It began when it shouldn't have; occurred unrestrained when it should've been avoided at all costs.

Nevertheless, the reality of life is this: there is not, nor has there ever been any being, alive or dying, who can put a stop to the joining of two souls.

Resistance is futile when two young, desperate hearts call out to one another for help.

One dying with nothing to lose, quite sure nothing remains for her to win; the other with many breaths left to take, searching for some sign that he is still on the right track, that he hasn't utterly failed the one task handed to him.

Both compassionate souls, almost to a fault.

But, in the end, isn't Love the child of Compassion? And no one, not even the illustrious Jedi Order, can snuff out the rising flames of Love—especially not when the offenders in question are two of their very own.

"Yes… I love her. But I was never in love. For a short while Taria and I needed each other."

~ "Siege" by Karen Miller

Clang!

Suppressing a groan, Obi-Wan Kenobi ran a tired, heavy hand down his face, trying in vain to clear the sleep from his mind.

It's too early for this. Oh, it's far too early for this!

The soft clinks and the shuffling of feet he'd been able to ignore quite easily, but the sharp clang of metal against metal called for, at the very least, a quick peek out the door.

If he's cooking again, I swear—

Clink. Clink. Clang!

Now wide awake, Obi-Wan pulled himself out of bed and crept toward the door that led to the shared part of their Master/Apprentice quarters.

The quarters he shared with his Padawan in the same way he'd once shared them with his own Master.

His Master…

Squeezing his eyes shut, he shook his head.

It's too early for that as well.

Deciding to go with the sneak approach instead of facing the situation head-on—since when did he do that anymore?—Obi-Wan took a glance out the door and surveyed the room.

Nothing.

I couldn't have imagined it this time, no matter what he might try to tell me.

Movement at the far entrance darted past the corner of his eye and he turned just in time to catch the small brown boot of his Padawan as it snuck out the door.

Blast. Obi-Wan cursed himself as he stepped out of his room. Oh, how he regretted not taking the direct approach.

Maybe I can catch him before he gets too far, he mused, picking up speed as he headed for the entrance. As a final thought before he quit the room, he grabbed his Jedi robe, which had been discarded on the couch the previous evening, and slung it around his shoulders.

The hallway proved to be just as empty as his quarters—no padawans in sight. Obi-Wan paused to collect his scattered thoughts. There were several places his padawan could be headed with his early morning snack, so he figured it would be best to search in order of most likely.

Which meant the temple hanger was first on the list.

Stifling a groan, Obi-Wan quickened his pace to a jog, hoping to get this over with faster than last time.

And this time, I better not run into any council members.

He was growing tired of their endless game of hide-and-seek, especially since he craved more than anything a chance to be the one who could simply disappear—who could hide away and wait for someone to come find him. When they did, they'd take him up in their arms and perhaps he'd finally get to spill the tears that threatened his every waking moment.

Until then, he'd have to continue in his role as the seeker.

He's going to be in so much trouble when I find him.

Running in the halls wasn't forbidden per se, just… generally frowned upon by the Council, as well as by the more mature masters of the Temple.

And following the rules was just one more aspect of Obi-Wan's once well-preserved reputation that had fallen by the wayside. He just didn't have the time or energy to be the perfect Jedi Knight right now.

I'm sure I never was, despite what they say.

What they say.

He wished they would stop discussing him as if he was a Jedi legend, or—

Or some sort of holonet celebrity.

It wasn't fair. He hadn't asked for this, for fame.

But he was realizing now that not much in the vast galaxy was fair.

And there's nothing I can do about it, not while—

A body slammed against him. He stumbled for far longer than he would've liked before collecting the Force around him in order to steady himself.

Would that be considered a frivolous use of the Force? He frowned, wondering if he should've just taken the fall. It was, blast it! Kenobi, you hypocritical—!

How many times has he lectured Anakin on avoiding frivolous, unnecessary uses of the Force? And now here he was, playing his new favorite game, "Do As I Say, Not As I Do."

Then he caught sight of the pale form faltering in front of him and he sucked in a sharp breath.

Now, look what you've done!

"Oh my—My apologies, I—" What was he supposed to say? She didn't even appear to be listening to his fumbled apology.

It was only when her body began shaking did he abandon all thought of proper etiquette.

"Oh my goodness, are you all right?"

The more her body shook, the faster his heart raced. Then, to his horror, her eyes rolled back into her skull and she fell to the floor.

Immediately, he was down at her side, his trembling hands trying to keep her from face-planting onto the tile.

What have I done…?

A violent wave of nausea pulled Taria out of another unpleasant dream. They weren't nightmares in the purest sense of the word, but she counted them as such because of the awful feelings they gave her when she woke up.

Feelings of uselessness, of despair.

For a moment, she lay flat on her back, blinking away sleep and waiting for the nausea to pass.

Only, it didn't. It never does.

It felt as though she was reliving the initial pain of the poisoning.

Curse those kriffing mollusks!

Cursing the shells that had put her into this miserable state usually lifted her spirits a bit, but not now. Not while her stomach seemed to be flipping itself inside out and back again over and over—

Over and over and over.

