Qui-Gon groaned as the wake-up siren shrieked out its warning. He had only been half-asleep, the pain in his broken leg preventing him from any rest. When the guards had found him the morning after his beating, he had been in a crumpled pile on the floor. Only after he had failed to respond to being whipped, did they haul him to the prison infirmary. Once there, he had been brusquely informed that they did not have the proper equipment to treat one of his species. A rough splint and a crutch had been all they would do. Qui-Gon wondered idly if they had been acting on the orders of Gaikusan or Inion. Leaning heavily on the crutch, he struggled to make his broken leg take tiny steps towards the end of the line of prisoners.

"It's been almost a week, Duursema. You still claiming to be injured? Hard to believe a weakling like yourself survived this long," mocked the guard. "We'll have to have a little lesson about your trying to excuse your slacking by acting hurt. But lucky you, it wont' be till later. You're getting a visitor today, so you're going to get to go with these guards to get cleaned up."

Qui-Gon stared at the guard blankly but despair settled in his stomach. They thought he was faking his injury? He sighed and then the guard's words registered. A visitor? Who in the Force would come to visit him? The Temple believed he was dead. Surely they did as it had been six very long months since he'd been arrested and imprisoned and no one had come for him. He wondered vaguely who it would be.

A rough hand shoved him forward, claws digging into his back. Desperately he stumbled forward. He knew that if he went down he'd be beaten until he managed to get to his feet again. "Get moving, scum." Two guards marched him to a room that Qui-Gon remembered all to well.

"Strip," commanded one of the guards as the other readied the heavy-duty hose.

Qui-Gon almost rolled his eyes at the pointlessness of it all. He wasn't wearing much to start with as the white shorts didn't leave much to the imagination. He pulled them off with difficulty gritting his teeth at the pain in his broken leg as he moved.

The water hit before he was half finished, knocking him backwards. Curling inward as much as possible with his injured leg, he did his best to protect himself from the blast of water. When it was over, he was pulled to his knees, the pain from his leg nearly enough to make him scream. Gritting his teeth, he struggled to keep silent. The guards sometimes chose to interpret his expressions of pain as defiance and that meant punishment. A guard grabbed a handful of his chin length hair and pulled. "Fur getting a little long again. Can't have you going to your visit looking bad."

Qui-Gon gritted his teeth as he was pulled forward, his broken leg scraped across the rough floor and he cried out in spite of his efforts to try to remain silent. Force it hurt.

The guard gripping his hair shook his head roughly. "Quiet. You out to be grateful that we're taking the time to make you look all pretty. I'm sure the other prisoners will appreciate it." The guard laughed evilly, cutting Qui-Gon' s hair close to the skull. When he was done he scrapped Qui-Gon's beard off. When he had finished, a pile of hair surrounded Qui-Gon and tiny nicks dripped blood.

"That should do it. Get dressed." A clean pair of shorts was thrown at him. "Hurry up. Your visitor has ten minutes. You use them up messing around here, that's too bad."

Qui-Gon pulled on the pair of shorts as quickly as he could with his broken leg and he clenched his teeth as he jerked it trying to get the shorts back on. Finally after several minutes of struggling with them, he managed to get them up. Heavy manacles were snapped around his wrists and ankles. Chains connected them, making it that much more difficult to balance on the crutch as he was escorted to a small room with a thick panel of clear plastisteel dividing it in two. On his side was a small stool. On the other was Kyran.

******

Kyran took his seat in the small, dimly lit visitor's room and stared morosely at the divider. So they would not allow physical contact. Kyran swore softly, settling down in his chair, ignoring the guards that stood behind him. Each of the four was heavily armed and each looked like they were just waiting for an excuse to demonstrate that fact. At last, the door on the other side of the divider opened and a tall, thin human was escorted into the room. Two guards took their place on either side of the door as the human made his way to the center of the room. His process was slow, weighed down by heavy chains and leaning heavily on a crutch. Kyran gasped in shock as he realized that this was Qui-Gon.

