Resistance

by Brenda Antrim

Resistance, a Phantom Menace Fix-it by Brenda Antrim. Rated PG13 for adult themes and violence. No copyright infringement intended. Spoilers abound at the beginning, and it turns A/U relatively early. Unabashedly romantic.

Dedicated to Kevin and Laura : Kevin and I plotted out the genesis of this story back in May, but the complete reconstruction of my life has delayed the story's birth until now. Any similarities to existing stories are the result of too few plots in an imperfect world, not deliberate malice. And to Laura, for sharing the enthusiasm and the excitement (the pirate pwp is coming).

~~~ Death ~~~

Cut off. So close, and too damned far away. Too much of his life spent falling off things, dangling from them, fighting his way out of chasms. Deadly energy fencing him in, holding him back. He bounced lightly on his toes, a fighter's impulse to move countered by certain death if he tried to go through the laser field. He had to get through, had to join the battle, had to --

"NOOOOO!" His heart broke in his scream.

The blurry field of red energy finally dispersed, as did any restraint he might have had. He could feel the life slipping away from his master's body as it lay at the feet of the black-clad demon who had so viciously skewered him. Despair warred with anger warred with purpose, leaving him dizzy for a moment, a moment the demon took full advantage of to knock him off the edge of the walkway. Leaving him dangling, again.

Not this time.

A surge of energy unlike anything he'd ever felt swept through him, and he gathered his body and the Force to spring upward, executing a perfect somersault over the top of the demon. His master's abandoned lightsaber flew to his hand, activating as the hilt settled into his palm. The unfamiliar energy field from the crystals burned even as it warmed him, and he swung with all his strength. The blade slid through bone and muscle as if they were water, neatly severing the demon in twain, and the torso slipped from its seat as the body fell.

He didn't bother to watch. He had more important concerns on his mind.

Running, slipping on blood, he skidded to his Master's side and cradled the heavy head in his lap, bending as close as he could, seeking signs of life in Qui Gon's pale face. Concentrating as strongly as he was, in thought and through the Force, he barely heard his Master's words. He agreed mindlessly, anything he could to bring his Master ease, but surely merely a panacea, his Master would live, his Master would survive.

The light in deep blue eyes faded, a gentle touch to his cheek the only remaining warmth of the fire that had been his master. Deep in his soul, where the constant presence had been felt since he was a youth, there was silence, and a curious echo.

"No." A strained whisper too soft to be heard beyond the two of them. Unheard by either.

Cold settled upon Obi Wan Kenobi's mind, and his mind shut down as his training took over.

Settle the body. Gather their cloaks to him with an abrupt chop of his hand, a sharp yank through the Force. Drape the dark folds precisely, hiding the blood, adding a semblance of serenity to the violence of his Master's death. Smooth the long hair back against his skull with a tenderness that could no longer be felt. Fold the strong hands over one another, startlingly pallid against the deep brown of the robe beneath them, flesh holding the ghost of warmth from life, but no rush of blood in the veins beneath the thin skin. A single brush of lips against the high brow, the closed eyelids, the soft mouth from which no breath escaped.

Boots rushed through the hall behind him, military voices ringing in commanding question, threatening his silence. He ignored them, until the Captain of the Queen's Guard stepped around to the other side of the body. The body. His master, now simply the body. The cold in his mind seeped through Obi Wan's own body, chilling his muscles, causing him to move slowly, uncertain as an old man on a winter morning.

"Jedi Kenobi? Master Jinn?"

Is dead. Had he said it aloud? He didn't know. Gathering the Force from what seemed a very great distance, he used it to raise Qui Gon Jinn's body from its place on the cold steel floor. Wrapping himself and his burden in a cocoon of Force, Obi Wan ignored the watchers and the questioners and returned the shell that had housed his Master to the Palace.

Healers swarmed, around him, around the body. He ignored them. He brushed his fingers once more over the still mouth, lightly ran a fingertip along the edges of the lashes, noted the lack of movement, not even a flutter from his touch. Then he turned, walked from the room, and headed for the communications alcove next to the throne room. Behind him, the healers continued to swarm. The doors closed off the frantic, useless activity, and the wall of ice within him was complete.

There were no guards in the communications room, although he stepped over four dead Nemoidian and the dismembered remnants of several battle droids on the way in. Automatically, he keyed in the band designations for the Jedi High Council Chamber on Coruscant. When the holoimage solidified, he didn't see the small wizened figure he expected. Staring dully at the smooth dark features of Master Windu, he wondered, dimly, where Yoda was. The thought sloughed off as unimportant.

"Padawan Kenobi," Windu greeted him. Oddly enough, the Master wasn't looking past him to see where Master Jinn was, and he didn't ask why the Padawan was reporting instead of the Master.

Or perhaps not so oddly. The passing of one such as his Master would cause a great disturbance in the Force. "Naboo is free," he stated simply. "The Trade Federation droids are disabled. Master Jinn," he swallowed at the name, but forced the words out past the blockage in his throat, "fought the creature he first encountered on Tatooine. It killed him." The frost inside him was now coating his voice. "I killed it. It was Sith."

Mace Windu stared at him. He stared back, eyes unconsciously daring the Master to contradict what he knew to be the truth. For a very long moment, the silence stretched. Then Windu nodded, slowly.

"Remain on Naboo, Padawan Kenobi. Council representatives will be there by tomorrow morning." Windu paused, then continued softly, "Your Master was a great Jedi. His death will be mourned by all. You have done very well. We will be by your side soon."

Obi Wan nodded back, not answering, incapable of forcing any sounds out through a throat that felt as though it was completely iced over. Windu closed the connection, and Obi Wan stared at the empty space where the holoimage had stood.

He thought, perhaps, that he should cry. Meditate. Acknowledge the emotions that should be running through him, and release them into the Force in order to regain his serenity.

Except that there were no emotions. No thoughts to order. No tears.

There was nothing.

Eventually, he rose, stiffly, from his place on the cold floor, and walked to the throne room. The walls were scorched, the room in shambles, but Amidala didn't appear to notice. She was listening intently to a report by Captain Panaka, while holding Anakin's left hand tightly in her right. The boy looked energized.

Abruptly, a memory clarified. Words, only sounds at the time, fought through the crust of ice on his memory and solidified into a pledge. He would train the boy. It was his Master's last request. He would carry it out. Looking at Anakin now, the only thought he could find was a vague resentment that there should be so much life in the small bundle of energy, and none at all left for his Master.

He shook off the thought. It was unimportant. The two were completely separate, and he could not penalize the child for the actions of the Sith. He would do his duty as a Jedi, and Qui Gon Jinn's will. If he had no heart for the task, it was not important. He felt at that moment that he had no heart for anything.

