dho sounded the chime again, pulling Qui-Gon out of his trance. He rose and gently dried the tears from Qui-Gon's face, then gave him a few moments to compose himself. "We are making progress," he said softly. "Can you continue?"

Qui-Gon fought down the trembling in his limbs. "Yes, I think so. I was almost there. Something ... I'd done something, caused someone pain." He looked up. "Do you think it was my Force ability manifesting?"

"That would be about the right time for it, yes. That might explain why she decided to bring you to the Temple."

"Let's go again."

"First I'd like to ask you ... did you notice what your mother said?"

Qui-Gon grimaced. "That she was bad for me. That she left me because she loved me. Yes, I see where you're going, Sag-Dho."

"Those words have been floating around in your subconscious, in the core of your soul, all your life. I believe you equate love with abandonment."

Qui-Gon sighed. "If I love someone, my first impulse is to leave before I can do any harm. I understand."

"That, or you expect to be abandoned. Unfortunately, with Xanatos you had managed to get past your first impulse to flee, later to find your expectation of abandonment justified in the worst possible way."

"Looking back," Qui-Gon said thoughtfully, "I think I was almost ... happy that he had hurt me. It satisfied me, somehow. It validated my own self-loathing, I guess."

"Yes, I believe you are right."

"I felt ... I might be able to break through this time, Master. May we go again?"

"Let us tackle this from the other end. Last week you recalled an incident where Danton was beating your mother, then we encountered a very strong block. I'd like to try to punch through that if we can."

"All right," Qui-Gon said.

"If I encounter the same block, I am going to use the Anzipene, with your permission."

"Yes, yes. I'm feeling hopeful we're near the end, Master."

"We still have much to do," Sag-Dho warned, "even after the memories are recovered."

"Yes, but we've come so far! I know I can do it."

"Then let us begin."

Qui-Gon relaxed, let himself fall again into the semi-hypnotic state he'd been using for months. He recalled the awful scene: the burly Danton, his pasty, fleshy face obscured by a fall of greasy black hair, holding Qui-Gon's mother up by her collar in one hand and backhanding her with the other. They were both screaming, words he couldn't quite comprehend. He was standing, holding on to the table leg for support, looking up, up, up at their tiny kitchen and the towering figures battling above him. He felt himself growing restless, filling with a power he could neither understand nor control. Already he was further into the memory than he had been able to access before.

"Stop," he whispered desperately. He wasn't sure if he was talking to Danton or himself.

"What are you seeing, Qui-Gon?"

"They're fighting. He's hitting her, telling her to shut up. She's accusing him of something."

Sag-Dho struck the chime. "Can you tell me the words?"

Qui-Gon shook his head minutely. A feeling of dread filled him. "I don't know if I can do this," he said.

Sag-Dho slipped off the stool and stroked his hand with a suction-tipped finger. "We're almost there," he said soothingly. "What are you feeling?"

"I don't know. I'm scared! I'm scared, Mam! Da! Stop! Stop! Stop!"

"Easy," Sag-Dho said, and pressed a hypo-spray to Qui-Gon's wrist. "Tell me the words, Qui-Gon."

Qui-Gon felt himself split in two as the drug took effect. It was as if he were outside his body, looking into his brain as one might watch a holofilm. The terrible emotions felt blunted, distant. He squeezed his eyes shut and gasped in relief.

"Quickly, Qui-Gon. The drug wears off in seconds."

"She says, 'You touch him again and I'll kill you.' He's hitting her ..." Qui-Gon's voice deepened. " 'I'll do as I please, you cunt. The boy's nothing but a drain on me, I might as well get a little amusement out of him.' " Qui-Gon turned his head, as if seeing something through his closed eyelids. "She's screaming, 'I'll call the Patrol! Get away from him!'"

At the pause, Sag-Dho urged, "Go on, Qui-Gon. What's happening now?"

"He's hitting her again. Blood is flying from her mouth. He won't stop. He just keeps hitting her and hitting her. She ... she's stopped moving. He's standing over her, kicking her ... No, Da! Stop! Mam! Mam! ..."

"What are you feeling?"

"They're fighting about me! It's my fault. I want them to stop! Stop! Stop, Da! Don't hurt her! I won't let you hurt her!" Qui-Gon paused, whimpering. "He's coming for me now ... I'm scared ... What's wrong? Mam, help me! Help me!! What's happening to me, Mam? Why won't you help me?"

