Blurred Visions

by LuvEwan

Ten years after the Phantom Menace, three will find their true destinies. And the ultimate menace will be revealed...OBI/Qui/Ani H/C ANGSTAU

1. The Flames of Jealousy

Blurred Visions

Rating: PG-13

The events of Naboo end far differently. Three struggle to find their true place in a shifting universe, with shadows approaching, and the ultimate menace revealed.

*Disclaimer: The characters and Star Wars universe overall are the sole property of George Lucas. I receive no profit from the writing of these fictions.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~

Chapter One: The Flames of Jealousy

Anakin stalked down the hallway, his short padawan braid whipping behind his shoulder. His eyes were a piercing blue, though the color was almost unrecognizable due to the shadows that constantly hooded them. His long forehead was wrinkled, the space between his brows creased from brooding. His breathing was barely controlled.

The Temple Healing Wing was pure, bland white. A few generic paintings of scenery hung on the walls. The stillness of late night left everything stunted and silent. Doors were shut and the glow rods were weakened. His steps echoed, and lent the hall a sort of hollowness. In his decade as a Jedi (apprentice), he only occasionally visited this sterile area, the air thick with a medicinal stench. Mostly he could handle the healing of any injuries. He was never ill.

Of course, his lip curled, some weren't as resilient as he.

Anakin stopped his musings. He stopped dead in his tracks when he sensed him.

Them.

The apprentice tilted his head, peeking into the medium-sized room. His Force presence was dulled to a mere, distant presence. Not enough for anyone to detect.

Not even his exceptionally skilled master, who once sensed a poisonous insect tinier than the tip of a needle, and caught it with the blade of his lightsabre.

The man was seated on a hard-backed chair that was bent slightly to accommodate his frame. His large, scarred hand rested against the forehead of the patient, who was clad in a thin, white hospital gown.

Anakin spared a moment to marvel at his own impressive shielding. Neither Jedi realized they were being watched. Certain he was going unnoticed, the padawan pressed his palm to the doorframe, and listened closely.

"We just returned from Zernin Five. Do you remember the look on the Senator's face when you told him you were allergic to both spices in the dessert you had consumed?" A soft chuckle. "But that was long ago. The senator's hair is snowy now. Well, what's left of it anyway."

Anakin turned away in disgust. Was his master delusional?

"The healers tell me you actually spit out your medicine. Bant says it went directly onto her face. I would have liked to see that!" The master's shoulders shook slightly with laughter. "If it wasn't for her sweet temperament, I think you would be in trouble."

Anakin's jaw tensed painfully. Through their mental connection, he felt his mentor's emotion. The quiet joy of being reunited with him, despite the somewhat dismal surroundings. Skywalker could imagine the gentle gleam of those wizened, midnight blue eyes. The longing bleeding through a ten year resolve.

The hallway light flickered. Qui-Gon looked over his shoulder. Anakin bit down on his tongue and quickly stepped out of view, body rigid against the wall.

Slowly, he sensed the movement of Jinn settling back into his reminiscent state of mind. Anakin released a relieved sigh. He returned to his spying spot.

Qui-Gon was leaning forward in the chair, retrieving a small stone that had dropped in the abrupt scare. He held the delicate thing between two massive fingers, studying it, then raised his arm.

The smooth, red veined rock caught the glare of the dim lamp. From Anakin's vantage point, it appeared to glow beneath the black surface. He noted that it was a peculiar object for his master to be in possession of. Qui-Gon was not one to indulge in knick knacks or souvenirs. And it was just a pebble, wasn't it? Not a jewel or glittering gem. Not of any remote value.

Yet Qui-Gon seemed to treasure it.

Anakin was never truly intimidated by him. The reputation of being a headstrong rogue, often cold, always stern…Even as a dusty slave boy, he was not frightened by the high status. Awed, perhaps, but that gradually wore down to general respect. Anakin dared to challenge the man more than a master was accustomed to. He would argue, shout, or simply ignore Qui-Gon. Yes, Jinn was a great, powerful Jedi.

But so was Anakin.

He wasn't hesitant. He took a few silent steps inside the room.

Now he could clearly see the bed-ridden knight who captivated his master's attention. He was laying with his paled arms at his sides. His ginger hair, only marginally longer than it was a decade before, looked damp. Stray strands were plastered to his face. His eyes were sealed. Soot-hued crescents darkened the skin beneath them. A clear tube trailed up both cheeks to his nostrils. His mouth was half-way open. I.V.'s protruded from the soft flesh of his wrists.

Anakin heard the unrelenting, even beeps from the heart monitor. It was an irritating noise. He almost wished it would stop.

Qui-Gon sighed, folding Obi-Wan's limp fingers around the stone. "I saw it on your nightstand. Bant said she found it in your tunic after they cut it away. I didn't think you would still carry it.

"The report of the mission said the delegate, if you can call him that, aimed for your heart. That you saved yourself by twisting at the final second, so it would only hit your shoulder. You knew the delegate was corrupt. I taught you well. Never trust a politician." His voice tightened. "For someone to take advantage of such a glaring disability---At least he will never be given the chance to hurt another soul. You probably don't know. The report says you were unconscious instantly. A security guard shot him in the back and neck." He brushed his fingers across Kenobi's sealed eyes. "This just proves what I have been stressing to the Council for years. You need some sort of protection."

Anakin couldn't take another sentimental, concerned word. He purposely cleared his throat.

Qui-Gon twisted around. "Padawan. Is something the matter?"

"You weren't at evening meal." He crossed his arms. "You said we were going to work on the droid afterwards."

Realization dawned in the aging face. Jinn stood and walked over to the youth. "I'm sorry, padawan. I stopped by to check on his condition. Then Healer Bant told me he contracted a severe fever---"

"Why does he matter?" The words were sharp and clipped. "I was waiting for you. You forgot about me."

"I have apologized. I was ensuring the well-being of a fellow Jedi." Qui-Gon sat back on the chair, facing away from the fuming Anakin. "And he does matter." He added quietly.

"What am I supposed to do now?"

Qui-Gon swallowed with an audible click. "Go home. Meditate on the dangers of envy. I'll be along in a moment."

Anakin stalked away with an angry huff.

The master heard the sound of several pictures slamming to the floor.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

His room was laden with trophies and miscellaneous mechanical bits. Droid parts were scattered across the floor. Anakin kicked them out of his path, collapsing onto his sleepcouch. He stared up at the ceiling. Model cloud cars and ships were suspended mid-air by white, thinly coated thread. He sighed, closing his eyes.

The visage of Padme Amidala immediately sprung to his mind. Whenever he was frustrated, infuriated, she appeared. Not in the ornate trappings of a Naboo queen, but the simple, long braids of a handmaiden. Smiling at him in Watto's shop, her gaze devoid of the usual pity he had encountered as an enslaved person. The warmth of the blanket she wrapped around him in the frigid spaceship, offering comfort in her perfect way.

Padme.

Then, the compassionate look she had given Obi-Wan in the bustling Naboo emergency center. Taking his hand, her brown eyes watering. The Jedi had not been awake to witness the precious present bestowed him. Anakin had been livid.

Master Qui-Gon was right. Anakin knew much of envy.

And if his teacher were to discover these feelings, he would be appalled. No one was allowed to think an unkind word toward Kenobi. To do so was not only un-Jedi like, but inhumane. After all, the knight suffered daily.

Anakin did too. Where was his support?

His wrath intensified. The plight of a Tatooine slave turned Jedi was insignificant beside that of Obi-Wan Kenobi.

The entire Temple acted as if he were the first in the Order to ever be blinded.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~

Ten Years Earlier

The elegantly carved doors slid open, revealing a vision born of grisly nightmares. Thick yellow horns emerged from a hairless, red and black head.

Initially, Obi-Wan believed it to be some incredibly effective mask.

But no, the tattoos covered every inch, the ink drenched into each pore. Demon eyes, saffron with the bloom of blood-red surrounding the pupils, stared at the Jedi.

Qui-Gon had vividly described the creature after his jarring encounter among the sweeping sands of Tatooine. Words, however, could not rightly illustrate the horror before him.

The presence of it, the Sith, was attempting to poison his soul. He felt the evil closing in around him. Raw, uncontrollable hatred pulsed in the dark one. Desire burned in the shriveled organ beating inside his chest.

Obi-Wan looked away, a cool bead of sweat snaking down his forehead. Amid the chaos erupting in the Force, he heard the calm voice of the man beside him.

"We'll handle this." The message anchored him. He was not alone.

Instantly, he was shedding the comforting weight his cloak provided, letting it drop. Obi-Wan reached for his weapon, running his fingers absently across the familiar grooves of the hilt. Without a glance, he knew Qui-Gon had done the same.

In eerie unison, the four blades ignited.

Apprehension lanced through Obi-Wan's stomach. The foreboding, shadowy dreams and subtle, warning waves in the Force…it was all leading to this terrible moment. The apprentice's eyes fell to the ground, shiny to the point of reflective, and saw his own face. He was disturbed by the uncertainty beating in his features.

Then, the time was gone. The battle began.

~~~

Padme paused to impatiently shove a stray lock of mahogany hair from her eyes. Blaster bolts shot cleanly by, the copious streaks creating a strange sort of zig-zag as they were set off from different angles. A tortured, surprised cry assaulted her ears.

She pressed against the icy pillar, couldn't prevent the errant thought from passing through her flustered mind: My fault.

Perhaps the cynics had been correct all along. Naboo, that wondrous world that was her home, deserved a more sage, experienced leader. Not a fourteen year old girl who had yet to shed the last thin layer of youthful naivete. She had known malice, written in the history books she devoured, but they were stories of the past. Padme Amidala had not been aware these Federation villains would so readily stain their hands with the blood of her people.

Her mental deliberations were cut short, as a bolt sped toward her. She let out a yelp, ducking. The ball of fiery energy was embedded in her chest.

As she collapsed, Padme wondered if the searing agony had caused the strange fluttering of her heart.

~~~~

Qui-Gon dodged another strike. He found that his suspicions were valid. This warrior was intensely skilled in the Jedi arts. Yet, the trademark movements were twisted with an alien ruthlessness. When the Sith swung his double-sided lightsabre, the red, humming blade coming towards Obi-Wan's head, the master understood what was needed to secure a victory.

They could not hold back.

He came at the dark figure with a savagely hard kick. His foot smashed into the concealed face. The Sith was only moderately affected, though, and managed to knick Obi-Wan's arm in the process.

Then, suddenly, a loud alarm sounded in the Force. It drove its plea to the core of Qui-Gon. The queen.

And, without even a syllable of explanation to his apprentice, he set off in a blur.

Obi-Wan spared a second to catch his departure. The Sith swept his sabre at the Jedi's feet.

The young man flipped over the horned head and struck at the powerful weapon.

One of the blades was shorted out.

Obi-Wan could not react to the small win. He continued his offensive.

They fought, traveling through the hangar into the power center. Their steps clattered against the metal flooring. The padawan tried to catch his opponent in the chest, but was thrown back by a Force push. He fell down several levels, and landed with a resounding thud.

Obi-Wan lay there, the blinding lights in his eyes. He was aware of the shattered bone screaming in his left leg.

He couldn't move.

The Sith jumped swiftly down.

~~~~~

Rab`e pulled Padme gently behind the pillar. Her maroon, velvet uniform was drenched in perspiration. Tears poured from her widened eyes. "My lady---"

"No." Padme ground out from grit teeth. "Don't call me that."

Rab`e nodded, pressing her delicate fingers to the sovereign's neck. An unsteady pulse moved beneath them. She breathed. "It's going to be okay. The battle has moved away from us." She smiled sadly. "Everyone still thinks its Sab`e." She glanced up, and a thankful grin graced her face. "It's the Jedi master."

Qui-Gon crouched beside the girls. He took in the sight of the bleeding wound. Gingerly, he pulled away the ripped material, and inspected the damage. "This is not as serious as it appears. Do not worry."

Padme sealed her eyes. Her voice was tiny, and wobbly from pain. "Yes, but how many are dying for Naboo, while I live?"

