(A/N) So, Kadavo was definitely my favorite arc of the show, I like exploring different what ifs. Haven't decided where this one is headed, but it will be different from the other Kadavo fic I've written. Interested to write, hope you all enjoy. Please R and R, will be updating soon.

"Swing that whip or die beside him." It was simple enough command, one that would seal his cover as Lars Quell and cement him to the Queen's side. But this was Obi-Wan: this was not a choice he had.

"It's alright." His Master was on his knees with his hands behind his head. "I will be fine Anakin. You have to save the people of Kiros." Their sabers were in R2, who beeped beside the Queen and was waiting for an order from Anakin to launch them.

"You'll be sold into slavery." The chanting of the Zygerrians in the arena was starting to make him feel constricted. He was being bombarded with horrible memories as a child, before he begun work at Watto's shop. Watto cared about money; the Hutts cared for money, but also cruelty and fear. With every voice that came to his ears, he flinched his back, tugging at long forgotten, now faded scars that ran along his own skin. "I can't do this."

"There are too many of them here, Anakin." Obi-Wan spoke softly, not nearly loud enough for the guards to hear him. "I will be fine." He said again, and Anakin could feel his Master's gentle force signature along his own, taking the edge off of his nerves.

"I can't let them take you."

"Then don't." Obi-Wan said assuredly. "But they're getting anxious. Now may not be best for a rescue." There was a hint of humor in his tone, but it hit Anakin like a wall. There was nothing to make light of in this situation; there was no humor here. He closed his eyes, using the force to block out everything around him. The horrible sand that was already starting to grind it's way into his boots. The ceaseless chanting of a bloodthirsty crowd, the anxiety of the guards waiting to see what he would do, the call again from the Queen for him to strike his only friend. He forced himself to let it go, all of it gone in a single breath from tired lungs.

He opens his eyes and concentrates on the only thing he can. He knows that this will have to seem real; he is a slaver, breaking a Jedi Master, there is no room for gentility. The whip activates in his hand, but the buzz never reaches his ears. He can only hear his own breathing, long forgotten screams from other slaves as they were punished around him so long ago. He keep his eyes on Obi-Wan's back, even as the first swing cuts a thin line through the cloth.

He can feel the energy from the crowd, resisting the urge to vomit as he swings hard again, making an X across Obi-Wan's back. His own breathing is thicker, heavier than it was. His chest is filling with guilt. Every mission he and Obi-Wan have been on, each gentle press on his shoulder, every time Obi-Wan smiled at him even though he had messed up, his Master's almost broken body after he had left him for two months on Rattatak, his always insistent but calm forgiveness are bombarding him as the whip cuts more and more lines.

They are screaming now, and he doesn't have the concentration to keep them out anymore; they want more. They want to see proof. It's maybe two more swings when they have it and Anakin can see, and feel, on the back of his hand, the thin lines of blood that are finally coming from his master.

"Stop!" He hears the Queen screaming. But he doesn't look, he's afraid if he sees her face, he might not be able to resist the urge to kill her. But as he watches, his relief at being able to stop fades instantly as one of the guards forces Obi-Wan's now shredded tunic off of him, exposing raw skin.

"Continue." His hands clench tightly. This isn't Obi-Wan's first beating today. His skin is already purpled, dark with bruises, some of which Anakin can watch forming in the sun. New ones. From him. Joining the thin line that is seeping blood down his back.

"It's alright, Anakin." Obi-Wan's voice is quiet. The man is trying not to show his pain, but Anakin almost wishes he would. Wishes he would scream, and yell, and fight back against him. Keep him from this. From betrayal. Instead, he just stretches his arms back behind his head and waits, twitching as slightly as possible as another bloody line cuts across his shoulders.

Ans it continues, the cuts changing progressively from bruising to bleeding; and he can see his Master swaying, trying to keep conscious. His back is a bloody mess, and Anakin moves mechanically, his arm making movements that he can't quite feel anymore. He can feel tears pressing at the edge of his eyes, but to let them fall would be the same as never having done this. Instead, he just moves, not goaded on by the crowd, who have begun to throw things at Obi-Wan, none of them actually hitting him, and watches as each new line and electric pulse cuts across the skin and rips into damaged muscles.

Finally, after what feels like the agony of forever, Obi-Wan slumps forward, and Anakin can feel the almost whole dulling of his force signature as his Master slips into unconsciousness. He watches as the man who trained him falls, in a whole agony, into the dirt and sand around him, blood from his back pooling at his sides. He hears the whip snap shut, but can't move his eyes from the form in front of him.

"Bring the Jedi to the palace." He hears the Queen's orders, and barely sparing a glance at her before climbing back onto the ladder that led to her seat on the auction overlook.

"I am sorry to have doubted you, Lars. The Jedi will break in time, all beings do." She curled her long, catlike fingers over the edge of his face, scratching slightly at where he hadn't had a chance to shave in the past few days. He looked through her, the scent of blood on his fingers and sprayed on his shirt overwhelming him for a moment, almost leading him to stagger.

"Thank you, your highness." He finally said, and she smiled up at him. One he didn't return. He could hear them moving through the back halls of the castle, shuffling as they brought Obi-Wan inside. He could hear the resuming of the auction, and looked down to see other beings brought out, one a small child that startled at the lines of blood stretched over the pallet where she was clinging to her mother's dress. In her, he saw himself; but more than that, he saw sacrifice, Obi-Wan's sacrifice, and he quelled his emotions.

He moved to stand back by the Queen, folding his arms and wiping his hands on a rag. "The Jedi is secure, your Grace." He turned to look at the guard who bore the news, but his gaze only lingered on the Zygerrian for a moment until his eyes met his Padawans. She was staring at him, gaping at him more like; tears running in silent lines down her face.

He only wished she understood; that look held no forgiveness in its depths. He only wish she knew he felt the same. There was no forgiveness in him. Not for himself. Not for this.