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(Continued from rb6.html)

Qui-Gon put down his bag and breathed in the air of his quarters. Home.

Yet not home. The air was stale and musty, the larder empty, the beds long cold. The sense of his bondmate's presence was so attenuateed as to be almost undetectable. And yet, the plants had been tended recently. Qui-Gon wondered if Obi-Wan took care of it himself or had someone come in.

Yoda had briefed him during his journey home about Obi-Wan's progress -- or lack thereof. That the young man should have chosen to live elsewhere was understandable, though understanding did not temper the pain.

He went to the commpanel and stopped. The unit lay on the floor. He stooped to right it, shaking his head in puzzlement. He thought about calling up Obi-Wan's listing and hesitated. What would he send? What could he possible say, even now?

He had resigned himself to expect nothing, to want nothing. He had vowed to let Obi-Wan make the next move in their reconciliation, if there was to be one. His letter had said as much, a letter which remained unanswered.

He supposed the silence was an answer in itself.

With a sigh, he hit the restart button and waited for the unit to recycle. He keyed in his code and flagged himself as "in residence" and "available for assignment." If Obi-Wan wanted to find him, he knew where to look.

He unpacked his few possessions, ordered supplies, and went out in search of food and conversation in the refectory. He had been gone more than a year; he had a great deal of gossip to catch up on. He wondered fleetingly how much of the gossip had been about him.

He found himself smiling as he walked sedately along the corridors, nodding to acknowledge each Jedi as he passed. Dantooine had its charms, not the least of which was the richness of the living Force there, but _this_ -- this ancient, stately stack of building steeped in history and tradition -- this was as close to a home as he would ever know. It felt good to be back.

He turned the corner into the main hall. The bell for eleventh hour had just rung, and the area was positively bustling with Jedi on their way to evening meal. Muted conversation, the ring of boots on stone, the whisper of brown robes, all resonated like a song of welcome in his heart.

He realized he had never felt such peace. The arduous process of purging himself of his childhood demons had left him somehow both hollow and whole, empty of desire yet filled with the gift of serenity. He knew now that he had much to offer his bondmate, if only he got the chance.

And if the chance never came ... well, he told himself he could one day find peace even with that, though he fervently hoped he would not have to. Sag-Dho had not manged to cure him of _all_ his desires, it seemed.

A Jedi emerged from a side corridor, moving at a decidedly less sedate pace than was seemly in the main hall. He cut down the passageway against the flow of bodies. Though the hurrying Jedi was heavily shielded, and hidden by a cowl and a downturned face, his agitation was clearly evident to anyone who cared to look. He did not make eye contact or in any way acknowledge the others as he brushed past.

Qui-Gon moved to intercept the offender who had so carelessly disturbed the Temple's atmosphere of serenity. He stepped in front of the man at just the right time to bring him up short. The figure muttered a soft, "Excuse me," and tried to sidle past.

"I will not," Qui-Gon said calmly.

Heads turned, and a few Jedi stopped, waiting to see what would happen.

Startled eyes rose to meet Qui-Gon's gaze, filled with annoyance that melted swiftly to something very much akin to horror. "Qui-Gon," the other whispered.

Qui-Gon felt his heart stop beating for a moment. "Obi-Wan," he said softly.

Obi-Wan closed his eyes. Was he trembling? Qui-Gon reached out, perforce, to slide his finger along the bit of braid exposed to view. The red band was still there. That was a reassuring sign, at least.

Obi-Wan muttered something.

"I beg your pardon," Qui-Gon said absently, unable to release the braid from his fingers.

"I said, I'm not ready," Obi-Wan croaked.

Qui-Gon looked at his face again. The young man _was_ trembling. He looked like a nuna caught in a tuskotter's clutches.

"Please," Obi-Wan whispered.

Qui-Gon released the braid. "Take all the time you need," he said softly.

Obi-Wan nodded, then turned on his heel and fled.

Qui-Gon reversed course and headed back to his room. Suddenly he couldn't imagine trying to eat or carry on a conversation, not with the memory of that stricken, panicked look in his bondmate's eyes.

_What have I done?_ he thought. The enormity of his crimes struck him full force in the gut. He staggered, put a hand out to the wall to steady himself. Suddenly he realized he was sitting on the floor, head between his knees, with no idea how he'd got there. Through the ringing in his ears he heard someone yell for the healers. Then the world faded to black.

Obi-Wan fled the temple and went straight to Sedjik's office, cursing himself for a fool the whole way. By the time he reached the Senate complex, he'd begun to regret his impulsive flight. Hadn't he bothered Sedjik enough? He turned away down a crowded pedestrian bridge, headed for his own apartment.

The Force apparently had other ideas, because out of the swarm of brightly hued garments of every description, a familiar gold-and-white cloak emerged right in front of him, blocking his path. Obi-Wan raised his eyes and nodded at Sedjik, who clasped a strong hand on his shoulder.

"You look as if you need a stiff drink," the Senator said jovially, but his eyes held concern.

"Qui-Gon is back at the Temple," he said without preamble. "I just ran into him, and I ... I handled it badly."

"Black bread and blood custard," Sedjik muttered. "Come on, then. There's a schockingly disreputable cantina on the lower levels that serves Fharrhan Gold, along with a truly decent Kandaylian pie. I've been meaning to go back, but the place is a bit rough. I'll feel better if you go with me."

Obi-Wan snorted. "It is my duty to serve and protect the hard-working servants of the people." He gestured. "Lead on."

A small while later they were seated in a surprisingly clean and private booth, sipping ale and tucking into a pair of hot, foamy slurry-and-cheese pies. "This _is_ good," Obi-Wan said around a half-chewed mouthful.

"I knew you would feel better with some food in your belly. Now, tell me what happened."

Obi-Wan swallowed another gulp of ale. "I already told you everything. I literally ran into him in the hall. I stammered something about not being ready and bolted." He grimaced. "I am a coward."

"If there is a cowardly cell in your body I would be surprised."

Obi-Wan sighed and sat back, rubbing his hand over his face. "I don't know what I'm going to do. I know we have to settle this ... we have no choice. But I can't just forgive and forget. Too much has happened."

