Master Apprentice Archive With This Pain, I Thee Feel Quick search:

With This Pain, I Thee Feel

by MrsHamill (thamill@cox.net)

Archive: MA, WWOMB, and my site, Mom's Kitchen (www.squidge.org/~foxsden)
Category: h/c; angst
Pairing: Q/O
Rating: PG
Summary: There is more than one kind of healing needed here.
Disclaimer: What, you think I own these guys? Do I even look like George Lucas? If this is not what you expected, please alter your expectations. No such thing as random coincidence. No such thing as too much lubricant. (Thank you, Mark Morford.)
Warning: Yet more boatloads of angst.
Series: Yes, the post-Wheel series, which started with "Sometimes, You Fly." This picks up a few days after the events in Damage Control.
Notes: Breaking them was relatively easy. Fixing them, however, was a bit of a job. They're going to have to get off their butts and get going soon, and that's coming, though I had to fix them first. Thanks to: Claude, for her usual superlative help and extreme hand-holding commiseration; Emila-Wan, who is a saint for putting up with me; and Bunny, who told me if I wanted to break them, I'd have to fix them, so stop whining and do it. The title is from Neil Gaiman's new Sandman book, Endless Nights. For those who have asked, doula is kinda like hash browned potatoes, with several different type of vegetables. Jax won again in the last story, since she knew that Malvis will grow up to be Maul's padawan.

If you do have a flaw, perhaps it is simply this: You wish to please me too much.

PART ONE: Obi-Wan

"Very good, Anakin," Obi-Wan said. "Do it again, and this time, focus on the placement of your feet."

Flushed and sweaty, Anakin nodded shortly. Obi-Wan felt him centering before he eased into the kata again. He was making excellent progress towards mastering the seventh form, which was always a tricky one for tall people, and Anakin, now significantly taller than Obi-Wan, had nearly reached his full height.

As Anakin moved, Obi-Wan walked around him in a large circle, examining his stance carefully. He was having Anakin do the kata at quarter speed, something that made it even more difficult. This time, Anakin seemed to be flawless, so deep in communion with the Force that he was almost invisible within its vast web.

Obi-Wan was so wrapped up in the session he missed the door to the gym opening. When Anakin wound down from the kata, his feet and posture in precisely the right place, Obi-Wan's praise was echoed by applause, causing them both to turn.

Loral AmKaRa and Master Yoda stood in the corner by the door. Loral's face was split by a wide grin. "Tremendous, Anakin," he said in his deep, rumbling voice. He quickly crossed the space between them and engulfed Anakin in a hug. "I am so proud of you, and so sorry I haven't been quite the master to you I should have been lately."

Anakin stood basking in the praise of his master, returning Loral's smile. "That's all right, Master Loral," he said, wiping sweat from his eyes. "I know you've been busy, between the baby and the Senate's work."

"Well, that's all about to end, I think," Loral said. "Thank you, too, Obi-Wan. I appreciate all you've been able to do with Anakin over the last few days."

"It was my pleasure, Loral," Obi-Wan replied with a bow and a half-smile. "Master Yoda," he said, acknowledging the small master as he joined the group. Anakin also bowed, but didn't leave the circle of his master's arms.

"Good job you have done, Padawan," Yoda said to Anakin. The boy beamed even harder, if that were possible. "Making good progress you are. Much to catch up on, you had."

"Thank you, Master Yoda," Anakin said with a bow.

"Come on home, Padawan," Loral said. "Dinner is on the Commissary tonight, and the baby is asleep."

"Good," Anakin said with a sigh. "I mean, I'm glad Malvis is asleep, but..."

"Because he's loud when he's awake," Loral said with a laugh. He sketched a bow to Master Yoda, then another to Obi-Wan. He lingered for a moment, then clasped Obi-Wan's shoulder. "Thank you," he said. "Are you doing all right?"

"I'm fine," Obi-Wan said, plastering as genuine a smile on his face as he was able.

"You don't look fine." Loral gave Obi-Wan's shoulder a light shake. "Remember our door is always open to you."

"Thank you, Loral." Obi-Wan swallowed. "But I'm fine. Let me know if you need me to work with you tomorrow, Anakin," he added.

Loral and Anakin left the room, leaving Yoda with Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan didn't speak, but merely stood in the center of the gym, breathing. Such a lovely thing, breathing.

Finally, Yoda spoke, very quietly. "Sitting with him, I have been," he said, fingering his stick.

"Has he spoken?"

"Not yet," Yoda replied. He sighed. "Working with him, Dotrick is."

"Good." Obi-Wan stared at the door, as if he could see through it, see all the way across the Temple, through the throngs of Jedi inhabiting it, and see the one person he wanted most to see, wanted most to avoid. "He doesn't like to be alone," he added, in an undertone. Yoda said nothing to that, and quiet descended on the gym.

"Bringing dinner, Knight Maul is," Yoda finally said, breaking the silence between them. "Home we should go."

"Yes, Master," Obi-Wan said automatically. He knelt, but Yoda merely touched his shoulder.

"Outside is my chair," he said. "Carry me, you need not."

"You are never a burden to me, Master," Obi-Wan said, and Yoda caressed his head gently.

"Good man you are, Obi-Wan," he said. "Remember that, you must."

"Yes, Master," was all Obi-Wan could say.

Maul was, for once, alone. He'd lost his almost constant shadow of Jayden, and Obi-Wan had to wonder why. He wouldn't, however, ask -- Maul had opened up and had become a good friend, but there were still some lines he wasn't sure he should cross.

Maul, it seemed, had no problems crossing them.

"What the hell is going on?" he asked Obi-Wan, shortly after entering Yoda's rooms. He had baskets filled with saliva-inducing aromas, which he placed on the short table in Yoda's dining room.

"Hello to you too," Obi-Wan muttered, avoiding his gaze. He fetched plates and utensils from the kitchen, putting them on the table with the food.

"I'm serious," Maul said. "I went to see Qui-Gon and he's all but catatonic, and you're not there with him, you're hiding out here -- what the hell is going on?"

"Sit, Padawan," Yoda said, precluding any reply Obi-Wan might have made. "Eat we will, now. Talk we will, later."

Grateful for the respite, Obi-Wan took a place at the table and began to dish out the food.

The food was delicious and plentiful, though Obi-Wan could only choke down half a normal serving. Of late, his appetite seemed to be missing, and not even his favorites could coax him to eat more than a few bites. As he toyed with his food he was aware of Maul's gaze on him. He found himself almost reveling in Maul's anger and puzzlement. It made him wonder when it had all gone to hell so much, when he had turned into the pathetic whiner he seemed to be, why it was good for him to feel anger and resentment or any emotion, for that matter.

He was lost in making strange patterns out of the food remaining on his plate when Yoda cleared his throat. "Worked with Padawan Skywalker has Obi-Wan," he said. "Making good progress, they are."

"That's good," Maul said. "Anakin's been feeling a bit left out lately, with Loral gone all the time. And now the baby... I'm sure he's feeling worse."

"Have his master's attention he will, now," Yoda said. "Resolved have been the problems with Hhrrrrissstan delegation."

"That's excellent," Maul said, then he blinked. "Wait... I thought none of us were going out on missions?"

"Truth that is, officially," Yoda said. His voice sounded smug to Obi-Wan's ears -- well, actually, Yoda always sounded smug to Obi-Wan. "Unofficially, working we still are."

Maul shook his head. "Master Yoda..."

"Discuss this here, we will not," Yoda said. "More you will find out, later."

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes, but kept his gaze on his plate, unwilling to draw further attention to himself.

"Fine," Maul said, affectionate exasperation in his voice. "Don't tell me. No one wants to tell me anything, apparently."

"Asking the right questions, perhaps you are not," Yoda said.

"Now, what does that mean, Master?" Maul asked. This time he had teasing humor in his voice, and for some reason, it saddened Obi-Wan.

"Tell you I will not," Yoda replied. "Certain things discover for themselves, padawans must. Prerogative of old masters is keeping secrets. Finished we are. Clean up, you shall."

Maul stood with a snort of amusement and began collecting the plates. Yoda reached out and touched Obi-Wan's hand as he started to do the same. "Not eating, you are," Yoda said. "Eat you must. Keep your strength up you must."

"I know," Obi-Wan said. "I'm sorry, I just wasn't very hungry."

