He took a few steps before he tripped over a solid object that formed in his path. He gasped breathlessly as he descended, readying himself as best he could for the pain that would surely blossom on impact, unable to find the austere flooring amid the fog .

And was utterly shocked when his landing was softened by blades of dewy, jade grass. Obi-Wan blinked, turning to see a gentle, effulgent sun miles above him, with liquid rays that seemed to hover exclusively around his form.

His fingers went to his shoulder, to that place they often wandered when he wasn't thinking clearly, and old habit overtook him. He wholly expected his fingers to meet an acute emptiness…and choked on a flood of tears when the silken, plaited length of his braid was caressed instead.

Obi-Wan rubbed his eyes, marveling with his mouth slightly open at the brilliant sky, so very recently eclipsed by murky desolation.

He was loathe to move from his sprawl in the soft glade. Birds chirped, flying over him, their wings spread in a melange of distinct, vibrant color. He could actually see the intricate designs their feathers comprised.

Then, when it had grown contently silent, Obi-Wan stood. And what a sweet relief, to make the movements without the accompanying aches!

The land around him was forest. Lush, thriving forest, with hills of pure green and a pebble-lined brook. The air was laced lightly with fresh floral aroma. Each bloom he glanced as he walked was sprinkled with clear, glistening water, enhancing their beauty so that he nearly stopped to stare.

But he couldn't be slowed now. Something was pulling him. A kind force, that would ask nothing of him, except that he follow the intimate, wordless call.

He strode through the thicket, his breaths becoming the sole sound in the unnamed world. And he was a bit startled to hear them flow so easily.

When he came to clear space, with only a mossy log and patch of violets, he was compelled to sit. To wait.

Anakin glared at his hands, a sour abhorrence tasted in the back of his throat.

I've done nothing. I couldn't sense…For stars' sake, I couldn't sense it.

His fingers wrenched around each other, trembling, whitening. He speared his bottom lip with a row of clenched teeth, the higher curling in a self-deprecating sneer.

He could die. And I did nothing.

A voice permeated his thoughts. Quick, retreating in an instant, but reassuring.

//You lie to yourself, young one.//

A figure appeared in the distance, swathed in a golden afternoon shadow that blurred the features of a strong face and muscular body.

Obi-Wan watched the towering form approach, his own aura calm, any apprehension fleeing with smooth speed, leaving him still and unafraid.

Long, bare feet sank into the thick bed of grass. The stranger walked slowly and with a remarkable grace. As he came closer, the clustered alcove of leaves shielded his countenance from the sun.

And Obi-Wan could see a pair of striking eyes, their color stolen from a glossy midnight sky. A nose with an ill-mended break along the bridge. Thin, solemn lips, surrounded by a graying chestnut beard. Hair that fell over broad shoulders, tied back with escaping hairs gleaming silver.

He stopped a few feet away from Obi-Wan.

For a moment, it seemed that neither would move their mouths, as a breathless silence settled, during which not even the light breeze could find the need to rustle through the foliage.

Then, after almost ten years, Obi-Wan heard, truly heard, Qui-Gon's voice.

"What are you doing here, Obi-Wan?"

The question rattled the Knight. He blinked, rising from the petrified log. "I…I was getting away from the dark." He explained. "It was all dark and I was getting away."

Qui-Gon smiled sadly. "You were running away."

Obi-Wan paused, then nodded. "Yes. Yes, running away." He stared in genuine, wide-eyed wonder at the beloved face, raising a hand as if to trace the lines.

But Qui-Gon stroked his fingers along the curve of Obi-Wan's cheek then, and the younger man came undone, tears cascading in a copious flow. The Master enveloped him in sturdy arms, cupping the back of his head.

"I knew I'd find you." Obi-Wan rasped. He held tight to the familiar warmth. "Everyone was telling me I was wrong…But I couldn't stop searching. I wouldn't believe them."

Qui-Gon caressed the short, ginger mane briefly, then pulled back. Obi-Wan's visage was open, revealing the extent of his joy and the tenderness of his relief. "Why were you searching for me, Obi-Wan?"

Obi-Wan's brow crinkled. "Because---Because, Master…You were gone." He said, incredulous. "I needed to find you. I needed you."