Amidala looked up and saw him, and he recognized the grief in her eyes, a pale reflection of his own. Anakin stilled completely, staring up at him, and eyes too old for the young face widened, then closed in denial. Deny it all you will, Obi Wan thought remotely. The truth remains despite our will.

The Queen silenced her Captain with an upraised hand, and rose to her feet facing him. Her hands folded over her stomach, and Anakin stepped slightly behind her. "Jedi Kenobi," Amidala said formally, but her tone was gentle. "We share your loss."

Impossible. That, too, was unimportant. He bowed his head.

"Naboo owes its freedom to Jedi Master Qui Gon Jinn and to you. How may we repay this debt, at least in what small part such a debt can be redressed?"

His mouth found the words his brain was too numb to form. "Jedi seek no reward. The victory was your own, your Majesty, and that of your people. I ask only that I be allowed to honor the dead in the way of my Order." He waited for her nod before continuing. Her clear dark eyes were shining slightly, and he appreciated the tears, even if he couldn't share them. "Members of the Jedi High Council will be here on the morrow. We would have the use of a private chamber, and a funeral pyre, with your permission."

"Granted," she returned immediately. "Is there nothing else?"

Nothing. There is nothing. He shook his head, silent, the words drying up. She looked, for a brief moment, as if she wanted nothing more than to hug him, but her dignity held, and so did his silence.

Anakin's head swiveled back and forth between them. Finally, he asked hesitantly, "Knight Kenobi?"

Obi Wan looked down at him, wondering why the boy looked so frightened. The thought slipped away to join the other unimportant questions he couldn't think about just yet. Amidala's hand reached out and captured the boy's again, and he heard her whisper, "Later, Ani."

Obi Wan agreed. Later would be better. Now, he had other things to do. He bowed once more, then turned and left the throne room with as little ceremony as he'd entered it. His feet found their way back to the room where he'd left his Master's body, but it was empty. No healers, no med-droids, no activity. No Qui Gon.

Turning on his heel, he nearly stepped on Yoda before he realized the Master was there. Surprise held him immobile, staring down at the little round face staring back up at him. A tendril of Force pushed at his knees, then caught him on the way down, and he found himself sitting at eye level with the small Master.

"Master Yoda? Where have they taken Master Qui Gon?" His voice sounded lost in his own ears.

"Care has been taken of your Master, young Knight." The ancient eyes stared at him, into him, through him. Whatever they saw there made them soften with regret. "Healed, you will be, in time. Time it will take. Rest, now."

Obi Wan wondered for a scant moment if the venerable master had lost his mind. Sleep? There was so much left to be done.

"Will be," Yoda answered his thoughts. Obi Wan was too tired to even be chagrined at how easily his thoughts had been read, or what offense might be taken at their content. "By me. Rest now, you will."

The Force shifted around him, blanketing him, buffering him. Moving him, step at a time, into a room he didn't recognize, onto a bed he'd never seen. It surrounded the sheets of ice within him and completed the numbing they had begun. He slipped into deep dreamless sleep without being aware of losing consciousness.

He did not dream.

The spark was buried deeply, so deeply it was nearly drowned. So deeply it was nearly invisible. Nearly, but not quite extinguished.

Yoda looked at the waxen figure of his one-time Padawan. Bright green eyes dimmed with memory and grief, then cleared as he felt the spark flicker. Contrary to his expectations, it did not blink out.

It strengthened.

The look in the old eyes sharpened.

Sith.

Death.

Betrayal.

Somewhere, there was a Sith lord, paired with the now-dead Sith apprentice. For surely it had to have been an apprentice. Strong, young Kenobi was, but a Padawan still, he had been. He had passed trials the Council could not have predicted, and had the status of Knight bestowed upon him, even if he had not recognized the title Yoda had given him in their conversation. As strong as he had been, and as motivated by the perceived death of his Master, he would not have had the strength to stop a Sith Lord.

Yoda's own task, that would be.

His, and that spark that wavered, but did not die.

Levitating himself, he hovered over the still form housing the tiny spark. Small hands reached out to the cauterized mess that had been Qui Gon's shoulder, rib cage and left lung. Boundaries of flesh thinned and dissolved, as mass was subsumed by the Force. Hands reached into and through the destroyed flesh, bone and respiratory organ. Weaving Force, thought, intent and need within a framework of Light, Yoda opened himself to the strength both within and without.

Mass in the form of energy began to rework reality at the subatomic level. Yoda took of himself and the Force around them to rebuild the framework of the sorely abused body. Muscles bundled, bones knit, fragile interstitial tissue wove. Capillaries led to alveolus led to bronchioles to bronchus until oxygen and blood moved freely through the newly formed lung. A pulse, a jolt, and Qui Gon's heart jerked into motion. The weave intensified, muffling the scream as pain ripped through nerve endings deadened by the approach of death, and the memory of the death itself tore through the Master's traumatized mind.

Through it all, Yoda worked tirelessly. His form began to fade as he poured more and more of himself into Qui Gon.

They needed a way to find the Sith. A way to stop the madness before it engulfed the galaxy. A surgeon's tool to reach into the heart of the Darkness and cut it out.

His padawan, now master, had the heart. The courage. The will. The strength. The purpose.

A tool, he would be.

But in order to be effective, he had to be invisible.

With that thought in mind, as the healing continued, Yoda portioned off a measure of his energy and directed it outward. An image appeared in the minds of even the most Force sensitive beings, surrounding this room. It didn't exist. They would be hidden -- his tool would be hidden -- in the center of the Palace. Then, once healed, he would be deployed.

And the Sith would be destroyed.

The chamber was dark, lit only by the flames from the funeral pyre. Obi Wan stared at the strong profile now becoming engulfed in flames, and felt a thinning in the walls of ice that had surrounded him since he saw the light flee from his Master's eyes. Not a thawing. But a thinning.

An anxious young voice in his ear distracted him. He turned to stare down at Anakin. "I will train you," he reassured the boy. He even managed some warmth in his voice, more of an effort than it should have been. Then his eyes were captured once more by the body on the pyre.

Qui Gon looked to be at peace. That, at least, should be a good thing, he tried to convince himself. One of us should be at peace.

He hadn't been able to meditate since he'd lost his Master. He'd been calm, when he'd faced the Council, when Yoda had given him the right to train Anakin, not that there'd been a doubt of that. He'd given his word to Qui Gon. He would train the boy. The Council's approval was helpful, but essentially unnecessary. Obi Wan spent most of his time in private, training, running his body through the movements of war that had failed him when he had most needed them. The few times he'd had to make public appearances, he'd made them as efficiently and quickly as possible. The others left him alone, on Amidala's orders no doubt, thinking he needed time to grieve.

If only he could.

He couldn't bring himself to ask Yoda or Windu about the one element in all the loss that was beginning to make him doubt his sanity. For he feared if he did ask their advice, tell them that he still heard his Master's thoughts, in his mind, in his heart ... they would find a way to silence that voice.

