Shanobi Oh, dear. I do hope that Obi is not as bad off as Qui. He seems to be handling it better, but since we're only seeing Qui's warped perceptions -it's hard to say. I think your worries are well-founded. Athena Leigh Nutbag. Oh my! Hee hee. Glad you're enjoying.

Twenty One: Too Late

In some cultures, ancient techniques of torture are still invoked, many souls suffer the grisly carnage of others' cruelty.

And often, the victims are completely innocent.

One such instrument is a small room, in which the walls slowly close in, to crush the unfortunate being trapped within. To multiply the torment, jagged spikes are ground into the brick or granite…

Or steel, so that when they scramble desperately for a way out, they are clawed by the glinting points, they can feel the draw of warm blood against their flesh.

I am fortunate, in that the scene of my agony is a hallway, stretched out, offering escape, if my feet match the rapid speed of my heart.

But the spikes are still there, like arms attempting to restrain, jutting out at me, in the form of Mace's words, Meelon's theories…And yet my skin is galvanized by the impenetrable armor of Obi-Wan's trusting expression, never doubting or condemning my need to run and hide…

Hide?

Is that what I'm doing now, rushing myself and my charge from the open space to a safe little set of rooms with solid walls and…

I do what I must.

I DO what I MUST.

And that has to be enough to quiet the sinister hisses in my head.

I've come too far, seven years, dodged enough landmines crouching under the dirt, to throw Obi-Wan into the core of them now.

Seven years.

But I don't really think that way anymore. Not in the traditional terms of a calendar, but in the regular cycle of the sky. Every day is a struggle, to be sure he's still there when the moon rises, still there when it sinks to the horizon again. And seven years…Perhaps I've become distracted by the intensification of my duties to him…Because it can't be seven years. There's so much left to share…

He hasn't been to Trablav, that tiny spot of a planet where they have fields full of his favorite fruit and wide, glittering ocean that would take days to explore…and that would only be the shore of it…We've only just tread the sand and I can't have him taken from me, not by the demon sneaking in the window or the out-of-control speeder veering onto the sidewalk or someone who believes they know better than me how to ensure his happiness…Doesn't anyone understand that…

And there's a hot churning in the base of my neck, spilling onto my shoulders, such as I've never experienced before, not even when I sliced the ring of a terrible villain, only to watch it sizzle against the cheek of my apprentice, branding him forever.

I will not lose Obi-Wan, unscathed by evil, smiling without pretense, waking early to prepare a (blackened) breakfast and carrying the gloss of Force-blessed stars in his eyes.

"Master…"

I wet my lips. "Obi-Wan, I will explain what happened. Once we're home."

"No…Master I…"

And there's a breathlessness to his voice that causes me to turn around, just as he falls to the floor.

I'm a second too late to catch him.

"Obi-Wan!" I crash to my knees beside his lax form and turn him onto his back.

His face is a colorless version of itself, his mouth slack. The sweat of the duel remains shining on his forehead.

Oh gods oh gods force oh gods Obi-Wan..

With quivering hands, I brush the hair from his eyes, to see if there's a pulse of movement beneath the lids.

"Obi-Wan?!"

I slap his cheek, but his head merely lolls to the side.

My vision suddenly swathed in gray, I gather him in my arms and dash down the corridor, into the very bowels of the torture contraption I so wanted to be freed of.