Qui-Gon wiped the cool moisture from beneath sea-painted eyes. "I wouldn't hide from you."

Obi-Wan just looked at him, lips quivering.

"When you need me, I'm here." He placed his hand to Obi-Wan's temple. "I'm always here."

"No." Obi-Wan nearly sobbed, stepping back. "I couldn't feel you there anymore. You weren't there."

"I was, Obi-Wan. It was difficult. There're walls built around your mind. Walls you didn't create. They blocked me out.

"But I got through. For a second, I broke through and you heard me."

Obi-Wan shook his head. "No--"

"Yes." Qui-Gon gripped his shoulders. "You would have strangled Anakin. You would have killed him, Obi-Wan."

Obi-Wan stared into his eyes. "I…I had to. He's been lying to me. You have to know he's been lying to me, Master."

Qui-Gon's eyes were welled with soft azure compassion. "Why would he?"

Obi-Wan looked briefly at the sky, that had been so clear and tranquil, now eclipsed by a shroud of leaves. He curled his fingers. "Because he's with them. All the Jedi. Everyone I've seen since…" He swallowed hard. "Since Naboo."

"Do you believe that these people, Jedi you've known your entire life, would design such a cruel conspiracy against you, Obi-Wan?"

Obi-Wan's expression was hard, features that had rejoiced at the remarkable reunion carved sharply of stone. "Why not?"

Qui-Gon didn't respond, watching the emotion building within him.

The wind gusted, and Obi-Wan wrapped his arms around his naked chest. The heavy cloak draping off Qui-Gon's shoulders would have naturally been offered by the senior Jedi.

In fact, Qui-Gon would have insisted Obi-Wan accept the warmth.

But the man stood there, allowing him to endure the chill.

"When have the Jedi ever protected me?" The Knight asked. "I was turned out. They told me I wasn't worthy of them. I wasn't good enough."

Qui-Gon felt a pang in his chest at the lingering pain in the dulcet voice.

The short layer of auburn spikes moved with the wind and the Padawan braid stirred against his collarbone. "Then you took me as your apprentice. And I betrayed you." He slid the clean, interwoven locks through his fingers. "But you forgave me. You forgave me, while everyone else, my own friends, looked at me like I was an outsider. An intruder that didn't deserve to step foot inside their Temple." Newly shed tears gleamed somberly on his face.

Qui-Gon touched his arm. "You betrayed no one."

Obi-Wan just blinked back another onslaught. "The whole Universe is lying to me. I can't take any deceptions from you, Master."

"So you think that because of a mistake made in childhood, the Jedi would find such an enormous lie justifiable?"

"You're the best in the Order." Obi-Wan retorted, with the ghost of a proud smile. "Maybe they thought you didn't deserve to deal with a reject any longer."

Qui-Gon shook his head. "Whatever amiable traits you see in me, Obi-Wan, is the result of you. I wasn't a pleasant man before you came along. And still not a pleasant man far into your apprenticeship."

Obi-Wan huffed in tired disagreement. "You were everything I could've hoped for in life. But I wasn't worthy of it. I should've known it would only be a matter of time before someone realized how unbalanced it all was."

Qui-Gon peered deeply into his eyes, and saw a completely pacific, resigned acceptance. "And Anakin? Why would he play a part in this?"

Obi-Wan hesitated, as no easy theory could form in his mind.

Qui-Gon bracketed his face with callused hands. "You know this isn't true, Obi-Wan."

The Knight leaned into the touch wearily, reminded of simpler days, when all he knew was a mutual respect, united affection, and the Sith were a threat long dead. "I miss you." He murmured. "I could…I could just stay. And then we wouldn't have to worry about the lies anymore. We wouldn't have to worry about anything ever again. I found you here.

"I should stay here."

A shrill, flat beep sent Bant whirling around.

"Dropping!" Someone yelled. "He's shutting down!"

And a jagged neon green light began to straighten.

Anakin gasped.

It had been dormant for so long, paralyzed by Obi-Wan's sickness. Living without its full brilliance was heart-wrenching.

Bu then… But then, it was better than absolute dissolution.

It had still been there.

Now he could feel his Master again, yet he wasn't given a moment to rapture at the return, for the presence was rapidly changing.

Weakening.

Withering.

