Disclaimer: All belongs to the great and powerful Mouse.
Summary: Even for a Jedi there is a price for perfection, but what if fate offered a chance at a refund and what would be the cost?
A/N: Hello again! Still trying to get back in the groove with things, but maybe just maybe my muse has returned. This chapter is a bit longer than the last and with any luck this trend will continue. We're getting close to the end!
Thanks:
And as always, big thanks to my beta Maeve Pendergast! I couldn't help tweaking a few things, so all mistakes are mine.
Please R&R!
Part X – Submission Acceptance Rejection
"Interesting," Nkiro said as he opened his eyes and met the gaze of one seemingly irate but not possibly there young man. "I would not have thought you yet powerful enough to materialize so fully."
"What are you?" it asked as it stared down at Nkiro through narrowed eyes. The flamed-haired man shrugged, his relaxed posture never changing and his eyes never leaving the image before him.
"Far more than you think and far less than I am," he replied earning a scowl from the not-there-Man. It spun quickly on its impossibly booted heel and began to walk the length of the room in slow strides. Not quite pacing, but prowling.
"Your riddles do not impress me, old man."
"Then I should count myself fortunate they are not designed to do so," was Nkiro's calm reply.
"You cannot stop me. You haven't the power," the not-there-Man snarled. Nkiro briefly bowed his head.
"No, I cannot."
Qui-Gon kept his eyes down as he and Obi-Wan moved silently down long corridors, the gray duracrete monotony only broken by security check points and frequent double doors. Every step they took was followed by the eyes of the ubiquitous Xanatosian-guards. It was a constant struggle to remind himself that this was only a construct; that he wasn't really here and that he really wasn't a prisoner. But then… again, wasn't he?
Obi-Wan came to halt suddenly and Qui-Gon forced himself into a graceless stumble to avoid bumping into the other man. They had reached another checkpoint. The binders on his wrists jarred with the sudden movement. How could such small things feel so heavy? The manacles weighed on him, pulling him down towards the earth like gravity itself. His shoulders rounded under the strain. His posture hunched. His head and eyes followed, too burdened to waste precious energy in attempts to look up.
Qui-Gon stared at the white tiles beneath his feet. Each square a perfect replica of its neighbor. Indistinguishable. Unextraordinary. Each one a piece of an unremarkable whole. A nameless one among many. A prison of conformity.
There was a tug at his elbow and he forced himself to look up.
"Qui-Gon?"
Was that his name? The Warden was addressing him so it must be. Wait… no. It wasn't the Warden, it was Obi-Wan. Yes. Yes, Obi-Wan! He remembered now. They came here together to… do… something. Something important. Qui-Gon searched his memories trying to determine what exactly that something was, but he couldn't find it, couldn't pin it down. Obi-Wan was still staring at him. Oh, that's right. He hadn't answered his question. What was the question?
"Qui-Gon?"
Uh oh. He was calling him again. He'd better answer. Qui-Gon licked suddenly dry lips. He stared at the blue-gray eyes that seemed to burn into his soul before quickly averting his eyes to safer subjects like plain, white floors.
"Yes, Warden?"
Silence then. Perhaps he said the wrong thing. Should he have called him Obi-Wan? That didn't seem right. And the guards were listening too. The guards with the familiar faces.
"Are you… are you well?"
"Yes, Warden." Yes, he would stick with that. It was the best answer. The safe answer.
"Warden," he heard from somewhere to his left. A guard. "There is a call for you in your office. We can take the prisoner from here."
"I wanted to speak with him. There are things he must answer for," he heard Obi-Warden reply. Obi-Warden? Qui-Gon shook his head. He felt… fuzzy. Was he supposed to feel fuzzy?
"Of course, sir. You can see him once he has been processed."
The hand was back on his elbow. Belatedly, Qui-Gon realized that it had never left. How odd. Another tug, but this time he didn't look up. After a moment, he felt a touch, a warm breath at his ear followed by soft words.
"I will be back for you. I promise. Don't lose yourself in here, Master. Wait for me."
The words he understood, but they didn't quite make sense. Of course, he would wait for Obi-Wan. He would always wait for him.