He didn't want to live in silence.

He didn't think he could.

So he kept his peace, and when his Master cried out to him in pain and loss, he answered the only way he could. With love and reassurance.

He kept his fears to himself.

Obi Wan wondered at the pain. Becoming one with the Force was supposed to be a wondrous experience. How, then, could it cause such anguish? The emotions he was feeling carried his Master's Force-signature; they were real, and they were Qui Gon. But there was no peace. There was no Light. There was only confusion. And pain.

He would have to ask Master Yoda.

Eventually.

When he could stand the silence.

It was going to be a very long time before that question was asked.

His chest was on fire.

The first impression Qui Gon Jinn had upon re-entering life was the discovery that it hurt more than anything he had ever imagined, in a life that had known more than its share of pain.

The second impression was disbelief. He had died. He knew that. Remembered the tears on his Padawan's face as they parted. Remembered darkness obscuring that beautiful face, those glistening eyes, the strong grip on his shoulders and the hard thigh beneath his head dissolving into nothingness.

So why did it hurt so damned much? Becoming one with the Force wasn't supposed to hurt. It was supposed to be the next step in the natural order of things. There was no death; there was only the Force. There was no pain; there was peace. There was no loss; there was progression.

Yoda had lied to him. There was pain, and loss, and death, and no peace to be had.

His eyes opened.

He was on a stasis bed in a small room. A soft warm blanket covered him. A cushion pillowed his head. The ceiling was blank and featureless, much like the rest of the room.

Yoda was hovering over him.

When did Yoda die? Surely he would have noticed that?

"Alive, you are."

Right.

He blinked.

What?

His much-vaunted serenity disappeared completely. He decided, since he was dead anyway, he didn't need to be serene.

"When did you die? And if you didn't die, when did you lose your mind? I'm dead."

Yoda sighed. He hated it when Yoda sighed. With that thought, for no apparent reason, the pain faded appreciably.

"Aren't I?" And if he wasn't dead, what was he? Drugged? Hallucinating? He reached out automatically through the Force to check on his Padawan. Maybe he was alive, but was Obi Wan?

With the force of a brick to the skull, his outreach was stopped cold at the door. He gasped. That hurt, too.

"Contact him, you must not. Appear to grieve, he must. Much has happened. Lie still and listen. Do not move. Think, you must, before a move you make. With body or mind, or Force."

Qui Gon hadn't heard such a stern tone from his former Master since he was small himself. Ignoring for a moment the instincts that were screaming at him to contact his Padawan, he forced himself to stillness. The pain faded again.

"Wounded you were. By Sith. Killed, it was, by your Padawan. Dead, they all believe you to be."

He'd believed it himself. He wasn't quite sure he didn't still believe it. "All? Even Obi Wan?"

Yoda nodded slowly. "Sith Lord is hidden, in plain sight. Must be near, but find him, we cannot. Your mission, that will be."

Qui Gon lay there and absorbed the meanings layered beneath the command. So, he was to become a spy. A ghost, nonexistent, to slip into Darkness and expose it to the Light.

Without his Padawan.

"Obi Wan? He must know." To believe him dead would be no end of torment to his Obi Wan. "You will tell him I live?"

"Yes," Yoda agreed, surprising Qui Gon. "Your contact, he will be. A padawan no longer, he is a full Knight."

A Knight. What a horrific trial his student had had to face to earn his title. For a moment, relief washed over him. A knight, no longer his charge. Now his equal, in the eyes of the Order, in the minds of the Council. Love and hope broke through the swirling mass of emotions he was barely keeping in check. "Will he train the boy?" Anakin could hope for no better teacher, now that he could no longer see to the training himself.

"Yes," Yoda affirmed again. "Travelling, planet to planet, meeting you, information to gather. Conduit, he will become, between us. Training of young Skywalker a good explanation will be."

"There's more to it than that, Master," Qui Gon managed to find strength enough to point out. He was fading quickly. His body still had a great deal of adjustment to do to absorb the massive damage he had suffered and deep healing he'd undergone. But this was important enough that he had to make the effort. "He's the Chosen One, who shall bring balance ..." his voice trailed off as he fell into sleep, enhanced with a healing trance encouraged by Yoda.

"Balance, yes. But to what? Light, with Dark, is balanced. Shifting, the future is."

Patting Qui Gon gently on the hand, careful not to disturb his slumber, Yoda turned and made his way out the door toward the chamber where the false funeral was to be held. He had work to do, if he was going to hold the Force image steady for so many Force sensitives in one place. Everyone had to believe that Qui Gon was actually dead if the subterfuge was to work.

Everyone.

Kenobi, he would tell after the funeral. After the others had tasted the true loss in the young Knight's mind, and believed the death to be real.

The figure on the pyre was as realistic as he could make it. Recent exposure to Qui Gon's injured body on the cellular level made recreation relatively simple. Sustaining the image in the minds of the onlookers was tiring, but Yoda was able to do it effectively. The audience was grieving, not looking too deeply.

Except for one.

There was a Dark mind in the area. His command of the Force was spread too thinly to be able to hone directly in on the source of the evil seeping through the crowd, but it was either in the audience itself or very close by.

And it was concentrated on Obi Wan Kenobi.

This made his task of imprinting the image of Qui Gon's body into the gathered minds easier, since the powerful Dark probing was not directed toward the false corpse. Unfortunately, it also made it impossible to determine from whom the probing came.

So close. It was so close.

Yoda reached deeper within himself for peace, and concentrated on the task at hand. When the funeral was over, Qui Gon would be poised to infiltrate the Sith, and the Dark Lord could be discovered through his efforts. Yoda himself would continue to search, and the truth might be uncovered through his own work. Either way, the Sith Lord would be found, and would be eradicated.

Unfortunately, the concentration of the Dark upon young Kenobi made his original intention to tell the young man of Qui Gon's recovery impossible. If Kenobi knew, as long as the Sith was concentrating on him, then the Sith would know, and Qui Gon would be discovered before he even began.

With regret, Yoda revised his plan. Kenobi would be kept in ignorance of Jinn's fate until such time as the master needed to contact the knight, or the attention of the Sith was redirected. It was the only way the future could be safeguarded. Knowing his former student, and how willful Qui Gon could be, he decided not to tell Qui Gon of his change of plans until the time came for first contact between the two Jedi. Unconsidered action on any participant's part could render the plan useless, and the outcome was too important to allow sentiment to stand in the way of success.

He watched the newly-made Knight reassure his young Padawan, and wondered, not for the first time, if nurturing Skywalker might not be equivalent to nursing a snake at their breast. Only time, and the Force, would tell. Until then, he would do all in his power, with every weapon at his command, to ensure that balancing the Force did not mean eradicating the Light.

