Shades of Grey

by Flamethrower

Shades of Grey

Author: Flamethrower (flamethrower@thedeadcat.net)

Archive: MA and my site, the Flamethrower's Archive (Still broken!)

Category: Q/O, AU, Slash

Warnings: Title Punnery

Summary: Third part of the tale that started with 'In a Lonely Place'.

Series: *groan* YES.
First part: In a Lonely Place
Second part: Defiance

Notes: Published in my LJ last week. Sorry it took me a bit to get it here. Was busy melting down my brain.

Obi-Wan Kenobi telling Qui-Gon Jinn that he was going to be 'ill' had been something of an understatement.

After five grueling days under the Healer's care, sniping at anyone unfortunate enough to get in range, Qui-Gon walked out of the Healer's Wing fifteen kilos lighter, his Padawan fretting and following along behind him. A shower in his own quarters folllowed by a change of clothes helped to improve his mood, though the too-loose fabric was a reminder of just how severely his body had been ravaged by Obi-Wan's parting gift.

He comm'd a set of quarters located some distance across the Temple and made arrangements for Master Yoda to meet him at Dex's. It was the one place on Coruscant he knew could be guaranteed to be free of listening devices. Qui-Gon smiled to himself; sometimes it was useful to have friends who had wallowed around in the seedier side of life.

Making sure that Anakin was going to spend time with the friends he'd made in-Temple, and that he was not going to follow Qui-Gon, was the next step. Anakin didn't protest too much, riding on a sense of accomplishment from giving the Council their mission report by himself - and not attracting anyone's ire in the process.

Qui-Gon entered the diner a few hours later, ducking under the door frame out of habit. He was verbally pounced by Dex within moments. "Hey, Master Qui-Gon!" the big cook yelled, waving two of his arms in greeting before coming out of the kitchen to see him. "Didn't think I'd see ya here today. Heard you got a bad case of food poisoning!" he said, dropping a wink.

"Is that what they're calling the Chintallah virus nowadays?" Qui-Gon said, shaking his head in amusement. "Hello, Dex."

"Eh, you just picked that up as an excuse to come down here and eat my food," the Besalisk replied. "Grease is good for ya!" His long-time friend's smile faded, and he peered at Qui-Gon with worried eyes. "Are you okay, Qui-Gon? That Chintallah is hell on folks."

"I'm fine, really," Qui-Gon reassured him. "Just here for a table. A quiet table," he said, casual smile in place.

"Company comin'?" Dex asked, just as nonchalant. "I'll break out a good meal for the two of ya, then. You take the booth in the corner, and I'll make sure nobody bothers ya." Translation: I'll turn on the jammers, and nobody is going to overhear anything you have to say.

"Thank you, Dex. I'm grateful, of course," Qui-Gon said, making his way to the appointed booth. He'd learned about the diner's neutrality and Dexter Jetster's insistence on privacy years ago, but had never had use for it until he'd woken up in the company of a red-haired imp on Roxuli.

It wasn't long before a transport stopped outside, letting off a slow rush of passengers. The one he was looking for was among them, his cloaked form unnoticed among the bustle. The diminutive Master entered the diner, leaning heavily on his stick as he made his way with unhurried steps to the place where Qui-Gon sat.

"Hmmph. Subject me to the food here, you'd better not," Master Yoda said by way of greeting, climbing into place in the opposite chair. His clawed green hand swatted at the controls set into the table, and the booth rose to a height more appropriate for him. Only then did Master Yoda drop his hood back, glaring at Qui-Gon with unconcealed ire. "A long way I have walked today, Master Qui-Gon. Talked to you in the Temple, I could have."

"Hello to you, too, my grand Master," Qui-Gon responded, relishing the flash of annoyance in Yoda's eyes as he refused to be baited.

Yoda stared at Qui-Gon Jinn a moment longer and then relented, smiling. "Confess everything at the drop of the hat, you once did. That scrawny, overgrown Padawan - miss him, I do. Happier, he was."

That hit hard, probably affecting Qui-Gon far more than Master Yoda expected it to. Qui-Gon swallowed around the sudden lump in his throat. "That he was, Master. That he was. Perhaps he might have reason to be happy again, after all."

Yoda narrowed his eyes. "Playing with words you are. My job that is!"