Sedjik nodded sagely. "It is much like our situation on Fharrha."

Obi-Wan looked at him quizzically. "How so?"

Sedjik laughed lightly and waved a hand. "You Jedi come in with your talk of treaties, as if the Tey-Fharrha and the Jhuan are bickering children who need only a moment to cool off. We try to tell you it is more complicated than that. There has been blood spilled for six generations! That man across the table from me at the negotiations, his hands broke my father's neck -- before my very eyes! And he will tell you that my father ordered the air strike in which a stray bolt slaughtered a whole family complex of innocents, including his sister and her children. Every delegate has a hundred such tales, a hundred such reasons to hate. And what do you, in your wisdom, tell to us, Jedi?"

Obi-Wan's voice was husky. "The past is fixed. It cannot be changed. You must accept that and move on if you have any hope of a future."

"That is easy, yes?"

"Of course not. I see what you're getting at, Sedjik ..."

"No!" Sedjik slapped the table. "I am not finished. The peace talks, they stall. Or the truce holds for a while, but then someone cannot hold back his thirst for revenge, and the violence begins again, worse than before. The Jedi return, they talk and talk. Perhaps another treaty is signed, perhaps not. In the end, there is only ever one thing that brings about lasting peace. What is it, my friend?"

"Well," Obi-Wan said slowly, "in your case, a joining of the two factions through marriage --"

"Do you think even that will hold war at bay, truly?" Sedjik's voice was full of weariness.

Obi-Wan shook his head. "Probably not. It usually takes some kind of awful tragedy to make people finally see what they are doing to themselves, their children, their future."

"Such as ...?"

Obi-Wan's brow crinkled. "About ten years ago, I got caught up in the civil war on Melida/Daan. It wasn't until the daughter of one of the factions -- a good friend of mine, Cerasi, who was loved by nearly everyone ... she was killed, right in front of us all. It took that before everyone finally saw the horror and futility of what they were doing. They laid down their arms and started working for peace."

"And in your case, what would it take for you to do the same?"

Obi-Wan glared at him, but there was a hint of humor in his eyes. "I preferred it when you just let me cry on your shoulder, you know."

"Answer the question, my friend."

Obi-Wan sighed. "I truly don't know."

"Think," Sedjik prodded. "If you never come to terms with your situation, what is the absolute worst outcome?"

"Maybe I'll kill myself," Obi-Wan muttered. "Or kill him. Same thing."

"I think for a Jedi there are things worse than death, yes?"

Obi-Wan sucked in a startled breath. "I could turn to the Dark Side, you mean. Or he could."

Sedjik looked at him with compassion and placed a hand atop Obi-Wan's arm. "You are wise, my friend. Much wiser than I. Surely it will not take a tragedy of such horrible dimension before you will be able to follow your own advice and put the past behind you?"

Obi-Wan pulled his arm away and swallowed several times, his throat working drily. "I ... I have much to think about."

Sedjik nodded, then grinned. "And I want to help you. But now, I think, it is time for a small distraction, yes? You must come help me pick out my wedding gown. There is time enough to brood later, after the rehearsal tonight. You _will_ come, and stand by me?"

Startled by the swift change of mood, Obi-Wan laughed. "As the Senate wills," he said.

"And I will buy you a gown as well. My sergeant at arms will not be wearing tan and brown. You will make all the flowers wilt."

"Sedjik ..." Obi-Wan warned.

"Something green, I think, for your eyes."

"We'll see," Obi-Wan laughed.

Sedjik called for a dozen bottles of Fharrhan Gold Ale and a taxi.

Qui-Gon awoke on his own bed. He felt a familiar presence and saw Yoda sitting comfortably in meditation on the mat.

"Better, feel you?" Yoda asked.

"Somewhat." He sat up and swung his feet to the floor. "I had thought the worst of those panic attacks were behind me."

"Saw Obi-Wan, you did."

"Yes, Master. He ..." Qui-Gon took a shuddering breath. "He seemed ... damaged, and vulnerable in a way that ... it made me feel sick. It is all my fault. I must fix it, but I don't know what to do."

"Go to him, you must. Gone on long enough this has."

"I cannot." Qui-Gon stood and looked down at the little creature who had guided him so wisely in the past. "He said he was not ready. I promised him I would let him make the first move."

"Make the first move, he always does. Your turn it is. Responsibility is yours. Shirk it you must not." Yoda grunted to his feet. "Excuse I will give you. Deliver to him this datapad, you must."

Qui-Gon's lips compressed. "A courier could do that, Master."

"Demoted to courier, you have been. Now, get going, before demote you to kitchen duty I do." The little Master's voice was full of affection, but for all that, Qui-Gon knew he would get nowhere by arguing.

"Very well," he sighed. "Tell me where he is."

Qui-Gon made his way through the apartment complex provided for senatorial aides and staffers, ignoring the looks generated by the sight of an imposing figure in Jedi robes striding purposefully through the halls with a worried expression on his face. He checked his shields, finding them stronger than ever. Even so close, he doubted Obi-Wan could feel him coming. He stopped before the numbered door and paused.

What was he doing here? Had he not promised to leave the next move  to Obi-Wan? Yoda had ordered him to come, but still ... he did not have a good feeling as he raised his hand to press the caller button.

Almost instantly the door opened and Obi-Wan stood before him, looking splendid in a richly brocaded robe of blue and green shot through with gold. Obi-Wan's eyes widened in surprise for a split second, then narrowed with what could have been anger or suspicion. His face set into the grim, noncommital visage usually reserved for enemies and sparring partners. His voice, when he spoke, was carefully neutral. "Yes?"

The young man's skin was slightly flushed, his russet hair damp, and Qui-Gon could smell the soapy clean scent of him, fresh from a shower, and the more earthy tang of fermented grain. Qui-Gon's mouth watered, and he had to swallow several times before he spoke.

"As I had business in the Senate complex, Master Yoda has asked that I deliver this to you." He held out the datapad. Obi-Wan reached for it, careful not to let their fingers touch.

"Thank you," Obi-Wan said. When Qui-Gon did not immediately turn and leave, Obi-Wan stepped back and started to shut the door.