~~~~~

Obi-Wan's chest heaved. The Sith stalked around his prone body, lightsabre gripped between black, painted fingers.

The tormenting injury to his leg drained his strength, and Obi-Wan could only weakly turn his head away. He reached out through the Force, and grappled for that special tendril, the signature of his master.

But then the Sith spoke. "Return to your pathetic Temple. Allow the others to see what we are capable of---and what you are not."

Obi-Wan opened his eyes, and watched the blade descend, scraping across them. He opened his mouth to scream…was unconscious before he was able.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Master Yoda wrapped his small, wrinkled hands around his gimer stick. He sat on a round, plush chair. The closed blinds could not keep out all the light. His face was striped with shadows. The light breeze rustled the white wisps of hair at the crown of his head. His elfin ears trembled slightly.

Nothing was as it should be.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

Qui-Gon observed the rise and fall of Obi-Wan's chest, entranced by the sheer predictability, while his mind wandered.

He recalled the many, many nights spent this way. Waiting for the flicker of life to surface. Something beyond the simple mechanics of breathing. There were times when he could not handle the sleepless hours, and drifted off. He would wake with a stiff neck and sore back, but a padawan who would be looking at him curiously. And that's all that mattered in the end. To have the health of Obi-Wan restored was a sweet blessing.

Just because he was no longer his master did not necessarily mean the rule was void.

Qui-Gon's focus lifted to the flushed face. He frowned, and placed his palm to Obi-Wan's forehead again. The heat was flaring now.

In the brighter days of his life, Jinn would solve spiking temperatures easily. He would tenderly connect with his apprentice through their mental link, and lead him into a healing trance. Half an hour later, the fever would dissipate.

Now, he could not consider that type of relief for him. Not only would he disrupt his sleep, which was crucial to any recovery, but it would invade Obi-Wan's deepest privacy.

Qui-Gon couldn't afford to lose another scrap of the knight's trust.

If he had any at all.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

Padme was typing at her massive, stylized desk when the chime signaled an arrival outside her door. The Senator stood, straightening her long, blue gown. A cerulean, beaded trim decorated the sides. Her hair was curled, and held at the top of her head by two crystal sticks. She hurried to accept the visitor.

Queen Jamilla stood in the hall, bracketed by guards. She smiled. "Good morning, Senator."

Padme gave a quick curtsy. "And Good morning, my Queen. What brings you here so early? It can only be bad news. There is little else.

The royal looked over Padme's shoulder into the spacious apartment. "May I come in?"

"Of course!" She stepped aside, and with a sweep of her arms, invited the trio inside.

Jamilla settled on a velvet couch, decorated with richly red swirls. "I have been informed the troubles with the underground kidnappings have escalated. The authorities have asked for your assistance?"

Padme nodded, sitting across from her on a wooden chair with legs that curved outward at the ends. She placed her folded hands on her lap. "Yes. They communicated their distress. There are now nearly thirty reported."

"How are they linking them?"

"Similar circumstances. Men with relatively normal backgrounds, well-built and intelligent. Many have been in some sort of armed Force. They disappear without any way of trailing them." She suddenly found a piece of art on her wall interesting, studying it to avoid the gaze of the Queen. The Queen, decked in the fashion of office. What she had enjoyed such a short while ago…

Jamilla did not divert her attentions. "How have they gathered suspects?"

Padme returned her eyes to the other, reluctantly. "One prisoner escaped. He told the authorities his captors were---using a mind wiping machine---to erase their captives' memories."

The Queen gasped. "On Naboo these devices exist?!"

"Apparently. The man also talked of extensive training. With varying types of weapons. Blasters, daggers, vibro-shivs."

"Have you formulated any possible plans, Senator Amidala?"

Padme pursed her lips. Her thoughts were tainted with the picture of sand. And a small jporsnip charm given by a warm, little, grubby hand. The light of the chandelier pooled in the lines of her face. "I have."

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

Bant emptied the contents of the syringe into the I.V. She was aware of Jinn's eyes on her. Watching, as if he were waiting for her to fumble. But she was a good healer. Careful, especially with her most beloved patient. "This should lower his temperature soon." She brushed pale pink fingers through Obi-Wan's wet hair.

Qui-Gon nodded.

Bant glanced at the man. His brows were arched the way she remembered whenever his apprentice had been in peril. Then she had held faith in his worry, for his affections were obvious in the hours spent at a quiet bedside. He never spoke the words her friend wanted to hear, not really. But Obi-Wan understood Jinn's nature. Bant did not.

"Um, Master Jinn." She spoke in her ever-shy voice. "Are you going to stay with him all night?"

Qui-Gon's posture straightened. "Would that be agreeable with you?"

The Mon-Calamarian hesitated. How would Obi-Wan react? She could conjure the tragedy visibly, of her dear companion waking to find the man who had left him to be blinded. Bant crossed her arms, and summoned the courage needed to defend Kenobi. She was accustomed to it now. "No."

Qui-Gon was taken aback. Hurt flashed passed his face. Then, he pulled himself together, in the fast, seamless way a Jedi was trained to, so that not the faintest trace of trauma was evident. He looked at Obi-Wan once more, his eyes lingering on the sleeping knight, as if to imprint the moment in his mind. He breathed in, and met Bant's questioning…what it a glare? "I didn't mean for this---to happen. The Force-" He whispered. "It speaks to me. I cannot abandon it."

Bant lifted her chin slightly. "When it spoke to you---that day. Did it tell you you needed to abandon him?"

But Qui-Gon could not answer that. Any response withered in his throat. He stood there dumbly, not moving to leave, not entering her debate.

"Please." She placed a soft hand on his forearm. "I'm not the little girl you knew. He's not the little boy you raised. Jedi can't hold onto their innocence. Just tell me." There was a strange longing to her message.

Qui-Gon shuddered inwardly. "He's not the little boy I raised."

Silence followed, and Bant shook her head in agreement. Jinn realized she was much older, though she stood far below his shoulder, and still possessed the slender frame of her youth.

But she was still young. There was a freshness to her pretty face and hair, no wrinkles marring the area around her eyes. Yet.

"Does he hate me? He asked in a desperate, hoarse voice.

She parted her light salmon lips to reply when one of the numerous monitors began beeping.

The healer trotted over to it, and quickly scanned the information. She sighed, a hand going momentarily to her heart.

Qui-Gon took a step closer.

Bant actually smiled at him. "His fever is broken."

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

He walked along the dunes, his bare and callused feet sinking into the hot, coarse grains so his trek was sluggish. The sun burned brightly, and he ascended his vision.

The sky was stunningly clear. He searched for a cloud of imperfection, but in vain. A thin, weary smile touched his parched lips.

He walked on.

The hills of sand were undisturbed, the air still. His shifting made small, oddly pleasant noises. He could admit he loathed silence.

Ahead, he spotted a figure, settled among the tan mounds. The stranger turned at the other's approach.

He threw a hand up to shade his eyes, for the glare hindered his view.

His breath caught.

I'm not alone!

He raced toward the man, as he knew deeply that it was, eyes lit with sweet, shaky relief.

He stopped scantly two inches from where his companion, his dear friend for so very long, was settled. The security of their bond filled and buoyed him.

"I'm not alone." He declared in a soft, melodious tone.

The man lifted his head.

Obi-Wan grinned. Moisture cleaned streaks down his grimy cheeks.

Qui-Gon seemed to look past him, transfixed by the horizon.

"I'm not alone." Obi-Wan repeated, a little insistent that he be heard, or at least acknowledged.

Qui-Gon locked his gaze with him. A plethora of experience, knowledge, love was welled in his gleaming eyes.

Then, his solid form was reduced to sand, and was caught in a sudden, fierce wind. The force carried the particles away in a loosely uniform swirl.

"No!" Obi-Wan cried breathlessly, lunging forward, arms flailing, trying to capture any of the remains of the cherished man.

But they were melded with the unforgiving atmosphere.

His eyes rose once more to that distant, fiery star. Black smoke tendrils coiled around it.

Obi-Wan's brows knit, cracked mouth trembling.

The phantom shadows tightened around the sun, and he realized faintly that there were two balls of smoldering energy. The resplendent rays were engulfed.

Darkness fell, like a silent, smothering curtain.

Obi-Wan crashed to his knees. He couldn't see. Despite the prior heat, his tears froze to fragile crystals upon his divine, mournful face.

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

Anakin lifted his head from his knees when the door opened. He saw who stood there, and promptly turned his sullen eyes down again.

Qui-Gon crossed sturdy arms across a broad chest. "This doesn't remotely resemble meditating."

Anakin's mouth was in a clenched line.

The master stepped inside. "I do not give orders for them to be ignored." He scanned the messy, dim quarters and sighed. "And we will need to discuss what you said."

The boy began to play with the tip of his braid, ratting the pale blonde edges.

Qui-Gon frowned. The habit was minor, he supposed, but it was disrespecting the symbol of a sacred Jedi partnership. He thought briefly of the silky ginger strands, never mussed by idle fingers…

No.

"I never mean to slight you. If I have done so, albeit accidentally, then I apologize." He sat on the sleepcouch's side, sliding a pile of rusty mechanical rings aside. "I understand if you are upset. I did forget about our plans here. Sometimes distractions---detours---are unavoidable."

Anakin snuffed. "Then why am I taught to stay focused at all costs? Does this lesson alter for masters?" It was less an inquiry than an acid accusation. And, as usual, he was supremely confident.

Qui-Gon stared down at his hands. This was the single person in this enormous, spanning Temple that he could not always look in the eye.

Well, perhaps one of two.

"No---"

"Then what's your excuse?!" The enraged youth snapped.

Jinn stood, his hands pressed to his hips. Anger built in his throat. "I never off you excuses." He said thickly. "Only the truth."

In cool anti-climax, he walked from the room.

Never realizing that in the whole conversation, the argument, he had never so much as uttered 'padawan' or even 'apprentice'.

Anakin noticed.

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

Bant leaned back against the hard support of the infirmary chair. Clad in her loose healer smock, she was comfortable. The lighting in the room had been lowered to a warm, amber luminescence.

Her eyes drooped. Her head began to loll to her shoulder…

"Mmph."

She sat up rim-rod straight.

Obi-Wan's eyes were still closed, long lashed against skin of sickly pallor. But she didn't rely on those orbs, continually beautiful though they were, to communicate anything.

Her chest was pained at the observation.

Bant brushed a small hand through his hair. "Obi?"

He moaned, throwing his arm up and grasping her wrist. "I found you." He murmured groggily.

Her nose didn't so much as crinkle. She was accustomed to the strange, drug-muddled mumbling from waking patients. "Yes. You've found me. Now wake up." She urged in her soft, gentle way.

Obi-Wan's fingers trailed to his face, feeling for the foreign object he sensed there. His movements were fast and careful, self-trained in this sort of investigation. He ran his fingers along the thin tube, stopped when he touched his nose.

Bant waited for her friend to relax, then stroked his forearm. "You're at the Temple. Home."

He breathed in, his exhale an uneven sigh. "Heal---ers?"

"Yes."

"Then I suppose I'm…home."

She chuckled.

"Bant?"

She started to nod, but caught herself. "Yes. It's me. You found me."

Obi-Wan smiled dreamily. I wasn't looking for you. The last foggy remnants of his nightmare dissipated. "Tired."

Stroking. "You sound like it." She felt him drifting toward the oblivion of healing sleep again.

"Hmmph….'lone."

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

Palpatine held the short, steel, triangular piece up, then released it, observing it swing in perfect time.

Once began, it could not stop.

He was the deciding factor. Only his fingers could guide it.

The Chancellor preferred things that way. He quite enjoyed being the match that ignited great, devastating flames. Power. His skin prickled.

A sharp buzz announced his next appointment. His withered lips curled.

"Jedi Anakin Skywalker to see you, sir." A voice reverberated from the desk speaker.