"Spar with Maul, perhaps you should," Yoda said. "Work up an appetite that would."

"Sounds like a plan," Maul agreed. "Maybe tonight, after our food settles?"

Obi-Wan made a non-committal noise and climbed to his feet. The only place he had planned on being this night was alone in the padawan's room of Yoda's apartment -- the same place he'd been for the last several days. The room had no mirrors or windows and had no one to ask him questions he didn't want to answer.

Yoda's kitchen was small and two people in it were far too many. Obi-Wan straightened from putting the last of the utensils in the cleaner to find himself almost nose-to-nose with Maul, who had a frown on his face. "What's going on?" Maul said quietly.

"Maul, don't," Obi-Wan began, but Maul cut him off with a head shake and a slicing motion with his hand.

"Don't do that," he said. "Don't hide from me. Let me help you, dammit. Am I your friend or not?"

"You are," Obi-Wan began, but Maul cut him off again.

"Well you're not acting like I am," he said. "You wouldn't let me hide when I wanted to. You forced me to be a real Jedi, forced me to realize my life is here, now. Just where is your life, Obi-Wan?"

Obi-Wan couldn't look into Maul's eyes. The accusation and anger -- not to mention the pity -- he knew would be reflected in them tore into to his heart, which was still an open wound. He looked down at his clenched hands, instead. "I don't know," he whispered.

"It used to be with the man who sits in a room over in Healers'," Maul said softly.

"I know," Obi-Wan replied. He didn't look up.

Maul stood very still for a long moment, waiting, perhaps for Obi-Wan to look directly at him, which wasn't going to happen.

"I'm going to make tea," Maul finally said. "Go sit down. I'll bring you a cup."

Obi-Wan nodded and Maul let him pass out of the kitchen into the rest of the apartment. Yoda appeared to be meditating, though Obi-Wan had his suspicions -- that little green gnome was a master of dissembling, among other things. His sofa was soft, though, and the room was dim and quiet. Obi-Wan sat and let his head drop back and his eyes close. He hadn't been sleeping, but he could pretend.

Maul settling next to him almost startled him, he had been so oblivious. "Here," Maul said, handing him a mug of fragrant tea. It was Qui-Gon's favorite blend.

"Thanks," Obi-Wan said thickly.

"Talk to me," Maul encouraged, but Obi-Wan shook his head.

"There's nothing to talk about," he murmured, taking a sip of tea.

"Is that so?" Maul kept his voice thankfully low, for all it was filled with scorn. "Why aren't you with Qui-Gon?"

"Why should I be?" Obi-Wan said, swallowing. "He has his pain to keep him company. I'd only interfere between them."

Maul didn't say anything to that, and eventually, Obi-Wan peeked up at him. Maul was sitting with his mouth hanging open, his eyes filled with some combination of emotions that Obi-Wan preferred to ignore. "What has happened to you?" Maul finally said, his voice strangled.

Sipping his tea, trying to keep his trembling under control, Obi-Wan thought about that question. Finally, he said, "Life happened." After another few quiet moments, he added, "I'm not who he thinks I am, Maul. No one could possibly be that ideal. And I will not sit there and listen to him say that he now understands me. He does not understand me. I don't understand me. My... my abuse has nothing to do with who I am." Well, that wasn't right, so he amended it, aware that his voice was getting louder with every word. "All right, it does, but Qui-Gon has no right -- no right -- to be grateful that he had the shit beaten out of him, grateful he was tortured half to death in order to... in order..."

"That's not what he said, it can't be," Maul whispered.

"It was," Obi-Wan said flatly. "I looked into his eyes. This is what he wanted, he wanted it, he wanted to... to understand me better." With effort, Obi-Wan gained control again and modulated his voice. "Now, we're even, he thinks."

"Obi-Wan, this is madness." Maul sounded like he was ready to cry, which just made Obi-Wan frustrated and angry.

"Well of course it's madness," he said sharply. "We're all mad here, don't you know that?"

"No, I don't know that. I do know that you're acting like a thwarted child for some reason, and I also know that Qui-Gon loves you," Maul said, slowly and deliberately. "He adores you. And you love him, I know you do."

"What does that have to do with anything?" Obi-Wan asked in tired exasperation. "I thought I knew what love was, I was certain I knew what it was, and maybe I do, but I'm not sure he does. Not..." His voice slowly petered out into exhaustion. "Not at all certain. Or maybe our definitions are too different." Maul was silent, blessedly silent, and Obi-Wan focused his attention on his tea, not seeing it. "I looked for him," he murmured. "I hunted for him across the universes, certain that once I found him, everything would be fine. I'd find him and I'd heal, I'd be whole again, and we'd... we'd be..." The lump in his throat was enormous and it was very hard to breathe or swallow around it.

"You'd speed off into the sunset, arm in arm?" Maul said, with a sad kind of humor. "You wanted instant love, didn't you? You wanted everything to be perfect, to be happily ever after."

Obi-Wan nodded wistfully. "I wanted that happily ever after," he said, so quietly the tea he gazed into didn't even ripple with his breath. The dark fluid was like a mirror, reflecting him, so he sipped it.

"We all do," Maul said.

"But that doesn't happen, does it?"

Maul took a deep breath and let it out with a sigh. "No. Not in real life. In real life, your 'happily ever after' snores and has pimples and morning breath that could wilt a sanfrond."

"But he still loves you."

"Yes," Maul agreed. "And you still love him, despite everything he has, does, or is."

Obi-Wan wanted to deny that, to say no, he loved no longer. That he'd given up on love, that he'd finished with the emotion. But it wasn't true. He might feel entitled to his anger, might want to wallow in it, roll around in the emotion until it covered every nook and cranny of his wounded psyche, but he still loved. Traitorous eyes filled with tears that he angrily blinked back. "Yes," he said, the word forced past lips that wanted to lock themselves closed.

"Then it's not too late for that 'happily ever after'," Maul said earnestly. "The two of you -- I remember once, I wondered about your relationship. I wondered if you were telepathically linked, because you always seemed to know what the other was thinking, what the other was doing. I even asked Qui-Gon about it once, and he laughed." Obi-Wan took another sip of tea then held the mug in both hands, tightly, as he listened to Maul. "Don't give up on him, Obi-Wan, please. So what if he said -- everybody makes mistakes, you know. We all say and do things in the heat of the moment we may regret later."

"According to him, I don't," Obi-Wan said bitterly. "I'm perfect. I'm the Force-sent wonder, the blazing Light source. I might as well be a..." Obi-Wan sighed, suddenly overcome with exhaustion. "It's no good," he muttered. "Over these past few days I think I've come to understand the meaning of the phrase 'irreconcilable differences.'"

They sat in silence for a long moment, and Obi-Wan just breathed. Finally, Maul spoke, very quietly. "I don't know what to say to you," he said. "I have no idea what to say." Then don't say anything, Obi-Wan thought to himself, but Maul kept speaking. "I never knew love could hurt like that."

Surprised into looking up, Obi-Wan saw such unutterable sadness on Maul's face that his heart wrenched a little more. "I'm sorry," he choked, and he didn't even know why or what he was apologizing for.

Maul didn't look at him, but stood. "I'll comm you in the morning, perhaps we can get together to spar," he said, and his voice sounded carefully bland. "Goodnight," he added, then he nearly ran out of the apartment.

Obi-Wan sagged back down on the sofa. So, it had come to this -- he would drive away all of his friends, every one of his loved ones, by the taint on his soul. How in the name of the Force could Qui-Gon think him pure and of the Light when all he did was hurt everyone around him?

Rising, leaving his half-drunk tea on the table by the sofa, Obi-Wan stumbled into the padawan's room and fell on the bed, not bothering to remove any clothing or even his boots. It would have been nice to cry, he thought to himself, to rail at the universe for throwing him into this awful situation, but he found himself devoid of tears. Perhaps he should just fade away, disappear, go to some remote corner of the galaxy and die there, alone. Perhaps he should seek out Tyrannus, and ask him to do the honors.

After all, death couldn't be any worse than the life he now lived.

When morning came, it found Obi-Wan still on his back in the padawan's room of Yoda's apartment. He had dozed, he thought, because he remembered nightmares, but he hadn't actually slept, deeply or peacefully. Though the room had no windows, he knew it was morning by the very feel of the air, the way the Temple began to breathe with the waking of thousands of Jedi.