His head and face had been shaved. Recently, too, if the tiny bleeding cuts were any indication. Dressed only in a pair of white shorts it was easy to see the bruises, welts and cuts that were crisscrossed over his body, old and new. The edges of his ribs protruded sharply out. In a hoarse whisper, Kyran said, "I am so sorry."

Qui-Gon stared at his friend. It had been so long since he had seen a friendly face. Kyran's face wasn't exactly friendly however--he looked sad and had several dark circles under his eyes--like he hadn't been sleeping well. "I know. I am too. I should've apologized before I left. You were right. I'm sorry." He said wincing slightly at the pain in his broken leg.

"No, it was my fault. I should have explained. What's wrong?" Kyran had noticed that Qui-Gon had paled slightly.

"I....nothing." He knew that if he told Kyran about his injury the other would only blame himself more.

Kyran examined Qui-Gon closer. Lost among the other injuries was a dark bruise on the top of his right thigh. "Your leg? They broke it? That's why you have the crutch. Why haven't they treated it properly?" Anger and concern flared in him.

"They don't have the capabilities for one of my species," he said shrugging slightly.

"We're going to get you out of here. Devin's here, too, but they only let one of us in. Just hold on a little while longer," Kyran reached out over their bond, tentatively, unsure of how Qui-Gon might react. He offered what comfort and healing he could.

Qui-Gon's eyes widened in surprise feeling the sudden stirring of their long silent bond. "I am. Don't worry about me."

Kyran heard the words but his mind felt the shadow of despair from Qui-Gon. He placed his hand on the divider, "Its what I do. Worrying about you has kept me busy for more than 20 years."

He smiled slightly. "What a job you have."

Suddenly the guards on Qui-Gon's side of the room moved forward. "Time. Let's go."

Qui-Gon winced as one of the guards dug his claws into his shoulder and pried him off the stool throwing him to the ground. He tried to get back up, leaning on the stool for support. "Stinking offworlder. You've got five seconds to get to your feet or the beating you're already due will be doubled." growled the guard

Qui-Gon desperately scrambled to his feet, reaching for his crutch. If he could just balance on that and the stool, he would be able to get up. Just as he managed to get his weight on the crutch, the guard kicked it out from under him. He went sprawling on the floor, gasping in pain as he caught himself on his twisted hand. "Enough with the elaborate show. On your feet."

The whip cracked as the guard 'encouraged' him to get to his feet.

Kyran's gaze narrowed and he pounded on the glass with his fist. "Stop." He commanded in a cold, unyielding tone projecting Force power into the room. "He really is injured. Let him up."

"Mind your own business, offworlder scum," the other guard snarled, unfurling his own whip and lashing at Qui-Gon.

With one hand held over his face to protect his eyes, Qui-Gon crawled forward after the crutch. He did his best to ignore the whips that tore into his skin. He put a hand on the crutch when he felt one of the whips wrap around his broken leg, pulling him backwards. Screaming in pain, he could only lay still and take the beating.

Kyran's blood ran cold hearing his friend's cry of pain. He'd never in all the years they'd been friends heard his friend cry out like that. He put a hand to the lightsaber at his belt barely restraining himself from igniting it.

From their now reopened bond, Qui-Gon got a flash of what Kyran wanted to do. For the briefest of moments hope flared in him, he could be free of this place at long last. Then Qui-Gon looked up to see the four guards behind Kyran raise their blasters. //Kyran. No. You must go. This is to punish you. Go and they'll stop.//

//I can't leave you here. Not like this.//

Qui-Gon screamed again as the whips tore into his back. This was hardly the first beating he'd taken here. How could it now seem so much worse with Kyran watching just feet away. Kyran, who if he drew his saber, would be shot to death by the guards behind him. //Please, go. Tell the Council I live. You must live.//