"Send him in." He glanced over at the pendulum as it worked. To and fro…

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

Qui-Gon was a blur as he flew down the corridors. He had helped the Queen, whose face was draining of its color, to an emergency transport. The war, short and bloody, was over. Padme Amidala trained the handmaiden Sab'e well. The double had single handedly fooled the viceroy. Eirt'e, yet another of the royal's assistance, had come running with the news. Seeing the heartbreak and fear in her, and through the Force, was awful, as she surveyed the damage done to her close friend.

But Jinn could not have forfeited another second to them, now in the hands of capable physicians. He sped toward where he had left Obi-Wan heavy in the Sith battle.

After rounding the final corner, he stopped.

The area was empty.

Still clinging to his faith in his apprentice's abilities, he delved deeper into the palace, to the power generator.

He was confronted by an abundance of glinting silver. And a disconcerting silence in their psychological link.

He risked speaking. "Obi-Wan?!" He examined the room, peering down at the lower levels.

There. Visible from under a steel pathway was the tip of a brown, leather boot.

His heart sank. "Obi-Wan!" He leaped without thought, down several feet. He landed easily on his feet.

Just ahead, lay his padawan.

A split second passed, then he was crouched beside the body.

Obi-Wan was sprawled, unmoving, on the icy floor. One leg at an unnatural angle. His arms were spread. His creamy tunic singed.

But that was not all.

Qui-Gon moved his attention to the slack face. He gasped, a weak little sound emitting from him. The skin surrounding and covering his eyes was charred and mottled with shades of maroon and black. A red shine was a tell-tale feature of a lightsabre burn.

"No…padawan…Obi-W…" Any verbal reaction died. He slid a steady arm beneath Obi-Wan's back , gently lifting him to the master's chest.

The weight of the form was different, limp and uncooperative. With difficulty, he held the injured apprentice against himself, assessing his condition. It was not good.

And he was too terrified to move him.

Eyes awash with bitter tears, he huddled on the floor, his most beloved friend, his family and soul, in his arms.

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

He studied the hand, how the glint of the lamp pooled in the metal grooves. When he bent the faux fingers, he heard the familiar mechanical din. Orange glowed beneath the surface.

He found this replacement for the original, lost in a brawl long before, to be intimidating. He noted that most eyes immediately went to it, despite their attempts at low-key observation. When their focus journeyed back to his face, there was unfailingly a change there. Not quite respect…Fear.

Exactly how he preferred it.

He curled his hand into a fist. His jaw tensed.

Wanted it.

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

Obi-Wan's next awakening was more lucid. The pain remained hovering above him like a mist, thinly tangible but felt on a faint level. He took a moment to affirm his surroundings.

The knight breathed in. He listed the entirely too familiar stenches of bacta, sanitizing angents and generic floral deodorizers.

He smirked. Bant. The thoughtful Mon-Calamarian never failed to slip some sort of personal effect into his room. Still, the few spurts of perfumed air freshener couldn't completely mask the healer wing aromas he openly despised.

At least he would always recognize this place.

Obi-Wan noted happily the weight of the oxygen tube was gone. The same could not be said for those trailing out of his wrists. "Blasted I.V.'s." He grumbled. His voice was hoarse, as if his throat had been lined with foul tasting sand paper. He smacked his lips, swallowed with difficulty, then grimaced.

On cue, he heard the door slide open.

The smell of salt and sweet, wild bangi berry.

"Thirsty?" Bant shook a water pitcher.

Obi-Wan heard the ice clatter. He smiled in weary appreciation. "How is it---that you can read my mind?"

She laid her fingers against his cheek. "Well that's simple, Obi. I can't. But , during your frequent stays here, guess what's the first thing you unfailingly ask for?"

He opened his mouth only to have her muffle the coming words. "Shh. Just drink."

She lifted his head and dipped it a fraction back. A plastic straw was placed on his tongue.

He sipped the cool liquid, relief trickling into his dry mouth.

Bant waited patiently for him to down his fill, then settled him on the pillows. She pulled up a chair, attention never wavering from her patient and friend.

Obi-Wan's lips were glistening. Stubble stood out on his lower face. His hair had been combed back during her last visit, but now fell unnoticed into his eyes.

His eyes. Once bright, cerulean energy. Now dim and without focus.

Fighting against a sudden stab of sorrow and surrealism, she took his hand. "How are you?"

Obi-Wan sighed, squeezing the fingers enclosed by his. Then, he reached out, searching for her face.

She shakily guided him.

He explored the smooth skin.

I remember. It was pale pink, the color of early sunset.

Bant held back a hitched breath. Sobs tightened in her chest.

Knowingly, the callused pads of his fingers moved beneath her eyes. Hot moisture met his innocent, probing touch.

Obi-Wan gently wiped her tears away.

She shivered before collapsing against him. "I love you." It was all she could say. A useless confession, for their affections never needed to be voiced. A platonic bond existed between the two, maintained over the tumultuous course of almost three decades. Yet, the quiet phrase elicited a heavy exhale from the sightless Kenobi.

He brought his arms around her slighter frame, his head nestled on the curve of her neck.

For a blissful moment, they reveled in the embrace.

Then, Obi-Wan smelled the masculine scent of mild spice. His forehead creased.

Bant broke away.

He heard her quick, inexplicable departing footsteps.

Obi-Wan sat up and propped his back on the wall. He listened closely, allowing everything else to fall from his immediate awareness.

"I asked you to keep your distance. He is a very weak." A small hesitation. "I have decided it is in his best interest if you remain outside of this area."

He gasped. The new presence…In the Force, this person had blazed a permanent mark upon Obi-Wan's psyche. He knew who Bant was attempting to be rid of. His suddenly quaking hands gripped the blanket.

No. I can't----No. He has to go…

Panicked, he grappled for the quickest solution. Raising a palm, he shoved the door closed.

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

Palpatine sat in his chair, the back high and composed of an expensive, and therefore impressive, material. He formed a steeple with wrinkled, pale fingers. "Sit, if you prefer sir."

Anakin could not masquerade his pleased expression at the title. For once, he wasn't preferred to as 'padawan' or merely 'apprentice'. "Thank you."

The Chancellor rubbed the loosened skin around his eyes. "It has not been long since our last meeting. The rigors of Jedi life bore you?"

Skywalker actually appeared to sneer at that. "Rigors? I spend the majority of my time waiting around. Practicing on levels I have already surpassed. Listening to advice from inferiors."

"Like who?" The gravelly voice was tinted by curiosity.

"Oh, only every other Jedi in the Temple." He complained. "I don't think they realize---"

"What you are?" Palpatine finished, his eyebrows arched.

Anakin slumped his shoulders and nodded.

The aging man chuckled, but there was a dark, unsettling mirth behind the sound. "Of course they do not. Who would readily recognize those superincumbent to themselves? Even Jedi possess stubborn egos. You will always encounter jealousy."

"As my master sees it, I create jealousy of my own." He said under his breath.

This sparked further interest. "Really?"

Shadows flitted over blue eyes. "Sometimes I wonder if he still believes what he told me. For the first years, he never outright said it."

"What?" Palpatine subtly pressed.

"That I was the Chosen One, and meant for greater things than the other Jedi. Even him."

"Who?"

Anakin went on as if he hadn't registered the inquiry. "It wasn't in words. But there was this sense of pride whenever he regarded me. I knew that he still had faith---in me. Now, I question him regularly. He's…"

"Intimidated?"

The youth stared back at the elder. His heart was a stinging wound every time he thought of his master's growing devotion to---him. The Chancellor's explanation was easier to accept. Perhaps Qui-Gon, the wise and respected Master Jinn, was afraid of his padawan's extreme potential. Everyone else was. "Do you think so?" He asked, a scintilla of uncertainty lingering in his mind.

Palpatine smiled. "Anakin, my friend, you know your abilities are---phenomenal. You, in your scant time in the Jedi Temple, have surpassed anyone in the Order in recent memory. And beyond that. You rival Master Yoda," His lip curled, "And challenge your own teacher. It musk irk the Council so that a slave boy-raised outside of their protective walls-could surmount their ranks. They…fear you."

Anakin shifted uncomfortably in his leather seat. His delight at the statement was quickly dashed by a grim revelation. "No. They don't all fear me."

"Oh?"

"He does not."

The man's somewhat cheerful expression dissolved into a grimace. "You need not speak his name, friend. I have heart it rolled off the tongues of some of the Order's finest bleeding hearts more than I'd like to think. The honor profusely showered upon him is nothing but overblown sympathy. He could not defeat a mere apprentice to the Sith, even to save his own sight. Instead of being reprimanded for his inadequacies, he is sheltered like an injured cub." He shook his head in disgust. "You are far better than he." Inwardly, Palpatine grinned, despite the fact he was lying through his yellowing teeth.

Skywalker smiled smugly. "If only my master would realize that."

The Chancellor turned away from the apprentice then, gazing out at the Coruscant skyline. He imagined his true protégé, somewhere in the span of that bustling cityscape, oblivious to the coming changes. "If only, my friend."

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

Padme Amidala stood at her balcony. Encompassing her was the breathtaking scenery of Naboo. Lush greenery and vibrant waters. Gorgeous flowers bloomed in clusters. The sun beat down gently upon it all.

She studied the pure blue sky. Cloudless, like that of Tatooine.

For some reason, she found herself smiling. Her fingers curled around the smooth gold railing. Those days were fresh, crisp as if they had occurred yesterday. She could effortlessly recall the messy cap of straw-colored hair, and wide, innocent eyes. The eyes of a child---But Anakin Skywalker was a child no more.

Then she shook her head, the action accompanied by the harmonious cry of a snow white kosda bird. Why did a brief encounter ten years ago tug this persistently at her?

She was half a decade his senior. And, not to mention, she was a Senator.

He is a Jedi. He has forgotten all about you.

How wrong she was.

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

Qui-Gon watched the bubbles rise to the top of the gel-like substance. They collected in a circle before popping. The cycle immediately repeated.

He sealed his eyes with a gasp. The room was darkened, the single green light from the bacta tank providing little. The master paced, ignoring the sore beat of tired muscles. Various monitors worked noisily, but he couldn't hear them.

Occasionally, he glanced up at the form floating in the clear tube. Obi-Wan's body was bare, save for bandage cloth wrapped tight around his private area. His skin reflected the sickly lime hue of the bacta, though the actual paleness of him was evident. He was oblivious to the crumbling life around him.

His leg, broken in several places, would heal. Qui-Gon had been concerned, but not too worried about that. Over the duration of his apprenticeship, Kenobi had endured a hefty share of such injuries. He always bounced back.

But not this time.

Qui-Gon forced himself to finally study the marred flesh of the handsome face. It was improving from its original, horrifying appearance, but outward was not his major anxiety. The damage done to his eyes was a different matter, not easily fixed.

Tiredly, Jinn sat on a plastic stool. His head fell to his hands. How he wanted to shout his anger, for the Force had betrayed him that day in the Theed Palace. His duty was to the Queen, but why must his oath to the Code harm his dear padawan? Was that life-giving entity so cruel?

He walked to the tank, and flattened both his large hands against the cool surface. "Obi-Wan." He rested his forehead, and, if not for the separating tank, would have touched it to his apprentice's. "I did not wish to see you hurt. I could not tune out the Force." Tears formed in his eyes. "I---do not know what else to say."

The hulking figure sunk to the floor, sobs ripping from his lungs.

It was hours before he was composed enough to return to his miserable perch from the stool.

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

Obi-Wan focused squarely on the door area, tuning in to the Force so he could sense even a wraith's movement. His hands remained in taut fists, teeth clenched painfully. His breaths seemed to echo in the tense quiet.

For the umpteenth time during this dark, melancholy decade, he sorely wished he could see more than a veil of pure, thick black.

He heard a quick swoosh, and choked back an apprehensive cry. Who's coming?!

Footsteps, light and brisk, approached. His nostrils were filled with the aromatic signature of Bant. Obi-Wan sighed, finally releasing the blankets from his sweaty grip.

The door closed.

The knight slumped back down to his pillows. Perspiration beaded his forehead. He felt rather hot, a tad faint. "What---"

"I'm sorry." Bant answered instantly. "I told him to leave before and---"

"He was here before?" The question was offhand, as Obi-Wan tried to project indifference.