"We need to talk." Qui-Gon cringed inwardly. That flat, demanding tone was not how he had intended to start their conversation. To be truthful, he had not had any sort of plan in mind. He had assumed the right words would come. Instead, the impulse to throw himself to the ground at Obi-Wan's feet warred with the impulse to lunge forward and claim the young man right then and there. He did neither, but forced himself to remain still and outwardly calm.

Obi-Wan closed his eyes for a moment, inclined his head slightly as if in assent. He opened his eyes again and compressed his lips into a thin line. "Now is not a good time," he said between gritted teeth. "I have to be --"

A voice from further inside interrupted him. "-- Obi-love, it's all right if you Jedi like to deprive yourselves of creature comforts, but I need _two_ towels with all this hair I've been forced to grow -- oh!" The owner of the voice had emerged from a doorway, walking half bent over, scrubbing his shoulder-length, red hair with a white towel. At the sight of Qui-Gon he straightened and let the towel drape about his freckled shoulders. He wore nothing but the towel, and seemed entirely comfortable to be seen that way, even with the door to the hallway standing open. His penetrating blue eyes sparked with annoyance. "Master Jinn," he said, without a hint of warmth. His eyes flitted to Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan still held Qui-Gon's gaze. "He was just going, Sedj."

Qui-Gon fought hard to keep his emotions out of his voice, but did not quite succeed. "Congratulations on your upcoming bonding, Sedjik. I saw the news on the holonet. I hear she is a worthy bride." He stared intently back at Obi-Wan, challenging him. "The happy event is tomorrow, is it not?"

Obi-Wan's eyes hardened even more. "As I said, now is not a good time. I will be busy until after the ceremony."

"You're invited, of course," Sedjik added smoothly, but with a deadly undertone that Qui-Gon did not like.

Qui-Gon felt as if he were watching the scene from very far away. The thought of Obi-Wan spending time alone with Sedjik, who had been Obi-Wan's first lover and clearly was far too close to him even now, filled Qui-Gon with a strange dizziness. All his awareness focused down to the pale sea color of Obi-Wan's eyes, the blended scent of soap and Obi-Wan's skin, the pounding of his own heart, the sweet pain of desire pulsing in his groin like a living thing. He heard himself whisper, almost pleading, "I was hoping ..." He trailed off, not entirely sure what he was hoping at this point, or even if he had any hope left in his heart at all. _While there is life, there is hope._ He'd always believed that. Yet now, hope turned to ashes in the flame of Obi-Wan's furious stare.

"Look, Obi," Sedjik piped up quickly, breaking the spell as Obi-Wan's eyes shifted to take him in. "I have to be fitted for that elaborate torture device disguised as a headdress first thing tomorrow. There's no need for you to accompany me if you don't want."

Obi-Wan turned back to Qui-Gon, his eyes suddenly neutral again. "Breakfast, then?" he clipped out.

"That would be ... satisfactory. Thank you." Qui-Gon bowed his head toward the other young man. "And thank you, Sedjik."

"At the senate cafeteria," Obi-Wan continued resolutely. "First hour."

Qui-Gon started to protest, then thought better of it. Best not to push his luck. He had hoped for a less ... public venue, but at least he had not been turned away altogether. A small part of him rankled at the thought of being the penitent, begging for crumbs of his former Padawan's attention. The greater part of him realized he would have to do that and more if he stood any chance at all of earning his bondmate's forgiveness. "Tomorrow, then," he said solemnly, giving Obi-Wan a deep bow. Before he could straighten again, the door shut in his face.

He released a pulse of resentment to the Force and turned again toward the temple. He felt sick -- physically ill and heartsore both at the idea of Obi-Wan ... no, he would not let his thoughts go there. He desperately needed to meditate and think on his words if he was to have any chance of reaching Obi-Wan when next they met.

"That was cold," Sedjik said carefully. "You let him believe --"

"If he believes it, he is an even bigger fool than I thought." Obi-Wan still stood facing the door, his spine stiff. He deliberately unclenched his hands and let out a deep breath. That the mere sight of Qui-Gon Jinn could stir him at the same instant both to fury and to arousal filled him with despair. Was that his destiny, to have his emotions forever wheeling out of control like a blaster bolt richocheting around a shielded chamber?

Sedjik approached him as one might a dangerous animal and cautiously laid a hand on the brocaded sleeve. "This sort of gameplaying, it isn't worthy of you, Obi."

Obi-Wan jerked his arm away and turned, eyes blazing. Sedjik hadn't helped, had he? He'd also let Qui-Gon assume the worst. Anger flooded his body with adrenaline. "Since when are you the arbiter of good behavior? I have enough eyes judging me already."

Sedjik raised an eyebrow and shrugged. "You're right. It's none of my concern, especially given my present circumstances." He turned toward the bedroom.

Grief stabbed through Obi-Wan. He took a step and laid his hand on Sedjik's shoulder. Sedjik shuddered at the touch. The young senator turned slowly; he dropped the towel over the back of a chair even as Obi-Wan let his fingers trail down Sedjik's bare arm and fall away. "I'm sorry," Obi-Wan said softly. "Please forgive me. You've been a true friend ... the only one I could talk to about everything that's happened." He closed his eyes. "I don't know why you put up with me."

Moving slowly, giving the other man every chance to stop him, Sedjik put his arms about Obi-Wan's neck and drew him close until their foreheads were touching. "Because I love you."

"Don't," Obi-Wan said softly, beginning to shake. "Please, don't love me." But he didn't pull away.

Sedjik tightened his grip, tugging Obi-Wan's clothed body fully against his skin and letting the younger man feel how much he was wanted. "I can't help it."

"You're drunk," Obi-Wan whispered. The touches felt so good, even though his body failed to respond in the expected way. Sedjik felt him trembling and pressed his advantage, laying gentle kisses on Obi-Wan's eyes and tasting the tears that had begun to leak out. "Or maybe I am," Obi-Wan choked. "This is madness. I can't. Oh ..." as Sedjik's mouth found his neck. Then Sedjik's mouth met his -- tongues and lips warm and wet together, bodies undulating gently.