Taria often wondered what would happen if she just stayed in bed when nausea came upon her. Would her inactivity only make things worse for her? Or would it all pass eventually?

Or would it send her to an early grave?

With a groan, she forced herself to sit up. Master Vokara Che had told her to pay the healers a visit whenever she was plagued with a bout of nausea that refused to dissipate on its own.

They would give her something for the pain.

Something for the pain, Taria thought bitterly. But nothing lasting, nothing that cures.

Her head spun as she stood. It wasn't supposed to be like this.

We're not made just to die.

Running hurt too much, forcing her to settle on a steady walk through the Temple halls.

Her stomach was almost constantly churning and it wouldn't be long before she was hit with another splitting headache. Though, whether the headaches were truly a symptom or something she was doing to herself through stress had yet to be determined by the healers.

I never did like the healers.

It wasn't fair. With a single bite, she had gone from living the full, blossoming life of a new Jedi Knight to living in a bed of eggshells.

If the shells break, I'll break too.

She couldn't let that happen, so she continued her slow, steady journey to the healer's ward, hoping with each step that they would have some good news for her this time, not merely another "quick fix."

Please, please let there be good news! Please let there be—

Pain erupted like a firecracker, bubbling and fizzing through her veins, spreading to her knees as she hit the tiled ground.

"Oh my—My apologies, I—Oh goodness, are you all right?"

She couldn't even lift her head to see her assaulter, the pain was too intense.

The last thing she felt before slipping away was trembling arms wrapping gently around hers.

She was a light weight in his arms—too light—and for a brief moment, Obi-Wan wondered how well she had been taking care of herself lately.

He recognized her as one of his former crèche mates, Taria Damsin, but once they both became initiates, their paths had seemed to fork, sending the two young Jedi in entirely opposite directions.

Perhaps because she was lucky enough to get a Master so early on…

And he'd had to wait far too long for Qui-Gon to see any sort of potential in him.

Abandoning his frantic search for his young Padawan—let Anakin do what he wants, just this once won't hurt anything, will it?—Obi-Wan switched courses and headed for the Halls of Healing, Taria tucked bridal-style in his arms.

Her haggard breathing was making him nervous, and every step he took was just a little quicker than the last.

What have I done? What have I done?

For the first time in his short career as Jedi Master to the prophesied Chosen One, Obi-Wan wished another Master was up and out in the halls that early hour. That way, he wouldn't have to suffer the agony of not knowing all alone.

Not knowing what he'd done to break her.

A select few of the temple healers were on staff that early in the morning, but they all seemed to recognize Taria the instant Obi-Wan entered the wing.

One of the healers-in-training bit out a curse under her breath; the others wore expressions of resigned sadness.

"Bring her here, Knight Kenobi." Master Che's soothing, familiar voice floated with her out of the back room.

Without a sound, Obi-Wan followed the head healer into the nearest medical chamber and set Taria carefully on the bed at Master Che's instruction. The bed, which wasn't very large to begin with, seemed to swallow Taria's petite frame, her paling skin blending with the stark white sheets.

For a moment, neither of them moved, taking in the depressing sight of such a young Knight out of commission.

Obi-Wan couldn't find his voice. He needed to confess to Master Che what he'd done to this poor girl…

What had he done?

"Thank for bringing her to us, Master Kenobi," Master Che began, her lightly accented voice piercing his guilt-ridden soul. "Now, tell me what happened this time, and please don't spare any details, no matter how… undesirable they might be."

Right… Everything.

But what was there to tell? How could he explain what happened to Master Che when he wasn't entirely sure himself?

"Master Kenobi?"

Though the Twi'lek's voice urged him on, he didn't feel much like a Master at all. No, at that moment, he was a Padawan again—that timid Padawan treading lightly, afraid of breaking the rules, afraid of being sent away.

"Master Che," he finally forced out of his constricting throat. Unable to look the healer's eyes, he kept his own blue orbs trained on Taria's still form. "I… I'm sorry, I merely bumped into her. I don't know what happened, I'm… sorry."

"Sorry?" Master Che had the gall to look amused at his tale. "Child, this was not your fault, nor did you cause the failure of Taria's health, which is a result of a previous excursion of hers. Now, how hard did you hit her?"

To tell her would be to admit he had been running through the halls, and Master Che was one of those masters who looked down upon the need of the younger Jedi to move quickly throughout the temple.

"Hard enough to hurt her," Obi-Wan lamented.

"Obi-Wan, look at me." Her gentle voice was firm now, and he was unable to resist her command. "You did not do this to her. It wasn't your fault."

Do what?

"I'm not at liberty to say."

Master Che's voice startled him. Had he really said that out loud? Stang.

Too fatigued to berate himself for his error, Obi-Wan decided it best just to continue as if he'd meant to have this conversation all along.

"Will she be all right?"

A flicker of… something… shot across Master Che's face, but it was gone before Obi-Wan could even begin to dissect it.