The bed creaked. Bant was now sitting at his side. "While you were unconscious. He stayed a long time. Then I asked him to leave." She paused. "That's what you would have wanted, right?"

Obi-Wan bit his bottom lip, useless cerulean eyes appearing to be staring at the plain, spackling white wall. Silly notions floated through his thoughts. What if I talked to him?

Then, that wall slammed down. Erected of steel and borne of angry hurt, its purpose to shield him from…well, him.

Bant smoothed his hair, that always stood out in spikes, rebellious of her efforts. "That's what I thought."

Obi-Wan nodded. He closed his eyes and contemplated slipping away again.

To sleep.

To that bleary, void place. Incoherent. So he could not hear the voices, whispering sharply that his life was a poison he forced down his friends' unwilling throats. Burden. Blind.

It was Bant who brought him back before he could being to go. "I think you'll be ready to return home tomorrow."

He smiled, ignoring the growing ache in his temples. "In your medical opinion?"

She laughed. "In my medical opinion, you should become a permanent resident." Her inflection softened. Her thumb rubbed his palm. "Personally, I don't want to subject you to it. You're still closest to my heart, even if you're not always around."

Guilt flooded him, and he grasped her hand. His days consisted of mundane missions that existed only to prove he was not 'out of commission'. Nights were ghosted by an intricately tattooed face, its glowing yellow and blood-stained eyes extinguishing his own sight. Little was reserved for trips to the healing level. "I try, Bant. I---do what I can."

The irritated flush drained from her cheeks. One look at this man, a stranger to his former self, and she was humbled. "I know." She smiled, and it killed her to know he was unaware.

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

He pressed the crisp credits to his nose, smelling the distinctness of them. The scent only procured through years of being exchanged by oily hands. A smile broke onto his rough, unshaven face.

Two dead businessmen.

One extremely satisfied client.

A quite pleasing equation, especially since the product of said equation was enough to buy him the sleek cloud car he'd been eyeing. And no hit man to deal a share out to.

He opened the desk drawer, and placed the stack of green bills in as if they were fragile glass sheets. He shut and activated the digital locks. After brief mulling, he shackled the mechanical ones on as well.

The man folded his hands to the back of his head. His 'office' was a smallish gray cube, with block walls and a noisy ceiling fan. Of course, he had a more impressive stead, near the country.

He grunted. Everywhere in this damn planet is country. Yawning, he stood and lazily strode to the room adjoined.

He immediately grimaced. "Ugh, rank!" He recognized the pungent stench. Vomit was pooled in one crumbling corner. Not too far from that was a man, curled into a ball, shaking. With the pathetic fool's shirt shredded, the other could see the ripple of muscles. Perfect for certain profitable…deeds. "You look like a bounty hunter, for the gods' sake."

He gave the suffering figure a kick. "You could probably kill me a government official. Hell, maybe a Jedi!"

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

The kitchen was dark. Qui-Gon hid his eyes with a hand, his massive form hunched over the table.

Bant, gentle, understanding Bant, the child who warmed his heart to a certain insecure padawan, had told him to leave. Forbid him to stay.

And Obi-Wan, his cherished companion for years he now considered the best of his life, had not uttered a word to him since that destined day in the hospital. He had looked so weak then, not at all the formidable warrior Qui-Gon had taught. Just a mere boy, pale in a stiff nightgown.

But Anakin was supposed to fill that gaping hole. He was never to think of that icy departing line Obi-Wan had imparted upon him. Not again.

Shaking his head with a shudder, he moved to the refridgerator. Jinn shoved aside a few covered containers and a thermos. A relieved grin cracked his lamenting expression.

He unscrewed the cork, and swallowed a long, bitter draught. After a few repeats, Obi-Wan was melded together with his other woes, thinning to a fine haze cleared by the liquor's miracle effects.

It felt good.

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

Padme sat at her desk, a sleek oval top of Naboo's finest wood. The sides were carved so that cherubs were holding it up with chubby hands and plump arms. Her office was quietly elegant, the walls painted to resemble the Naboo landscape. Her light pink gown fit to her thin frame. Silk flowers trailed down the garment, spilling out at the bottom to form a breathtaking ring. A simple scarf of the same color and fabric was tied loosely around her neck. Two tiny sprays of baby's breath held deep brown hair back from her temples.

Her cold, sweaty hands were clasped tightly together.

For all she knew, Anakin Skywalker could have never attained his dream, despite Master Jinn's valiant efforts.

Or worse, he could be back on that sunburned land. The cruel, lawless world of Tatooine.

Releasing a breath, and momentarily sealing her eyes, the Senator pushed the holorecorder's play button.

The red light blinked to life before her.

For a split second, she was stalled, mouth open.

Then the nervous schoolgirl fell away, to make sufficient room for the politician. She leveled her gaze, cleared her throat, and began:

"Chancellor Palpatine. You have always held our planet close to your heart, and offered every protection possible. Now, I must again call on you. On behalf of Queen Jamilla…On behalf of our people. You are a valued friend of mind. That you must already know." A small smile. "And I believe it is in Naboo's best interest if-"

She hesitated then, the words fighting emission, before they came pouring out in a slurry. "If you dispatch Jedi to aid in our kidnapping epidemic. Local authorities have been unsuccessful. Ileana Zimn, once married to the suspected ringleader, has agreed to aid our investigation. Though she has proved to be vital, the influence of Jedi upon the situation would increase our chance of foiling this underground system." Her chestnut eyes darted to the floor, so near to closing the lashes brushed her cheeks. For all her professional training, she couldn't bare to look directly into a mere recorder anymore. "I eagerly await your response."

Padme shut off the machine. More than you know.

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

Ileana grasped his hands with hers, both pairs held at shoulder height. Their lips pressed. But it was not a delicate or tender experience. Sizzling, red-hot passion pulsed through the stale air. He pulled her to him, and she could feel the firmness of sculpted muscle.

"You haven't told that Senator broad anything, right?" He gruffly asked between kisses.

Her mouth upturned. A lock of reddish hair fell into her face. Light blue eyes sparkled lovingly. "Not anything accurate."

He grinned.

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

Anakin wiped at his nose with a tiny, fisted hand. Black circles rimmed his lower eyes. He had spent days in this smelly, boring place. Hours upon hours, just sitting on a plastic chair, sucking on complimentary lollipops. The artificial fruit flavor was growing tiresome. When would he get to go back to that wizard Temple again? Couldn't they just leave the other Jedi behind? What good was he now anyway?

He shifted, folding his short legs so that his knees touched his chest. He rested his chin on them, head titled. The boy sighed.

In all the time spent here, he had been left in the empty waiting area, unless Master Qui-Gon decided it was alright for him to stay in the private room.

But that wasn't good either. A bunch of annoying beeps and bloops, nurses coming in and out. And not even a single holo-zine to read. The older man would try speaking with him in polite (boring) conversation, though he was visibly distracted.

Then there was the worst part of all. Seeing the apprentice laying there, with that weird bandage wrapped around his eyes. All those tubes hooked to him, like he was a machine or something.

It was just a burn, wasn't that what everyone had told him?

That was easy enough to fix.

It really shouldn't have taken this long!

Qui-Gon must have read his mind, because he suggested Anakin should go and rest in the other room.

Anakin begrudgingly obeyed.

Now he was here, looking at the wall, waiting.

He didn't understand what spell the padawan had placed on everyone. Didn't they know he was the Chosen One? Qui-Gon was going to give Obi-Wan up, for a boy without training of any kind! A slave. That made Anakin better than him, even though Obi-Wan always regarded him with a snotty air. He's just jealous.

Then, he heard the swoosh of material against the ground. He leaned forward to discover who was approaching.

His heart leapt into his throat. He stood up straight and beamed.

Padme was here!

Clad in a gray, beaded dress, the sovereign was walking right toward him.

Anakin resisted the incredible urge to jump up and down.

But , she suddenly stopped.

At Obi-Wan Kenobi's door.

Her slender hand went to her mouth, stifling a vocal reaction. Moisture trickled from her widened eyes. She was shaking her head.

The boy took a step forward.

Padme looked up, catching sight of him.

He offered a weak, uncertain smile, a little wave.

Her head bowed. Her shoulders shook with silent sobs.

Anakin returned to his chair and plopped down, continually entranced by her. Agony lanced through his chest. I can feel her pain. She's hurting! His lips quivered. His eyes narrowed. He looked beyond her, at the sleeping knight. Rage erupted in a fiery blush on his cheeks.

His fault.

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

Abruptly, Obi-Wan began to thrash and moan.

Qui-Gon frowned. "Obi-Wan?"

The handsome features twisted. A sharper cry.

"Obi-Wan?!"

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

Anakin watched a doctor sprint into Kenobi's room. He smiled inside.

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

Palpatine was thinking.

Still sitting long after Skywalker had departed, he was lost in contemplation.

The seeds had been planted. Now Jinn, that despicable simpleton, could offer peals of rain needed for growth. The boy was already certain he was the gold among dented tin in the Order. Arrogant…and resentful. What a lovely combination.

The elderly man chuckled, a sour sound. Fool. Prodigy that he was, Anakin Skywalker could not compete with the potential swelled in one Knight.

A short beep disrupted him.

With a flick of his hand, the new message played.

The familiar, feminine voice of Padme Amidala resounded from the machine. "Chancellor Palpatine…"

He could not help but laugh again. Yes, he will be mine.

And if that big-headed slave kid was the so-called 'instrument of the Force', then Palpatine was the conductor.

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

Chapter Two: Discord's Winter

Autumn's shriveling has met its end

Dried leaves and bare trees

The sky darkens and snow descends

Smothering frost all one sees

The chill freezes a dormant heart

Troubled soul, seek out the warming cinder

To wait out this suffering, what has been endured from the bitter start

Fix your hopes upon the horizon, and survive discord's winter.

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

Obi-Wan rubbed his fingertips over the raised letters of the cold, otherwise slick nameplate. His memory was remarkably vivid, but most trivial things were smudged with age. He could picture the square shape…shapes were simpler, because those were able to be felt. Colors were difficult. He recalled the nameplates were all gold. But what was that? Sometimes Bant used to refer to his hair as a 'ginger' shade-was that the same?

A trembling hand went to his forehead. Stop it. It doesn't matter anymore. What difference does color make? He managed to key the entry code, then waited for the gush of air to alert him the door was open.

He stepped through into his apartment. Immediately, his focus was secured to his mental layout of the rooms. Twelve steps from the door to the couch. Three from there to the armchair. And the bedroom? Let's stick to the basics for awhile. Pace yourself, Obi-Wan. It was a bit strange. He always referred to himself inwardly that way. His words were too instructional for private dialogue. They almost sounded like---never mind.

The knight returned to his task, beginning the short, carefully planned trek. One…two…three… He kept an arm raised, in case, for some reason, he was off.

He sensed his destination and, with a measure of caution, lowered himself to the soft cushion. Obi-Wan sighed, relaxing against the back.

His wounded shoulder ached dully. He massaged the damaged area. But the pain didn't recede. He probably should still be in the healing ward.

This was a natural part of recovery, though, and what purpose did staying in that place serve? Bant needed to tend to her other patients. His situation didn't really warrant around the clock care now. Rest was just as easily attained at home.

His muscles were sore and his limbs were heavy. The weariness was collecting in his head.

Obi-Wan stretched out on the overstuffed piece of furniture. He was in the process of finding a comfortable position when his arm collided with a hard object. The Jedi frowned. He pulled it from beneath him.

At once he recognized the smoothed wooden cane. Does she ever know when to let up? In her quiet, nondescript, sneaky way, Bant had slipped that cursed thing in his personal space! Sometimes I wish she was brash and loud and try to force the cane into my hands. Then I could yell at her and not feel terrible afterward! But, how could one ever be remorseless after treating Bant harshly? Honestly, you couldn't.

However, her darling personality didn't make him want to use that walking stick anymore than before. He dropped it to the floor and fully reclined.