He had no place to be now and nothing to do, since Anakin would be working with his real master. He'd had a good time with Anakin, who had told him the latest rumors as they'd worked together. It seemed that there were certain Jedi who were not in the Temple, despite the general recall, and speculation was rampant. The Council was alternately lauded and reviled for the recall as the rumor mill ground on. One moment, they had captured the traitor and knew all of Tyrannus' plans, and the next, there was a thermal detonator buried under the Temple which would take all the Jedi out with one blow.

The Council, however, remained stubbornly silent.

Voices in Yoda's front room made him wearily curious for a moment, but his exhaustion was such that the curiosity couldn't hold him. The door flying open, however, made him turn his head.

Dotrick stood in the doorway, her squat, powerfully built torso taking up much of the lower half of it. She didn't speak, to his surprise, but instead immediately walked to him, peeling a medicinal patch from its backing as she did. One of her hands pushed Obi-Wan's head to one side while the other attached the patch to his neck over his carotid, pressing firmly.

"What's that? Ow," Obi-Wan said as his hair was pulled.

"Sorry," she said briskly, not sounding at all contrite. "It's medicine. Get up. You have a choice this morning -- you can eat a full breakfast at the table or I start a drip. Make up your mind."

Obi-Wan gaped at her. What had happened to the kind, helpful Dotrick?

"You've got about thirty seconds before I install the shunt, so you'd better make up your mind quickly," she added.

"I'll... I'll eat..." he said, struggling to rise.

She helped him rise with one hand on his biceps. "Good choice," she said. "Let's go."

There was a plate of steaming doula on Yoda's table, along with bread and fruit. "Where's Master Yoda?" The apartment was empty, to his surprise.

"Already gone to a meeting." She poured tea and placed on the table with the food. "Sit. Eat."

"Yes, yes," Obi-Wan muttered, sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the low table. A whiff of the doula set his mouth to watering and his stomach growled. He was hungry... how could that be? "What's in this patch?" he asked suspiciously.

>From her seat across the table, Dotrick picked up his fork and placed it in his hand. "Eat. The reason you're hungry is because you haven't been taking in the proper nourishment." Obi-Wan sighed. Master Yoda was ratting on him again. "Eat!" she demanded, and to get her to shut up, he did so.

Before he realized it, the plate was empty, the fruit and the bread gone, and he was on his second cup of tea. His stomach was very happy, which made it about the only thing in his body that was. He didn't feel quite so dull, though, didn't feel quite like he was moving through water just to lift his arm. "What is in this patch?" he asked again, staring at her through narrowed eyes.

She stared right back, and her crest rose slightly. "Among other things, a serotonin re-uptake inhibitor," she said. "Are you happy now that you know? You've managed to avoid the shunt and the drip, so let's see how well you do with the rest. Go wash and change your clothes."

"What are you, my master?" he said irritably. What the fuck was serotonin and why would he not want it re-uptaken? The word was familiar but he couldn't quite place it.

"Hardly," she snorted. "Your master would have turned you over her knee long before this. Consider this official notice that I have had it with your self-indulgent, self-pitying bantha-shit. Wash. You stink."

He glared at her, but rose perfunctorily. "Thank you for that delicate assessment, Healer," he said, heavy on the sarcasm. "Sure you don't want to watch to make sure I scrub everywhere?"

"If you don't get moving, I will," she threatened.

There were two 'freshers in Yoda's apartment -- one sized for small beings and one for large. He took a leisurely shower just to piss off Dotrick, but found it felt good to be clean he nearly forgot why he was dawdling. Once out of the shower, he wiped off the mirror and stopped short at the sight of his reflection, shocked by what looked back at him. Who was that gaunt, haunted man? With a start, he realized he'd been actively avoiding mirrors, and now it made sense why. Dotrick was right, he hadn't been eating, and now that he thought about it, he realized he must have been in the process of starving himself. The idea frightened him. How could he have let himself go so badly?

On autopilot, he dried his hair, brushed his teeth and trimmed his beard. He was looking shaggy, and should get a haircut soon, he thought, especially since he couldn't remember the last time he'd had one. He caught himself thinking that Qui-Gon would need a trim too, and felt a pang in his middle. Suppressing it, he continued with his morning routine.

When he emerged, cleaner and feeling better than he had in several days, Dotrick was sitting on Yoda's couch. "Good," she said, examining him. "We can do this here or in my office or in one of the gardens. Which would you prefer?"

"Do what?" Obi-Wan asked guardedly.

"Yell at each other, of course."

Taken aback by her acerbic words, Obi-Wan blinked. "Uh... I don't suppose I could plead a headache?"

"Not on your life," she snorted. "You've been avoiding me, and I've been letting you. But it's now evident your deterioration has been as rapid as Qui-Gon's, and in some ways, you're even further down that road. It's something that needs to be addressed, right now."

He grimaced and took a seat on the hard chair opposite the sofa. "This is ridiculous. I am an adult, you know. I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself. I don't need this... this... " he waved his hand between them, incapable of finding the right word.

"Fine," she said. "Resign from the Jedi."

"What?!" He gaped at her.

"You heard me," she said. "If you don't want to be looked after in this fashion, or feel you don't need to be, fine. Resign. Take a job as a shuttle driver in the lower industrial city. I'm sure you'll be much happier."

He flopped back in the chair, his mouth hanging open. He was used to Dotrick's bluntness, but this went beyond -- far beyond -- even that. Managing to close his mouth, finally, he narrowed his eyes in suspicion. "Does your species menstruate?"

She glared right back at him as she replied. "No."

Well that settled that. "So, are you actually counseling me to resign from the Jedi?"

"Absolutely not," she said. "I'm telling you if you have no wish to get better, no wish to fix yourself and hopefully your marriage, then resignation would be your best course. Because as long as you remain a Jedi, I will remain your healer, and I will do whatever I have to do to ensure that you remain healthy, in body and in mind."

Damned pushy healers. "So I take that to mean you don't believe I am healthy," he asked, deliberately goading her.

"Please," she scoffed. "If I had allowed this to go one more day we would have been feeding you through a tube to keep you alive, and I would have been very unhappy with you."

That brought him up short. She believed him to be that bad off? Obi-Wan's mild headache seemed to intensify at the thought. "I'm not..."

"As far as I'm concerned, you were heading that way rapidly," she interrupted him. "And we're going to discuss it, so don't even think about evading me."

"Little gods, you're a bitch sometimes," Obi-Wan complained, rubbing his forehead.

"That epithet does not apply to me," Dotrick answered. "Let's start by talking about your Council meeting, and the censure that was applied."

"Oh, let's not and say we did," Obi-Wan moaned, closing his eyes.

She ignored his protestations, and continued implacably. "You've told me that you believe you deserved the Council's censure for the events on Gi," she said. "Why?"

Obi-Wan sighed. "Because I did not act as a Jedi there. Yes, I know we've discussed it, and I know that I may not have had much of a choice in how the situation was handled. But the truth is, I allowed my emotions to rule me and it could have ended badly. That it didn't can be chalked up to pure chance. Luck."

"Perhaps," she conceded, pinning him to his seat with her gaze. "Or perhaps it was your rational part, the true Jedi, managing to keep things from exploding too far."

Slumping even further back into his chair, Obi-Wan waved his hand. "Possibly," he said. "I think it might have been more luck."

"Have you come to terms with what happened there?"

He chewed his lip while he thought. "I think so," he finally said. "Actually, receiving the censure helped. I did screw up, but it could have been so much worse than it was."

"I'm still not very happy with your thinking you deserved the censure," she said, sounding frustrated, "Since it appears as if you're handling it, though, I'll let that slide for now."

Thank the gods for small favors, Obi-Wan thought. Dotrick gave him a narrow-eyed glare, and he returned it as innocently as he could. He knew quite well she'd picked that thought up.

"So, let's move on to what happened between you and Qui-Gon," she said, and Obi-Wan tried to push himself deeper into the chair, thinking, do we have to?

"Yes, we do."

"I don't want to," he said quietly, fully aware he sounded petulant.

"Tough," she replied. "What Qui-Gon said to you was horrible. He said--"

"I know what he said," Obi-Wan interrupted her harshly.

"Tell me what he said, then. Tell me what he said in your words."