~~~ Search ~~~

Qui Gon Jinn made a most effective ghost. His balance was off, at first; his grasp of the Living Force was altered, a strange blending of himself and his Master. Yoda had shared more than his healing when he had brought Jinn back from the brink of death.

It was useful.

He could manipulate the mind of a Toydarian, of all things.

The pilot was one of the irritating, skeptical flying beings who had stymied him on Tatooine, and when Jinn saw him, he felt a brief flare of irritation. Getting out of the Palace had been easy. He'd simply told the guards that they couldn't see him, and they hadn't. Getting off-planet looked to be a challenge. He took a deep breath and glided toward the transport, as quietly as he could.

To his pleasant surprise, the Toydarian looked right at him. Then right through him.

He checked his progress just long enough to take a brief look into the creature's thoughts, a skill vastly enhanced since his de facto joining with Yoda. The pilot literally hadn't seen or heard him. As far as the Toydarian was concerned, Jinn simply didn't exist.

A very handy skill to have.

Over the next few months, he used it often.

The days blurred into weeks, moments of adrenaline-spiked terror balanced by hours of patient tedium. His hard-won Jedi serenity stood him in good stead.

As a trader on Meru, he gained possession of a datachip in a game of dice. The chip led him to Hemad, and a trap.

Three beings, two of them even larger than himself, all with very sharp teeth and workmanlike claws. The first he took down with a side-sweeping kick to the first knee joint. The second required the use of a jagged-edged dagger he'd taken from a drug-dealing Ki'M'sn three planets previously. The third he downed with a chop to the thorax. The two deaths weighed heavily on him, even in self defense.

To fight the Dark, to walk through the darkness, did one have to wear the darkness? If one wore a cloak of darkness long enough, did the stain not seep through to the wearer?

Alone on a freighter to Boukeal, he meditated deeply. Need overcoming training and countermanding command, he reached out to the one point of Light that never varied. The strength of his Padawan, now Knight, steadied and calmed him. Assured him that while war could scar, it would also, eventually, set free the Light trapped within the Darkness. And by so doing, the war would be won.