"What _is_ happening to you, Qui-Gon?"

"Something ... it's building. I've never felt this before. He's coming for me, shouting something ..."

"The words, Qui-Gon."

"'It's your turn now, you worthless little shit.'" Qui-Gon moaned. "Oh, no, no ..."

"What is it? What are you doing?"

Qui-Gon's body went rigid, every vein and tendon standing out in sharp relief. He screamed, and the sound went on and on until Sag-Dho found the chime and rang it.

Qui-Gon slumped, shaking badly and gasping for breath. "Let me up, let me up," he pleaded. Sag-Dho pressed the controls for the chair restraints, and Qui-Gon rolled out of the chair onto the floor. He lifted himself to his hands and knees, preparing to stand, when a sudden wave of nausea hit him. Sag-Dho had barely reached him before he vomited.

When it was over, he sat back on his heels, feeling utterly drained. He took the cloth Sag-Dho was offering and wiped his mouth. He stared at the floor for a long time.

"At least now I know why I kept that memory suppressed all these years," he said hoarsely. He looked up, into Sag-Dho's compassionate face. "I killed him. I used the Force to kill Da."

A little while later, Sag-Dho and Qui-Gon walked silently in the Bloom Garden. Qui-Gon had purged the drugs from his system. He had not yet shared the details of his memory with the healer, but he was gathering his courage to do so. As they came to a bench beneath a bulb-cluster tree, Qui-Gon sat. Sag-Dho folded himself down beside the bench, his head almost even with Qui-Gon's though he sat on the ground.

"The adult, rational part of my mind realizes it was self defense," Qui-Gon began thoughtfully. "Yet I cannot help but feel tremendous guilt."

"That is natural. You loved him."

Qui-Gon gave him a sharp look. "How can you say that?"

Sag-Dho gestures with one spindly arm. "To a young child, with no outside reference to draw on, his own experience defines what is normal. To you, it was normal to be neglected and abused. You had no notion that this was somehow wrong."

Qui-Gon shook his head. "Still ..."

Sag-Dho waited, but Qui-Gon said nothing more. "A human infant will form an emotional attachment to its caregivers, no matter how cruel," the healer said. "This is a biological imperative programmed into the genes of your species. The one who gives a young child food, keeps him clean, provides comfort -- however sporadic -- receives his affection. Your dependence ensures it. Whatever else he did, this man must have fed you, perhaps bathed you, played with you, even cuddled you at times. Not all the memories were bad, eh?"

"No, not all," Qui-Gon whispered.

"You called him 'Da.' That speaks to your feelings for him."

"Yet I killed him."

"Are you ready to tell me the details?"

"I think so."

Sag-Dho lay back on the grass and spread his limbs. "Come lie down with me, and stare at the blue sky, and tell me what you saw."

Qui-Gon rose and did as he was bid. He closed his eyes, letting the fragrance of the blossoms fill him with peace. He reached to the Force for serenity and found it, allowing his anguish to dissolve away. His voice was calm, steady. "I wanted to push him, or run, but I could not yet stand unaided. I had to cling to the table leg. I reached out one hand to bat him away, and he struck me. I fell down. I was screaming. He picked me up by the shoulders, started to shake me. All the while I just wanted him to stop. I wanted to push him away. Something -- the Force, I realize now -- was suddenly in my grasp, and I used it instinctively to shove him. He lurched backwards through the air, dropping me as he came up off the floor. He crashed against the cabinets. I heard something snap. Then he fell in a heap, right on top of me. He was dead. I felt him die; felt it in the Force, though I didn't know what it was. And I was stuck there, under this dead man, unable to move, until my mother woke some hours later."

"Did she realize it was you who had killed him?"

"She must have done, either then or soon after. Once my abilities manifested, I would have shown other signs. It must have been only a few days before she secured transport to Coruscant and brought me to the Temple."

"And what conclusions do you draw from this regarding your own behavior?"

Qui-Gon was silent for a long time. "I suppose I have always believed secretly that I would destroy the ones I loved."

"That is what I see, too."

"And now, I think it has turned out to be so."

"Do you truly believe that?"

Qui-Gon sighed. "Perhaps. Perhaps not."

"Don't lose heart. We have much work to do."

"But not today?"

"No." Sag-Dho turned his head to look at Qui-Gon and smiled. "I have had all the revelation I can take for one day."