Obi-Wan swallowed and worked his jaw. His mouth was suddenly very dry, and he could feel his heart hammering in his ears. "He said he was glad he was tortured," he finally managed to get out. "He said he was glad it was him, not me. I know what he said -- he thinks it's because he was 'sparing' me or some such idiocy. But that wasn't it, that wasn't his motivation."

"It wasn't?" Dotrick's voice was back to being mild and gentle, but Obi-Wan realized he almost preferred the blunt and acerbic.

"No." He desperately wanted to pace -- no, he wanted to escape. But that wasn't possible, because Dotrick was pinning him to his chair as if he were a germ under a microscope. "He wanted to be tortured. He wanted to understand me."

"So, you think he wanted to be beaten, to be raped?"

It was getting quite difficult to breathe... perhaps the Temple environmental controls were out again. "I should think it was evident," he told her, pulling at the neckline of his tunic. "He all but came out and said it -- hell, he did say it. He said he was glad the Force sent him that lesson."

"But is that the same thing?" Dotrick asked. "He said he wanted to spare you the abuse. Is that the same thing as wanting to be tortured?"

"I don't see the difference!" Obi-Wan shouted, then recoiled at his own vehemence.

"Why are you so angry?" Dotrick tilted her head, staring intently at him.

"Because it's not right!" Obi-Wan said, barely controlling his voice. "No one should want to be tortured, to be abused, to... to..."

"No, I agree with you," Dotrick said calmly when Obi-Wan floundered. "Wanting to be beaten is wrong. What Qui-Gon said to you was terrible, and it's something that's going to need a lot of work for us in order to get him through it. What I want to understand is this -- why did it push you away from him? It was the trauma speaking -- I'm sure you understood that. Yet, you've avoided him since then. Why?"

"I don't want to have to hear it again," Obi-Wan said, trying vainly to shove the anger down. "I don't want to have to listen to him say how he understands me now, how I make so much better sense to him."

"But that's only part of the problem, isn't it?" Dotrick asked. "He claims to understand you better, but that's really only part of his trauma. He needs you to be there for him, so that he can heal, so that he can get past this irrational thinking."

"I can't help him in this," Obi-Wan said stubbornly. "He has his pain. If he wants to wear it like a hair shirt, fine. I don't have to sit with him and be insulted."

"Insulted?" Dotrick gave him a shrewd look before continuing. "You say you don't want to help him in this, that you can't help him. But isn't that what mates do? Sometimes despite what their other halves want? Didn't you pledge to love him, to be with him, through all... the good and the bad? Giving up now is abandoning him when he needs you most."

Obi-Wan couldn't answer that. "There's more to it than that," he mumbled.

"Then explain it to me."

Thoughts and ideas -- half formed and vague -- chased themselves through Obi-Wan's brain. "I... I don't think I can, I don't think I can articulate it," he finally said, very softly.

"Let me help you try to pin it down," Dotrick said. "You're angry with him. Yes?"

"Yes," Obi-Wan chewed on the inside of his cheek, trying to keep from saying more.

"The anger you feel comes from somewhere. Do you agree?"

"Yes."

"It doesn't just spring into being without cause, yes?" He nodded slowly, and she continued. "There are many reasons for anger. Fear, frustration, insult, jealousy, resentment... to name a few." She looked at him narrowly. "Fear, I think we can recognize and account for. You were afraid for his life, afraid he would die."

"I..." Obi-Wan swallowed against a suddenly dry throat. "Yes," he finally said.

"Frustration..." Once again, he had the sense that Dotrick was peering into his mind. "You were frustrated with him. He wanted or appeared to want something that was absurd and extremely dangerous. This, of course, links back into fear."

As if from a great remove, Obi-Wan looked down at his hands, which were knotted in his lap. He felt disconnected from his body, incapable of even breathing. The skin under the patch on his neck itched.

"Resentment is something we can discuss at length, I believe," Dotrick said, her voice still even and quiet. She studied him -- or he assumed she was studying him, since he would not look up. Her next words were a surprise, however. "What is the usual dynamic between the two of you?" she asked.

He shook his head, frowning. "Dynamic?"

"How do you normally behave toward each other?" she clarified. "Qui-Gon is generally the caregiver, is he not?"

"I..." Off his guard, Obi-Wan blinked up at her in confusion. "I guess... we're partners."

"Yes, in the field you're equal partners. In private, however, you behave differently to each other. What is that dynamic?"

At a loss, Obi-Wan floundered, looking for the proper word. "I'm not sure..."

"When I've observed you," she said, "I've noticed that Qui-Gon tends to hover, to touch you; he tends to..."

"He doesn't trust me to be alone," Obi-Wan interrupted her. He spoke bitterly, almost surprised at the words that came from his mouth. "When we were on Kamino, we drew lots for who would go back to Coruscant to inform the Council of what we'd seen. I made sure I would have the short end, because... because I wanted him and Maul to have a chance to talk. There was tension between them, and I wanted them... to be friends. Maul needed a friend." Obi-Wan swallowed, hating himself for admitting this. "He argued with me. He didn't want me to be alone. He didn't think I could handle it."

"He wanted to take care of you," Dotrick said.

"Yes."

"How did that make you feel?"

"Angry. I'm not a child."

"No, though you have been known to act like one," Dotrick said dryly, surprising a snort of amusement from Obi-Wan. "So, Qui-Gon is the caregiver. He looks after you, helps you when you need help."

"When I need it and even when I don't," Obi-Wan muttered.

She blinked slowly but ignored his words. "And you -- generally, you let him. You are the one cared for. This is difficult for you? It makes you angry every time it happens?"

"No... I don't mean... But... I..." Obi-Wan suddenly saw where she was going, and didn't like the direction at all.

"It doesn't make you angry every time, does it?" Dotrick interrupted his search for words. "In fact, most of the time you appreciate him being there. You want him to be there, to touch you, as you touch him."

"That is not the same thing!" Obi-Wan said loudly, trying to drown out both her voice and the voice inside his head which was urging him towards sanity.

"No, it's not," Dotrick agreed. Obi-Wan was getting tired of her agreeing with him. "Most of the time, his touches indicate his love for you, and your touches indicate your love for him. Do you still love him?"

"Of course I love him," Obi-Wan said sharply, then he paused, surprised.

"But you don't like him very much right now."

After a little while, once he remembered to breathe again, Obi-Wan gave her a sad, resigned smile. "No, I guess I don't."

"There's nothing wrong with that, you know," she said gently. "You can still love someone and not like them very much at times."

"I know," he said, and sighed.

"He needs you," Dotrick said. "In order for you to help him, however, we have to work through this problem you have. Do you agree?"

"Yes," Obi-Wan said, with a much greater sigh. It seemed she was going to make him face himself and there wasn't much he could do about it.

"Very good. I'm going to guide you into meditation, then return to the Healers'. This afternoon, I want you to meet someone -- anyone -- and spar. I've reserved room 140B from half past first to fourth, in your name. Whoever you spar with, make sure they chase you around the salle at least four times. You need exercise, and this is the best way for you to get it."

"Yes, Master," Obi-Wan said meekly.

"Call Siri or Maul, why don't you," she added, standing. He stood with her. "Or perhaps Sasha. She needs the exercise almost as much as you, and it would do Loral well to be alone with the baby." They walked to the cleared space in Yoda's apartment where soft mats were placed. Obi-Wan knelt and Dotrick pretzeled her legs into the strange position she used. "And don't try to sneak out of it," she added. "I'll know."

Wondering why he felt both better and worse, Obi-Wan nodded mutely. After a moment, he glanced up and gave her a wry smile. "We never did get to the shouting," he said.

"Tomorrow," she said with a pointed look, and Obi-Wan dutifully closed his eyes.

"Stop!" Obi-Wan gasped. He doubled over, resting his hands on his thighs.

Sasha Fellis was also breathing hard, but was not nearly as bad off as Obi-Wan. She thumbed off her 'saber and nodded. "Right," she said, obviously saving her breath.

There were towels and a couple of bottles of water in the corner of the room -- an older one that was not used as much, since it had no locker or shower facilities -- and Obi-Wan walked over to the pile, positive that he could not summon the energy to lift the items with the Force. "I thought... you'd just... had a... a baby," he managed to gasp out, as he opened one of the bottles and took a long swig.

"I have," she said with a smile. "You're just out of shape."