Sedjik released his mouth and whispered, "I know, I know. Just a few kisses, Obi. A few ..." his hands pressed along the fabric of the robe, then up to caress Obi-Wan's cheek "... touches ..." he kissed him again, and again, and once more. "Surely our bondmates won't begrudge us these few memories to carry with us when we're gone."

"I'm not going anywhere," Obi-Wan protested feebly. To his relief, Sedjik had stopped his seduction and merely stood holding him, face buried in his neck, rocking slightly.

"He'll take you away," Sedjik whispered. "I would. I'd get you as far away from here as I could and make love to you until you forgot anyone else ever existed."

Obi-Wan swallowed. "I wish you could," he said hoarsely.

"Mmm. So do I."

Obi-Wan's voice grew bitter. "But duty calls."

Sedjik gripped him tighter. "Men like us should not expect to be happy. We serve a higher purpose. That's what Father always said."

"You're a good man, Sedjik. He'd be proud of you." He felt Sedjik's body stiffen for a moment, then relax against him again. Obi-Wan stroked a hand down the silken curve of his back. "I wish I could love you the way you want," Obi-Wan said. "The way you deserve."

"Your friendship is enough," Sedjik said. "I treasure the time we've had together."

Obi-Wan pulled away, gently disentangling himself. "We're getting maudlin," he said, and grinned weakly. "We'd best finish getting ready."

"Yes," Sedjik sighed and picked up the towel, slung it over his shoulder. "It wouldn't do to be late to my own funeral -- oh, I mean wedding."

Obi-Wan grimaced. "No, that wouldn't do at all."

"Thank you for seeing me," Qui-Gon said.

Obi-Wan glared at him blearily from across the small table in the senate cafeteria. At this early hour very few beings were about, and they had a relatively private corner in which to discuss ... whatever it was Qui-Gon wanted to discuss. Obi-Wan was not about to make it easy for him. For one thing, despite Sedjik's advice, he wasn't sure what, if anything, Qui-Gon could ever do or say to make up for his betrayal and neglect. For another, Obi-Wan had stayed up most of the night imbibing all sorts of intoxicants with Sedjik's friends in some sort of inane "bachelor party" ritual, and his brain was threatening to vibrate right through his ears and out of his skull with the slightest provocation. He still wore the green silks, now decided crumpled and smelling of sweat and Fharrhan Gold. Despite feeling as if he'd been run over by a speeder, his mutinous body insisted on reacting to Qui-Gon's proximity. He clenched his teeth and fought to still his pulse. "Let's dispense with the gratitude and whatever groveling you've got planned. I've got a hangover."

Qui-Gon raised a querulous eyebrow at him. Well, let him wonder. He'd find out soon enough why Obi-Wan didn't simply purge the toxins from his system using the Force.

"To bed a bit late?" Qui-Gon said mildly.

"To bed not at all. The Fharrhans take their partying seriously. So, what is the agenda?"

"Agenda?"

Obi-Wan sighed heavily. "I presume you have it all planned out, how you'll explain, apologize. I'll forgive you. Then we'll fall into each other's arms and rut like silkrats in heat." Qui-Gon looked surprised at the bitterness in Obi-Wan's voice. Well, let the old man get used to that, too.

"Actually," Qui-Gon said, "Master Healer Sag-dho suggests we not touch at all as of yet. He seems to think it will shatter our shielding and might even put us into shock without his help."

"Fine by me."

Qui-Gon leaned forward. "Obi-Wan, I never wished --"

Obi-Wan clutched the bridge of his nose with finger and thumb. He could feel his jaw spasm with the effort of holding his temper. "Please. Spare me."

Qui-Gon sat back again, clearly trying to contain his own anger. "If you won't let me apologize, or explain, or grovel ... what _do_ you want of me?"

Obi-Wan slapped both palms on the table top loud enough to turn heads throughout the cavernous room. "I want my life back!"

Qui-Gon stared at him for a moment. "Setting aside the realm of the impossible --" he began.

"--Just. Shut. UP!" Obi-Wan bellowed. Some small part of him wondered why he was letting himself get so angry, but he could no more control it than he could stop his own pulse.

Qui-Gon did not move. After a moment, Obi-Wan gathered the shreds of his temper together and spoke more calmly. "I'll tell you what I want ... _Master_." He said the title like a curse. "All I've _ever_ wanted -- much more than I wanted to love and be loved without a whole shipload of melodrama and guilt coming along to rip my heart out -- is to be a Jedi Knight. That's it. I wanted it when I was three and I wanted it when I was thirteen and I want it now. And it seems every step of the way you have been there, trying to muck it up for me. Even when you're not here, you're mucking it up for me."

He stared at Qui-Gon, daring him to interrupt, but for once the man remained silent. "If I _didn't_ want it so much," he continued, "I wouldn't be here. I wouldn't be within a billion parsecs of you if I had a choice."

Again he waited for a response. Qui-Gon sat, passive, clearly holding his tongue. With their thick shields it was impossible to tell if he'd wounded Qui-Gon with his words. He found himself wishing perversely that he _could_ hurt the man. In all the months they'd been apart, he'd never truly wished Qui-Gon ill. Now, suddenly, the man was a few feet away from him and he had the urge to leap across the table and ram his fist down his former Master's throat. He had no doubt Qui-Gon would let him; probably wouldn't even put up a fight. The thought only infuriated him more.

He ground his teeth, then went on. "But it looks like I've got no choice. If I want to be a Jedi Knight, you're part of the package. Fine. If I can put up with Yoda's mumbo-jumbo and the Council's sanctimonious lectures and all the pitying looks from the people who used to be my friends, I guess I can put up with your self-justifying, self-righteous martyrdom. I'll bend over and take it from you every day of the week and beg for more if it will get me what I want. Because you know what?"

At this, Obi-Wan pulled his lightsaber from his belt and held it up for Qui-Gon to see. "If I thought for one minute I'd gone through all these years of effort and misery in vain, I'd put this thing in my mouth right now and thumb it on."

Ah, he could see he'd gotten to Qui-Gon with that. The Master's lips opened and closed for a moment, like a fish drowning in air. At last a single word broke from his throat, hoarse and full of pain: "Padawan."