//Alright. You're right. I will inform the Council.// He sent a strong wave of comfort and healing through their link as he slowly left. He felt as if his heart was breaking into thousands of pieces. His best friend had asked him to leave and he would--but it was the hardest walk he'd ever done in his life. His breath caught as he stared at the four guards holding blasters poised to shoot him. No wonder his best friend wanted him to leave. Their claws flexed menacingly on their blasters. He glanced back at his friend and saw the guards were continuing to beat him. Comprehension dawned on him as he realized that they would beat Qui-Gon until he left. He forced himself to speed up and finally made it out the door. //Hold on my friend, we'll get you out soon.//

//Soon. Please, soon// Qui-Gon echoed over their bond as Kyran left.

The guards hit him a few times more after Kyran left, then stopped. Kicking the crutch towards Qui-Gon, the guard said, "If you are done disobeying, on your feet. You've got afternoon shift in the laundry."
Moving slowly and stiffly from the pain, Qui-Gon reached for the crutch the guard kicked toward him and he got both feet under him. His leg throbbed and he wondered how much more damage had been done to it. Carefully, he put only enough weight on it to be able to shuffle forward. His mind was swirling. Kyran knew he was alive, but would it do him any good. Why would Gaikusan allowed a Jedi to come to identify him? Was he planning on killing him before the Council could secure his release? A terrible thought came to Qui-Gon. What if Gaikusan had decided that he would try to break another Jedi? Was Kyran here alone? No. He'd said Devin was here, too. Good. Devin would watch out for Kyran. They would watch out for each other. Now the only question was, could he survive long enough to be rescued?

The guards had taken him to the laundry. He'd missed mid-day meal, but that was of no concern to the guards. At least he wasn't expected to push the carts around anymore. The first day after the infirmary had released him they had him back pushing carts, but he'd been so slow they reassigned him to the folding and sorting table. Not right away, of course. Not until they had beaten him bloody to determine if he could be made to move faster.

Emotionally drained and physically hurt, by the time the prisoners were herded into the dining hall, Qui-Gon could barely manage to keep from collapsing. He stared at the gray slop in the tray before him, deciding it wasn't worth the effort to force the stuff down or to protect it when one of Yomar's cronies snatched it away from him. Finally, the prisoners were lined up and returned to their cells. If he could just make it to his bunk without Yomar assaulting him…

"Duursema, on the ground and grip the bars. You were late to morning line up."

This morning's punishment. He'd forgotten, but the guards hadn't. He eased himself down to the floor and got into a spread eagle position, gripping the bars. Just get through this, he told himself.

"Your infractions are being late to morning line up. Defiance when given orders to stand and leave the visiting offworlder. Behavior that shamed the guards of Tuvlat. Thirty-five lashes."

Qui-Gon's stomach twisted. His back was already torn from the earlier beatings. Thirty five was the most lashing at single punishment, save for one time. The sharp crack of the whip rang out, tearing across his back.

"One," he gasped. Merciful Force, it wasn't the regular whip. He risked a glance back at the guard. Three strands that glinted metal at the edges. How was he going to make it through this? Perhaps Gaikusan had decided to kill him after all.

"Two." Another stroke fell and he screamed out the count. The lash continued in a steady pace as he sobbed out the numbers, all self-control gone. When the last blow fell, tears ran freely down his face. At the guard's order he made his way towards his bunk, crawling forward, unable to find the strength to stand. He heard the door to their cell close behind him with a dull clank. Yomar stepped in front of him, blocking his path. Reaching down, Yomar grabbed the side of his head, forcing him to look upward at him. Qui-Gon stared dully back. Yomar dropped his hold and said dismissively, "Not worth the bother. Doubt you'll survive the night."

He's right, Qui-Gon decided. At least I saw Kyran and know he forgave me, Qui-Gon thought. Losing his hold on consciousness, he sent one last thought over his bond with Kyran. //Good-bye, my friend.//