"I am not..." he tried to protest, but could barely get it out for his lack of air.

"'Rest my case," she said, catching the other bottle as he tossed it to her. "You're out of shape, and while I just had a baby, I remained in shape by sparring or doing katas every day."

"Every day?" Obi-Wan said, shocked. He stopped mopping his face with a towel to gape at her. "Even while you were pregnant?"

"I was pregnant, not sick, Obi-Wan." Her voice had a wry note that made Obi-Wan smile.

"And did Loral know about this?" He tried to hide his grin behind his towel.

"Loral had nothing to do with it... well no, I mean, he had nothing to do with my body... I mean..."

He laughed at her discomfiture and she stuck out her tongue. "So he didn't know. Since Malvis came out so healthy he could practically carry you home, it apparently did neither of you any harm."

"I was under a healer's care," she said, slinging her own towel around her neck, under her ponytail. "She knew what I was doing. Loral would have just fussed had he known, and so we didn't tell him."

"He would have fussed," Obi-Wan repeated, giving her an incredulous look.

"Fussed," she said firmly. "Let's do something to cool down. The third?"

"The whole form?"

"Why not?"

He shook his head. "As you wish, milady."

The third form was a good choice for them, as it was slow and mostly open-handed, and since it was one of the first forms ever learned in the Temple, they didn't even have to think to do it. Obi-Wan let himself be lulled into the peace of the movements, trying to to simply be, as his discipline asked of him.

Then, of course, Sasha ruined it. "So, Anakin tells me you're terribly depressed, not eating, and desperately lonely."

Stumbling slightly, Obi-Wan corrected his stance and looked over at her, aghast. "Anakin said that?"

"Well, not directly." She pursed her lips in thought as she moved. "With Anakin, you have to read between the lines. But that's the gist of it."

Nonplussed, Obi-Wan continued with the kata, easing from the first to the second fluidly, or as fluidly as he was able.

"Well?" Sasha gave him a glance out of the corner of her eyes.

"Well what?" he asked, thinking as fast as he could.

"Are you?" When he didn't answer, she glanced at him again. "I know about Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan. What I don't know is why you're not with him."

"I..." he paused but managed to pick up his rhythm again. "I can't."

"You can't what?" she asked, sounding genuinely curious and calm, which went a long way towards calming him, oddly enough. "You can't see him, you can't talk about it, you can't keep up with me, all of the above or none of the above?"

He smiled despite himself. "Most of the above, I think," he finally replied. The third kata in the form wound down and he let his hands fall to his sides and stilled his feet. "I seem to be having some difficulty where he's concerned, lately," he said, staring at the floor.

Sasha stilled her own movements. "You're bonded," she said. "It happens."

"What happens?" he frowned at the floor.

"Fights, disagreements -- difficulties. It's to be expected. Actually, I've been waiting for it to happen with the two of you. I'm surprised it didn't happen sooner."

That surprised him enough that he looked up. She was staring off into space with a thoughtful expression. "You two are quite intense, you know, and you've been living in each others' back pockets for years now. That alone could lead to a blow-up. I remember all the arguments you had on the way back from Naboo, and, in fact, that alone told me you would be bonded shortly. I won that bet with Loral."

"You had a bet?"

"Yep," she replied, grinning. "The two of you are very much alike, you know. You're both perfectionists, extremely competitive, and intensely empathetic with each other. As far as I'm concerned, the miracle is how you've managed to avoid significant fights until now."

Obi-Wan blinked at her in surprise, trying to wrap his brain around that concept. "I don't... I don't know if I understand you, Sasha," he finally said. "You and Loral..."

"We fight all the time," she said blithely. "His choice of food, my choice of decor, the care and feeding of a padawan... all of it. We have little fights so that the big fights don't have a chance to form."

Shaking his head in confusion, Obi-Wan said, "I don't understand. Big fights and little fights? Doesn't it bother you?"

She shook her head, giving him a mildly surprised look. "Of course not," she said. "We're bonded. That doesn't mean we have to move in lockstep with each other. It means that we try to work out the problems as they come up, and if it takes having a brief screaming match to settle it, so be it." She winked at him. "Make-up sex is fantastic, you know."

Obi-Wan laughed outright, surprising himself again. Sasha pointedly began the next kata in the form, and after a moment, he joined her movements. "I'm not sure I understand any of that at all," he murmured. "Perhaps my problem is that I'm so inexperienced with the whole concept."

"What do you mean?" she frowned at him.

"It's so different here." Obi-Wan cast his mind back to where he started, to his home -- his former home -- universe. "I grew up thinking that attachments -- like marriage -- were bad. We could have sex, we could even love, but we could not form attachments." Just another thing not to miss from his former home. "I knew about marriage, but it was forbidden to Jedi. We were not allowed."

It was Sasha who stopped this time. "That's ridiculous." The derision in her voice gave him pause. "It's almost as ridiculous as what you've told us about how padawans were chosen. That's a very unhealthy way of thinking, Obi-Wan."

He sighed, stilling his own movements. "I know that now," he said. "But it doesn't change the fact that I was raised that way. I never thought it was wrong. It was just..."

"Just how things are," she finished for him. "Or in your case, how things were. Because they're not like that here, Obi-Wan."

"I know that, now," he repeated with some exasperation.

"Have you told your healer about how you were raised?"

He blinked in confusion. "Why would she care about that? It's not that important."

She rolled her eyes, planted her fists on her hips and glared at him. "Here's what I want to know -- how can you be so smart and so dumb at the same time?"

He glared right back. "It's a gift."

Sasha dragged him home with her for dinner, going so far as to have Anakin go to Yoda's apartment and get him clean clothes, so he could shower and change. Once Obi-Wan was clean, she plopped baby Malvis on his lap and went to make dinner.

She seemed to be utterly determined that Obi-Wan not be alone for a moment and not have time to brood. Anakin plied him with questions over his astrometric schoolwork, and Loral got his input on a form he was developing for tailed Jedi. Malvis lay on his lap staring up at him with his inscrutable baby eyes before abruptly falling asleep. He was a warm, furry bundle in Obi-Wan's arms, a surprisingly soothing presence.

Dinner was informal and pleasant, often with everyone at the table talking simultaneously. Malvis, who had been moved to a portable bassinet, woke toward the end of dinner and made his demands for nourishment quite loudly, generating an incredible amount of noise for a being so small. Shoving a last forkful of food in her mouth, Sasha stood and moved into the living room to nurse him.

Anakin began clearing the table without being told, and shook his head with a smile when Obi-Wan would have stood to help. "It's my job, Master Obi-Wan," he said. "Master Sasha is teaching me how to cook and says that it's just as important to learn how to clean up after."

Loral made a disgusted noise, but couldn't hide his grin. "Cooking food. Bah. It's perfectly good raw. Even better, alive."

"I noticed you didn't have any problems eating my ruined food tonight," Sasha called from the other room.

"I am a Jedi," Loral shot back, looking at Sasha over his shoulder. "I was raised to eat anything, even if it's ruined."

"You can always go down to the lower city and hunt rats, beloved."

Anakin was trying to hold in his laughter as he carried plates to the kitchen while listening to the banter. Obi-Wan smiled as well, listening and watching them with a different intensity, trying to see them from the perspective of how he was raised. Perhaps Sasha was right, and it was something he should bring up to Dotrick. It sounded as if she would be back in the morning, bothering him.

Letting the peace of the household wash over him, Obi-Wan sat quietly at the table and thought about his own upbringing. He'd never had what Anakin now had, which amounted to a family, something that was unknown in his original life. Anakin was obviously thriving here, and he wondered how different the Jedi named Obi-Wan Kenobi might have been had he grown up in this Temple, in this reality. How and what would his relationship with Qui-Gon have been, here?

Eventually, Maul and Jayden appeared, confirming Obi-Wan's suspicions that Sasha was indeed setting him up. He didn't know whether to be touched by her concern or irritated by it, but finally just let it go. Maul gave him a very intense look before hugging him warmly, a hug Obi-Wan returned gladly.

The evening flew by with a raucous game of sabacc followed by an equally vicious game of tensquares. By the end of it, Obi-Wan actually felt tired and found himself yawning. Some invisible signal must have gone around the table because the next thing he knew, Maul and Jayden had him up and out the door.