The word seemed to shred the last fibers of Obi-Wan's frayed control. With all his might, he flung his lightsaber hilt against the wall. It made a satisfying _crack_ as the casing broke open and the components spilled to the floor. "I am _not_ your Padawan!" he shouted. Heads turned again, and Obi-Wan flashed them all a look full of such antagonism that they all quickly looked away.

With grim satisfaction, Obi-Wan saw an answering fury in Qui-Gon's eyes. "You made me a promise," Qui-Gon said. "In the Council antechamber, the morning after we made love. Have you forgotten? You said you'd always be my Padawan."

"Yes, well, if you'll recall you also promised me I'd be a Jedi Knight." Obi-Wan shoved back from the table and stooped to pick up the pieces of his lightsaber. He straightened to his full height. "I guess we're both liars."

Qui-Gon stood as well. "Obi-Wan," he said, and reached out as if to touch him. Obi-Wan jerked angrily away from the questing hand. His momentum carried him backward into the table behind him. The whole thing started to tumble, taking the half-empty glasses and abandoned dishes with it. Instinctively he reached out to catch them with the Force.

The pain from the Force-inhibitor forced him to his knees, taking his breath and his vision with it. He clutched at his chest, watching the wreckage of the table settle as if in slow motion, his head filled with a strange ringing sound.

Then time sped up again, and the full impact of what he'd done hit him. Agony, both physical and mental, tore through him, and he let loose a stream of expletives. He curled into a ball, the curses growing softer as the pain took his breath away. He realized he was sobbing, which only added to his fury. Qui-Gon stood over him, not daring to touch him.

A green-skinned Twi'lek male came scurrying over to them and stood looking up at Qui-Gon, lekku twitching in agitation. "Sir Jedi," he said firmly, "I regret that I must ask you and your friend to leave."

Qui-Gon bowed. "I apologize for the disturbance," he said. He stepped back and gave Obi-Wan room to rise unassisted.

In the aftermath of the pain, Obi-Wan was numb. Even the anger had fled, replaced by despair. He didn't protest as Qui-Gon said, "Come," and turned to walk away, expecting him to follow. He almost felt like laughing as he clutched the lightsaber casing in his hand and took his customary place to the left and two steps behind. What did it matter any more? What did any of it matter?

By the time their public transport had reached the Temple, Obi-Wan had regained full control of his limbs and his temper. Beyond a terse, "We're going to the healers," Qui-Gon had said nothing, and Obi-Wan was grateful for the silence. All thoughts of the future filled him with trepidation, so he let himself sink fully into the Moment, and managed to achieve, if not serenity, at least a fragile calm.

They debarked and strode into the Temple, making for the Masters' wing. Obi-Wan followed without question, apathy and the habit of many years letting him remain free of curiosity. They eventually made their way to a door. Qui-Gon pressed his palm to the chime. After a moment the pale, lanky form of Sag-Dho appeared, looking a bit crusty around the edges of his enormous yellow eyes.

"I am sorry to bother you," Qui-Gon said with some agitation, "but my Padawan has just had some sort of fit, and I hoped you could examine him, determine the cause."

Obi-Wan clenched his jaw briefly, waiting for anger that did not come. Qui-Gon's agitation seemed to leach some of his own anxiety away. "It was not a fit," he muttered.

Qui-Gon turned to him. "What do you call that? You --"

"Please," Sag-Dho said. "Won't you come in?"

Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan glared at each other briefly before stepping inside. Sag-Dho led them to sit opposite each other on large, pod-filled sacs scattered about the floor.

"Obi-Wan, tell me what happened."

"First," Obi-Wan said calmly, staring Qui-Gon, "I am not your Padawan. Second, it was not a fit. It was this." He jerked his tunics open, baring his chest.

Qui-Gon stared at the small metal nub attached to the skin above Obi-Wan's sternum. "What in Sith-hell is that?" he said darkly.

Sag-Dho interrupted with an impatient gesture. "Qui-Gon, you must rein in your emotional responses or you will undo all your good work. Obi-Wan, we really should get your Master here before we go any further."

Obi-Wan nodded curtly and pulled out his commlink. He outlined the situation, and Yoda's voice grated, "Coming, I am." Obi-Wan stowed the commlink back on his belt and straightened his tunics to cover the implant.

Qui-Gon was still staring at him, looking lost. "What have they done to you?" he asked softly.

Obi-Wan did not bother to answer. He rose and went to a table by the window. He dumped the pieces of his lightsaber upon it. There was no way he could reassemble the delicate mechanism and calibrate the crystal without the use of the Force. He settled for sealing the loose parts inside the casing and hanging the inert weapon on his belt.

It was, he thought, an apt metaphor for his situation. On the outside he appeared to be functional, even powerful. But on the inside he was shattered and useless.

Qui-Gon was using the time to meditate. Obi-Wan felt an irrational surge of anger at that. After all he'd done, how could the man regain his center so easily when Obi-Wan had sought serenity without success for months? He paced, ignoring the pointed looks directed at him by Sag-Dho.

Yoda arrived and settled himself with much muttering and grunting onto one of the podsacs. Obi-Wan finally stilled himself and sat as well. They all looked to Yoda expectantly.

"Obi-Wan," Yoda said at last. He tossed his gimer stick down with a clatter. "Levitate that to me, you will."

Obi-Wan looked at it, lying on the floor next to his Master's knobby green feet. He thought of the last time he'd used the Force, not an hour before, and fear made his stomach churn. "I can't," he croaked.

"Cannot? Or will not?" Yoda asked.

Obi-Wan shrugged, fighting to keep his hands from trembling. "I am not in the right state of mind," he bit out.

Qui-Gon shifted. "Will someone explain to me why my apprentice cannot levitate a stick?"

"Your apprentice, he is not," Yoda said sternly.

Qui-Gon closed his eyes as if searching for patience. Obi-Wan could almost _see_ him release his anger to the Force. He wanted suddenly to strangle the man.

"My ... former ... apprentice then. What is that device?"