He whispered thanks and love into Obi Wan's mind, and left as stealthily as he had entered.

~~~

Anakin Skywalker's training had to be, by its nature, unique. Obi Wan had given great thought to the problem of bringing the boy up to par with others his age, and after conferring with Masters Tinn and Yoda, had determined that mission training would be the most practical way to uncover the boy's natural talents and hone them, while teaching him what it was to be Jedi.

It also got him off Coruscant, a definite bonus in his opinion. Every time he turned around at the Temple he'd seen or smelt or heard something that had reminded him of his lost Master. The days were a dizzying mixture of forced composure, caring for Anakin, and flashing back to his past.

The nights were worse. For it was in the night that the voice came.

He hadn't been sleeping much since returning from Naboo. There was so much to do. So many things to take care of : seeing to Anakin, taking over training duties, learning the responsibilities of his new place in the Order.

Clearing out his Master's quarters.

As his Master's final Padawan, it had been his duty and his honor to make final disposition of Qui Gon's few worldly possessions. The lightsaber he kept, gradually tuning the crystals within to his own signature in the Force. The robes were recycled. All but one.

That one, he kept in his room. Hidden in his closet.

It smelt of him, still. Perhaps it was Obi Wan's imagination, filling in the scent, pulling him closer to the shade of his Master. But he kept the robe.

The leather ties Qui Gon had worn in his hair, the sandals, boots, leggings, accouterments ... they were all recycled. The linens returned to the common store, the shelves, tools, and datapads given to the carpenters and the laboratories and the libraries. The furniture was scattered among the others in the Order or discarded as worn.

Qui Gon had not been a hoarder; none of the Jedi were much given to possessions. But there were a few keepsakes. A crystal from a far planet, a delicate metal sculpture, a small woven mat. A few holoimages of old friends, one of Obi Wan himself as a youth, some casual clothes, an iridescent feather sharpened to a point to use as a writing implement, a tiny pot of emerald ink. A rock, rough on one side, polished on the other, a match to a gift given fifteen years before. Obi Wan packed them all with precision and care into a duralloy trunk, and placed it on a shelf beside his own few keepsakes.

He didn't cry.

He didn't grieve.

He endured.

The night after he cleared his Master's quarters, the voice came to him for the second time since Qui Gon's death. He'd fallen into bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering vaguely if he was ever going to sleep again, not particularly caring one way or the other. A whisper, sibilant in the darkness, wound around his brain and sank deeply.

/it will be all right, my Obi Wan. Let it go/

Let him go? Not likely. He hugged the thought deeply within himself. He could not, would not let go. If he did, he would be lost.

/never/

/i am with you/

/you are not alone/

No, not alone. Just insane.

/love you/

Completely insane.

Jorasko, a tiny ball of mud and gas far from the center of the Galaxy. A training camp, for mercenaries, smugglers, slavers. Evil was rife and greed ruled the planet.

It was a gold mine of information.

Qui Gon slipped through alleys, into smoky dens of thieves and liars, plucking the truth from minds too dulled by life, or too blinded by opportunism, to notice his passing. A hint here, a name there, a communiquÈ or credit chip elsewhere. It all added up.

He wasn't sure precisely where it was pointing. But it was going somewhere, and Yoda had to know.

Sending out a questing touch through the Force, he sought his former Padawan. It was time to meet. The last time he'd had contact with Obi Wan, the wall of stoic grief he'd met had nearly overset him. Reaching a little deeper, he'd seen why. The young man had gone through his things that day, no doubt bringing back the memory of nearly losing Qui Gon to the Sith apprentice's blade. He'd sent what reassurance he could, and felt it accepted with an emotion somehow akin to giddiness. Reassured, himself, by the brief contact, he'd withdrawn, cautious of too much use of their link, afraid of bringing them to the attention of the Sith Lord. He'd dropped in a few times since then, but the contact had been fleeting, a mental or emotional caress only before disappearing again.

The touches had been his anchor in the madness of his mission. Obi Wan was busy, productive, almost frenetically active. Anakin was lucky to have such an energetic teacher. He himself was lucky to have had such a devoted student.

Even more deeply felt, he missed Obi Wan with every beat of his heart. Every time he touched the Force, every contact he had to cut short, fanned the need within him. When they finally met again, there would be some reckoning with this need, this desire he felt both within himself and within Obi Wan every time their emotions merged.

Banking the anticipation behind the pragmatic need to report his intelligence to Yoda, Qui Gon sent a single burst of coded transmission from his modified comlink toward Coruscant. Within a few moments, he had his response. Coordinates. A date and time. Anticipation surged, and he fought to control it. There would be opportunity for addressing personal needs, later. First, he had to get off Jorasko.

Obi Wan thought he was hiding his slow descent into madness quite well. Anakin was progressing nicely. Their missions were simple, but the boy was eager to please, intelligent and pleasant of personality. He was developing into an excellent Padawan.

There were times when Obi Wan wished he could find it within himself to care. When he looked inside, the few times he tried to meditate, all he found was ice. With a few traces of madness. What else could it be, to feel the presence of the dead so closely? And not within the Force?

The holoprojector strapped to his belt thrummed, startling him from his thoughts. Unhooking it and balancing it in his palm, he quickly opened the channel. A miniature Yoda stared up at him.

"Alone, you are?"

Always. "Yes, Master Yoda."

"Mission, I have for you. Important, it is. To Rhead you and your Padawan shall go. Diplomacy with the L'Baar Chamber will be the reason given for the mission. A secondary reason there is. To Bay Maoan you shall go, southern continent. At three hundred hours will be a meeting for you. Alone. Guard your thoughts." The long ears tipped forward. "Let not your Padawan know of your second mission, young Kenobi. Let no one else know."

"What am I to do at this meeting, Master?" How entirely odd. Cloak and dagger diplomacy wasn't completely unknown to him, but there was usually a little more of a briefing than 'show up alone at three in the morning'.

"Accept information, you will. Report it, to me, and me only. Careful, you must be!" There was a sound behind him, and Yoda's ears stood out from his head in full alert. "More, I wish I could say. No time. Discretion and silence, you must keep."

The image blanked suddenly, and Obi Wan stared at the inert holoprojector in confusion. What in the Force had that been about? It sounded almost as if Yoda was apologizing to him, for something, but he couldn't for the life of him think for what. As to the discretion, Qui Gon had taught him well. And the silence?

He could only hope.

That night, the voice came again.

It sang to him of promises. It seduced him with its warmth. It beckoned and laughed with him, shivered against him, wrapped around him. Then, as always, it left him behind in the ice.

He wished he could cry.

Wished he could sleep.

Gave up on either, and got up to pack.

Anakin was trying. He was used to being overlooked. Used to being laughed at, and ignored, and used. He'd been born a slave, and given the incredible opportunity to become a Jedi.

If only Master Qui Gon hadn't died.

He liked Master Obi Wan. He was a little intimidated by him. But he did the very best he could, tried not to get in trouble. Tried to make his new master proud of him.

Master Obi Wan didn't notice.

Oh, he said all the things he should say, right when he should say them. But Anakin was very good at reading people, and what he saw when he read his master made him sad. Lonely. So he tried harder.

Master Obi Wan still didn't notice.

Anakin got colder. He still tried as hard as he ever had. But he never felt warm.

Neither did Master Obi Wan.

They roamed from planet to planet. It was exciting. He learned new things. He wanted to share them.

Master Obi Wan didn't notice.

So he learned to keep what he learned to himself. And he got colder.

Rhead was a lovely planet out on the rim, without a single natural resource worth mining, extracting or harvesting. The L'Baar were peaceful, the Chamber was the least rancorous political assembly Kenobi had ever witnessed, and the Living Force was a gentle bath of sensation all around them. It was practically a vacation. He set Anakin to a series of exercises to sense and flow with the energy around them, and tried to meditate.

It mutated into a brooding session without his permission.

Giving it up as a bad deal, he got up and ran through a series of training exercises of his own, kicking and striking, rolling and leaping in a steady dance of Force and power. When he'd sweated out as much of the distraction as he could, he lowered himself to the ground and watched his Padawan.

Anakin was determinedly tracing the net of force around a small bird feeding from a nearby fountain. Calling out an encouraging "Good job, Ani, keep it up," he rolled over on to his back and stared at the sky. It was a beautiful day. Warm, sunny, lazy.

He shivered.

He didn't notice the half-proud, half-wary glance his apprentice sent his way, when the bird suddenly tipped forward into the fountain, and drowned.

He was lost in the clouds, and in the voice whispering once again in his mind.