"I am perfectly capable of going to bed by myself, gentlemen," Obi-Wan said, once they were in Yoda's apartment. "I don't think I need the babysitter service any longer." The two of them gave him their best innocent look, but Obi-Wan wasn't buying it.

"I don't think we need to strip him and tuck him in, Jay," Maul said, slinging an arm around his lover's shoulder.

"I don't think I'll let you," Jayden replied, grinning at both of them. "Goodnight, Obi-Wan," he added, taking Obi-Wan's upper arm in a gentle grip and giving him a shake. "Sleep well."

Yoda was not in, and Obi-Wan figured he was probably still stuck in meetings with the Council. On the bed in the padawan's room was a note and another patch. The note was from Dotrick, and merely said, "Put this on." Rolling his eyes, he did so.

What was in the patch, he didn't know. But about ten minutes after applying it, he was asleep.

Obi-Wan woke naturally the next morning, aware that for the first time in days, he had slept well, without nightmares. It was early yet, but the Temple was stirring, and he smelled breakfast from the other room. He rose and went to the 'fresher for his morning routine, carefully keeping his mind blank. The patch fell off in the shower, and he threw it away.

To his surprise, Dotrick was not waiting for him, though Yoda was. There was a plate of warm food and a steaming mug of cha on the table, which Yoda indicated was his. He sat down and tucked in, aware that if he didn't, Yoda would report it to Dotrick and Dotrick would get on his back again. Yoda was ostensibly reading from a datapad, but Obi-Wan decided not to take any chances.

"Look better, you do," Yoda said at that moment, confirming Obi-Wan's suspicions.

"Thank you, Master," Obi-Wan finished his cha.

"See him I will, today," Yoda said casually. "Message you have for him?"

Obi-Wan looked down at his empty plate, thinking, not thinking, trying not to think... "No, I don't think so."

"Hmmm." Yoda was silent again as Obi-Wan stood and took care of his dishes.

The melancholy that dogged Obi-Wan's steps lately was once again threatening to overwhelm him, and he almost looked forward to the arrival of Dotrick. He definitely felt something when she was with him.

He was so preoccupied that he actually started when Yoda spoke again. "Tell him I will that miss him you do," he said. "Listen to me he will."

Obi-Wan leaned over the sink and closed his eyes. "Miss him?" he murmured. "Yes, I suppose I do. Like I would miss my heart were it gone."

"Gone your heart is not," Yoda said gently. "Strong as durasteel it is. Resilient. Find your way back, you will, and soon." Obi-Wan didn't open his eyes or turn, but by sound he could tell Yoda was rising and moving. "More meetings I have. Bah. Need you both we do. Go away on their own, problems do not."

Keeping his eyes closed, Obi-Wan smiled. "It's nice to be needed," he murmured.

"Back late I will be," Yoda continued. "Here, Dotrick will be, soon. Listen to her you will."

"Yes, Master." He heard the door open and shut, and knew that he was now alone in the apartment.

Finishing his clean-up was a task of a few moments, then he found himself at odds. The apartment was neat and didn't require any maintenance, and though he had dirty laundry, he knew the Temple staff would take care of it for him.

Aimless, he walked over to the long, narrow window that overlooked the Temple district. The faint scream of wind through the transparisteel sounded familiar, and he suddenly found himself cast back almost six years (had it really been nearly six years?) to what amounted to another life entirely. Mace and Yoda had been sitting on the sofa, discussing the Naboo situation, and Qui-Gon had been standing silently behind him. He remembered the pain in his heart, how he had wanted so badly to believe that this reality would be his home, that this Qui-Gon would be his savior, his salvation, his love.

How could it have all come true and all been false at the same time?

The door opened behind him and he felt the unmistakable presence of Dotrick. Yoda must have keyed the lock for her, then, the crafty old frog. He didn't turn from the window but instead continued to contemplate the view, still lost in memory.

He heard the hard chair creak in protest as she sat -- and her sigh actually brought him out of his introspection. He turned and frowned at what he saw. Dotrick's normally silvery-bright scales were dull, her face and crest were turned down and her eyes were closed. She looked exhausted.

"Thank you, I'm aware of that." Even her voice sounded raw and tired.

"I wish you'd stop doing that." Obi-Wan came around the sofa and sat.

"Don't think so loudly, then," she replied, and he smiled in sympathy. He could only guess how difficult life was for a telepath -- he wouldn't want to live it. Without opening her eyes, she fished a medical patch from a pocket and handed it to him. "Here. Put this on."

He couldn't stop himself from rolling his eyes, but he did put the patch on. "Do I want to know what's in this one?"

"No," she said. Her eyes opened and she suddenly yawned. "Sorry."

"What's happened to get you so worn out?" he asked, settling into the sofa.

"You don't want to know that, either."

An icy tendril of fear coiled around his stomach. "It's Qui-Gon, isn't it?"

"You don't want to know," Dotrick said again. "He's fine -- well, he's as fine as he could be at this stage. Right now, we want to talk about you."

"If something's wrong, I want--"

"There's nothing you can do at the moment, Obi-Wan," Dotrick interrupted him. She sounded as close to harsh as he'd ever heard her. He knew that counseling both of them was wearing on her, and wondered if he should actually request another healer -- for her sake. "If you want to help him, then first help yourself."

Well, that was blunt enough. Obi-Wan swallowed, all thoughts of a different mind-healer flying out the window. "All right," he managed to force out.

Dotrick gave him a hard look. "I don't think you mean that, for some reason," she said. "I'm not at all sure you're ready to hear yourself yet."

"Hear myself?"

"Look at you -- you're ready to stand and run! You're hunched over, perched on the edge of the sofa -- you're ready to take off at the least provocation. Fight or flight, I believe you mammals call it. I know you've been through a lot of truly bad things, Obi-Wan, but this one is of your own making."

Sudden anger suffused him. "It was hardly my fault that Qui-Gon was kidnapped and--"

"That is not what I'm referring to," she interrupted him, loudly. "You were doing fine with him until his therapy became more intense, until he turned it all around and made it about you. It's not about you, Obi-Wan, it's about him."

"I know that," he snarled.

"I don't think you do." Her deep voice rang through the apartment. "I think you're still so wrapped up in your own pain that you don't want to deal with any of his. I think you're so self-centered that you'll let him be alone when the last thing he wants and needs is to be is away from you!"

"Stop it." Obi-Wan found himself shaking with rage.

"Forget it," Dotrick snapped. "I may be a healer, I may have taken an oath, but dammit, this is something you need to hear, something I need to make you confront. Why can't you face Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan?"

"I said I don't want to talk about it," Obi-Wan said, ran his hands through his hair.

"No, you didn't say that, and it doesn't matter if you do or don't, you're going to. Why do you feel insulted when Qui-Gon tells you he's glad it was he who was hurt and brutalized?"

"I don't want--"

"Why are you so angry at him, Obi-Wan?" That damn female would simply not give up. Why wouldn't she give up?! She stood and stalked to him, her head only slightly higher than his. "Why do you resent his pain, Obi-Wan?"

"BECAUSE IT'S MINE!" he bellowed. His hands automatically searched his belt before he realized his 'saber was in the other room.

"What is yours?" she demanded. "Is his pain your pain, Obi-Wan?"

"YES!" He shoved her aside as he leapt to his feet and began to pace, gesturing wildly, wondering why he wanted to get his 'saber. "That's MY pain! How dare he! Three days of torture and he thinks he's equal to me? Equal to what I've been through? He thinks he knows me because of that... that... That's... that's... damn him! He has no right to it! He has no right to... to..."

"To usurp your position as victim?"

Obi-Wan found himself trapped in a corner of the room as her voice, suddenly mild again, washed over him. All the air in the room had escaped and his lungs strained for oxygen, but he could not take a breath. He rested his forehead against the wall and closed his eyes. "No," he whimpered. He raised his hands and pressed them and his body deeper into the corner. "No..."

"Yes," she contradicted him. She didn't move to him, but her voice was sympathetic. "The dynamic in your relationship has changed, Obi-Wan. You are no longer the victim -- Qui-Gon is. You feel entitled to this anger you carry around because of what you've endured, but he has upstaged you, he has stolen your role from you. He feels equal to you, now, and it makes you angry, because he is not."

"No..." Obi-Wan whispered.

"You were the victim, life dealt you those cards. But now, Qui-Gon has been dealt the same hand. You can't handle that, can you?"