"As you taught me," Qui-Gon retorted, enjoying the verbal sparring. He knew that the elder Master regretted the long-ago word games when it was the full Council Qui-Gon practiced his skills upon. When they were alone it was something of a joke, founded upon long association and not a few moments of mutual frustration.

"Hmmph," Yoda said again, and his ears only twitched when Dex sauntered over and laid two heaping plates of... something in front of them. Dex grinned at the elder Master's presence, giving him a brief nod of greeting, and then laid his palm on a certain spot of the metal trim on the window beside their table. Through the floor, Qui-Gon felt the subtle vibration of equipment whirring to life. Dex's prized and oh, so illegal jammers were active. Yoda's eyes widened as he, too, sensed what had occurred, but he said nothing about the privacy field.

Yoda sighed and picked up a fork. "Cook he should not," he muttered once the Besalisk had returned to his other customers. "Worse than you at it, he is."

"It isn't moving, at least," Qui-Gon pointed out, lifting a long green strand of what could have been pasta, or possibly a plant, out of his plate. He chewed on it and decided that there were worse things.

"Trying to poison me, you are," Yoda said, but he was following Qui-Gon's example.

"No." Qui-Gon shook his head. "I'm the one who was just poisoned."

Yoda stopped what he was doing and looked at Qui-Gon in surprise. "Chintallah virus, communicable it is."

Qui-Gon nodded his agreement. "Of course it is. But there has never been an outbreak on Roxuli."

Yoda managed to make more of the green sort-of-noodles disappear, frowning all the while. "Certain, you are. Know your poisoner, do you?"

"You might say that."

Yoda pointed his fork at Qui-Gon, brandishing it like a miniature mutant lightsaber. "Eating this food we are, so suffering enough, I am. Tell me, you will!"

He watched the elder Master's face, not sure what he was looking for. "Obi-Wan Kenobi."

He wasn't sure what he had expected, but it wasn't the intense shock that Yoda exhibited. "Seen him, you have!?" the elder Master burst out. "Well, is he?"

"He's alive. Whether he is well or not... I suppose that's a debatable point. Yes, I've seen him. He slipped me a message on Roxuli." He smiled at the memory. Master Yoda did not need to know how that message had been passed to him.

The Master leaned back in the booth, breathing out a long sigh. "Relieved, I am. Three years it has been since..." he closed his eyes, and Qui-Gon was startled by the sadness and guilt that etched his ancient features. "Feared him lost, I did."

"He's not lost," Qui-Gon said, the fierceness of his voice surprising him. "Not yet." He told Yoda what Obi-Wan had told him, and the pain in the old Master's eyes when Qui-Gon told him of Dooku's betrayal hurt to see. Qui-Gon had already struggled through his own anger, trying to come to terms with his Master siding with the Sith.

"Surprised... I almost am not," Yoda said, his eyes lowered, his voice soft. "Long has Dooku struggled with his desire to bend others to his will. Challenged him the most, you did," Yoda said, and there was a glint of humor in his eyes along with the grief. "A Padawan he would never again take, said he, the day a Knight you became."

Qui-Gon remembered the extreme ups and downs of his apprenticeship to Master Dooku and offered Yoda a strained smile. "I did not know he said that, but in retrospect it makes sense." Then he continued speaking, looking at Yoda in worry. "Master, I do not like this. I do not like leaving Obi-Wan in this situation, but I can't think of anything other than to do as he asked."

"Hmm." Yoda nodded, looking pensive. "Strong he is, Qui-Gon - this you know. The reason he was chosen, it is. But expected this, we did not. More firmly entrenched in shadow than we wanted to believe, things are," he said, his voice bitter. "Hidden well from our eyes, the Sith is."

"Who were the other members of the Council who know?" Qui-Gon asked, finally getting to the question that had been burning in his mind for days.

Yoda gave him a curious, neutral look that hadn't fooled Qui-Gon in at least twenty years. "Matter, it does not."

"It matters to me," he said, his voice quiet.

Yoda blew out a weary sigh before answering him. "Master Windu. Master Gallia. Master Rancisis. Master Giett. Only we five ever knew, Master Qui-Gon."