Tears coursed down his cheeks as Anakin realized that the cold spreading like a barren emptiness within him was proof.

Master Qui-Gon had been right.

Obi-Wan was dying.

Qui-Gon, for a moment, only held his former apprentice, massaging the strained muscles of his back. "You can't stay here, Obi-Wan."

Obi-Wan shook his head, burying his face in the warm cloak. "I have to. Can't you see that I have to?" He quelled a shiver. "I can't leave. I can't be alone. It's so cold when I'm alone."

"But you're not alone." Qui-Gon stressed plaintively. He pulled back, so that he could watch the tearful eyes. "You have Anakin. He cares about you. He depends on you, Obi-Wan."

Splinters of ice shelled over the motionless gaze. "And he's a liar."

Qui-Gon carded his hand through closely cropped hair. "If he was genuinely a liar, don't you think I would tell you?"

Obi-Wan listened guardedly, eyes rimmed with red.

The Master didn't look away. He stared at his companion, allowing him to search for evidence of the wicked fabrications he imagined tainted the galaxy, while also projecting the infinite love he felt. "Do you believe…" His voice was so tender it wavered, "I would prevent you from staying with me, if it wasn't a necessity?"

Obi-Wan's agonized uncertainty was etched into his countenance, the pain beating. "I…I don't…"

Qui-Gon laid finger on his lips. "If the time was right, I would gladly accept the completion you would bring. To me and to the Force." He admitted mildly. "But there is a plan for each soul. Roads that must be followed. Trails we're destined to take." He traced a tear down Obi-Wan's cheek with his eyes and his hand. "My journey ended on Naboo…"

He glanced around the lush, familiar backdrop. "And now you've brought us both back there."

Obi-Wan's breath hitched. In the whirlwind of bittersweet unity, he had never noticed the telltale greenery and creamy blue sky of the remarkably beautiful planet. He flushed. "I--I…This was the last place I saw you. The last place I really saw you, Master."

"And this was the last place you walked as a Padawan."

The observation cut through Obi-Wan and his eyes closed briefly. "Yes."

Qui-Gon urged them open with a sweep of fingers along the lids. "Anakin isn't here."

Obi-Wan couldn't meet his gaze. "I know. I know he isn't."

"Are you happy he isn't, Obi-Wan?"

The man, wrapped in a childlike innocence that went beyond his spiky hair and dimpled chin, turned away. "I don't…"

His words were raw, and Qui-Gon placed his touch gently on the crown of his head. "You're sick, Obi-Wan. Your thoughts, your own beliefs, have been tampered with. Can you not feel the fever within you?"

Obi-Wan craned his neck, to look at the composed, but quietly passionate, leonine face. "If I'm sick, it's only because of the shock of revelation."


"No. No, Obi-Wan." He countered, startled himself by the knee-jerk switch between an unmistakably puerile demeanor and this cold maturity. "You were doubting yourself. About Anakin. You're doubting these 'truths' you've so readily accepted. I could sense it."

"Do you think I want him to be a liar?!" Obi-Wan shouted. "Do you think I want to despise him?!"

Qui-Gon studied his countenance closely. "Do you?"

Bant wiped the sheen of sweat shining on her salmon-colored forehead. "Okay…Okay." Her usually delicate voice was ragged. "We're getting a stronger pulse. But it's still highly unstable."

Her male counterpart stared at her. "But…we're not --how is he--"

"He's doing it himself." Bant explained, eyes brimming with astonishment and unbidden fear. "He's fighting. Obi's fighting something.

"Run another test. Maybe something'll come up now that the condition's effects are increasing." Movement at the door caught her attention and Bant looked up.

Healing Master Prila was strapping on a breathing mask, his crater-laden, rough, dirty-crimson hands calm. The short protrusion that jutted from the back of his skull vibrated, sensing the patient's pain and danger. His eyes, nothing but black slits, focused on Bant.

Prila was a rare breed from a planet several light years from Coruscant, a land wary of Jedi influence. As a rule, they were gifted physicians, with the single, small antennae acutely sensitive to physical trauma. The elderly alien was in high demand at local , non-profit clinics, and could only be called away to the Temple when a situation strongly warranted it.

From the stern compression of his thick, ivory lips, the interruption of his work was more than justified.