Qui Gon waited in the darkest recesses of the doorway to the tavern. The nights were warm on this planet, but he pulled his nondescript blue robe around him, disappearing from the view of all who passed. All but one.

Obi Wan looked too pale even for the dim light cast by the streetlight. His face was too slender, angles shadowed starkly in the low light. His eyes were huge, and dark circles smudged the thin skin below them. He looked as if he hadn't slept or eaten properly in months. Qui Gon leaned forward, concerned at the marks of pain on his former student's face. This had been harder on the young man than he had thought it would be.

"Obi Wan," he whispered, enough Force behind the words to draw the man's attention to him without disturbing the few others loitering in the area. Those seeking eyes caught his, but the expected joy was not there. Instead, Qui Gon read disbelief, shock, even something that felt like horror. He stepped forward instinctively, wanting, needing to wipe away those emotions, but to his complete surprise, Obi Wan turned and ran from him.

Qui Gon stood still in shock for a moment before running after Obi Wan. What in all the worlds had gotten into the man? It was as if ... almost as if ... the thought caught him and tripped him up, affecting his balance as it jolted his mind. It was as if he'd honestly thought that Qui Gon was dead.

A deep well of anger washed through him, and he automatically released all he could of it into the Force. The very air around him shuddered with the depth of the emotion, and ahead of him, Obi Wan faltered. They were far from the village center where they'd been set to meet, out into the surrounding woods, and the tree branches were swaying with the cataclysm of emotions pouring off both Jedi.

Qui Gon took a deep breath and did his best to still his mind. There had been enough misunderstanding, enough pain between them. It was time for truth. For healing.

"Obi Wan." Please. Don't leave me. Come back to me. Let me touch you. Let me show you.

The wavering figure before him paused, then very slowly turned to meet him. The big blue eyes that rose to meet his were haunted. "Master?" The thin voice shook. Before Qui Gon could answer, Obi Wan started to laugh.

"Padawan?" No longer true, but an instinctive answer to the hysteria he heard in the younger man's laughter.

"I knew I was losing my mind, but I really didn't expect it to feel so real. Although I don't know why I'm so shocked. After all, I've been communing with the dead for months, why shouldn't I have meetings with them? Maybe I'm a medium now? So much for no death, only the Force! Master Yoda's so strong in the Force he shouldn't need me to talk to ghosts, so you must be having some problems with the transition, eh, Master? Not quite as one with the Force as you thou--"

He had to stop the flow of words and return Obi Wan to reality. Qui Gon's hand shot out and slapped Obi Wan's face, hard, the sound cracking through the still night with the impact of an explosion. Obi Wan's jaw snapped shut, and his hand came up to cover the red mark from Qui Gon's palm.

"I'm sorry, Obi Wan. You were becoming hysterical. Are you ready to listen now?"

Softly, so softly the wind nearly carried it off before he heard it, Obi Wan answered, "You're dead."

"No, I'm not." How to convince him? When he'd been unwittingly torturing the man for months with his contacts? Had he known that Yoda hadn't told Obi Wan that he still lived, he'd have kept his distance until he had a chance to explain.

"I saw you die. I saw you burn." A little stronger, but still soft, with that edge of unreality that so unsettled Qui Gon.

"Master Yoda saved me. He was supposed to tell you."

"Why?"

Why what? Why tell Obi Wan? Why save Qui Gon? "To go undercover to discover the identity of the Sith Lord," he finally answered, hoping he was answering the right question.

"Why didn't he tell me?"

Oh. "I don't know. He was supposed to," Qui Gon offered weakly. "I asked him to."

"Why?" Obi Wan was moving closer, close enough to touch, and Qui Gon couldn't resist the compulsion.

"Because I would never knowingly do you harm. Because I needed to know you would be all right." His hand reached out and covered Obi Wan's, resting against the hot flesh of his cheek from the earlier blow. Obi Wan's hand was ice cold. "Because you are now a Knight, no longer my student, and now I can tell you that I love you."

Qui Gon almost closed his eyes, oddly afraid, now that the truth was spoken, to see Obi Wan's reaction reflected in his eyes. But he had to see. His own truth was out, now it was Obi Wan's turn to face, and give, the truth.

"You're not dead."

Qui Gon nodded, and stepped closer.

"You're alive. You're here."

Obi Wan stepped closer this time, so close they were almost touching. Qui Gon could literally see the Living Force weaving between them, sparkling like ice crystals melting away in direct sunlight.

"You love me."

He sent every ounce of need and adoration he'd been storing for years out toward Obi Wan, washing over the younger man, nearly sending them both to their knees. The glistening strands of Force cascaded between them, surrounding them, increasing tenfold with each breath, until they were bound together by a spectrum of spun Light. With one final breath, the cage around them exploded, and shards of Light arced away from them.

"I love you."

The Light coalesced around them, no longer a cage, no longer cold, but a warm, soothing embrace reaching from deep within one to deep within the other, and back again. Hands reached out, caught shoulders, waists. Mouths came together, as clothing was slipped and torn from straining bodies, and they were caught in a maelstrom of relief, understanding, and union.

Neither knew precisely who did what to whom. Neither cared. They were together. What had been thought lost by one was found by both, and what had been so sorely needed by the other was given by both.

Several miles away, Anakin Skywalker was jolted from sleep by a strong disturbance in the Force. Automatically, he reached out for his Master.

Obi Wan didn't notice.

Sunrise brought parting, but unlike the last time they parted, this one was made with peaceful hearts. Their lives were dangerous, and it would be many months before they would be together again, but their connection was strong, and they each knew that they would never truly be parted from one another again.

Anakin felt the warmth from his master where before there had been only ice. He basked in the reflected glow, and enjoyed the new spirit of adventure and excitement Master Obi Wan brought to their missions now. He learned new skills, and presented each to his master, hoping to share some of that warmth, some of that inner joy.

All he got was the reflection.

Over the next several years, he slowly realized that no matter what he learned, how skilled he became, he would always be outside that glow. Never be at the heart of it. Never learn the secret to his master's hidden joy. Never be the source of it.

Inside him, the cold grew.

Standing at the window of the Jedi High Council Chamber, Yoda stared across the bright patterns of energy that characterized Coruscant, and looked into the murky eddies of the future. Qui Gon's information was leading them in the right direction, and his own investigation was pointing in a direction that made him uneasy. The future was darkening. Time was running short.

Three times, perhaps four, each year, lovers met, and spies imparted information. The fire was stoked, then banked for the next meeting, and they separated once again to plunge back into danger. The darkness was being infiltrated by the light; Light was spilling into the Darkness.

Sitting behind a polished desk in a darkened room, the Supreme Chancellor ignored the written reports of his minions to concentrate on the disturbances he could feel in the Force. On the surface, things were going according to plan. Within the month, he would be declared Emperor, and the Jedi would fall. Below the surface, unexplained factors were skewing what should have been simple into something more complex, something that might cause problems for him in the future. It was time for him to pursue earlier promises.

Time for him to take a new apprentice.

He had just the perfect task to test the boy. If he passed, he would be worth more than young Maul had ever attained. If he failed, well, at least the disturbance would be identified, and eliminated, one way or another.

He was close to his trials, but his master didn't realize it. Anakin had stopped showing everything to his master at the same time he'd realized he would never be what his master needed him to be. In that moment, his master became his captor, and he saw himself as a slave again, not a Padawan.

With the cold came the anger.

Obi Wan didn't notice.

Because Anakin made sure he wouldn't.

They traveled to so many of the planets Anakin had wanted to visit as a boy. They didn't return to Tatooine. He heard of the slave revolt through the grapevine, but when Obi Wan asked if Anakin wanted to return for his mother's funeral, he'd said no.

The past was dead. There was only the future.

A year after the death of his mother, a man approached him with a proposition. He was appalled by the offer, and rejected the man with great distaste. The man laughed. Touched his cheek, his hair, his lips. He sought to escape, but found himself unable to move.

"Come to me when it is your time, my boy," the man whispered. He shook his head.

Returned to his master. Hid the knowledge of the encounter from him.

Not that Obi Wan looked too deeply.

The fire his master had found, not with him, flared up at times, then damped down for months. Anakin knew there was another, and that his master loved the other, more than he would ever love Anakin.

Ever know Anakin.

Ever want Anakin.

Jealousy joined the anger, shot through the ice like veins of silver through pure granite. Two years after the initial contact, he saw the man again. He didn't say a word. He merely nodded.

The man smiled.

Anakin smiled back.

Obi Wan never knew. Anakin made sure of it.

He was ready, even if his master didn't know. It was time for his trials.