All were Masters that Qui-Gon considered beyond reproach. Hell, two of them were close friends, and Yoda was one he trusted above all others. He sighed, frustrated. "I needed to know. Obi-Wan said that he stopped contacting the Council because, after every communication, the Sith knew." And punished him for it, Qui-Gon thought, remembering the horrible scars that crossed Obi-Wan's body.

Yoda looked angry. "Known, he could not have. Betray Obi-Wan, we would not!"

"But knew, the Sith still did," Qui-Gon pointed out. "We need to find out how, Master. Obi-Wan may not be the only one at risk from such a lapse."

Yoda nodded and pushed his plate away, giving up on even a pretense of eating. "Master Qui-Gon," Yoda said, looking up at him with something akin to trepidation in his eyes. "Fallen, is he?"

"Darkened, yes," Qui-Gon said, the words tasting like ash in his mouth. Then he thought of the blue that had flashed, vibrant and alive, in that one hot moment of flesh seeking flesh, his breath a soft whisper of promise on Qui-Gon's face. "But not Fallen. Not yet."

It seemed that his meeting with Obi-Wan on Roxuli had been some unspoken signal. Qui-Gon was starting to see Obi-Wan everywhere - or at least he thought he was seeing him, and not hallucinating those brief glimpses. He would be working a mission with Anakin, and for a moment would catch the flash of a long fall of copper hair. Just a flash, just a glimpse, nothing concrete. Nothing to say for certain that it was Obi-Wan, but Qui-Gon knew in his heart that it was him.

After it had happened three times in six months, Qui-Gon started to keep track, drawing up a list that noted where he saw those flashes of copper, what he and Anakin were investigating, and when he saw it.

Qui-Gon wasn't certain, but as he looked at the list one rainy day while sitting in Master Yoda's quarters, he was almost certain that Obi-Wan was weaving a pattern. There was information here, and Obi-Wan had never been prone to doing things without reason. Even the scented oil on his fingers had been deliberate. The addition of the Sith's ties to the banking and trading conglomerates turned everything into a mess of confusion, though. There was no rhyme or reason that he could see in the clues he had been presented with. Right now, Qui-Gon had a list that told him the Sith could be anyone with a taste for money and power.

That didn't exactly narrow things down.

Loud music crashed around him, and Qui-Gon did his best to ignore it, keeping a mental tab on Anakin with the Force. The boy was enjoying himself far too much, but he was still doing his job, and that was the important part. They were tracking Senator Greyshade through the intense noise and rhythm of one of Coruscant's lower level clubs. They hadn't caught up with the man yet, but at least they were able to follow his trail. The frightened bureaucrat was trying to get off-planet using black market connections instead of the legitimate transports topside.

Qui-Gon moved through the undulating crowd, trying to be inconspicuous. Not easy, considering he was easily one of the tallest beings present. His tunics might have made it worse, but so many Jedi had been sneaking downside over the years to unwind in the chaotic environments the clubs offered that he barely rated a second glance. The looks he did earn were full of interest that he didn't have the time or the inclination to pursue.

Some didn't settle for just looking, however, and the arms that encircled him from behind weren't unexpected so much as unwanted. He dropped his hands to those arms, seeking to disengage, when skin met skin and triggered the recognition that even the Force hadn't provided. Qui-Gon froze, not sure of what to do, not even sure of what to say.

Laughter matched soft movement against the cloth of his tunics, warming the skin of his back and settling off a chain reaction of immediate fire. "Relax," Obi-Wan's voice said, laced with dark amusement. "You act like you were just pinned by a krayt dragon."

"My mistake," Qui-Gon replied, remembering to breathe, to relax into that hold. "Or do you wish to be associated with something else?"

The hands that were resting on his waist drifted lower and then back up again, tracing wide, lazy circles that were making his breath catch. "What I wish is that this weren't such a public venue," Obi-Wan's voice continued, his whisper just audible above the chaotic din around them. "Then I could pin you in place and take you apart at my leisure."

Qui-Gon managed to stifle the whimper that word and memory combined to create. "If you don't stop that, I'm not going to be able to walk."

"Now there's a pleasant thought," Obi-Wan said, his voice a warm breath just below Qui-Gon's ear. "If we had but time and opportunity, I'd make certain of that."