"Yes, Warden," he replied with a dip of his head. He still didn't look up though. Those blue-gray eyes burned him. No, he didn't like seeing those eyes one bit. The warm hand left his elbow and others took its place. Instantly, Qui-Gon missed the Warden's gentler touch. The guards were rough, snatching him forwards causing him to stumble.
"Careful! I don't want him damaged."
"Yes, Warden," one guard answered and Qui-Gon was grateful. The pressure of the grips eases somewhat and the group's pace slows. As they march him away, Qui-Gon feels that he has forgotten something but as he watches the white tiles pass beneath his feet, he forgets that too.
"Why do you interfere?"
Nkiro glanced at the two men still deeply entranced that sat before him. Their expressions had not changed. Satisfied with this, he unfolded himself from his lotus position on the floor and stood, carefully swiping his trousers for non-existent dust and straightening his short jacket. He was aware of the not-there-Man's constant gaze, but he continued his unhurried movements. Once his clothing was suitably set to rights, Nkiro took a few steps back until he was leaning comfortably against the wall, his boots crossed at the ankle, his arms crossed over his chest.
"Who's interfering? I'm just enjoying a quiet moment with some friends."
"This one," the not-there-Man scoffed as he pointed to Qui-Gon, "doesn't have any friends. Not anymore."
A single flame-colored eyebrow raised.
"Is that so?"
The not-there-Man then walked over to stand behind where Qui-Gon sat in deep meditation. He ran long, elegant fingers through the other man's silvering hair, carding through it like a master might stroke a beloved pet. Qui-Gon did not stir from his trance, but his face suddenly tightens into a grimace. A direct contrast to the possessive smile that formed on the not-there-Man's face. The stroking hand reached further, sliding down to cradle the leonine face. The motion was almost tender, but the agonized lines that raced across Qui-Gon's features spoke of anything but welcomed intimacy. Maintaining his detachment was child's play, but part of Nkiro, a very small very nearly forgotten part of him, rebelled at the clearly unwanted contact.
"Your doing I suppose?" he asked and the not-there-Man inclined his head, a knowing smile – and if Nkiro were honest about it a creepy smile – still perched on the man's face. The not-there-Man leaned further down, his long, thin, and beaded braid falling over his shoulder. It dangled beside Qui-Gon's ear reminding Nkiro of a pendulum; whether it was the kind that cut minutes or cut men, he wasn't quite sure.
"Qui-Gon?"
Obi-Wan had had a bad feeling from the moment they stepped into his former master's mind and that feeling had been getting progressively worse the deeper they moved into the prison complex. Ever since that frightening moment just outside the doors where Qui-Gon seemed entranced by some unseen force, Obi-Wan had suffered an extreme disquiet and had settled into watching the other man like a hawk-bat.
And what he had seen since then did nothing to assuage his growing apprehension. The moment Qui-Gon's hands had been bound something had changed. His former master seemed to… shrink. His posture became stooped, bowed, submissive. He avoided eye contact with everyone, including Obi-Wan and he remained utterly silent. With each new hallway, each security stop, the older man seemed to withdraw into himself and Obi-Wan had no idea what to do to stop it. They were never left alone. Guards were everywhere. Each of them a stunningly perfect replica of the former fallen Padawan.
The whole place made Obi-Wan's skin crawl.
But, it was the stumble that really got his attention. They had come to yet another security checkpoint, but this time the last of the double doors had not immediately opened, causing Obi-Wan to come up short in surprise and Qui-Gon to nearly bump into him. When he moved to turn to a guard to inquire what the problem was, he caught a glimpse of his former master and knew something was unquestionably wrong as the man stared silently at the floor. He had called to him then and touched his arm. When he received no response, Obi-Wan's anxiety grew into proper panic.
"Qui-Gon," he called again and this time the elder man looked up at him briefly before darting his eyes back to the floor. And when he finally answered it was with a meek "yes, warden." Obi-Wan's worry ratcheted up several notches even as he tried to remember that they were both playing a role. But either Qui-Gon was a far more brilliant thespian than Obi-Wan ever gave him credit for or this was becoming no act at all.
"Are you… are you well?"