~~~ Balance ~~~

Soon.

Obi Wan glanced over at his Padawan, smiling at the serenity he saw there. More serenity than he was feeling, that was for certain. They were on their way to Filgourn, ostensibly for a quiet fact-gathering mission on the local government's relationship with the various religious factions on the planet. In reality, he was going to meet his lover.

Well, going to get information for Yoda, of course. Lately, the meetings had been spread out more than usual, and Qui Gon was looking worn. It was almost over. They were close. All three of them could sense it.

Beneath the duty, beneath the knowledge that what they were doing would free the galaxy of a lingering and horrible threat, as was the way of the Jedi, was the bubbling joy that the mental touch would soon be physical. A joy that was strictly his own, and Qui Gon's, nothing to do with the galaxy, the Jedi, the Sith or duty.

He lived for those touches.

Turning his attention back to his apprentice, he was a little taken aback by the intensity he saw in Anakin's face. "Padawan?"

Instantly, the boy's expression relaxed, but Obi Wan was still unsettled. There had been an odd look to the boy's eyes. Almost predatory. Pressing a little harder, he asked, "Is everything all right?"

"Perfectly, Master," Anakin replied. There was warmth in his voice, and in the training bond between them, and Obi Wan told himself to relax.

He was on edge because every time he met Qui Gon the danger existed that they might somehow expose him to the Sith's attention before they were ready to join battle. That was the problem. He smiled at Anakin, and the boy smiled back, affection plain between them. Not that he would be able to think of him as the boy much longer, Obi Wan mused. Anakin was nineteen. Just a few more years and his Padawan would be ready for his trials. Qui Gon had been right about Anakin's potential. His command of the Force was impressive, if somewhat unstable. He was intelligent, but impulsive; quick, but at times thoughtless. He had more to learn, but they had the time, and Force willing, Anakin would one day be one of the greatest Jedi ever to grace the Order.

With a slight bump, the transport landed, and they walked together down the ramp. As they headed into the temporary lodgings the Governor had assigned them close by the docking bay, he tossed his bag into their room and turned to Anakin.

"I have business that will take me out of the city for the next few hours, Padawan. This evening is your own. Learn what you can of the tenor of the city, and try not to get into trouble." He grinned at Anakin, and the boy grinned back. "I'll see you bright and early in the morning."

"'Night, Master. Have fun," Anakin told him, then turned away before Obi Wan could see his expression. That feeling of unease shivered through him again, and he was tempted to call his Padawan back. Only the fact that he hadn't the faintest idea what to say to the boy kept him silent.

Shrugging off the strange feeling, he turned and made his way out into the streets.

He was careful, as always, taking note of all the possible threats, avoiding them as he went. A Faordon juice addict, needing a fix, willing to kill for it; a toady from one of the Hutt criminal families, always on the lookout for a snippet of information; a Corellian thug looking for an easy mark. A tracker droid, security, perhaps, or a spy for one of the commercial consortiums; either way, it was better not to be seen, and so he ensured that he wasn't. Eventually he found his way to the small waystation for travelers in the western part of the city. He circled the building from all four directions before finally entering, as certain as he could be that no hostile eyes had seen him go.

Opening the door to the tiny room, his face lit up at the sight of his Qui Gon. Clean shaven, hair lopped even with his jawbone, he looked very different from the Jedi Master Obi Wan knew him to be. He looked like a teacher, a writer, perhaps, something dreaming and harmless about him.

It was an excellent disguise.

Obi Wan stepped inside and latched the door tightly before moving toward Qui Gon. Their hands met, twined, and they kissed, deeply, before they found words to greet one another. When they finally broke for breath, Obi Wan couldn't help but laugh.

"That's some greeting," Qui Gon grumbled softly at him, but Obi Wan just grinned up at him.

"I can't help it. Every time I see you, I'm so happy to find you alive, I want to dive into you and never come back out again." Obi Wan unwound one hand from Qui Gon's and ran it up the side of the strong neck, lacing it into the fine hair to pull Qui Gon's face back down to his own. They kissed again, more softly, taking the time to relearn one another, to revel in the taste and feel after so long apart. Their arms wound about one another, bodies straining closely together, soaking up warmth and the comfort of being with one another again.

Qui Gon eventually broke the embrace and laughed, a little ruefully. "I could kiss you forever, but we have business to take care of, my Obi Wan."

With a reluctant nod, Obi Wan agreed, pushing Qui Gon to take a seat on the bed that was the sole furniture in the room and pulling a holoprojector out of his belt pouch. "We can't relay directly to Coruscant, too great a risk of interception. But I'm trying something different this time."

"We can't afford much delay in getting the information to Yoda. I'm close, I know it, and I have the strong feeling that time is running out." Qui Gon had an unusual edge to his voice.

"I feel it too, Master," Obi Wan responded, automatically falling into old patterns in what could only be termed a battle situation. "This projector is rigged to a sequential emitter, tripping the holosignal through a series of bluffs and blind ends, blurring the transmission path. It will still arrive at Coruscant in less than half the time it would take for me to go off planet and transmit from a safe location, and it will allow you to send the information itself directly to Master Yoda without my having to regurgitate it, and possibly lose details." They shared a grin. "The holosignal will be embedded under standard diplomatic signals between various Jedi temples between here and Coruscant, doubled back and bounced through some of the outer rim planets, so there should be no way of tracing it, much less intercepting it."

Qui Gon stared at him, and Obi Wan grinned. "I've been working on it since the last time we met. You've had too many close calls, my love."

The stare melted into a wry smile. "You're getting good at this."

"Needs must," Obi Wan answered, and without further delay Qui Gon recorded his report. Obi Wan activated the signal, sent it on its convoluted journey, and destroyed the original recording. Then he returned the holoprojector to his belt pouch.

"How long can you stay?" Qui Gon asked quietly.

"Not nearly long enough," Obi Wan answered truthfully, softening it with a nibbling kiss along the edge of Qui Gon's collar. "We can share the night, and the dawn. Any further would risk exposing your presence here to our enemies."

"Then let us take the night," Qui Gon whispered into Obi Wan's hair as his hands deftly drew the younger man's robes from his shoulders, "and greet the dawn together."

Anakin was awake when Obi Wan returned very early the next morning. This surprised the Knight, but not as much as the greeting he received.

He had just enough time to notice the comlink discarded by the untouched bed, when a lightsaber flared to life behind him. Obi Wan instinctively drew his own and parried a thrust from his apprentice's blade, an inch before it would have cut his throat.

Staring in disbelief across the flaring energy of their crossed sabers, he barked, "What the hell are you doing, Padawan?"

"Taking my trials, Jedi," Anakin answered. The blue eyes glaring into his own were eerily unfamiliar, lit from within with a glow of oddly mixed emotions, hatred, love, anger, lust, frustration all fighting through their bond.

There was something dark, rancorous, swelling within Anakin. "Padawan?" he asked, taken off balance by the unwarranted attack, not understanding the contempt in the boy's voice.