Qui-Gon chuckled. "Yes." He reached out a hand and touched Sag-Dho's upper arm. "Thank you."

"It is your courage that has brought you to this point, Qui-Gon. Thank yourself."

"If it had been just myself I had to worry about, I would have given up long ago."

"Ah, Obi-Wan. He is ever in your thoughts."

"Do you think we'll ever ... ?"

Sag-Dho rolled up into a sitting position and began dusting himself off. "Once you can stop asking that question, I will consider you fully recovered."

Qui-Gon rose to his feet, giving Sag-Dho a hand the rest of the way up. "If you're waiting for me to purge myself of the need for his approval, then we shall both grow old on Dantooine."

"Perhaps it will not come to that," Sag-Dho said, smiling. "I can think of better things to do with my waning years than watching you pining after that youngling."

"Then we'd best work a miracle, Master Sag-Dho."

"Master Qui-Gon, I believe we already have."

AGE 23:

Obi-Wan sat in his pod in the Senate rotunda. Outwardly he presented the picture of perfect Jedi serenity, listening as the delegates debated endlessly. Inwardly he was seething. Everyone knew all the real decision-making took place in the committees. Why the Jedi would waste their resources by sending a liaison to observe the proceedings ...

But then, they usually didn't bother to send a Jedi, he thought, feeling even more frustrated. No, usually the position of Jedi Liaison for Senate Affairs went to a failed initiate with a bent toward politics and diplomacy. It was only because he had refused to use the Force except in the most rudimentary ways that he'd been stuck here, one step from expulsion. Yoda had come up with this idea -- a last-ditch effort to salvage his career as a Jedi. Obi-Wan was simply in a holding pattern now, waiting for a miracle, he supposed. He still worked out every day with the katas and forms, but be had given up sparring. He was not, however, willing to give up his dream; not while there was breath in him. But it was hard. He couldn't see his path.

He'd lost hope that Qui-Gon would ever return. He'd heard not so much as a word from the man, not on his birthdays, not on the anniversary of their bonding. And here it was, coming up on year three of the lifebond, and he was further away from his Trials than he'd been at his Coming of Age party.

He twiddled the red band that bound the end of his braid. Over the past year and more it had come to symbolize not his love and devotion to his former Master, but a life sentence of torment. Still, he would not take it off. What would be the point? He was bound to Qui-Gon for life, and beyond. Perhaps if he could finally resign himself to that fact, he could regain a semblance of control over his emotions.

Master Yoda counseled forgiveness. But how could he forgive when Qui-Gon had never even bothered to apologize?

He had tried, he really had. And as his new Master, Yoda had helped, but it had not been enough. With the lifebond in place, they had not been able to establish even the most rudimentary of training bonds. His center eluded him. Meditation was a joke, a waste of time. And since that disastrous day in the Council chamber when he'd humiliated himself in front of Mace Windu, he had been hesitant to access the Force. Afraid of the pain, afraid of failure. Afraid, most of all, of himself, of what he was becoming.

The sound of a familiar name brought his mind back to the Senate proceedings. The Chancellor was introducing a new representative from Fharrha. Obi-Wan squinted. Yes, it _was_ Sedjik! It seemed a lifetime ago that he'd been on Fharrha, infiltrating the terrorist Jhuan organization. Sedjik had been the planet's ambassador then. Now here he was, on Coruscant, a senator for the whole system.

Obi-Wan's pulse raced. Sedjik had also been his first lover, nearly eight years ago now, but he still remembered. So did Sedjik, as he'd made plain the last time Obi-Wan had been on Fharrha. Even then, Sedjik had been trying to warn him about Qui-Gon, about his coldness, his rejection. Obi-Wan should have listened. Now it was too late.

Obi-Wan didn't know if he could face his old friend again after all that had happened. How could he tell him of the bond he now shared with his old Master? Even Obi-Wan's closest friends, Bant and Rissa and Garen, seemed uncomfortable around him now, with his volatile temper and aura of desperation. How could Sedjik possibly understand?

No, Obi-Wan would not seek Sedjik out. Better never to see him again than to see pity in his eyes.

Qui-Gon ran his fingers through his loose hair and grimaced. This latest assignment from Sag-Dho was harder than any that had gone before.