"What do you care?" Obi-Wan asked loudly, and found himself on his feet, looming over his former Master. "Who asked you to intervene?" He knew he should stop, sit down, be quiet, but he was almost foaming at the mouth, he was so angry. "Why can't you leave me alone? Don't you think you've hurt me enough already? You stay away from me!" He was screaming by that point, almost incoherent, his hands pulling at his own hair. Qui-Gon was looking up at him with that infuriating calm that made him want to kill the man.

Sag-Dho reached over to Obi-Wan with one spindly arm. He didn't notice until it was too late that the long-fingered hand held a hypospray. Obi-Wan felt the prickling of tiny needles, and then his mind seemed to split apart. The anger and fear appeared to him as if they were separated from his consciousness by a fathomless gap. He sat down, hard, and let out a groan.

Yoda's ears drooped. "Much anger in him since the bonding," Yoda said. "Overcome it, I thought he could. Wrong, I was."

Qui-Gon looked stricken. "You mean, he has been like this since I left?"

Yoda did not answer, but handed Qui-Gon a datapad. "Told you, I did. Many incidents there have been. Explain it, I cannot."

Qui-Gon glanced at the progress reports. He had seen them before, but he had thought Yoda's concerns to be exaggerated. Sag-Dho held out a hand, and Qui-Gon passed the datapad to him. The healer began to read, making small noises of distress as he did so.

Obi-Wan looked up from his hands. He had come to a decision. Whatever drug Sag-Dho had given him had allowed him the clarity to view his actions with dispassion. His behavior and lack of control over the past months had been apalling. He took the lightsaber from his belt and extended it to Yoda. "Here, take this. It's broken, and so am I. I will never be a Jedi."

Yoda hesitated, then sighed and reached for the saber. "Sorry I am, that help you I could not."

"No!" Qui-Gon said sharply, and took the saber from Yoda's hand. "I refuse to accept this. There must be something we can do."

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes. "What do you care?" he asked wearily. "Where have you been for the last year and more, that you think you have any right to intervene now? It's too late. I'm past help. Better you just move along, leave me by the wayside. At least then one of us can do the galaxy some good. I ... I'll find something to do with myself." He looked away, feeling empty and not caring one bit.

Sag-Dho was staring at the datapad with a curious wrinkle to his normally placid brow. "Are these dates correct?" He retrieved his own datapad and punched a few keys.

"Found something, have you?" Yoda asked.

"Perhaps. Hold on." He watched as data scrolled past, too fast for a normal being to process. "Yes, look. This incident not so long ago in the creche, that was one hundred sixty-seven standard days ago. Now look here; if we resolve the relative time difference between here and Dantooine ... that was the day we used the Anzipene."

"I don't follow," Qui-Gon said slowly. He had risen to stand behind Yoda and Sag-Dho, peering over them. "Is there a connection?"

Obi-Wan sat on the floor and watched them listlessly. He could feel the drug wearing off. He wished he could have some more of it. He liked not being able to feel his own emotions. He wished they'd give him an implant of _that_.

"And the training incident with the initiate. The twenty-sixth day of summer ... yes, look! We were working hard on releasing your anger to the Force after that revelation about the sexual abuse ... and this one, it parallels our work with the grief counselor ..."

Qui-Gon's face had drained of color. "No," he whispered.

Sag-Dho was still talking. "It must be an undocumented side effect of the lifebond ..."

Yoda placed a hand on Qui-Gon's arm. "Your fault this is not."

"All those times ... I thought I was releasing my anger and sorrow into the Force ..." He buried his face in his hands. A keening noise escaped him.

Obi-Wan looked at him, but he couldn't seem to focus. "What's wrong with _him_?" he asked.

Yoda shuffled over to him. "Releasing his emotions to the Force, Qui-Gon was not. Releasing them to you, he was."

The realization was slow in coming, but when he finally understood, Obi-Wan felt a slow smile spread across his face. "You mean ... it wasn't me? It was him all this time?"

Qui-Gon curled into a fetal position on the floor, gasping brokenly, "No, no ..." Sag-Dho had pulled him into an embrace and was trying to soothe  him with soft imploring phrases.

Obi-Wan threw his head back and laughed mirthlessly. "When I said you were mucking it up for me, I had no idea how right I was!" He wiped tears from his eyes. "It wasn't me," he said again.

When no one answered him, he looked around. Qui-Gon lay in a heap on the floor, catatonic. Sag-Dho and Yoda had their hands upon him, feeding him positive energy that seemed to be sucked down a black hole. Obi-Wan could almost _feel_ the strength flowing into him, making him giddy.

"Stop," he gasped, and grasped Sag-Dho by one of his slender appendages. The healer looked sharply at him. "_I'm_ getting that, not him. Why? And why does it only go one way?"

Sag-Dho sat back and looked at Obi-Wan thoughtfully. "I don't know. His is the stronger connection to the living Force." He shook his head ponderously. "I have witnessed these panic attacks before, but never one so overwhelming. He is shutting down all his systems. He has sunk so deeply into his own pain and self-recrimination ... I think he is trying to join the Force. I cannot get through to him. Perhaps you can, through the bond."

Yoda thrust a gnarled finger at Sag-Dho. "No! Too dangerous, it would be!"

Obi-Wan swayed, then sank to his knees next to Qui-Gon. What did he feel? He no longer knew what was in his own heart. Did he love this man or hate him? Did he want to be a Jedi, or did he simply want to die? He could not tell anymore which thoughts were his and which belonged to this wreck of a man before him. Taking a deep breath, he reached out to grasp Yoda's upraised hand and drew it to his heart. "He's right, Master," he said. "I don't understand it, but I feel this is the right path. We cannot release our emotions to the Force each on our own. Perhaps together ..."

"Good enough, _'perhaps'_ is not!" Yoda insisted.

Sag-Dho closed his eyes, making his face resemble a plaster dish. "Master Yoda is correct, Obi-Wan. If you open your shields, the shock could destroy you both."

Obi-Wan shrugged. "We're neither of us any good to anyone as we are. I am willing to try."

The two Masters stared at him for a heartbeat, then Yoda's ears fell, and he nodded. "A generous soul you have, Padawan."

"I literally have nothing to lose, Master." Obi-Wan smiled, his heart lighter than it had been in more than a year. _It wasn't me_, he thought.