He heard the air conditioning, pleased by the gentle stirring of a breeze in his hair. A sleepy smile stretched his lips loosely.

Obi-Wan lay for a few moments, sliding from his languid state to the numbing caress of unconsciousness.

Then, a horrible specter rushed to the front of his mind. A red and black mess. The demon blade's deadly sparks. The smell of charred flesh.

He sat up, propping himself on his elbows, breathing heavily.

Blood and darkness. Red and black.

The only shades he could distinguish.

At that moment, he missed the company of others. The support only those closest to him could provide.

He would not accept whatever was offered. He shied from the warm arms that sought to envelope him.

And grew colder.

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

Anakin strode into his shared quarters with Qui-Gon. His talk earlier had greatly buoyed his esteem. It was good to know someone else understood his situation. Palpatine appreciated his talents. Maybe his master would too, if they were magnified for him a little.

On the way back from the Chancellor's office, the apprentice had run through his inventory of exceptional abilities, many Jinn was not even aware of. Anakin decided a high-level kata would be best. He had perfected an advanced saber technique, with some twists of his own design, and was sure the elder Jedi would be impressed.

Besides, Obi-Wan was most likely released from the healers by now. Which meant Qui-Gon was back to keeping full distance from the other man.

Which was exactly how it should be.

Anakin stopped when he saw Qui-Gon at the kitchen table.

Face buried in two large arms.

Snoring softly.

Skywalker snorted, with the palest tinge of contempt, walking past the oblivious master to the fridge unit. He stretched his arm far into its depths, and pulled out a green glass bottle. He swished its dwindling contents. From the look of things, Qui-Gon had indulged himself plenty tonight.

Maybe not , considering this liquor was top when it came to potency and fast effects.

Anakin had occasionally taken a drink of it. Never enough for his mentor to notice. Though he wasn't sure if the seasoned Jedi was observant enough to become wise to it the first place.

Sometimes Anakin forgot the rest of the universe wasn't as skilled as himself.

He sipped the drink, studying the man at the table. He was not the same strong, formidable warrior who had rescued him from the scathing tortures of Tatooine. This person, passed out drunk, smelling faintly of the alcohol coursing through his body, was old. His prime was enjoyed prior to Anakin's birth. He was slowing down. The boy saw it in his movements and longer mediations. The fine lines streaking from the corners of midnight blue eyes. Gray highlights dimmed the shine in otherwise brown hair.

He would be out until morning.

So would Anakin. He smirked, a spring to his step as he grabbed his cloak and headed for his favorite club.

Like all the questionable deeds his padawan committed, Qui-Gon wouldn't know.

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

Padme wheeled around when her old-world door was shoved open manually. Ileana, dressed in a crinkled, sea green dress, with her swept back into a bun, came rushing toward the surprised senator. Tears stood in emerald eyes. "Oh, Senator Amidala…"

The younger woman grasped the other's forearm. "Ileana, what happened?" Concern tightened her voice. "Did he injure you?"

Ileana shook her head while feverishly wiping the moisture from her gracefully aging face. "No. But, I saw his latest victim…By the god's mercy, it was awful."

"What? What did you see?"

She swallowed, a hand displaying the slightest of wrinkles going to her neck. Once composure was gained, Ileana forced herself to elaborate. "H-He told me that his latest client would spare no credits. The client wanted at least three. Fully-trained in combat." Her head bowed. "And minds wiped."

Padme's eyes narrowed in sharp interest. "Were there any names mentioned?"

"No." Ileana rasped. "But I did see a man. He had endured the memory removal. His skin was pale and he shook as though he were cased in ice. Berrel told me prices were increasing---that soon he would be rich enough to buy me a mansion on some sun-kissed beach."

The politician looked away while digesting the information.

"And---there is something else, Senator."

Padme turned her head back.

"Berrel knows that I am assisting you. I convinced him that I am only throwing you off track in the investigation. He believes I still love him."

"Does this affect you, Ileana?"

Ileana smiled, but melancholy shadowed her expression. "I did love him once, Senator. It is very hard to turn your back on old affections."

Yes, it is. "I understand completely."

The woman nodded. More tears washed her eyes. Her lips surrendered to an emotional quivering. "But there is a limit to love. I reached that threshold when I saw that man suffering. Suffering for the selfish reasons of Berrel. Love may be everlasting, but it cannot blind you to the evils those you love can do."

Padme shivered.

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

Qui-Gon bent forward, stretching out his hand to caress Obi-Wan's cheek. A weak beam of light was cast upon the youthful face by a nearby lamp. The severely damaged skin around his eyes was healing well, and a new , pink layer was forming. Soon, there would be no visible sign of the horrible attack on the apprentice.

The soft spikes of hair were wilted and shaded his forehead. His eyes were closed, the bandages removed nearly three days before. When Obi-Wan had begun to show distress that evening, Qui-Gon was sure he would have awakened. He applied a small wave of Force soothing, and moments later the patient was peacefully sleeping once more. It had not been the master's intention to sedate him, but he couldn't stand to see his precious friend in pain. The physician informed Jinn that Kenobi could not be transported to Coruscant until he had been conscious long enough to access his overall condition.

Now Qui-Gon was so anxious to return Obi-Wan to the comfortable surroundings of the Temple he was on the brink of shaking the unresponsive form.

"Master Qui-Gon…sir?"

Qui-Gon stood and walked over to Anakin. "What is it?" His voice was quiet and gentle.

The boy smiled. He liked the way the older Jedi treated him, and couldn't wait to start his training at the big city-planet they had visited before. Now, if only they could leave this dreary, featureless place! "When are we going to your home again?"

The tall man patted his shoulder. "As soon as Obi-Wan is awake for awhile."

Anakin tried to bite down on his lip to keep from frowning, but the master caught the expression anyway.

"The first rule of the Jedi is patience, young one." He admonished kindly.

He twisted his leg, watching his foot make streaks on the clean tile flooring. "Couldn't you just—make him wake up? You know, with your mind powers?"

Qui-Gon laughed for a moment. "Anakin, if he is still resting, it means his body is not rejuvenated."

The tiny nose crinkled.

"Rejuvenated means getting your strength back. He needs to sleep as long as he is still weak."

Anakin sighed. "Okay. Well, could you show me some tricks with your lightsaber?"

"Not in a hospital, I'm afraid."

Skywalker nodded, his eyes downcast. "What should I do, then?"

Qui-Gon was about to reply when he heard the crisp sound of sheets shifting. He looked back.

Obi-Wan's eyelids were slowly opening.

He trotted to his bedside, and drew in close. "Obi-Wan? Obi-Wan, it's me."

The apprentice took a breath. "M-Master?"

"Yes." He murmured, stroking the dirty hair back.

Obi-Wan smiled at the tender touch, and his eyes closed. "I was afraid. I-I didn't know what happened to you." His voice was an unsteady whisper. "I thought---"

A finger touched his lips. "Shhh. It's alright. I'm fine. I wasn't hurt." Qui-Gon kissed his forehead.

"Hmmm….Good. I was…so scared…"

He opened his eyes fully then.

Qui-Gon had anticipated the reaction, but could not believe how deeply the grim surprise lanced through the master's heart. "Obi-Wan---"

Obi-Wan lifted a shaking hand to his face. "Master---Why can't I see you?"

"Obi-Wan…" He sat beside the upset man and grasped his free hand. "The burns were too severe. The doctors did their best, but-"

His mouth trembled. "Master, am I—blind?"

"Yes."

"Oh." Obi-Wan said quietly. A single drop of moisture glimmered in unfocused eyes.

Qui-Gon was silent, watching and waiting.

Anakin stood near the door. He felt sort of sorry for Kenobi. He started to edge out of the room.

Suddenly, a great sob ripped from Obi-Wan's throat, and he reached out wildly for Qui-Gon.

The man gathered the other in his arms. The youth buried his head in a broad shoulder.

"Master!" He clung to the man, gripping his back and dissolving into tears.

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

An hour passed. Obi-Wan's cries were reduced to little ragged gasps.

Some time during the outpouring, Qui-Gon had repositioned them on the bed so the suffering apprentice could lay against him, his head cushioned by his mentor's chest.

The wetness had dried on his cheeks. His dead stare was heavy-lidded.

Qui-Gon thought he had never seen someone look so darkly beautiful when confronted with such utter tragedy. There seemed to be no anger radiating from the still features, as he had expected. Only sad registration of his life's path twisted. It was his Obi-Wan before him, the self-same person who had illuminated his life with radiance, and taught him to be a father.

Obi-Wan swallowed, his hand resting on the master's forearm. The healer had already came, made aware by a very excited Anakin Skywalker of the wakening. The patient was declared fit to be released to the Temple's hospital care.

He smiled when Qui-Gon tightened his embrace, but soon his brave front collapsed again.

The night was long and restless.

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

The morning sun peeked through the thin white drapes. Obi-Wan felt the warmth on his face and neck.

Qui-Gon brushed a stray strand of ginger away. "Is there anything I can get you?"

Obi-Wan fought the lamenting wails rising in his chest. His voice was soft and desolate. "I want to go home."

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

Mejant Brei knocked at the steel, reflective door. Her long hair brushed against her slightly thick waist. Obsidion locks fell in her shining black eyes. Her latest mission had taken her far into the universe, away from her love.

The knight had known him since they were a mere fifteen years old. Their romance was begun not long after. Assignments often separated them, but neither had strayed.

She smiled when the door slid open. Obi-Wan stood before her.

Her happy expression faded. She stroked his face with a delicate hand. "What's wrong?"

He shook his head with a forced grin. "No hello?"

Mejant chuckled, but she sensed the sorrow buried in his Force presence. "Sorry. How about this?" She stood on her tip toes, and pressed full lips to his cheek.

He kissed her back, though never touching her mouth. "I missed you."

She linked her arm with his, leading him inside. They sat on the couch.

"What have you been doing?"

He turned his head in the direction of her voice. "Just…nothing."

Mejant took his hand. "Nothing? I talked to Bant."

Obi-Wan feigned a growl.

"Oh, stop it. You knew I'd find out." The humor fled her. "What happened?"

He pulled from her touch. "I was shot. And it made me sick for awhile. It's happened before."

She shook her head. "And it will happen again. I worry about you so much."

"Why?"

"Why?!" Mejant balked incredulously. Her shyness momentarily forgotten, she poured out her pent-up feelings. "Because you're different, Obi-Wan. Despite what you try to prove, you will still be different.

"You cannot face the same dangers other Jedi can. You are still completely valuable to the Order, but you shouldn't threaten that by going on unsuitable missions. What if---" She slapped a hand over her mouth. Tears slid from her widened eyes. She breathed heavily.

"Don't." He rasped, and walked away, closing himself into his bedroom.

Mejant's head fell to her hands. How did they come to this?

Initially after his blinding, he was quietly strong. He still showed his affection openly. But little by little, he changed. More days passed before he would contact her. Their time together was tense. He would only give passionless kisses and absent touches.

She had believed it to be her fault. Now, after hearing Bant and many others, she knew better.

He was drifting from everyone.

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

A thunderbolt clapped, and Palpatine glanced up to watch rain beat down upon the Coruscant streets. It was an extreme rarity that the bustling, mostly artificial world received such a natural gift. The Chancellor had observed that whenever it did occur, it brought with it the chilly winds of change as it soaked the streets.

He remembered, while departing from a nauseating visit from the Jedi Temple, seeing a small child with a smudged face , wearing earth-toned clothes standing in the midst of a fierce storm with his mouth wide open, collecting the water in gulps.

He had not even been a Senator then, though still relatively high in government status. Well respected, at least. He curiously strolled up to the boy, and asked why he drank.

The child had blinked, staring up in bewilderment, the streams of moisture running down his face. His eyes were an unbelievably striking blue. "It's pure, sir. Like from heaven."

Palpatine had snorted then. "What do you know of heaven?"

The tike had shrugged tiny shoulders and taken another swallow.