_It's just a letter,_ he told himself. _Just a few words. All they have to do is somehow convey my complete and humble repentance, repair a severely damaged relationship, and convince the man I nearly destroyed  not only to speak with me but also to eventually accept me back into his life as his lifelong companion and lover...._

Sag-Dho's voice floated from the next room. "One cannot make a long journey unless one takes the first step."

"Platitudes," Qui-Gon muttered. "Fine. The first step. I'm a negotiator. I can do this."

_My Dear Obi-Wan,_ he wrote.

He read it, reached out and deleted the word "my," then sat back and stared at the commpad for a long, long time.

A knock on his door brought Obi-Wan out of a light doze. He'd been trying to meditate, with only partial success, it seemed. He glanced at the sky through the tiny window of his Senate-sponsored apartment; it was dark, or as dark as Coruscant ever got. His internal time sense told him it was near midnight. He wondered who might be wanting him at this late hour.

He peered at the security holo and froze. Sedjik. Well, there was nothing for it but to let the man in. He released the locks and the door slid open.

"Sedjik," he said, smiling wanly. "I'd heard you were here. Congratulations."

"Obi-Wan!" Sedjik beamed, holding his arms open, and Obi-Wan slid tentatively into their embrace. Sedjik squeezed him tightly. "I have missed you, friend!"

Obi-Wan squeezed back, fighting a tightness in his chest. Had it been so long since anyone had touched him, that he could be so affected by a simple hug? "I've missed you, too," he admitted.

Sedjik released him and stepped back. He gestured slightly with his chin towards Obi-Wan's apartment, and Obi-Wan realized he was waiting for an invitation to enter.

"Where are my manners?" he said with a grin. "Come in."

He opened the door wide and Sedjik brushed past him, trailing a hooded cape of white and gold. Obi-Wan reflected that it suited his coloring -- the reddest of red hair, the bluest of blue eyes, and pale, pale skin covered with freckles. The new senator moved with grace, like the athlete he was, exuding power and command. He was a far cry from the boy who'd shown fifteen-year-old Obi-Wan around Fharrha's capital all those years ago.

"What brings you here?" Obi-Wan asked, as Sedjik wandered about the room, examining the sparse furnishings and almost barren walls. "Can I get you something to drink?"

Sedjik sat and looked up at him, a smile playing on his lips. "I don't suppose you have any Fharrhan Gold Ale?"

Obi-Wan chuckled. "I would have bought some if I'd known you were coming. Actually, it's rather disingenuous of me to offer you anything, as I've only mineral water and cantabus juice."

Sedjik made a face. "Water, then. I don't know how anyone can drink cantabus."

"It's good for you," Obi-Wan chided as he slid into the tiny kitchen alcove.

"It's as nasty as a Hutt's slime," Sedjik shot back. "And I don't care what my mum used to say, it doesn't really extend your life, it just makes you so miserable it _seems_ like you live forever."

Obi-Wan laughed as he handed Sedjik a cup. The senator stood, raised his other hand to his breast in salute, and said, "To old friends."

Obi-Wan mirrored his gesture. "To old friends."

They drank. Sedjik watched him from beneath gold lashes, his eyes glittering darkly. He took his seat again, and Obi-Wan sat across from him. "How's your Master?" Sedjik asked casually.

Obi-Wan steeled himself against a flare of bitterness. "If you mean Qui-Gon, he's no longer my Master."

"Good riddance," Sedjik said flatly. "It was obvious he cared nothing for you. You deserve better."

Obi-Wan hesitated. He had no desire to explain the whole sordid chain of events to Sedjik. Nor did he relish his friend's reaction when he learned the truth. "He's on extended leave," he said carefully. "I haven't seen him in quite a while. Master Yoda is in charge of my training right now."

"Right now?" Sedjik grimaces. "Does that mean Qui-Gon gets you back at some point?"

"I ..." Obi-Wan had no idea how to explain, or even if he should. After all, it was no-one's business but his own. Anger and despair churned at him, twisting his stomach into a knot.

"I've upset you," Sedjik said. He put down his glass and rose. "I'll go."

Obi-Wan rose as well. He caught Sedjik's shoulder. The gold thread in the cape's brocade scratched lightly at his palm. A scent like lavender came and went furtively. "Wait," he said.

Sedjik turned and looked at him expectantly.

"You ..." Obi-Wan floundered. Did he really want Sedjik to stay? Wouldn't it be better to let him go? Yet part of him could not stand the thought of one more evening alone, isolated in this city of a trillion souls. He took a deep breath. "You never told me the reason for your visit."