"No," Anakin responded, disengaging their weapons and pressing his attack with barely leashed ferocity. "Not your padawan." A heavy slash to his right that Obi Wan barely deflected. "Not your slave." Another that would have taken his head off had he not feinted to the left and ducked nearly to the floor. "Not to be ignored any longer. Not to be pushed aside, never good enough, never enough for you."

Obi Wan didn't have the breath to refute the ridiculous things Anakin was saying. He was too busy fighting for his life. Anakin was manipulating the Force in ways Obi Wan had never imagined, buffeting him, twisting him, pounding at him, and always, always, attacking, with a speed Obi Wan could barely track much less counter. "I don't understand!" he managed to yell as he rolled to the side and lunged out of the way of a downstroke from Anakin's lightsaber, only to pitch up hard against a shelf the boy had plucked from across the room and broken across his shoulders.

"You never did," Anakin said, dark laughter and buried regret in his voice as he raised his saber and slid it through Obi Wan's stomach.

The world imploded in fire and agony and pure white light.

Dark foreboding had been deepening in him since he kissed Obi Wan goodbye, and it prodded Qui Gon to follow at a careful distance as Obi Wan returned to his quarters by the dock. He watched his partner disappear into the building and was on the point of returning to his own hiding place when a wave of disbelief and pain hit him. Disregarding caution, he pelted through the door and up the stairs at top speed, lightsaber drawn and ready.

Too late.

Bursting into the room, he heard a voice he hadn't heard in nearly a decade, deeper now, mature, speaking in tones of hatred he would never have expected to hear. "You never did," Anakin Skywalker growled at Obi Wan, then plunged his lightsaber into Obi Wan's body.

"NO!" Qui Gon screamed, leaping forward and knocking Anakin across the room with one backhanded blow. The unattended hilt fell, saber blade deactivated, but the damage was done. Obi Wan was unconscious, bleeding profusely, hands falling limply over the gaping wound in his abdomen. Qui Gon spread his free hand over the cauterized edges, drawing on the Living Force and pouring it into the open wound, trying to staunch the blood flow and minimize the damage.

"Master!" Anakin shouted, or tried to, but it sounded strangled to Qui Gon. He looked up from his Obi Wan's body to see stark betrayal written on the boy's face. It was nothing to his own.

"Why, Ani?" he asked quietly. The healing was working, but it was tiring him, and he had to know why this had happened, had to know if he would have to defend himself against this child whose life he had saved so many years before. This child who had grown into a man who had tried to kill his own master.

No Jedi, this one. Not the chosen one, after all, it would seem.

"You're dead," Anakin roared. There was more than betrayal in his voice. There was anger. Not all of it was his own.

Qui Gon concentrated, nearing his limits as he fought to preserve Obi Wan's life, maintain his guard, and probe Anakin's mental defenses. Drawing on the link he had shared with Master Yoda ever since Yoda had saved his life, he both alerted the ancient master to his situation and drew on Yoda's strength to supplement his own. With the fresh pulse of energy, he threw everything he had into manipulating the Force, and he and Yoda together traced the fine line of anger from Anakin all the way back to Coruscant.

Another party joined the fight, a shadow, of immense power. Qui Gon could feel, through the link that held them all, as Yoda shunted off his own power to attack the source of that anger. Anakin screamed in rage and denial, as the power connected to him from the Dark source was cut off, joined in battle now with Yoda. There was nothing left of sanity in him as he threw himself at Qui Gon.

"You!" he screamed as he attacked, and Qui Gon was forced to leave his healing to defend himself against the wild thing that had once been his charge. "You, always, never for me, not you, not him, never for me!"

The words made no sense to Qui Gon as he lunged and parried, but the emotions behind them were plain. He saw the world as Anakin had seen it, distorted by jealousy and anger, unable to accept or even see the affection others had given him, wanting only what he could not have. Wanting Obi Wan as only Qui Gon had had him; wanting Qui Gon but believing him dead; never believing that he was accepted as he was, until he had become something different. Something perverse.

Something to be used.

A tool. In that instant, Qui Gon finally understood what choice the Chosen One represented. Jedi and Sith. Light and Dark.

Balance in the Force, rendered into oblivion.

Feeling Obi Wan's life seeping out behind him, facing death in front of him, Qui Gon opened himself fully to the Force.

Time stopped.

Anakin froze as he read what Qui Gon saw in the Force. Two great powers, one a wellspring of Light, the other a riptide of Dark, clashing, fighting, clawing, engulfing. The Light that was Yoda, the Force directed through him, attacking and meeting the attack of the Dark that was Sidious, merging, melting, repulsing, convulsing in a death grip neither could relax, and neither could survive.

In the center of the Jedi High Council Chamber, Yoda dropped his walking stick, slowly toppling over. His robes collapsed about him gently, and a light wind whipped the cloth. Nothing corporeal remained.

In what had been the Meeting Chamber of the Galactic Senate, moments before his coronation, Emperor Palpatine put a hand to his right temple and crumpled to the floor. Gold and black robes fluttered around him, then settled through the air where his body had been.

The paralysis broke, and Anakin flung out his hand. His lightsaber flew to him, igniting as it came. "Too little. Too late," he spat, and swung the blade at Qui Gon's heart.

It was both. Qui Gon dropped at Anakin's feet and drove his lightsaber straight up into Anakin's belly, opening him from pelvic bone to collarbone, eviscerating him and cauterizing the wound with the same movement. Anakin's body tumbled slowly backward. Qui Gon stared at the corpse for a stark moment, then turned his back on the past and stumbled to Obi Wan's side.

Gathering the last of his strength, he spread his hand once more over Obi Wan's sluggishly bleeding wound. Holding the healing field as steady as he could, he fumbled his comlink out and activated it.

"This is an emergency," he rasped into the open channel "We need a healer." A voice answered him back immediately. He gave their location to the medic crew, and settled down to wait for help to arrive. Wrapping his free arm around the slumping body he pulled Obi Wan as closely to him as he possibly could. Obi Wan stirred slightly, and he sent a wave of reassurance through the Force.

"'kay?" The word was muttered into his chest, and he couldn't help but smile.

"Fine, Obi Wan," Qui Gon answered, weaving the Force ever more firmly around him. "Sleep, now. Let yourself heal. It's all over."

A pair of healers entered the room, took one look at the carnage, and descended on the pair still living. Seeing that the men were locked in a Jedi healing trance, they worked around the healing energy already in progress, not even attempting to separate the pair. Explanations could come later; they had a patient to save.

Qui Gon watched the healers work, never faltering in his own efforts, trusting the Force that what must be would be. Balance was restored, bought with blood, betrayal, sacrifice and death. He could only hope that the peace so dearly paid for would be worth the price.

Staring down as Obi Wan's eyes opened and locked with his own, he knew it would be.

~~~ fin