The man's interest had not faltered. The presence of this lad in the Force was nothing short of remarkable. A burning luminance in the Sith's black psyche. It disturbed him. "What are you doing out here alone? Didn't anyone ever tell you Coruscant is no place for children to wander after nightfall?"

A high-pitched laugh. "That's okay. I'll be fine."

Palpatine was amused at the youthful bluntness and optimism. "What makes you think that?"

Hair both light and dark plastered to the forehead, gleaming in the moon's glow, and the electric, blinking lights of surrounding businesses. "I'm a Jedi."

"Oh." So I had assumed. "Why aren't you inside?"

A smile of such tender innocence was displayed that Palpatine was very nearly entranced. "'Cuz it's too hard to feel the rain from there. Too many ceilings." He grumbled.

"Hm. How did you get out of there? I would think you would have others watching over you."

A mischievous look crossed over the elfin face before returning to its normal guilelessness. "It was really easy. I just---"

"Obi-Wan!" A young woman in similar Jedi garb dashed up to the peculiar pair. Her eyes were huge and full of unmasked worry. She glanced at Palpatine before focusing squarely on her little runaway. "What do you think you were doing?"

Obi-Wan gazed directly at her, then stuck a thumb in his mouth.

The Creche' master huffed and looked at the man. "Mr. Palpatine, thank you for catching him. I turned my attention for just a moment---"

He held up a hand, smiling that fake smile he reserved for those he despised, but must be civil towards. "No need for explanations, miss. I happened to stumble upon him."

Obi-Wan moved closer to the woman, and wrapped a short arm around her leg. There was an air of caution to him now.

Palpatine was impressed. Most children his age would still be all grins and giggles around everyone.

Not this child.

He had bowed to the two Jedi and continued on his way.

On some level, he had been aware ever since that short meeting that their destinies were meant to collide.

The Chancellor reclined in his chair, stroking his chin absently. There was something unique in that youthful visage, that he had not glimpsed in person since their brief encounter at the landing pad.

These days the Force, in the midnight tones it could form, spoke to him of changes.

He smirked, pressing the intercom. "Contact the Jedi Temple. Immediately."

A bluish, holographic form stood in miniature size. "Yes, sir."

The form vanished. Palpatine swiveled in his chair, studying the sheets of rain that blurred the cityscape.

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

"I'll take a Rousmeltia on the rocks."

The burly man cocked a furry, thick eyebrow. "You sure you old enough?"

Anakin smiled, dark twinkling in his eyes. He waved a hand nonchalantly. "I'm old enough. In fact, I shouldn't even have to pay."

Confusion misted the barkeep's face. "You're old enough. In fact, you shouldn't even have to pay."

A glass of iced orange liquor was slid his way. The Jedi apprentice downed it in a heartbeat.

The man looked at him then, frowning. After brief hesitation, he moved down to serve another customer.

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

Qui-Gon moaned, the dull throb in his head pulling him rudely to consciousness. He lifted his head with deliberate slowness. His gray-streaked hair was mussed, and red veined his eyes.

He became aware he was at the kitchen table. The entire apartment was pitch black.

Oh Force. Anakin. The master stood, leaning on the chair a moment while he gained balance. He couldn't detect the Padawan's presence, but his current state may have been the cause for that.

He stretched, earning a relieving pop of his back, and started down the hall.

Hours had passed, as he could gauge from the stilled atmosphere. Qui-Gon rubbed his stomach when it gurgled. The drink always had repugnant effects on him. He didn't know quite why he enjoyed that sour taste, that warm flavor sliding down his throat and loosening his senses. I should have meditated.

He stood at Anakin's door, not wanting to disturb him if he was sleeping.

He flattened a palm to the surface.

No need for quiet. The boy wasn't there.

Qui-Gon instinctively unhooked his commlink. He held it an inch from his mouth. "Anakin , where are you?"

The reply was instantaneous. "Master?"

"What are you doing out so late?"

Anakin groaned inwardly . He already sounded on the verge of a reprimand. "I just thought you would like some peace and quiet, Master. I'm having tea at a café."

Jinn listened to the din reverberating from the communicator. What sort of café was the apprentice occupying? "Don't be long. Good-bye, Anakin."

"See you soon, master."

The man walked a step further. He cursed beneath his breath and activated the homing option.

In a flash, a short message had appeared on the screen: ZINDO'S PUB.

Qui-Gon fought the rage and irritation seething inside. He rushed to the door, grabbing his cloak, and went off after his wayward protégé.

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

Obi-Wan stepped under the hot spray of the shower, letting the constant beat massage his tight muscles. The water coursed down his bare body. Suds cleansed impossibly clammy skin.

He had not meant to hurt Mejant. Her words were difficult to absorb without anger.

Anger.

What leads to anger?

"Fear." He whispered aloud. The knight supposed that was accurate. Every moment, whether conscious of it or not, he was afraid.

The pity that others deemed it necessary to broadcast was like a crudely fashioned dagger, jagged and effective, thrust into him. Over and over.

Then he bled. Agony burned in the crevices of his shielding. He could feel it. Despite his feverish, endless attempts to banish emotion to that place beyond his mental reaches, Obi-Wan could feel it.

Of course, there was no way of seeing the sad compassion etched in their faces. He didn't want to. Sometimes, as odd and twisted as it sounded, Obi-Wan was glad for the thick blackness securely mounted over his eyes. It prevented him from the full knowledge of how far his reputation had slipped. Masters, Knights even down to younglings eagerly asked if he needed aid.

"Would you like me to help you to the lift?"

"I'll carry that for you, Knight Kenobi."

Obi-Wan began to carefully shave the thin stubble from his cheek.

A voice from long ago, deep and rumbling and too reminiscent of old pain. "Is there anything I can get you?"

He fumbled then, the razor's edge sinking into his flesh.

Tears mingled with fresh, hot liquid maroon.

What room did the Jedi Temple, teeming with the most talented and bright beings, the elite, have for an invalid?

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

Mace Windu shook his head again. His fervent, brown gaze remained steadfastly on the other Council member. "No. This is ridiculous."

Eyes the hue of crisp lime closed. "Look into the future, you do not. There, the answers are."

The entire Order regarded Master Yoda as the epitome of Jedi wisdom and skill, including Mace. His prowess with a lightsaber was only surpassed by his keen sense of foresight. But that didn't mean he was almighty. The aged, tiny alien could be wrong. "You're inviting trouble. Worse, you're begging for it."

Yoda laughed softly, his shoulders shaking. "Too concerned, you are, of the now."

I could say the same of you regarding the morrows. "But it will not be limited to the present. If Obi-Wan is ordered to accompany Master Jinn and Padawan Skywalker, he will, simply, refuse. You cannot ask him to---"

Droopy ears folded to the sides of his head. "Hmmph. The will of the Force, ask, does it, to be carried out? No. I think not."

"You will force him to endure such a traumatic and unfair assignment? Do you consider the ramifications this will have?" He sighed. "It could destroy him."

"Who?"

Mace's mahogany countenance was dim. "Any of them. All of them. It's impossible to say."

"Look past that, you must. How know you, that this is not a salvation?"

"I saw Qui-Gon after it happened. He was beyond devastation."

Yoda merely smiled.

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

Qui-Gon stood in the intricate center of the Council Chamber. Thin, black designs circled his form. The lights above, usually a soothing, golden radiance, beat down on him. Heat smoldered behind his ears. A headache flared. At this moment, he wished nothing else but to return to the Healing Ward. Sit at his sorrowful apprentice's side, and spread the balm of his love over the pain.

But, a tiny, shriveled bit of him, somewhere in a dank, hazy section of his heart, did not want to offer the comfort. He didn't know how he could bare the lifeless stare from eyes once overflowing.

He didn't know if he could stand here and describe that day.

The grim events proceeding the Sith battle had postponed the official report of the Naboo mission. The master had NOT been looking forward to this meeting.

All twelve members were present today, seated in their round, cushioned steel chairs, pensive faces akin to a harsh, unforgiving jury.

What would his sentence be?

He had not abandoned his padawan. He refused to consider that. The Force had beckoned to him, in that demanding tone, swelling inside him until it was all he could feel…

"Know why your presence is required, do you, Master Jinn?" The gargled voice was not kind. It was as sharp as the wizened one could manage.

"Yes." He replied rather gruffly. "To elaborate on the result of our assignment. Sabe', Queen Amidala's decoy, was able to---"

"No." A wrinkled, three-clawed hand was held up to silence him. "Written report, have we for that. Informed we are not of what caused Padawan Kenobi's…" The little alien actually paused, clearing his throat, light lashes brushing against green skin. The Force stirred in reaction to his sadness. "Blinding."

Qui-Gon looked away, past the attentive group, toward the span of buildings and zooming cloud cars. "He---fell. Several levels down, he told me. His leg was broken a-and he was immobilized. The Sith---" He had to strive very hard not to call the demented, evil creature something less polite, "strode up to him and…slashed his lightsaber across Obi-Wan's eyes."

A tense quiet fell, as the bearded man sensed the new layer of grief lain. Adi Gallia, often reflective and quiet rather than overly opinionated, replied first. "Why were you not there to assist your apprentice?"

The inquiry was neutral enough, yet it was a powerful blow to his shaky defenses. "I---Before the duel had moved to the generator, I was---compelled---by the Force. It spoke to me. It told me to find the Queen. I did as I have always been taught." He did not waver in either tone or gaze. "I obeyed the Force.

"I discovered Queen Amidala injured, as is stated in the report. I saw that she received medical attention, then retrieved Obi-Wan."

The summary sounded cold and rehearsed, not reflecting the horrid reunion with his Padawan. How could he explain the smoking face, the blackening of soft, light skin? They, despite their vast realms of knowledge, could not comprehend.

Yoda was watching him, cracked lips turned down. Woe hung over him like fog. "Justify your abrupt departure, you believe?"

Qui-Gon approached his response carefully. "I believe Queen Amidala stood little chance of survival without my assistance."

"We cannot argue your own harmony with the Force. If you state this was what occurred, we cannot doubt you. You are a Master of the Jedi arts, and your judgement is trusted."

Jinn turned to Mace Windu.

"There is nothing we can say to reprimand your actions. Obi-Wan's loss is tremendous, but…" The man's hand went to his forehead. "You believe you had your reasons."

Qui-Gon was silent and motionless. Regret was etched in every being. They WANTED to rightly punish him. The aura of frustration thickened. It was difficult to gather a breath.

Finally, thankfully, Yoda spoke. "Dismissed, you are."

No 'May the Force be with You', not even a feeble farewell.

The tall, muscled master walked from the room.

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

Obi-Wan rolled from his side to his back, thrashing listlessly. Tears seeped from clenched eyelids.

His breathing intensified until his chest was heaving.

With a throaty cry, he sat up.

And was surrounded by the support of arms. Soft, wrapped around him.

"Obi-Wan. It's okay. I'm right here."

He held onto Mejant, pressing against her, wanting the warmth radiating from that compassionate soul.

Her hands curled to cup the base of his neck. She shushed him. "You're alright."

Obi-Wan nodded, suddenly embarrassed at the hot moisture dampening her tunic shoulder. He pulled back.

His heart sunk into the rising current of despair. He had been expecting to peer at her face, framed by long, irrepressibly straight, silken black locks. The woman he had cherished and ushered through the deepest corridors of his being.

He saw nothing but the blank expanse.

Never would he see the rounded nose, , huge brown eyes that when closed displayed the loveliest pair of thick, curling lashes. He had lost the gift of watching her lips quiver, or stretch into a smile.

A great rage swept through him, bending the theories he had developed to shield his tortured mind as if they were willowy reeds. What remained after the onslaught was the bared truth.

No. It was not lost. It was taken. My sight was stolen.

"Obi-Wan?" Mejant was stroking his cheek. He could easily read the concern in her movements. "What's the matter? Love---"

"I---need to be alone. There is something…I must think over."

"Oh." Her attentive hand fell. He listened as she rose and felt her hair brush against his neck. The agony needled him again. He remembered her hair being so black it almost appeared to glint blue in the light…

"Mejant."

"Yes?" She sounded relieved he was not leaving their conversation this way.