"Oh, gods..."

"It's all right, Obi-Wan. I know it hurts. But we'll get through it."

He was having difficulty breathing, difficulty talking. "I can't do it... I'm not who he thinks I am," Obi-Wan finally gasped. There was an inexplicable pain in his middle.

"No, you're not. You're human. He knows that, deep down. We just need to remind him, that's all."

His eyes burned, there was a huge lump in his throat, and his nose was stopped up for some reason. Removing his hands from the walls, he wrapped his arms around himself tightly, trying to keep himself from flying apart. "Oh, gods. Oh, gods. I can't..."

"Yes, you can," Dotrick said. He felt her gentle hand on the back of his neck. "Yes, you can."

PART TWO: Qui-Gon

He hated it when the room light was turned off. So it was left on, all the time.

Someone was always sitting with him, every time he opened his eyes he saw someone, but it was never the person he wanted most. Never Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan said he'd find him. He'd always find him. All he had to do was wait.

But it was taking a long time.

Sometimes, when he opened his eyes, Dotrick was sitting in the chair by his bed. Sometimes, Yoda would be there. Yoda would talk to him gently, not at all the way Yoda usually talked to him. He was easy to ignore, for a change.

There never seemed to be any reason to talk to anyone who was sitting in the chair, because they weren't Obi-Wan. There were times, periods of lucidity, when he was able to recognize his behavior as childish and petulant. But every time he tried to rouse himself to find out what he'd said to drive away Obi-Wan, he'd get a flashback, and his will would be superceded by his fear.

At least that's what Dotrick said. He wasn't so sure, actually, and was beginning to doubt his sanity altogether.

Food was placed before him, and he ate, a little bit, anyway. Enough to keep them from hounding him to eat more. The effort to rise and use the 'fresher became too much of a burden, so he settled for bed baths and portable urinals.

He was sliding down into darkest despair, and he saw no reason to stop it.

Dotrick or Lissa kept putting patches on his neck or giving him hypos, trying to get him to react. He could sometimes tell when the patch contained an amphetamine, as he would feel the urge to rise. He usually managed to overcome it, though.

Actually, Dotrick was the worst one for him. She sat with him, sometimes for hours at a time, talking gently to him, trying to get him to respond. He felt her gentle presence inside his mind, but knew she would only be able to read his 'public' mind, and there really wasn't much there. He sensed her frustration, but was apathetic to it.

At times, Sasha or Loral would visit. Sometimes, they'd bring the baby, trying to get him to react to Malvis. He was a beautiful baby, and his Force presence was formidable, but he wasn't enough to rouse Qui-Gon out of his wallow.

Truth was, he didn't want to be roused. He'd messed up badly, somehow, and this was his penance -- to live without his Obi-Wan. He could understand that, and though he didn't want to, he knew that he could live like this... alone.

Then, suddenly, he opened his eyes to darkness. The room light was off.

Be calm, he told himself, he was safe. He was in the Temple. There was no one to hurt him. The room was cold because the environmental controls were not working. That smell was nothing more than...

When the door crashed open, Qui-Gon screamed in his mind, gathered the Force to him -- the Force was answering his call, he wasn't drugged, he was home -- and lashed out as strongly as he could. He rolled off of whatever he was on and fell, unable to prevent the grunt of pain as his shoulder hit the floor, hard. He scrabbled to find something to put between himself and his attackers.

He heard yells and felt the presence of others all rushing to his room, all rushing to hurt him -- no, not to hurt him, he was home, he was safe -- and he managed to crawl under something, while throwing objects he could sense, levitating them frantically and tossing them almost at random.

There were more yells and some screams, but Qui-Gon paid them no heed. He was wrapped up in himself, trapped in his hysteria, trying to cram his large, sore frame under something, into a corner, away from the pain, away from the panic.

Abruptly, he felt a presence in his mind. At first, he shied away from it, but then he seemed to recognize it -- Obi-Wan?. The presence was soothing, warm and gentle, and he gravitated to it with relief.

There was a gentle, scaly hand on his ankle. "Qui-Gon? I need to see you, Qui-Gon. You need to come out from under there."

"Dotrick?"

"Yes. You've hurt yourself, Qui-Gon, you need to come out so we can look at you."

Finally, he realized he was under the bed. He was under the bed in his room at the Healers', and his shoulder hurt abominably. Gradually, he uncoiled and began pushing himself out, aided by Dotrick's hands. "That's it," she crooned. "Nice and slow."

He let himself be helped up, not able to keep from wincing as his shoulder and knee protested. The light was still off in the room, but someone had brought a portable lamp and turned it on. Through the open door, he could see the lurid red emergency lights from the hall.

"What happened?" he said, confused and puzzled.

"There's been a partial electrical outage," Dotrick told him, easing him back down to his bed. "Some kind of overload, I understand. The emergency power in the Healers' isn't for the lighting, it's for more critical equipment."

"I thought I heard..." Qui-Gon began, then frowned. The furniture in the room was piled haphazardly around the door, as if it had been blocking it. The two chairs and the cot Obi-Wan had been sleeping on were overturned, and one of the chairs looked splintered into two pieces.

"You had a flashback." Dotrick picked up the undamaged chair and pulled it back to his bedside before continuing. "When you woke in the dark."

"I did that?" He indicated the wreckage, appalled at his actions.

"Your Force acuity is quite formidable," Dotrick said wryly.

Qui-Gon perched gently on the edge of the bed, then turned when he sensed the presence of another. It was Healer AnBatRa, who looked into the room carefully. "Is it safe?" at her words, Qui-Gon was overcome with another wave of self-loathing.

"Yes, everything's fine." Dotrick turned to Qui-Gon irritably. "Stop that," she told him, then turned back to the healer. "Lissa, come have a look at his shoulder and knee, if you could."

"You've provided us with a bit of excitement, Qui-Gon," Lissa was smiling and didn't seem at all afraid, which didn't really soothe him. "Let's see what damage you've done."

Stoically, he allowed the healer to check him over, managing to keep his distaste pressed down. His shoulder was quite painful to manipulate, as was his knee, and she clucked over his re-injuring them. "We'll need to be careful over those for a while," she said. "Do you want something for the pain?"

"No," he said, swallowing. "I'll be fine."

"You don't look fine," Lissa said. "But I'll take your word for it now. I'll have a padawan bring in a cold compress for you in a moment. And I guess I'd better call the Quartermaster's about the furniture."

Suddenly, the lights came back on, and Qui-Gon began to breathe easier. "Well, that's about time," Lissa said. She patted him on his unhurt shoulder. "I'll be around should you need me, I'm on the late shift anyway."

Qui-Gon settled carefully back onto the bed, favoring his shoulder and knee. He glanced at Dotrick, but she was sitting stoically in the chair, watching him. "It must be late," he murmured, and she cocked her head.

"It is. Are you actually going to be here for a change, Qui-Gon?"

"I..." He glanced around the room, still confused. "I'm sorry... I've not..."

"You've been withdrawn almost to the point of catatonic," Dotrick said calmly. "It's unfortunate that it took a crisis to break you out of it, but I'm not all that sorry. Perhaps now we can make some progress?"

"What?" A padawan healer peeked around the still-open door, and Dotrick motioned her in. She carried some cold compresses, and Dotrick helped her get them situated on Qui-Gon.

"Progress, Qui-Gon," Dotrick continued, once the padawan was gone. The door was left open, and Qui-Gon realized it was broken. He winced again. "Progress."

"What... what kind of progress?" The cold almost hurt, but at the same time, felt good.

"Progress toward you getting well." Dotrick looked at him seriously. "Progress toward getting you well and whole and back together with your mate."

"Obi-Wan..." Qui-Gon slumped then winced as his muscles protested. "I need..."

"You need to talk to me, Qui-Gon," Dotrick leaned forward. "Do you remember what you said to Obi-Wan?"

"I... I don't know..."

"I do," she said. "And he does, as well. We need to talk about it."

Qui-Gon swallowed, leaned back and closed his eyes. "Is... is he all right? He's still here, isn't he?"

"Where else would he be? He misses you terribly, but he has his own demons to work through. And right now, he doesn't like you very much, so it's better that he stay away."

Focusing on his clasped hands, Qui-Gon swallowed again. "I need him here, I think," he murmured. "More than I thought."

"I know you do."

"He should be here, for me. I was there for him."