"We will shield you," Sag-Dho said gravely. Yoda nodded, and the two Masters joined hands. Obi-Wan felt himself cut off even from the little ambient Force he'd been feeling at a basic level of consciousness. He reached out to Qui-Gon, then drew his hand back sharply.

"Take this off me," he said, and pulled his tunics apart. Yoda's eyes grew wide. With a trembling hand, Yoda took the device in his fingers and closed his eyes. The hooks sprang free of Obi-Wan's skin, leaving tiny droplets of blood. "Thank you," Obi-Wan said, and on impulse drew his Master into a tight embrace. "I love you," he choked out.

Yoda endured the hug for a moment, then pulled back. "May the Force be with you."

Obi-Wan nodded, then reached out again for Qui-Gon. As he did so, he let the diamond-hard shields he'd raised against the man more than a year ago disintegrate.

A whirlpool of darkness and hatred dragged him into its current. He tightened his grip, resisted the urge to let go of Qui-Gon. Instead, he wrapped his body around the larger man's, laying his cheek alongside the graying beard, seeking the contact of skin to skin. Qui-Gon's body bucked beneath him, trying to throw him off. At least it was progress; the man was no longer catatonic.

"No, no!" Qui-Gon wailed. "I'll hurt you again! It's all my fault! Get away!"

"Drop your shields," Obi-Wan urged between clenched teeth, mentally trying to batter his way in. There was so much pain coming to him through the bond already that he wondered if he could survive full mind-to-mind contact, but he had come this far; he would succeed or die. "Let me in, Qui-Gon."

"No!" Qui-Gon sobbed, tearing at his bondmate with clawed hands. "Let me go! Let me go!"

Obi-Wan grasped Qui-Gon's flailing hands and struggled to pin them. Ordinarily he could not have done it, but Qui-Gon seemed as weak as an initiate. Obi-Wan grasped both Qui-Gon's wrists and shoved them to the floor, ending up straddling his bondmate's chest. Stunning blue eyes stared up at him, filled with madness.

The sexual arousal that had simmered beneath the surface since he'd seen Qui-Gon that morning flared suddenly into a consuming fire. Blood rushed to his groin, and he groaned aloud. He felt lightheaded, nearly faint. An answering pulse of hardness at his backside told him Qui-Gon was under the same compulsion.

Qui-Gon's eyes rolled up in his head. Obi-Wan could feel the other man's shields falter as he began to lose consciousness, seeming to _throw_ himself into the Force in an attempt to escape.

"Oh, no, you don't!" Obi-Wan gritted out. He bent and fastened his mouth onto Qui-Gon's in desperation, thrusting his tongue against clenched teeth in an effort to join them at any level.

The results were more spectacular than he could have hoped for.

With a feral growl, Qui-Gon ripped his hands free and grasped Obi-Wan's head in his huge palms, plundering his mouth so brutally that Obi-Wan saw stars swimming in his peripheral vision.

He felt Yoda and Sag-Dho erecting shields around them, but he could hardly spare a thought to be grateful. Obi-Wan had never thought of passion in the classic sense of "suffering," but he understood now, as his body and soul burned with an excruciating urge to consummate the bond both physically and mentally. He felt very close to the Dark Side, to greed and selfishness, violence, grief, anger, self-pity, and any number of darker emotions. Truly, Sedjik had been right. There were things much worse than death. Obi-Wan battled the dark emotions back and concentrated on his love for Qui-Gon Jinn -- a love which still lay like a spark within him, despite all that had gone before. He coaxed that spark back into life as best he could, and clung to it as his bondmate ravished his mouth.

Qui-Gon had yet to drop his shields. Obi-Wan's instincts told him that _must_ happen before they joined, and the way his bondmate was tearing the clothes from their bodies, it looked like they were going to be coupling right here on the floor any moment ... with Yoda and the healer as reluctant witnesses.

The part of himself that still resented his fate surfaced, and with a deep mental sigh he let it go. With the next breath he filled himself with peace and acceptance. Since his earliest days as an initiate he'd realized the futility of railing against circumstances he could not change. He consigned his frustration at his own shaky self-control into the back of his mind. All that remained was a grim sense of purpose: he _would_ save Qui-Gon from his own madness, he _would_ complete the bond, he _would_ be a Jedi ... or he would die trying.

Obi-Wan's belt was gone, his tunics ripped open, and a mostly-naked Qui-Gon was worrying Obi-Wan's left nipple with far-from-gentle teeth while wrestling with the fastenings of Obi-Wan's trousers. All the while, Qui-Gon's shields remained firm, his eyes shut tight against a steady fall of tears.

The first step was to get past those formidable shields, Obi-Wan thought. Then he had to knock some sense into the man somehow. Suddenly, Obi-Wan realized what he must do.

With a mighty lunge, he rose up on his knees, pushing Qui-Gon backwards. While Qui-Gon was still reeling, Obi-Wan backhanded him across the face as hard as he could. He felt bones in his hand give, but he had no time to worry about that just yet. He jumped to his feet and put some distance between them. Taking on Qui-Gon Jinn in a physical fight was not exactly a sane thing to do, whatever the man's condition.

To his surprise, Qui-Gon lay where he fell. He raised a hand to wipe blood from his mouth. His eyes slowly focused on Obi-Wan, a flash of pure animalistic fury simmering there. After a moment, Qui-Gon visibly mastered himself and lowered his gaze. "I guess I deserved that," he said hoarsely. He leaned back on his elbows, tunics in disarray, and looked up expectantly.

Obi-Wan was astonished to _feel_ the anger pass from Qui-Gon to him through the Force. Even now, knowing that it was not his own emotion, he was hard pressed to contain it. "You deserve a lot more than that," he said, trying not to sneer. "But you can't face what you've got coming. You're too afraid."

"Go ahead," Qui-Gon said wearily. "Do your worst."

"You can't take it."

A spark of anger flared again in Qui-Gon's eyes. "I can take anything you can deal out."

"Drop your shields."

Qui-Gon stared at him. The muscles of his jaw clenched and then relaxed again.