"He's fighting something alright." Prila agreed gruffly. "He's fighting himself."

Bant's heart was seized by bewildered panic. "What?"

The healer strode forward, pressing his scarred hand to Obi-Wan's forehead. For a moment, the room was at a silent standstill, save for the machines, beeping in the background.

Then, he moved his fingers in a looser fashion along the Knight's temples. "Yes. Fighting himself."

"But how can that be? I watched him collapse, Master." Bant countered, gaze wide and desperate.

Prila glanced at her. "Well, there is something inside his head. That much I could ascertain just by entering the room. It likes to hide from our technology, avoid being found on our tests. You could scan him for days straight and come up negative."

She flushed.

"It's a very complicated condition, but the largest impact is a loss of oxygen to the brain." He looked back down at Obi-Wan's drawn, motionless face. "It's slow acting. Yes. Very slow. My guess is, it's been afflicting him for at least a year. "

"A year?"

Prila nodded. "These kind of things are undetectable to tests at their worst stages. In their earliest, not even the victim, not even a Jedi, could feel their pull. It's been eating gradually away at him. Hindering his brain function. As he became aware of a problem, it rapidly forced him into decline. His thoughts became more jumbled, things he'd never believe in a normal state were suddenly completely rational in his eyes. Desires and suspicions intensified."

Bant studied the alien's face, incensed that she was unable to help her friend. "He became very introverted. Avoiding others. Even his Padawan. Then he--he became violent. He said we were hiding his Master from him." She shook her head. "His Master is dead."

"Then he's in worse trouble than I thought." Prila told her grimly.

Obi-Wan blinked. He stared at Qui-Gon's face, waiting for the hard expression to relent.

But the cool features wouldn't soften, etched in cool stone, unmoving.

The young Jedi swallowed. "I--He's my--Of course I…"

He has expected a deep self-assurance, a natural reaction that proved all blame belonged to others, that his own basic sentiments were unchanged and faultless.

He loved Anakin.

From the time their bond was but a thin, fledgling link, he loved him…

Yet, here he was, unable to voice what he so believed to be in his heart.

Obi-Wan's eyes were wide, mixed azure, slate and emerald, shock , wonder and misery. "H-He's my Padawan." He finally answered in a timid voice.

Qui-Gon inhaled. A sadness misted his powerful visage. "Yes, he is.

"But not by your choice."

Obi-Wan brought his arms closer around himself to guard against a burst of frosty wind. "I-I chose it."

"Perhaps, if we were speaking in strict technicality." Qui-Gon said, the sharp air whipping his long, chestnut mane. "But otherwise…Obi-Wan, Anakin was forced under your tutelage. You never had a real choice."

It hurt to speak so plainly of his hasty actions. Qui-Gon couldn't deny that. But if he spared himself the guilty ache--this sweet soul had no chance of salvation.

Obi-Wan sniffed, the pallor of his nose blushing in the growing cold.

Qui-Gon wanted to warm the chapped face, but he couldn't move. All the Universe seemed to rest on his shoulders, crushing bones formed only on this mirage, this created plane. "You must say it, Obi-Wan. You must tell me the truth.

"Do you hate Anakin?"

Obi-Wan seemed to stop breathing. He was perfectly still.

And was the single unchanged element of the scene, as Naboo's illustriousness twisted, darkening to a world of gray and bitter charcoal. Clouds shriveled in a sky composed of gritty tar.

Qui-Gon sealed his eyes for a fleeting moment, grief rushing through him. "Did you make yourself believe Anakin capable of such deceit…so that your hate would be justified? All these horrific lies you think were being fed to you…

"Were you really just lying to yourself, Obi-Wan?"

The Padawan braid, that had been rustling in the wind, gleaming ginger, was reduced to ash, and carried quickly away.

"Do you hate him?" Qui-Gon persisted desperately.

Obi-Wan stood there. The tears that spiked in his eyes froze to glints of ice.

He sunk to the ground, wrapping his arms around his legs, and bowing his head into the weak shelter.

The wind transcended to a rattling, forlorn howl, as though it rose from the depths of nightmare sorrow.

As though Obi-Wan himself were screaming out to the heavens.

But they didn't exist anymore, suffocated in the shadow.

He couldn't help but think he belonged with them.

Banished. Alone.

Dead.