He nearly smiled. "I love you…so much."

His mouth was covered by the gentle pressure of a kiss.

Then she was gone.

Obi-Wan remained sitting. Exhaustion ached inside him.

He had never been so tired.

The young man craved sleep. His recovering body screamed for it. But Mejant's words haunted him.

"You're alright."

It was the first time he had ever heard a lie pass through her sweet lips.

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

Qui-Gon walked down the final hallway. His pride was wounded, for the silent accusations had impregnated the air, and lingered in him. A group of beings he had trusted as friends, or at the very least polite acquaintances, were now tolerating him with an angry, regretful regard.

It was hard to endure the hard looks and shaking heads. Could no one understand?

The master stopped at his apprentice's hospital room. Hopefully, Obi-Wan would be discharged soon. He gave a light tap to announce his entry.

"Come in."

Qui-Gon complied, pausing to note the quiet monotone. "Obi-Wan?" He had been prepared to find the younger man asleep. He was currently seated in his bed, back rigid, hands folded in his lap. Shadow ringed his pale, unfocused eyes.

Concerned, Jinn took quick steps to his protégé's , sinking down beside him. "It's late."

"I know." Obi-Wan murmured. He lifted his head towards where he heard the masculine vocals. His mouth was a straight, still line.

A rough-hewn hand touched his cheek. Obi-Wan leaned into the palm, then drew back with a shuddering gasp.

"What?"

Kenobi made no move to wipe the light drips of tears.

Qui-Gon studied their odd sparkle, fear welling in his chest. "Padawan, what is it?"

What happened next was totally unanticipated.

Obi-Wan laughed. A long, sharp, bitter chuckle. "Padawan?" He mocked. "I do not sense your padawan here."

"What are you talking about?" Qui-Gon grasped his arms and shook him gently. "YOU are my padawan, Obi-Wan."

The smile vanished. The tears now slid to trace his jaw line. "Are you ill, Master Jinn? Or simply outrageously forgetful?"

"W-What?" He sputtered.

"How could you not remember? You saw something --quite wonderful, I suppose--in Anakin. And dropped me as if I was a burning Talikis potato." Fingers smoothed his hair, but he batted them away. "In front of the most esteemed Jedi in the Order, you rejected me. Again."

"Obi-Wan…It was necessary. They were going to cast him out---"

"So better to have cast me out instead?" Pain flooded their mental connection. New and aged agony that had been deteriorating his soul, never allowed freedom. TODAY would be liberation. "I have to wonder if you ever truly had a care for me at all."

"Of course I-"

"No." His eyes sealed. "I don't want to hear." He swallowed. "But I would think I deserved something after years of dedication and---love. I have willingly given you everything. All that I am, I surrendered to you. Ironic, isn't it? I have been blind most of my life."

"No---" The man was on the verge of pleading.

"Yes, Master Jinn. And you WILL answer my question.

"What failings have I committed that would make you desert me in battle---without warning? What did I do?" Harsh desperation shook the weary frame.

Qui-Gon gripped the other's hands. "Nothing. You did nothing. The Force called to me."

"Oh." A ghost of the resentful smile resurfaced. "Broad excuse, don't you think?" He was a statue for a moment, breathless and devoid of emotion.

Then he began to sob.

The master gathered him in unyielding, strong arms. Obi-Wan collapsed against his chest, resting his head on a massive shoulder.

It would be so easy, he mused, to remain in the warm embrace. Let the fury settle until it collected and retreated to his heart, where it would stay. Where it would wear down that fragile place until it was raw and…useless. Qui-Gon began rocking him, whispering endearments…

Obi-Wan would not be lulled.

He repositioned himself so his cheek was lain against Qui-Gon's, their temples touching. An uneven exhale slipped from his mouth. A horrible, old longing rose in him. But this man would never be the father he had wished for. It was time to stop the pitiful dreams. Maybe he was never meant to have a family.

Perhaps he was destined to wander the universe alone.

In the dark.

Qui-Gon's tears mingled with his own. He could wait no longer. "I---am dying inside, Master Jinn. I have been ripped from my former existence by the worst enemy of my Order. I can't study Mejant's beauty. I won't have the chance to watch another golden sunrise.

"When Master Yoda shears my braid, I will only imagine the fall of it."

Qui-Gon tried to interrupt, Obi-Wan heard the catch in his throat and shook his head. "He has already agreed to my ascension to knighthood. Without you."

When the hulking man started pulling away, Obi-Wan forced him back. Their cheeks pressed. "It is not what I want. For years, it was my prospect to have you at my side for the ceremony." He rasped vehemently. "But now, I must do justice to myself. I can't ignore what you have done this time. You have taken my life from me." His lips were close to Qui-Gon's ear. The final murmur was laced with misery and resolve.

"And you are dead to me."

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

Qui-Gon stormed down the crowded streets. This was a low level of Coruscant, where bums huddled in groups with musty, stained rags draped over their trembling shoulders. Fights were violent, deadly brawls that erupted rampantly. Even at this sluggish hour, quiet was nonexistent.

Everything was bathed in neon light buzzing from animated signs. Small, crumbled shops were lined along, leading to a larger club. In the eerie glow of midnight, Zindo's Pub looked like a grim, uninviting dark cave.

He had never been a patron of the place. As a Jedi, he held himself with a clean sort of dignity.

So when YOU want to drink yourself into oblivion, you just stay at the Temple.

The master stopped. His hand went to his forehead. The words had sprang from his own mind, but sounded like, felt like, foreign thought.

A huge, bulky creature bumped into him, and Qui-Gon was startled back to the present.

Drowsy-lidded orange eyes, watery and lazy from enormous liquor consumption bore into him. "Hey! You wanna watch where ya' goin…?" The towering, scaled alien slurred.

Qui-Gon wasn't intimidated. From the pungent stench the stranger reeked of, the Jedi would be impressed if he didn't fall flat on his face in five minutes. "I'm very sorry."

A loud and stale burp. "Happens e-gain, I'll tear yourrr head off."

Qui-Gon smiled, concealing a grimace, and continued on his search.

As he walked, several women with fake, glittering lashes and dangerously short skirts brushed past him. A few offered him a lusty sigh.

He was disgusted, though he could understand. Their poverty left little option that was not sinless and sparsely paying. Morals had a weak following in the slums.

Which begged the question:

Why was Anakin here?

There was a burst of cackles and whoops , and a sickly, cold certainty rushed down his spine. Qui-Gon approached in gradual steps. The crowd was tight, but he was able to wiggle his way through to the core of the noisy circle.

A small, balding man was leaning on the bar, sloppily gulping a ruby red beverage. His wrinkled button-up top did little to conceal a swelled, hairy belly. From the hardness of it, Qui-Gon guessed he was a veteran lush.

Standing beside him was a much taller man, slim and broad-shouldered in a deep brown cloak. His head of sandy hair was thrown back. The same colored substance slid from the glass to his throat smoothly . When he slapped the empty container down, cheers erupted. Several scantily clad girls stroked his arm or kissed his cheek in congratulations.

Anakin had obviously won the contest.

A grin split the youthful face.

The defeated man snorted, booze running from his stubble-covered mouth and slithering along several chins. He wiped half-heartedly at them. "You cleaned out m'pockets, kid. I don't think I'll be getting' that damn medicine m'old woman keeps telllin' me to get." He belched. "S'okay. What do doctors know anyway?" He gave Anakin a friendly punch. "That was credits well spent! Nobody ever challenged me to no drinking contest in…days!" Hoarse chortles followed.

Qui-Gon caught his apprentice sneer disdainfully at the man. He stuffed the money in a tunic fold and started walking away. A woman with big, shining eyes and a glitzy mini-dress took his hand.

Anakin ripped himself from her loose hold. "What the hell do you think you're doing?!"

She took a little leap back. "I just thought---"

He laughed, the sound biting and arrogant. "You thought? Do you know what I am? WHO I am?"

She shook her head, painted lips captured between crooked teeth. "No---"

"Of course you don't. I'm a Jedi. The best of them all. So why would you ever even entertain the notion I would be interested in ghetto garbage like you?"

"That's enough." Qui-Gon barked, emerging from the mass of creatures and clutched Anakin's arm.

Artificial red light spilled from a fixture above, onto the flushed face of Skywalker. "What---"

Qui-Gon turned to gently address the girl. "Please excuse us, miss."

She nodded, and was off, scampering toward the exit.

The sight of tears shimmering on her lashes stayed with the master. He looked at his protégé, who was glaring openly at him.

He had to nearly shout to be heard over the din of upbeat music. The words were, unmistakably, a growl. "We'll discuss this at home."

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

Obi-Wan stood on his apartment balcony.

Rain poured, glistening in his hair and leaving a sheen over his face. He loved to be among the rushing waters. The cool moisture pooling in every surface of Coruscant. He could hear it. Smell it. Feel it. Taste it.

He opened his mouth and dipped his head back.

But the rain was not sweet as it had been on those long-ago nights, when the storms would seem so cleansing. Clear droplets that fell from heaven. Now the taste was bland and…

Obi-Wan walked forth, his movements not as measured as usual. He knew this place well. Better than his quarters. His hands wrapped around the cold, wet railing, and he leaned forward, the gush of wind ruffling his hair and tickling his neck.

His breath was stolen away by the strong surges of air. His thin sleep clothes were drenched.

The days, the weary, grim days, pressed in on him. Thoughts assaulted him: of stupid fights and lost time. Feeling useless. An oppressive force, standing in the way of others' happiness. Pinning them down with pity.

Saffron and blood eyes narrowed. A soft, wicked chuckle. Unimaginable pain.

Turning his back on what he loved most.

And for what?!

In a ragged slip of self-awareness, he screamed.

For as long as his throat would hold out, he yelled his frustrations incoherently.

Draining only his strength. He knew his spirit was already spent.

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

Berrel's thin lip curled, revealing a single golden tooth among the two white rows. His metal hand propped his unshaven chin. "Jedi, huh?"

Ileana nodded.

He was silent for a moment, then laughed lightly, reaching out to stroke her red hair behind her ear. "That Senator broad is serious about ruining me." Humor flashed brilliant in his eyes. "I guess she underestimates my secret weapon." He kissed Ileana, smiling.

She blushed. "I was surprised she decided to contact the Jedi Temple." Her gaze fell.

The man frowned. The glowing, artificial fingers touched her wrist. "You sound unsure. You---think I should be taking more precautions?"

She shrugged. "I've never dealt with Jedi before. The only instances I've heard of them were in tales during my childhood. But they are the supposed protectors of the galaxy."

"Yeah." He grunted. "And they seem like a dying breed. Maybe I won't even have to worry about them. The last idiot Jedi who came here died. Remember the huge funeral?"

Ileana nodded again.

"Hey, if worse comes to worse, there can be a few more of those. What business is it of theirs? They're meddlers, Leana, pure and simple. Should I shake in my boots at the thought of them? All they do is intimidate others. I am never intimidated."

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

Bant stared down at the holopad. It had arrived at the Healing Ward late, which was an oddity in itself. She had curiously read through it.

And she did not like what it said.

"The Jedi Council requests you to evaluate Jedi Knight Obi-Wan Kenobi's health condition. It must be ascertained if he is capable of participating in an official mission---"

As a head Healer of the Order, she had memorized the form letter, and usually it was just asking for her to carry out the procedure of medical clearance speedily.

It was different now. Because Obi-Wan Kenobi, Obi, was different. He was sufficiently recovered from his illness and injury, but his eyes would always be afflicted. The Council was hesitant about allowing him to participate in assignments, which was why he was subjected to those which were more suiting older padawans. Bant had to admit, it had to be pretty embarrassing. Obi-Wan was a fully grown, extremely talented Knight. Everyone continued to shelter him as if he were a fragile, trembling thing, on the brink of breaking. He was definitely 'capable' of most any mission.

That, however, did not mean she was willing to give him her professional permission. Bant was not certain she wanted his safety on her conscience.

She remembered the bright confidence always shining in her lifelong friend, his grace and unequaled stamina.