"Ah." Sedjik grinned, and laid his hand atop Obi-Wan's. "I was remembering the first day we spent together, and I was hoping I could get you to return the favor."

For one breathless moment, Obi-Wan thought of the shower they'd shared, hot water running over their youthful bodies as Sedjik had taken him, pleasured him, for the first time in his young life. He waited for his body to respond to the thought, but nothing happened, not even a tingle in his balls. He'd not had the urge to so much as masturbate since he'd drawn up his heaviest shields against his Master and the wretched lifebond. He closed his eyes, fighting back another surge of resentment that even that small comfort had been taken from him.

Sedjik chuckled, obviously misinterpreting Obi-Wan's reaction. "Not _that_ favor ... though I must admit I'd not say no if you offered." Obi-Wan opened his eyes and stared at him. "I was referring to the tour, my friend." Sedjik gestured at the window. "I showed you the capital city of my world, as you'll recall. Now I was wondering if you'd ... show me yours."

The sly innuendo of that last phrase was not lost on Obi-Wan, and he felt his cheeks start to burn. He was at a complete loss for words. He didn't know whether to throw Sedjik out or to ... but no, that was not an option. Not any more.

Sedjik stared, his gaze fluttering from Obi-Wan's eyes to his braid and back. "When I last saw you ..." He frowned. "You still wear the red band." He reached out as if to touch it.

Obi-Wan flinched away, then covered by walking over to the sofa, feigning nonchalance. "What do you know of it?"

"The Jedi who replaced you -- the younger one wore a blue band. You know me; insatiably curious. I asked what it meant. He kindly explained all."

"Ah."

"You told me long ago ... you were promised to someone, you said. Is that still true?"

"Not exactly." Obi-Wan picked up the cups and took them to the kitchen area.

"Are you going to enlighten me?" Sedjik said, following him.

Exasperating man. Obi-Wan fought back a surge of anger. Why hadn't he let Sedjik walk out the door when he'd had the chance?

"Because," Sedjik said conversationally, coming up to stand close behind Obi-Wan and rest a hand on his shoulder, "unless there's some third party waiting to step in, I have half a mind to take up where we left off ..."

"That's ..." Obi-Wan croaked. He cleared his throat. "That's not going to happen."

Sedjik was silent for a long moment. Obi-Wan stared at the wall, keeping his features neutral. He didn't owe Sedjik any sort of explanation, after all.

"I'm sorry I've troubled you," Sedjik said at last. He bowed, the picture of formality. "You know where to find me should you wish to renew our acquaintance at a more convenient time." He whirled, and with a flash of white fabric he swept out into the corridor.

Obi-Wan turned and stood staring at the closed door. The apartment felt a thousand times emptier than it had before Sedjik entered.

"Some diplomat you are, Kenobi," he said bitterly.

Qui-Gon lay on his bunk in the tiny crew cabin of a luxury starship bound for Coruscant. At last he was going home, going back to face the results of all his reckless deeds.

He pulled a flatpic of Obi-Wan out of his pack and stared at it. The young man wore that fierce look of concentration reserved for enemies and people wielding cameras, brow slightly furrowed, chin firm and dimpled, eyes unblinkingly alert. That look had intimidated more than one armed opponent into standing down. Qui-Gon wondered if he'd find it aimed his direction soon.

In all the months he'd been gone, he'd hardly dared to think about his homecoming. Now, looking at this picture, he felt utterly lost. Negotiating a cease-fire in a three-way, tenth-generation planetary civil war would be easier than regaining the goodwill of the one he'd wounded so grievously. Sag-Dho had shared a proverb with him, thinking to help, but it had only fed his melancholy:

_Two brothers often had sharp words for each other. Their father fashioned for each a board painted with the likeness of the other. Each time one spoke in anger, he was to drive a nail into the face on the board. The symbolism did not escape the brothers, and very soon the number of nails dwindled, until they had passed several weeks without an altercation. Then the father asked them to remove the nails, one for each day they lived at peace with each other. After many days, all the nails were gone, but the holes remained. The father asked the boys to look at the pictures they had made -- scarred forever with the wounds from their anger. "An angry word or deed is like a nail," he told them. "Though it be forgiven, its traces will always remain. You can repair this wood, fill it, sand it, paint it over, but it will never be what it once was."_

"That is not an encouraging story," Qui-Gon had complained.