"I will hold you to those words," Qui-Gon whispered. "I did not expect to see you here," he continued, before Obi-Wan could tease him further.

"Simon Greyshade is a popular man tonight, Qui-Gon Jinn," Obi-Wan said, and the seductive tone left his voice, replaced by frost. "You should find him before I do."

The warmth at his back and hips disappeared, and Qui-Gon whirled to find no one behind him.

He drew in a deep breath, chilled. The Sith wanted Greyshade dead. That made it more imperative than ever that he and Anakin find the man first.

He made his way over to where his Padawan was standing, almost lost in a crowd of women who seemed far too interested in Anakin's youth and his Padawan braid. Did you find a lead on Greyshade, Padawan? he asked.

Yes, Master, Anakin replied, raising a concerned eyebrow at the unusual mental communication between them. Two levels down. "Sorry, m'lady," he said to the brunette who was currently plying him with some absolutely ridiculous questions on what it was like to be a Jedi. "I'm needed."

"I'll bet you are," the brunette purred, and Qui-Gon was tempted to roll his eyes. Anakin managed not to look desperate to get away, though it was clear to Qui-Gon that his Padawan was not appreciative of the woman's unsubtle attention.

"Poor choice of company, Padawan," Qui-Gon said mildly, leading the way to the nearest exit.

Anakin gave him a wry smile of agreement. "Yes, Master, but she was the one who saw Greyshade. I've managed to get Hutts to spill the beans with far less ass-kissing than her ego required."

Qui-Gon stifled a laugh, trying to get his sudden encounter with Obi-Wan out of his head. "If anyone is up to the challenge, Padawan, it's you."

Anakin looked put-upon. "I think I should be insulted."

They found Greyshade on an exposed landing platform two levels down. The entire area was deserted, but Qui-Gon hesitated, for the Force was telling him that something was wrong. The warning was unclear, though, and he and Anakin glanced at each other, sharing a mutual look of concern.

"I don't like this," Anakin muttered as they walked towards the Senator, who had spun around at the sound of their approach.

Qui-Gon halted, motioning for Anakin to do the same, when Greyshade took a step back, terror on his face. "Stay back," he warned them, waving a blaster in their direction, his finger pressed against the trigger. "I am getting the hell out of here, and there's nothing you can do about it!"

"Senator, please," Qui-Gon said, trying to soothe the man. He looked awful, a far cry from the picture of self-assured confidence he had projected many times before the Senate. "I assure you, we're here to help you."

Greyshade shook his head. "Oh, that's funny. I'll bet the Chancellor himself sent you lot after me!"

Anakin nodded. "Well, yeah," he said, giving Greyshade a concerned smile. "He's worried about you. We all are."

Greyshade laughed, high and shrill. "Oh, I imagine he's worried all right. Dear Jedi, I have seen things that no one should ever see. Dark things, terrible things, and there will be no stopping him. We're in danger, Master Jinn - all of us!"

Anakin and Qui-Gon exchanged another look, both of them at a loss. "I don't understand," Qui-Gon said, the tension across his shoulders getting stronger. The Force was almost shrill in its warning tone, but there was nothing specific, nothing to search for. Nothing to find. "What is it, Simon? What's wrong?"

"The Chancellor, Qui-Gon. He-" Simon broke off, the fearful expression on his face gone in a moment. His eyes were blank as he raised the blaster and fired. Too late Qui-Gon realized that the shot wasn't meant for them.

"No!" Anakin yelled, both he and Qui-Gon running forward to catch the Senator as he fell, his chest a smoking ruin.

"Damn!" Qui-Gon swore, feeling as life fled the Senator's body.

"Master," Anakin said, his voice quiet. "Look."

He followed Anakin's gaze. One of the platforms high above them was home to a lone figure hidden inside a dark cloak. Qui-Gon stared at him, feeling a terrible coldness seep into his chest. He didn't even have to see the quick glimmer of copper, reflected in the light as the figure turned and disappeared, to know who it was.

"Master, should we go after him?" Anakin was asking, staring at the now-empty platform.

"No, Padawan," Qui-Gon said at last. "By the time we get up there, it will be far too late. We won't find him."

They looked at each other over the corpse of the dead Senator. Greyshade marked one more dead end, one more failure, and one more victory for the Sith.