"Yes, Warden." Again, the emotionless, meaningless "yes, warden." If Qui-Gon were simply speaking to deflect unwanted attention from the guards then… well, there was no real problem, but Obi-Wan didn't believe that for a second. Something was well and truly wrong, but he had no way of asking what the problem was surrounded as they were by a hostile audience. Maybe this was a poor idea. Perhaps he should signal to Nkiro, somehow, that they needed to emerge from Qui-Gon's mind before Qui-Gon lost himself to the prison construct of his psyche. Just as Obi-Wan began to contemplate just how he would accomplish such a thing, he thoughts were interrupted by the approach of yet another guard.
"Warden," the new guard called. He was dressed slightly different from the rest, his uniform trimmed in gold and a single chevron on his right sleeve. "There is a call for you in your office. We can take the prisoner from here."
A sharp bolt shot up Obi-Wan's spine. It was a clear warning that he was not to leave Qui-Gon alone. He searched frantically for some excuse to keep Qui-Gon at his side that would not raise too much suspicion.
"I wanted to speak with him. There are things he must answer for," he said, hoping he was able to infuse his voice with the type of commanding gravitas his master had always managed so easily. The guard gave a short nod and, for a moment, Obi-Wan thought the battle won.
"Of course, sir. You can see him once he has been processed."
Obi-Wan allowed himself a heartbeat's worth of panic before shifting his thoughts to Qui-Gon. He tugged a little on the arm he still held, and when the older man didn't look up, he tugged again this time leaning forwards and close to the man's ear.
"I'll be right back for you. I promise," he whispered. "Don't lose yourself in here, Master. Wait for me." It was an oath and plea both, and Obi-Wan only hoped his words and Qui-Gon's promise would be enough.
"Yes, Warden," Qui-Gon replied with a shallow dip of his head, but Obi-Wan couldn't see his eyes, couldn't tell if he had truly been understood. But there was nothing for it. The guards immediately stepped forwards, forcing him to step aside. They grabbed his former master, harshly pulling him through the door with such violence that the older man stumbled in their grasp.
"Careful!" Obi-Wan yelled, then when one of the guards looked at him in confusion he quickly added. "I don't want him damaged."
"Yes, Warden," the senior guard answered apparently satisfied with his superior's explanation. The guards continued to hold Qui-Gon, but the jerking and snatching motion ceased and Qui-Gon was able to walk easily down the hall despite the guards' constant grip. Obi-Wan watched as the group moved away from him, leaving him alone with the remaining two guards. As he watched his former master disappear around a corner he prayed to Nkiro, the Force, and anything that would listen that he would see the man again.
"This one belongs to me. He always has and now," the not-there-Man said as he brought his hand back to the crown of Qui-Gon's head. He closed his hand drawing it into a tight fist, brutally pulling the older man's hair with it. "Now, he always will be."
Nkiro could only watch as the ex-Jedi's face first went rigid in a rictus of pain, then slack and expressionless. Qui-Gon's body slumped slightly, though the not-there-Man still held him by his hair. A moment later, that grip was released and the ex-Jedi's body unceremoniously crumpled the short distance to the floor. The not-there-Man's gaze followed the ex-Jedi's body to the ground before sliding his gaze over to his left. Nkiro followed the path of the phantasm's eyes and straightened up, pushing himself off the wall and stepping forward in one smooth motion.
"Stop."
The not-there-Man's hand held still hovering slightly over Obi-Wan's head. He looked up and met Nkiro's stare, a gleam in his not-there-eye.
Obi-Wan allowed a guard to lead him to what was presumably his office. He kept his gaze mostly aimed at an indefinite middle distance hoping to give off the impression of being lost in thought rather than being lost in the maze of corridors. In truth, the former Padawan was taking in everything the pair passed. Nothing he saw, however, was helpful.
Qui-Gon's "prison" was entirely unremarkable. Cold slate grey and too bright white were the only colors to mark any surface. Even the guards themselves, dressed in a slightly darker shade of the omnipresent gray, began to blend in with the general stolid oppressiveness of the building itself.
"Not a building. A mindscape. None of this is real," Obi-Wan muttered to himself. His guard escort suddenly stopped and turned to face him.
"Warden, did you say something?"