"You must be ready," Sag-Dho had replied. "You drove your nails not into mere wood, but into his very soul. You have not yet begun to remove them by gaining his forgiveness. That will be difficult enough. But even when you are done, the holes will remain. He may never again be truly whole. You must accept this, accept your part in it, if you are to have any hope of helping him learn to trust again."

Fighting back a sigh, Qui-Gon closed his eyes and released a pang of terrible grief and regret to the Force before willing himself to sleep.

Sedjik's aide looked at him curiously. "It's well after the usual hour for visitors, Liaison Kenobi."

Obi-Wan nodded. "I do apologize, Deputy Assistant Menlo. However, I would be grateful if you would at least tell him I am here." All signs of his earlier agitation were gone, replaced with the mantle of calm he'd had drilled into him over countless missions -- although no diplomatic overture he'd made had ever carried such personal stakes.

Menlo pushed a button on his commpanel. "Sir, a Jedi Padawan Kenobi is asking to speak with you."

There was a slight hesitation. "Send him in."

Obi-Wan could not tell from the tone if Sedjik felt hostile or welcoming. Perhaps he was simply apathetic. After all, he probably had dozens of more important matters to worry about.

"Obi-Wan," Sedjik said, as the door closed softly. He gestured to a chair, not looking up from his desk console. "Be with you momentarily." He continued to tap at his keyboard.

"If I've come at a bad time ..." Obi-Wan said, hovering awkwardly near the door.

"Nonsense," Sedjik said, and looked up with the flash of a harried smile. "There's always time for you. Just let me finish filling out these detestable forms for the bureaucrats."

Sedjik went back to his work, and Obi-Wan took the opportunity to look around. One could always deduce a great deal about a person by examining the objects he chose to keep in his private office. Fharrhan textile art of many colors and weaves hung on the neutral-colored walls. A holo of a waterfall complete with soothing white noise sat atop a stand in one corner. Above it hung a cage with several tiny flitterbirds jumping and chattering pleasantly. A realistic window-like holo -- almost a necessity in a room so deep within the bowels of the administrative edifice -- took up the better part of one wall. The view simulated a street scene in the main plaza of Tafharrha. Obi-Wan remembered sharing sweetcubes with Sedjik in that very square as an adolescent. Against the opposite wall stood a wide cabinet full of curios and pictures -- a trophy for the Sector 745 Shockball Championship of several years past, a wooden tool of some sort, perhaps from a loom, a flatpic of Sedjik's father in the embrace of another man at an outdoor ceremony, another of what must be Sedjik's family when he was a child. Obi-Wan put out a finger and touched the transparisteel door of the cabinet, wondering how old Sedjik had been at the time.

"That was the last time we were together." Sedjik came to stand behind him, an arm's length away. "I was eleven standard. My mother and sisters were all killed the next twelveday in a speeder accident." He shook his head. "After that, it was just 'us men,' as Father used to put it. I vowed then I'd do everything in my power to somehow make up for it, make him proud."

"I'm sure he was," Obi-Wan said quietly.

Sedjik sighed and turned away. "I like to think so. He wasn't very good at expressing his emotions, but ..." He sat and gestured Obi-Wan to another soft chair covered in bright Fharrhan weave. "What was it you wanted to talk about?"

Obi-Wan folded his robe about himself and sat. "I need to apologize. I was rude to you last night --"

Sedjik waved away Obi-Wan's words. "I pushed too hard. It's a flaw of mine. When I want something, I go after it." He stared into the distance. "Though in this case, I had no right --"

"You have every right as a friend to be honest with me. I was not offended."

"No?" Sedjik eyed him curiously. "You seemed so."

"It's nothing to do with you," Obi-Wan said, and looked down at his hands. "My temper has been getting the better of me lately."

"At any rate," Sedjik said, "as I said, I had no right. For not only are _you_ promised to someone ..." he gave Obi-Wan a quick glance to see if he would be contradicted, then shrugged minutely and went on, "... but I am also ... betrothed."

Obi-Wan looked up sharply. "Betrothed?"

"As I said, my rise to Senator is a long story, but part of it has to do with my brokering a permanent cease-fire with the Jhuan."

Obi-Wan sat back, willing himself to relax. "After living among the Jhuan, I wouldn't even have thought coexistence was possible, much less peace."