"That's true."

"What could I have possibly said that... that... that drove him away from me? Why would he leave?"

Dotrick sighed. "That's what we need to discuss, isn't it? There are several things you said that day that bothered him, that bothered both of us. One of them was that you were glad you were brutalized."

Qui-Gon frowned. "I said that?" Surely, he hadn't.

"Yes, you did." Dotrick gave him a stony look. "I don't think I need to tell you that's a very unhealthy attitude to take."

Searching his memory, Qui-Gon dredged up a reason for it. "It was better... better me than him. He's been through so much, I couldn't..."

"Qui-Gon, that's ridiculous," Dotrick said. "You are ascribing a thought process to Obi-Wan that you have no way of proving. Yes, he's been through some terrible times, but that could have just made him stronger, you know. Assuming that he would have fallen apart is unfair to him, and to you as well."

Stubbornly, Qui-Gon clung to his conviction. "Then why isn't he here to defend himself? He ran away, and that only proves my point."

"It does not," Dotrick shook her head and frowned at him. "He's not here for various reasons, most of which have to do with you and some of the things you said to him." She leaned forward and pinned him to the bed with her stare. "You cannot ascribe feelings and abilities to him that he does not have."

"I don't," Qui-Gon tried to be firm, but only managed tentative. "I do not do that to him."

"You said, and I quote, that he is the Light, that he could no more turn than the galaxy could stop spinning. That he is worth more than double any Jedi in the Temple." She shook her head slowly. "You're making him into something that he is not, that he does not wish to be. He's just a man."

"I know that," Qui-Gon tried to look away from her as he protested her words, but found he could not.

"Do you?" She sat back in her chair finally, and that seemed to release him. "I don't think you do. If you did, you'd understand why he's not here with you now."

Her allegations made Qui-Gon inexplicably angry. "Then perhaps you should explain it to me," he said, crossing his arms in front of his chest. Unfortunately, his shoulder was so sore that that the movement hurt, and he ended up dropping the pose. "Given that you believe I don't understand it at all."

Dotrick cocked her head as she studied him, and that just made him more furious. "Why are you so angry?"

Trying to take deep breaths made his ribs hurt, but he had to calm himself somehow. "I'm not angry," he lied, pointedly not looking at her. After a few moments, almost against his will, he continued. "I'm not that angry," he lied again. "I... I just don't know why Obi-Wan's not here." He felt fragile and lost and there was a lump in his throat and all of it just fed his ire. "I don't know why he can't be here for me when..."

"When you need him?" Dotrick's voice was very quiet and gentle. Qui-Gon nodded mutely. "Obi-Wan has his own issues, Qui-Gon. The things you said to him hurt him terribly, and he felt it was safer for him to be away from you -- safer for both of you."

"I don't understand," Qui-Gon frowned.

"Part of his anger at you was inappropriate, and he knew it," Dotrick said. "Some of what you said that day was the trauma talking, but it still stung. No one likes to hear a loved one claim to be happy about being tortured."

"I wasn't!" Her silence rankled, since he knew she was thinking the opposite. "I merely... I just... it was that I was glad to be able to spare him more... more pain. That's all it was."

"Somehow, I don't think that's what you meant," she murmured.

Qui-Gon hit the bed with his fist, pounding out his frustration. "That's all I meant. That's... that's all."

Dotrick's voice was mild and gentle. "So you weren't glad to be kidnapped, to be tortured and raped, so that you understand him better, so that you know what he went through?"

"Well of course..." he stopped, appalled at his own thought. "Little gods," he murmured, closing his eyes.

"Exactly." She nodded and gave him a sympathetic look. "Either one of those things was enough to hurt, but in combination, they infuriated and terrified him. He can't bear the pain of being with you right now, which is why he's staying away."

"But I need him!" Qui-Gon tried to shout the words, but there simply wasn't enough air in the room to get any volume.

"And he needs you," Dotrick agreed. "Which is why I'm here, talking to you, trying to get you to see the problem, trying to understand why you said what you did, trying to help you get past it."

A wave of self-loathing overtook Qui-Gon, but Dotrick slapped it down. "Stop that. I will not have you retreating back into yourself anymore, Qui-Gon." Her words were echoed by her thoughts as she gently buoyed him up, mentally. "You're here, now, so let's settle it."

He tried to take another deep breath and found it was slightly easier. The constricting band around his middle seemed to have eased. "Yes," he said, surprised at how normal he managed to sound. "Yes, that's probably for the best."

Re-settling himself on his bed, making sure the cold compresses were where they would do the most good, Qui-Gon Jinn mentally girded his loins and prepared for combat. It was unfortunate that he would be simply fighting himself, as he found he'd much rather go unarmed and unclothed into a nest of gundarks.

EPILOGUE: Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan

By the time Yoda showed up, Qui-Gon was thoroughly exhausted. He'd been awake for hours, sparring with Dotrick and allowing her to show him some terrible parts of himself that he hadn't known were there. He'd raged, he'd snarled and snarked, and in the end, he'd even cried. Perhaps it was the last that helped the most.

His shoulder and knee were throbbing, but Lissa had come in with a patch at some point which had eased the pain significantly. It wasn't quite enough to knock him out, however, and when Yoda hobbled into the room -- with an amused and surprised look at the devastation -- he really wished he could at least feign a drugged sleep.

Levitating himself into the remaining good chair, Yoda regarded him. "Better you must feel," he said. "Good to know that back your Force strength is."

"I feel like an idiot," Qui-Gon mumbled, picking at the blanket that covered his legs.

Yoda shrugged. "Idiot you are," he said, and Qui-Gon rolled his eyes. "From a meeting I have come, another meeting out of many. Bah. Better you must be, soon. Need you we do."

"I'm doing my best, Master," Qui-Gon said, swallowing hard.

"Know that, I do," Yoda replied gently. "Much hard work you have done. Pleased with your progress, we are."

"I wish I could say the same," he muttered.

"See it you cannot, for too close you are to it," Yoda said. "See it better, I can." His head swiveled to look at the newly repaired door, which was opening. "Someone else to see you, there is."

Too exhausted to think, Qui-Gon just looked up to see Dotrick, her squat form filling the doorway. She looked at least as exhausted as he was. "Can you take another visitor, Qui-Gon?"

There was another form behind her, slightly taller than her. She moved aside and suddenly he saw the one face out of all the faces in the galaxy he most wished to see. Obi-Wan looked just as worn out as Qui-Gon and Dotrick, but there was a tentative smile on his face. "May I come in?" he asked quietly.

"Oh, gods. Gods, yes," Qui-Gon breathed, blinking against sudden moisture in his eyes.

Qui-Gon only had eyes for his husband, as Obi-Wan walked into the room. He took a seat on the edge of Qui-Gon's bed, and, after a moment, their hands found each other and clasped firmly. Their gazes never wavered.

"I love you." Obi-Wan's hand tightened on Qui-Gon's.

Qui-Gon couldn't talk; his throat was so constricted he wondered how he could even breathe. He managed to mouth I love you back, and knew Obi-Wan understood him.

Obi-Wan appeared to have the same difficulty speaking as Qui-Gon had. "I'm sorry," he managed to say, in the same choked whisper.

"I am too," Qui-Gon tried to say. He lifted their entwined hands and nuzzled Obi-Wan's hand. "I'm so sorry..." he murmured.

Next thing he knew, Obi-Wan was carefully leaning into him, and their lips were joined, much as their hands were.

Qui-Gon heard the rustle of fabric and the movement of feet as Yoda and Dotrick left the room, but he didn't care.

Obi-Wan was back in his arms, where he belonged, and that was all that mattered.

Dotrick wearily pulled the door closed as she left the room and leaned against it, trying to get her feet to move. Healer AnBatRa, coming off her overnight duty, gently touched her shoulder. "Time for a healer for the healer," she said with a smile. "You need to sleep."

"Trust me, I know." Dotrick carefully ducked out of Lissa's embrace. Her shields were none too stable at the moment, and touch merely exacerbated her hypersensitivity. She knew Lissa understood.

"Are they all right now?" Lissa asked, crowding Dotrick into moving down the hall.

"Not entirely," Dotrick replied with a sigh. She gave up and allowed Lissa to steer her in the direction of a bed with her name on it. "Not entirely," she repeated. "But I can see it from here."

end of this phase