"I'm afraid I can't tell you that, either." Then, straightening her shoulders, which had begun to slump rather uncharacteristically, the Chief Healer smiled. "Thank you again for bringing her to us."

A slight bow told Obi-Wan the conversation was over and gave him his cue to leave. Returning her bow with one of his own, he forced himself out of the healing ward, sparing one final glance at Taria Damsin.

If she… He couldn't even bear to think the terrible word. Well, if she doesn't make it, I'll never forgive myself. No matter what Master Che says, her blood would be on my hands… And I'm already overly stained as it is.

The bland room was all too familiar, like a home away from home.

Except it wasn't home, and Taria was sick of waking up in the Halls of Healing more than she woke up in her own chambers. It was the one part of the Jedi Temple that made her feel like an outsider—like she didn't belong.

Maybe I really don't anymore…

"Don't move just yet, dear."

Vokara Che's firm voice echoed through the tiny room before Taria could even think about lifting a finger.

"Allow your body a few more moments of healing."

A few more moments. Taria felt a laugh bubbling up in her throat, sardonic, scathing.

A few more moments mean nothing to me. Not much does anymore.

The thought was intrusive, unwelcome, yet she couldn't push it from her mind because it was also true. What was there left for her to care about in a life she was quickly losing?

Pretty soon, I won't matter to anyone anymore, so what's the use in finding something that matters to me?

"How long?" Taria croaked, her voice still a bit hoarse from disuse.

Master Che raised a brow. "I do hope you mean how long have you been here and not how long until you can get out."

Taria swallowed. "The first one, naturally."

With a knowing nod, Matter Che began her examination, checking Taria's vital levels one by one for any other signs of disruption.

Taria held her breath until she couldn't sit in silence any longer.

"Any change?" The question was more of a whispered inhale, and at first, she wasn't sure Master Che had heard it.

The head healer continued with her examination, moving methodically from one vital to the other, her face unreadable to the untrained eye.

But Taria was more than qualified to read Master Che's expressions—a result of visiting the healers more often than her own bed—and she didn't like what her experience was telling her.

"I knew it," she sighed.

Master Che's lips twisted into a half-smile, but to Taria, it seemed more a grimace.

"I didn't say anything yet."

"You don't have to. I know what you were going to say, and what you're going to say next time, and what you'll say the time after that. It's all the same. It's always the same."

It took every ounce of dignity Taria still possessed not to sink back into the bed and sulk.

I'm better than that. I can still be better than that, even when dying.

So she went for the stoic approach; she wouldn't sulk like a youngling. Cool, she would play it cool.

At least until she was safely back in the seclusion of her quarters. Then… Then she could cope in her own ways…

Finishing her exam—finally—Master Che focused her intense gaze on Taria. "Now, do you remember what happened?"

What happened.

What had happened?

"I wasn't running, Master Che, if that's what you're implying."

"No, child," Che replied with a light chuckle. "I don't doubt you displayed proper etiquette in the halls, but that's beside the point."

Taria paused, racking her memory for something, anything that could tell her how she got there in the first place.

"I… crashed?" Even as she said it, it didn't sound right.

I crashed? That's just about the worst explanation I've ever heard. Who crashes in the temple halls?

To Taria's surprise, Master Che smiled, nodding her approval. "Good. Anything else?"

Taria couldn't stop her mouth from popping open. "You're not serious. I seriously crashed?"

"Through no fault of your own," Master Che chuckled.

Then what—?

"Young Knight Kenobi brought you in," Che continued, the essence of calm. "His story was he knocked into you during his early morning… jog."

"What?" Kenobi? Obi-Wan?

Taria blinked as blurry visions of a little red-haired boy flashed before her mind's eye. They were crèche mates together once upon a faraway time, but besides memories of him fixing her unruly hair and tumbling across the floor with her, that little boy was all but lost to her.

Of course, the memory had always been faulty to begin with. She could barely remember the sweet face of her late Master most days, though whether that was due to a bad memory or her illness had yet to be determined.

"Knight Kenobi plowed me down in the hall?"

What?

"Accidentally." Master Che said it as if the fact made all the difference in the galaxy.

"Sure. Accidentally. What on Coruscant was he doing running through the halls?"

"Chasing after his wayward padawan would be my first guess, but I've always preferred to give young Anakin the benefit of the doubt. At least for now."

"His padawan? Forgive me, Master Che," Taria sighed, putting a hand to her forehead, "I've been away too long."

"And cooped up in here that much longer." Che clasped her hands together matter-of-factly. "Now, you appear to be stable once again, and since the incident created no significant changes to your vitals, I have no reason to keep you here other than that I'll miss you when you go."

This drew a small smile to Taria's lips as she cautiously slid out of bed.

"Don't worry, Master Che, I have no doubt I'll be back soon enough."

Maybe for longer next time, too. Who knows?

"For your sake, dear, I hope not."

With a light hum of agreement, Taria took her leave.

As she stepped out of the Halls of Healing and into the main traffic area of the now hopping Jedi Temple, Taria found herself in possession of a new mission, a new goal, simply: to hunt down Obi-Wan Kenobi and find out what in the Force was wrong with him.