"It occured to me that their strong loyalties to blood succession might be the key. I approached Sheakh Lhannhim with a proposal. By then he was as tired of the fighting as I. We had both lost so many good people, families torn apart, the rhellin fields all but destroyed. We were ready to make whatever sacrifices were necessary."

As Sedjik talked, it slowly dawned on Obi-Wan what must have happened, although he was relucant to believe it. "His daughter ..." was all he could get out.

Sedjik nodded. "You know how their social dynamics work. My children will one day rule the Jhuan Sheakhdom. That is enough to keep their people from killing my people."

"And your people agreed to this?"

"With certain conditions. She and I will live on Jhuan part of the year and Fharrha the other. Both worlds must agree to written mandates for religious tolerance, that sort of thing. It's still in the committees, but I have every hope it will work."

Obi-Wan shook his head in wonder. "Qui-Gon actually suggested this idea to your father years ago, but he refused to consider it."

Sedjik looked thoughtful. Obi-Wan could feel his sadness like a cloud on his heart. "He knew my ... preferences," he said hesitantly.

"Preferences?"

Sedjik smiled wanly. "Surely you understand? I do not find women in the least desirable. I never have."

"And yet ...?"

"And yet I marry? Yes. Well, my personal happiness is small consideration next to the lives of my people."

"What of her happiness?" Obi-Wan blurted out, then wished he hadn't.

Sedjik straightened in his chair. "If I do my job right, she need never know. I am prepared to honor whatever vows I must make."

Obi-Wan found himself too shocked to speak.

Sedjik went on: "I must not let you think I am so noble. I admit when I came to your apartment last night I was feeling rather sorry for myself. At first I thought only to renew our friendship, but then ..." He looked at Obi-Wan with bright eyes. "This is terrible, but as soon as I saw you I thought, 'I will marry in a few days. But perhaps I can have one last fling before I ...' " He closed his eyes and swallowed harshly.

Obi-Wan found his voice. "One last fling?"

"Please forgive me for thinking of you in such crass terms," Sedjik said wearily. "You deserve better."

"But," Obi-Wan protested weakly, "surely you can come to some sort of arrangement ..." He stopped when he saw the flash of anger in Sedjik's eyes.

"That might be an option for you, my friend, but not for me."

Obi-Wan belatedly remembered the Fharrhan fondness for blood oaths. He should have known better than to question Sedjik's honor.

"Sedj --"

Sedjik waved the apology aside. "Also, if you'll recall, the Jhuan are religious zealots. If I were to be caught in such a compromising position, the peace might come apart at the seams. No, there will be no 'arrangement,' as you so delicately put it."

Obi-Wan swallowed. "I'm sorry," he said faintly. "Truly, I am."

Sedjik's jaw clenched and unclenched. After a moment he rose and began to wander back and forth behind his desk. "Well. As you can see, there was no need for you to apologize. It is I who must beg your forgiveness for my inappropriate suggestions last night."

"Sedjik," Obi-Wan said soberly.

Sedjik stopped his pacing and waited.

Obi-Wan took a deep breath. "You are not the only one ... That is, you have been honest with me. Now it is time I returned the favor." He smiled sadly. "Besides, once you hear my story you may not feel so alone. Misery loves company, I've heard."

Cocking a quizzical red-gold brow, Sedjik came and sat opposite Obi-Wan in one of the plush green chairs before his desk. "Then confess all, my friend."

In fits and starts, Obi-Wan relayed everything that had happened, starting with his coming of age and progressing through the present day. Trying very hard to paint events in the most positive light possible, he had to stop only once, when Sedjik bolted from the chair in a rage at the account of Qui-Gon's virtual rape of his apprentice at their first joining.

"He is lucky he is not on this planet, or I would hunt him down and slit his throat!" Sedjik declared blackly.

"Then you would kill me as well," Obi-Wan said. "Please, sit. This is hard enough without ..."

Sedjik subsided with an apologetic nod, and held his tongue for the rest of the tale, though his eyes threatened murder at every new revelation. When at last he reached the end, Obi-Wan looked up and saw a sick expression on Sedjik's face. He decided he didn't feel too well himself.

The room was silent for many minutes. Obi-Wan rested his elbows on his knees and hung his head, taking deep breaths. Instead of the ever-present anger he'd expected, an almost fathomless sorrow seemed to be trying to suck him down into a black pit.