Such a depressing contrast to the present. Obi-Wan was a pale shadow of the man he had been.

What was unrelentingly heartbreaking was he knew it. He carried that tragic understanding.

He did not need to be insulted with her refusals. Bant quickly signed the document.

Rain hammered the windows.

She could not hear the release of her blinded companion's screams, wails like a wounded wolf would emit…

Or a forgotten ghost.

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

Their footsteps thudded on the sidewalk. The cold air flushed their cheeks, already fiery from the brief confrontation.

Anakin took a deep breath, and wasn't bothered when it was exhaled as a sharp hiss. The anger was boiling dangerously near his surface. He didn't care if his master was irked by lack of control.

After all, Anakin had some measure of control.

Or Qui-Gon Jinn would have been nursing an ugly bruised eye by now.

He couldn't believe the audacity of that stubborn man! Yanking him, an adult, out of that club like he was a badly behaving toddler!

Hypocrite. A small, gravelly voice whispered, far inside the murkiest chamber of his mind.

Yes. Anakin agreed, glancing at the moon , hindered by black clouds. Stupid hypocrite.

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

The tense walk finally ended as the pair entered the silent, shadowy apartment.

The younger man moved to switch on the lights while the other settled gratefully in the closest chair.

Anakin was walking towards the corridor when Qui-Gon cleared his throat.

The tall apprentice stopped, the slightest murmured curse falling from his mouth. He turned to look at his mentor.

Qui-Gon's sage, blue gaze studied him. After a deliberating moment, he spoke. "You saw me."

The statement was bland and strangely emotionless.

Anakin sat across from the elder. It occurred to him that they were returned to the base of the evening's troubles. He ran his finger along the kitchen table, eyes carefully lowered. "Yes."

Qui-Gon nodded, still without animation. "And you left for that pub."

"Uh-huh."

"I see."

It was akin to being interviewed for a census. Anakin almost wished he would go into a feverish, enraged rant. The blank expression before him was unnerving. It reminded him of a faulty circuit that slows before exploding in a shower of sizzling sparks.

Qui-Gon's head rested in his large, rough palms. Then, he rose smoothly to his feet, took a step, and pulled Anakin up. He gripped the Padawan's shoulders.

Anakin saw the time wearing down the proud leonine features. More than ever, his master wore the weary marks of age. A hand started to rise toward his face…

Please. Don't let him slap me. I'll lose it. Who does he think he is? He can't do that to me…He'll be sprawled on the floor when I'm done with him.

But then the hard visage melted. Tender care glimmered in moist orbs.

Qui-Gon brushed his fingers across Anakin's cheek, and embraced him.

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

He ran. In a daze, the incredible hurt creeping up, he burst out the Healing Ward and flew up the flights of stairs, the idea of taking the time-effective lift never crossing into consideration.

Qui-Gon stopped at his apartment, where the Jinn/Kenobi nameplate continued gleaming obliviously. He sealed his eyes, tears slipping from the corners, and fumbled to key the entry code.

He walked inside with a relieved gasp.

And saw Anakin Skywalker curled up on the sofa. His little head popped up at the arrival. Youthfully innocent eyes sparkled amidst long, straight, straw-colored hair. "Qui-Gon!" He exclaimed, and was a blur until he reached the Jedi master's side.

Qui-Gon felt the small arms wrap around his waist. He knew he had been shamefully neglectful to the child these weeks. He had been so busied…elsewhere.

He shuddered. The pain clawed at him again. Images of Obi-Wan, broken to pitiful, unrecognizable bits, rose in his awareness.

Broken, yet stronger, more resolved, than ever before.

Obi-Wan had taken those shards of himself, those beyond any repair, and sank them into his master's heart.

"… you are dead to me."

His eyes, rebellious to his desperate orders to compose, watered. A weak sob grew in his chest.

Anakin frowned, tugging at a billowing, cream sleeve. "Master Qui-Gon? What's wrong?"

The concerned tone of the still-sweet voice nearly caused him to smile. He bent his head down to see a tear land on the boy's cheek. It caught the lights of the room and became a tiny diamond upon smooth skin.

Qui-Gon dropped to Anakin's level, he suspected because his knees would no longer support his devastated frame. He glimpsed a staggeringly magnificent, important future in the simple face. The trail this very boy could blaze…would lead the universe, the Force, to balance. And wasn't that the master's purpose?

It is now.

"Are you okay?"

Qui-Gon drew a shallow breath in. His heart was sorely bruised, but perhaps there was a balm for such things. A genuine smile crossed his mouth. "I will be."

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

The sun conquered the moon, and took reign over the sky once more, shedding the darkness for a golden light that cascaded down upon Coruscant.

Evidence of the night's storm dried on the sidewalks and wiped from the windshields of cloud cars.

The newly born day spread warmth across Obi-Wan's cheek. He frowned, twisting onto his side and curling into a shivering ball. How was it that heat radiated from the window, as always, but he was freezing cold?

He coughed into his fist, and heard the rattling of congestion in his lungs. His skin was chilly and damp.

Obi-Wan began to lift his head when ache blossomed in it. His sightless, useless eyes were itchy.

Another hacking wracked his body, and he placed his hand to his chest.

His light sleep clothes were dripping wet and clung to his body. He reached for his thick blanket, which was usually kicked to the bottom of his bed sometime during the course of slumber.

His fingers raked against the soft, worn sofa material.

"Damn!" The expletive was hoarsely sounded, his throat suffering with every syllable.

He had stumbled in from the balcony, drenched and depressed. Exhaustion must have led him no farther than the living room. And left him with a rather nasty cold.

He heard mechanical beeps near the door. The groggy knight eased himself up and relied on calculations to bring him to the comm unit safely. Seventeen steps…

Sure enough, his hand touched on the steel communicator. He searched for the raised lettering that represented the 'new messages' button. He pressed it.

"The Jedi Council officially requests your presence in the main chamber at noon. A mission will be presented to you," Here the automated words were exchanged for a Padawan's voice: "Knight Obi-Wan Kenobi."

Obi-Wan promptly erased it, grumbling as he headed to his bedroom, hoping the stuffiness in his head would dissipate.

There was no mistaking the sarcasm in his mental tone. What exciting endeavor will it be this time?

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

Anakin stood in the lavatory, body straight and hands on his hips, staring into the mirror. His dark layers of tunics were perfectly aligned, and accented his muscular chest. His Padawan braid was neatly plaited, hanging just below his shoulder. He frowned looking at the blonde, entwined strands. No matter where he went, everyone knew he was a mere student.

Most apprentices treasured their braids as symbols of learning and companionship. Anakin wasn't so easily fooled. It was a reminder of their lower status among the Jedi ranks.

And he couldn't wait to be rid of it.

He cared for Qui-Gon, of course. The man had strove to bring him his true destiny when others would have swept him aside. Qui-Gon believed in Anakin. Above everyone else.

Even him. In the end, even him.

He smiled smugly, glancing at his reflection with satisfaction before opening the left drawer.

There was Padme Amidala, gazing up at him, with her beautiful brown eyes, deep like a mysterious chasm, but always inviting. The holo had been featured in a magazine he caught sight of during a trip to the market. Master Jinn would naturally have disapproved his keeping of it. A Jedi was devoted to justice and the supreme will of the Force.

But there were other things.

Besides, this wasn't a silly infatuation. Love was the needle that had sewn his heart, prevented him from so much as glancing at another. Padme was the exquisite, glittering thread. Without her presence, at least in his memories, Anakin fell apart.

He would know her again.

"Anakin, its time to go."

Qui-Gon's voice broke through his musings.

Anakin studied the mirror's display. A feeling stirred inside him. Was it premonition? He wasn't sure. All he was certain of was that it made him grin. Widely. "Yes, Master."

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

Obi-Wan stepped through the opening door, into the hallway, and heard a startled gasp.

Mejant put a hand to her chest. "Obi, you scared the Force out of me! I couldn't sense you!"

He turned in the direction of her lilting voice. "Sorry."

She captured his forearm between her fingers and pulled him gently closer. "What are you apologizing for? I'm the one who was sneaking around. I should have contacted you before I dropped by." The knight watched her intimate companion attempt to smile. The expression seemed to hurt him.

"It's okay. You don't need to do that." He murmured.

Mejant leaned forward and pecked his check. "I was still rude…Where are you off to?"

Striking cerulean orbs looked past her. "I've been summoned by the Council to receive a new mission."

The happiness that resulted in her face from his presence lessened. Her mouth sank to a line. "Already?"

"You don't think I'm ready?" He retorted defensively.

"Obi-Wan---"

"Not that much preparation goes into carrying some official document from point a to point b, Mejant. Anyone, Jedi or not, could do it with their eyes closed."

The irony smarted. She grimaced, and was thoroughly glad he wasn't aware. "You know that is not the caliber of assignments you have been given."

He laughed, a short, acerbic sound, very unlike him. "How would you describe them?"

Mejant hesitated. It was partly accurate, she guessed. "Your missions are, well, I don't know how to…"

"They're better suited for a teenage courier."

She sighed. "The Council does not mean to make you feel slighted."

He reached out, and took a tendril of thick hair in his hand, letting it fall from his grasp, the silky strands brushing against his skin. "Well, they do. I feel like a pile of dust swept under the rug. As if I'm not…"

A hard, unexpected sob broke free.

Mejant instinctively gathered him to her, ignoring the warm moisture starting in her own eyes. "As if you're not what?"

Obi-Wan rested his cheek against her head and breathed in her scent. Clean and sweetly fresh. He wanted to collapse, sink down into this comfort, and just forget. "As if I'm not real." His accent thickened with emotion.

Mejant began to cry with earnest sorrow. "Obi-Wan---"

But he abruptly ended the tender embrace. He started to head toward the lift.

"You can't keep walking away!" She called after him.

"It's worked so far."

Mejant stood dumbstruck where she was, mouth covered. Tears ran heedlessly down. Every conversation ended with angry or unexplained departures. No additional territory was ever gained. They were forever still in this horrible spot.

Maybe Obi-Wan was right. The thought was imbedded in her mind faster than she could react. He doesn't feel real…not even to me.

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

The stirring of air created by Qui-Gon's exit chilled him.

He sat, his hands twisted in the blankets, deathly motionless.

The magnitude of his actions were just beginning to absorb into his psyche.

But instead of immense sadness, or anger, he was confronted by a well-preserved stash of yesterdays.

He remembered leaping freely into a lake, mere inches from his master. Looking at that leonine, dignified face…water dripping from his beard and grayish brown hair hanging in his eyes. Erupting in laughter when a counter splash was silently issued, spraying droplets onto his cheeks.

The sun beat down on their bare shoulders and lent a brown cast to ivory. Orange glints were captured in their joyous gazes.

Qui-Gon turned around to watch a bird drink.

Obi-Wan approached, movements slowed by the opposing force of the water. He waited for the winged creature to take flight, then he pounced.

The master tried to utter a cry, but was knocked beneath the surface.

Obi-Wan was reveling in his prowess at sneak attacks when he felt the terrible, intolerable tingles of…

Force-tickling.

His eyes widened and he rushed to escape his mentor's expert clutches.

He failed. Miserably.

Qui-Gon grabbed him, encircling his waist with thick, strong arms. Obi-Wan was hoisted into the air, kicking and giggling.

"Ma-a---a--asterrrrrr!!!"

The happy recollection slipped away. Deep reluctance seeped through his shields.

He felt that day's simple contentment, having that special closeness, the bond tight and flourishing, all under a bright sky.

He felt it disappear from his steeled heart. All that remained was a hollow, festering pit.

Obi-Wan wanted to fling the covers aside and hasten to his master.

Former master.

A quick, sharp breath afflicted his chest. That wound was open, laying out for the painful elements to infect.

This was how he wished for things to be. He wants his Chosen One.

He expected the tears to flow, in mourning of a life and dear love lost.

He found he could not cry for that anymore.

Maybe he would survive this barren time. Maybe he would surrender to the agony.

But he could not cry for Padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi anymore.

He was gone.

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~