The guard's sudden inquiry startled Obi-Wan though he was able to quickly suppress his surprise from years of training – training he thought he had forgotten. Still, it bothered him that he had, rather inadvertently spoken aloud. He glanced at the guard, Xanatos, who was still looking at him with a casual, but cool concern. There was nothing in the expression or posture of this young man that reminded him of the Xanatos of his memory.
The Xanatos he watched die. Choosing to throw himself into a vat of acid rather than concede defeat at the hands of his former master.
Their former master.
No, this figment was not Xanatos, though he wore his face – crystal blue eyes, silky dark hair, and that damnable half-circle scar. No this… thing was a construct, a manifestation of Qui-Gon's greatest failure, his greatest regret.
Obi-Wan's knees wobbled for a single moment prompting a nearly imperceptible sway. He was now one of Qui-Gon's greatest failures. Is that why he was so easily accepted into this gray place? And not just as a guard, but as the warden. The ultimate individual responsible for keeping Qui-Gon trapped here. Obi-Wan's stomach lurched violently at the thought and he swayed once more and to far more noticeable effect. The guard reached for him, lightly taking his elbow.
"Warden? Are you well?"
"I… I just need to sit down a moment," Obi-Wan replied, relieved that his voice only sounded a bit tired instead of laden with the full-blown despair and guilt that was running fiery circuits in his gut. The touch on his arm firmed and he felt himself being steered through another hallway.
"Of course, sir. Let's get you to your office. Just this way, sir." A few quiet moments passed, then the guard brought them both to a stop. Never releasing his hold on Obi-Wan's arm, the guard reached into his pocket and pulled out an ident-card which he waved in front of a small rectangular panel. The panel chimed and the guard placed the card back into his uniform pocket as the door before them slid open. He stepped inside pulling his warden with him. He led his employer to a well-worn, high back chair that sat empty behind a large desk whose surface was mostly covered in datapads and stacks of flimsi. The guard carefully lowered his warden into the seat before stepping back and giving the man a once over. Apparently satisfied with what he saw, the guard snapped to attention, offered a crisp salute then turned sharply on his heel and left the office. The door slid closed behind him.
Obi-Wan barely took note of any of it. He felt cold, shocky, and more than a little nauseated. Obi-Wan raised two trembling hands to his face covering his too pale features and blocking out external stimuli, a least for a few precious moments. He forced himself to inhale deeply, holding his breath for several seconds before releasing it in a slow, drawn-out exhale. He repeated the exercise four more times before lowering his hands to rest flat against the desk's surface. He kept his eyes closed a moment more as he willfully, almost forcefully, shifted his center into a state of calm. He opened his eyes and took stock of the room.
It was a simple office: a cluttered, over-large desk, a pair of plasti-cast chairs, and several storage cabinets all in various states of compromised capacity. A blinking light to his left caught his attention. Obi-Wan stood, his knees still a bit weak and rubbery, but he managed the few steps it took to reach the room's comm station. He pushed the activation button and waited for the call to come through. To his surprise, it was not a call at all, but a text only connection. The screen blinked once then the words began to appear on the screen and Obi-Wan's breath caught in his throat.
You are too late.
"We both know you can't stop me," the not-there-Man smirked as he twitched his fingers over Obi-Wan's head. Nkiro's head tilted slightly to his left as if he were considering the image before him.
"This one is not yours," Nkiro replied. The not-there-Man glared at him for the span of several heartbeats… well, what would have been the span of several human heartbeats had either of them been human.
"You cannot touch him."
The not-there-Man's hand withdrew as he took a step back from the two ex-Jedi. Obi-Wan sat upright, his expression unchanged, his body completely motionless oblivious to the world and to the events unfolding around him. Qui-Gon lay pale and still on the floor beside him.
"No, I can't touch him… here," the not-there-Man answered. Before Nkiro could reply the not-there-Man was gone, only the shadowy weight of his threat remained in the room with the three men. Nkiro knelt in front of Qui-Gon. He touched him on the temple, but Qui-Gon did not stir. He then turned to Obi-Wan. The young man's expression was unchanged. Nkiro reached out to the young man's temple, but just as his fingers would have reached the him, Obi-Wan's brow wrinkled. Nkiro's hand hovered in the air between them as he continued to study Obi-Wan's face. He was just about to finish the movement, to close the distance between the two of them when, suddenly, Obi-Wan opened his mouth.
And screamed.