Hesitantly, Sedjik rose and came to stand behind him. He touched Obi-Wan's shoulder as if expecting to be swatted away. When Obi-Wan did not react, he placed his other hand upon his friend's neck and began to massage the tension away. "What can I do?" he said in a low, soft voice. "How can I help?"

"You helped just by listening," Obi-Wan said, willing himself to relax. "I don't think I've told anyone the whole tale before. Hearing it now ... all at once ..."

"It is overwhelming."

"Yes," Obi-Wan rasped. "Am I ... surely I am worth more ..." He choked on an unexpected sob, trying desperately to bring himself under control but without success.

Sedjik moved around and quickly dropped to his knees, pulling Obi-Wan into an embrace. "You are worth so very much more, my friend," he whispered.

Obi-Wan let go then, crying with the loud, keening sobs of a young child.

When he had stopped shuddering, Obi-Wan gently disentangled himself from Sedjik's embrace and sat back, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. "I guess I needed that," he said shakily.

Sedjik gave him a warm smile. "As I recall, you once did the same for me."

"Yes, well ..." Obi-Wan stood, and Sedjik rose with him. "I'd best go. Thank you."

Sedjik embraced him once more. "Any time. My door is always open to you, my friend."

Obi-Wan walked to his apartments feeling lighter than he had in many months.

The next day Obi-Wan returned to his old rooms at the Temple to take care of a few chores and gather new supplies. He noticed the commpanel's incoming message light winking steadily. _I wonder who's sending me something to this account?_ he thought irritably. _People don't read their notices anymore._ With a sigh he sat down and punched the code to open the files. There was only one message. His eyes skipped past the headers to the first line. The words took his breath away.

FROM: Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn, Forest Retreat Centre, Jedi Temple, Dantooine

Obi-Wan closed his eyes for a moment, steadied his breathing and pulse, quashed the anger and fear that rose almost automatically for him whenever he thought of his old Master. His bondmate. After a long while he opened his eyes and continued to read.

TO: Jedi Padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi, West Tower, Jedi Temple, Coruscant

Dear Obi-Wan,

I have spent the last few months meditating on the question, "What is love?" In some ways I fear I am further away from the truth than when I started, yet I know the time-honored answers by rote: strong affection, admiration, longing to be close, desire for intimacy, a willingness to sacrifice for the good of the beloved. All these and more I have felt for you, and continue to feel. Yet it is the last that has been my undoing. For it has been brought home to me that one cannot love another without first loving one's self, something I have never done and may never be able to do. Feeling unworthy to be loved -- or to love -- I sought to protect you from the intolerable situation of being bound to one as wretched as myself. I say this not to excuse my actions, for nothing can do that. I do not even ask your forgiveness, for I have done nothing to deserve it. I simply wish for you to know that it is I, and I alone, who bear the responsibility for all that has happened. If I could give my life, my soul, my very existence to make it right, I would.

My healing, such as it is, has reached the point of diminishing returns. The Jedi have need of me, and so I return to the Temple in a month's time. I have no right to ask anything of you, not your understanding, not your pardon, not the chance to start again, though I crave these things with every beat of my heart. I will understand if you feel you cannot see me again. Our reconciliation, if there is to be one, is entirely in your hands. I will do whatever you want. I will crawl the length of the Temple on my knees if that is your desire. I will spill my life's blood at your feet. There is nothing you could ask that I would not grant, even if it is only to allow you to spit in my face.

My pride has kept me from speaking my heart, but the simple truth of it is, I belong to you until death, and beyond death. I would spend the remainder of my days proving to you my true repentance and the depth of my devotion. Yours forever,

Qui-Gon

Obi-Wan sat, numb to his toes. He read the letter again. _I should feel something,_ he thought. Suddenly, the anger that seemed to lay just beneath the surface every waking moment swelled and crashed through him like a tidal wave. Did the man think a few pretty words could erase the atrocity of his crimes? Well, Obi-Wan would let him know in no uncertain terms just how far off the mark he was. Obi-Wan' hands were shaking as he dashed off his reply.

Qui-Gon:

I want neither your repentance nor your devotion. I desire nothing from you except that you leave me in peace and do not try to contact me.

Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jedi Liaison for Senate Affairs

_That ought to be clear enough even for him,_ he thought viciously. He put his finger on the "send" button, then hesitated.

"Oh, blast it all!" he said, and shoved the comm off into the floor. It landed with a satisfying crash. He got up and left it there.  

(Continued in next half of Part 6: Hope.)