Sorry for the lapse in posts. I hit a bit of a snag, which I've hopefully overcome. -LuvEwan

The lush world of a dreamscape had molded and curdled to nightmare. Both had been the manifestations of a single heart…and both were grim inspiration for that heart to cease its listless rhythm.

In paradise, he could have release from the pain. That same chance was gaping and obvious to him in rolling dark hell.

Yet neither could offer him what he truly wanted. In either situation, bright or clouded, he was bound by laws that were losing meaning. His comprehension of them had never been so painfully acute--or superfluous.

Because he didn't care. He wrapped his arms around the past and was pushed away. He attacked the perpetrator of his present and…

There was nothing but scars, bleeding, seeping wounds, on his own body.

Obi-Wan loosened his whitened fists from the phantom fabric of Qui-Gon's tunic. The Master rose, like clear smoke suddenly compacted and brought to solid life again.

Despite the heavy abuse put upon him, he was untouched by injury.

And Obi-Wan took a step backward, his knees threatening to buckle, his arm bent around his tight, bruise-mottled midsection. Cold blood stood as scarlet ice on his face.

During the battle, Obi-Wan was distantly aware of its one-sidedness, the absence of defense on his former mentor's part.

So how was it that he was now covered in jagged lacerations, in stinging gashes and purpling contusions, while Qui-Gon stood unharmed?

"H-How?" He managed to ask, through swelled lips. Rain, somber gray tears, slid down his lashes.

Qui-Gon looked at the bare, chalky skin in contrast with the dark wounds. He knew that agony crossed every line, even that drawn quickly by death. "Why did you do that, Obi-Wan?"

Obi-Wan pressed his palm to his temple. "Because you deserved it…Gods…"

"Maybe I did. For all I've done to you, maybe I did." He took a few steps forward. "Did you want me to be in pain? Truly, inside, did you?"

Through the mask of blood and abrasions, Obi-Wan shook his head. "N-No." He admitted weakly.

Qui-Gon came closer, until they were a breath away from each other, their faces pale in reflection of the gray world around them. "Who did you want to hurt? Who do you really blame?"

Obi-Wan tried to look away, but found he was too drained to do even that. "I…I blame…"

His eyes were wide, gleaming moons, on the brink of winking out into perpetual darkness. "Me."

Anakin thought he understood suffering. While plugging his ears to drown out the cruel snap of a far-away whip and the accompanying cries, he was certain he did.

And when he turned away from his mother for the last time, he was more than certain.

But this was a new torment for him. Never had he felt the pure obliteration of his soul, the same hands which built him up breaking him down again.

Damnation.

Damnation damnation damnation damnation oh damnation gods damnation damnation

He threw his hands over his face, smothering in his palms.

Damnation and resentment resentment all the time resentment ever since the beginning resentment resentment beginning…the beginning…

"Where can I put this?"

Obi-Wan pulled his eyes from the ground and offered a close-mouthed smile. "Wherever you want."

Anakin grasped the model starship in his small hands, grinning unguardedly at its clean, freshly painted exterior. He tilted it to watch the light bounce off the yellow side plate. It was his third day at the Temple, and their--their, he thought with a bigger smile--quarters were scattered with cheap moving boxes used to transfer Obi-Wan's belongings from his old room to his new one, a larger one, that still currently contained the life's treasures of Qui-Gon Jinn.

He was honest with himself. He knew there was a part of him inside that still cried out, in great, tearful frustration, that Master Qui-Gon was meant to be HIS teacher. Obi-Wan looked like a kid beside Qui-Gon, and now he was teaching Anakin?

But that mindset, that Obi-Wan was just a kid in Jedi's clothing, was collapsed by the death of the man that had championed him, a little slave boy with no special training, barely any education. The round, boyish curve of Obi-Wan's cheeks was still there, but the rest of him was changed somehow. Anakin wasn't sure how to describe it, only that it was new and completely different from the Jedi Padawan he was just beginning to know.

Now he guessed he would never know that apprentice. Only the Master, leaning against the doorframe, looking with unfocused eyes into the distance. Anakin wished he saw what Obi-Wan was seeing…because there was a faraway cast in his eyes that couldn't be caused by the limited space and landscape of the small room. It seemed that was all that ever captured Obi-Wan's attention, really captured it.

Because, when he looked at Anakin, there was…something missing.

Maybe it was the same whole Anakin felt in his chest, a little gape that ached whenever he realized, yet again, where he was and who was gone.

But then a dapple of sunshine hit the dark spot. This was HIS room, his own bed and model ships, his own carpeted floor to stretch out on.

And Obi-Wan was HIS Master now.

He was not accustomed to such abundant possession. Which was why he gripped the toy speeder with both hands and watched Obi-Wan long after he stopped speaking.

"Did you ever put up models?" Anakin asked, hopeful that he would inspire a more lively conversation.

Obi-Wan's eyes were wistful. "Of course. I think it might be a requirement for all young boys."

Anakin smiled, with more eagerness than the comment might have deserved. "Really? D'you have some still?"

"A few."

Anakin resisted the urge to jump. None of his friends ever had many models, and the ones they had were usually pieced together and rusty. He bet Obi-Wan's would be much better. "Do you--Do you think I could see them?"

"Sure. They should be on the top of one of those boxes out there." He nudged his head toward the living room.

Anakin sprinted to the small collection of containers, unable to quell his grin. Five or six models shone cleanly in the core of them, and he leaned over to pluck them from their perch.

His arms were short, and the distance was just a few inches too long, so he went on his tiptoes, reaching out, his eyes squinting in concentration.

His fingers wrapped around one, and he smiled, pulling it from the rest.

And then he heard a shatter, followed by Obi-Wan's quick footsteps.

"What happened?"

Anakin looked from his new Master's questioning, slightly alarmed face to the ground--where a trinket was in thin, curved glass shards, among splatters of water and white flakes.

"Oh."

It was a delicate, soft sigh. A gasp, but calmer. Obi-Wan was surprised, but it didn't reflect on his face. He merely bit on his bottom lip. "You better go finish in your room, Anakin."

There had always been a note of warmth in Obi-Wan's voice, even when he was feeling especially morose…But now it was like someone had twisted a pocketknife in his heart, and he was beyond screaming, his strength dwindling to a hoarse whisper from the pain.

Anakin found himself biting down on his quivering lip. Mindlessly grabbing the model ship, he ran into his room.

He turned around-once-to see Obi-Wan standing, unmoved from his previous stance, his arms lax at his sides.

He should have obeyed his mother's final words to him, he knew, as he tried to rid the image from his mind for days, weeks, years after.

Anakin should not have looked back.