Obi-Wan moved to loom over him, fists at his sides. Force, but this physical separation _hurt_. He sucked in a shaky breath, then stooped and quickly palmed his lightsaber. He stood again and put it to his chin. "Drop your shields or so help me, I'll kill us both. I won't allow us to fall to the Dark. We either leave this room as bondmates, or Sag-Dho carries our bodies out on a cart. It's your choice."

Qui-Gon stared at him a moment, forehead creased in thought. At last he rose slowly to his feet. He came to stand before Obi-Wan. He lifted his hand very carefully to lie atop Obi-Wan's own, gripping the lightsaber with him. Obi-Wan waited, his thumb trembling against the power switch. He had meant what he'd said. Unless they could finish what Qui-Gon had started all those long months ago, they were useless to the Jedi or themselves. One way or another, this farce ended right here, right now.

Qui-Gon seemed to read the thought. A rueful smile crinkled the corners of his eyes. "You'll need to borrow _my_ saber if you want to do us both in," he said softly. "I believe this one is broken."

The sound of that voice, the touch of those hands, even the smell of the man stimulated his already raw nerves. Trembling with an almost overwhelming arousal, Obi-Wan looked down at the floor, where Qui-Gon's saber gleamed alongside his's discarded belt. Despite the heavy emotions of a moment, he had to supress a grin. "Can you get it for me?" he asked shakily.

Without taking his eyes from Obi-Wan, Qui-Gon lifted his hand. The lightsaber sailed into it, landing with a fleshy thunk. With the other hand Qui-Gon tugged Obi-Wan's lightsaber away from his throat. He bent and pressed their foreheads together. "You may use it if you wish, but perhaps we should exhaust all other options first."

This close, Obi-Wan could feel the heat and arousal emanating from the other man. They were both panting, exerting almost super-human will just to keep their hands off each other. "You have to drop your shields," Obi-Wan whispered urgently.

"I will," Qui-Gon answered softly. "But before I do, I want you to know that no matter what happens, I --"

Obi-Wan choked back a sob. "Qui-Gon, you don't have to --"

"Shhhh." Qui-Gon squeezed the hand that he still held. "This bond has been denied its natural fruition for more than a year. Not even Yoda knows what will happen when we let it have its way with us, but I have a feeling it will not ..." He hesitated, his body and voice shaking. "I had hoped that I could woo you, earn your trust, before we came together, but I don't think either of us can wait any longer. And I ... I don't want to hurt you any more, but I fear that is exactly what will happen --"

"You won't hurt me," Obi-Wan whispered urgently. "I am your bondmate. The bond will protect us both."

Qui-Gon drew in a ragged breath. "I was not talking about physical hurts, my Obi-Wan."

That word "my," and the affection behind it, nearly undid him. "Oh, Force ..." he breathed. "I'm not sure how much longer I can bear this."

Qui-Gon dropped the lightsaber and took Obi-Wan's face in his hands. "I love you," he said. "Cling to the light, Obi-Wan."

Obi-Wan nodded. "I will."

Qui-Gon closed his eyes, and with a sound halfway between a groan and a sigh he let his mental shields fall. With a brilliant burst of light and heat, full awareness of the other seared into each of them.

The pain of Qui-Gon's damaged psyche drove Obi-Wan to his knees. He threw aside his weapon and grasped at Qui-Gon for support. With their mouths locked together, they descended into madness. Obi-Wan had hoped they would be able to maintain some semblance of control, but his consciousness could only watch as the animal part of himself took over. Hands tore at clothes, teeth tore at flesh, and each of them fought for the upper hand. There was no tenderness, no give and take, only the purely instinctive need to penetrate and claim.

As the bigger and stronger, Qui-Gon won the battle. He pinned a struggling Obi-Wan prone beneath him, used a knee to spread his thighs, and plunged himself into his bondmate. One of them shouted, or perhaps it was both of them.

Obi-Wan had a hard time separating the dual inputs to his senses, the pain of unlubricated penetration, the pleasure of tightness and heat and friction, the bright flare of the bond as it expanded to engulf them both, melting them and remaking them in a fiery furnace of Force energy. Qui-Gon's soul lay bare to him as never before, and the pain nearly undid him. He saw, in an instant, every motivation, every pang of guilt, every impulse of misguided generosity and love that had led his Master to push him away. Seen and understood from this perspective, Qui-Gon's actions made a kind of twisted sense. With understanding came forgiveness, and Obi-Wan's emotional scars seemed to evaporate, like a wound being flash-healed with bacta. At the same time, he felt his master's torment escalate as Qui-Gon's mind was exposed to Obi-Wan's lingering feelings of betrayal.

Obi-Wan sent a pulse of forgiveness and love through the bond. The joy of Qui-Gon's response threatened to overwhelm him, even as their bodies reached the pinnacle of climax. Obi-Wan was hard put to maintain consciousness as his very soul seemed to pour out of him in long, jerking spasms. Qui-Gon's prolonged groan sounded for all the galaxy like a death cry. They collapsed onto the floor, wrapped around each other, completely spent.

Obi-Wan became aware through the dim haze of exhaustion that Qui-Gon was trembling, fighting not to weep. Their bond was fully formed now, but so bright it hurt to look upon, and Obi-Wan was reduced to mundane words to express himself.

"Qui-Gon. What's wrong?"

Qui-Gon cleared his throat around a painful lump. "I knew I might hurt you, but ..."

"I was trying to do the same to you," Obi-Wan said wryly.

Qui-Gon opened reddened eyes and looked at him. "You truly don't mind?"

Obi-Wan sighed. "Would it matter at this point? If it's all the same to you, I'd like to put this all behind us, start with a clean slate. One cannot change the past, as you so often remind me. And I think now I am ready to face the future." He planted a gentle kiss on Qui-Gon's cheek.

"Your generosity humbles me, Obi-Wan."

"Call me Padawan," Obi-Wan said sleepily, and nuzzled his face against Qui-Gon's chest.

A surge of joy burst like a bubble across the bond, along with a wave of weariness and gratitude. "Thank you, Padawan."

Vaguely, Obi-Wan felt one of the masters lay a blanket atop them, and then they were alone in Sag-Dho's rooms. A moment later, they slept.

END Part 6.