Blurred Visions

by LuvEwan

Ten years after the Phantom Menace, three will find their true destinies. And the ultimate menace will be revealed...OBI/Qui/Ani H/C ANGSTAU

6. The Wicked Hand

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Chapter Six: The Wicked Hand

I was dreaming of the past

And my heart was beating fast

I began to lose control

I began to lose control… -John Lennon

Sidious's waxen, aged face was perfectly still, dry blue eyes narrowed beneath lazy lids. The room was bathed in cold shadow that spilled on his colorless cheeks. From the chilly outside appearance, one would not suspect the broiling inside the corrupted man.

There were forces circling Kenobi. Darkness encroaching upon that brilliant, guileless spirit. Things that wished to poison the virtuous heart… Creatures that wanted to destroy him.

These threatening opponents didn't care about the enormous, unbelievable potential of Kenobi. They knew of it, Sidious was sure, for one could not go long without realizing the intelligence gleaming in cerulean orbs, the strength and skill ingrained in the compact body. But the Sith Lord couldn't detect the origins of the hate, only that they grew closer with every heartbeat. The malevolence was well-buried in these despicable beasts. Many detested Kenobi, for the plethora of talents, some evident with a mere glance---though these quick looks always seemed to linger. He was the epitome of a true, gifted Jedi Knight.

Sidious could guess who would want to obliterate such a man.

Now, to decide between the two main suspects was more difficult to do.

He snorted, the withered pads of liver-spotted fingers drumming together idly.

I will know who…eventually. They will have done me a great favor.

Sidous smiled. No---They will have done US a great favor.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

"What are the plans for today's investigation, Senator?" Qui-Gon asked, taking a long draught of refreshing juice.

Padme dabbed her lips daintily with a napkin, then looked directly at the Master. "I may have been misleading yesterday, and I apologize. When I said that the list of possible locations of the underground system was narrowed, I meant the locations of where the brainwashed men are released once their training is complete. Ileana has visited the main area many times, but has never watched a man 'set free', to complete their mission. I'm just very weary from this case---I guess I expected you to be informed as I was…" She rubbed at her eye with a single finger. "Though it was your first day on the case." She shook her head, gently shifting clean, gleaming hair with the movement. "I'm very sorry, my friends."

Anakin, unsurprisingly, was quick to comfort her. "Don't apologize, Padme. You haven't confused anyone." He offered her a wide smile.

Padme grinned back, with that expression that radiated beauty and compassion, that set her dark eyes afire.

The young apprentice's breath was stolen away, he was so entranced by the vision before him. He nearly placed his hand on her arm---but Qui-Gon's ever-critical presence weighed on his mind.

Obi-Wan swallowed, his parched throat cracking. "Yes, Milady, no harm was done."

Then, as fluidly as it was fixed upon Anakin, Padme's precious gaze floated to the Knight. "Thank you, Master Kenobi. I am very much relieved." She reached out, and gripped his clammy hand briefly. Affection and sympathy poured from her aura. It seemed to soften the lines of her, glisten in chestnut orbs and ebony lashes.

Anakin watched the silent gift of support, seeing her touch Kenobi, the stunning transformation the blinded Knight caused in Anakin's woman. What a waste. He thought angrily as he studied Kenobi with contempt. Eyes of pale cerulean were unfocused, looking off into some unknown horizon over the Senator's shoulder.

A soft smile bloomed on Obi-Wan's face, blossoming fairly in sculpted lips before shrinking away again.

Qui-Gon coughed, unsettled by the emotions he sensed roiling off both his Padawan and the lovely politician. "What were these plans, Senator Amidala?"

Padme too cleared her throat, turning from the two younger Jedi. "Ileana has mentioned Berrel has a right-hand man. He sets up clients with Berrel, usually downtown, in the later hours…."

As the Jedi listened intently to her, a small round droid flew by, black, save for a gray antenna that protruded from its right side, instructed to tap into their quiet conversation.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

The quartet walked out into the dazzling Naboo sun, Anakin gazing at Padme the whole while, as the incandescence caressed her lovingly.

The day smelled of crisp leaves and drying dew; Obi-Wan inhaled the sweet aromas, and for a moment felt blessed to be on this rare, beautiful planet. He listened, with his sharpened sense, to the others' steps against the pavement, to their voices, varying in tone, from melodic and light to husky and deep, allowing them to replace the defunct orbs, unseeing as glass.

His russet hair shone in the morning light, and his reserved, almost painfully exquisite countenance was shiftless, save the distant twinkle of his moist lips. He journeyed with the group as though he were not handicapped at all---his gait was as confident as anyone else's---and his former Master found he could not look away from Obi-Wan Kenobi.

Today there was a change in the Knight, Qui-Gon knew, just from a hasty glance in the early hours, as they prepared for the day ahead. Obi-Wan's posture was neither slumped nor rigid, it held the easy grace that was trademark, and the older Jedi was relieved to see the change. The frightening and dreadfully intense malady was releasing its serpentine clutches from Obi-Wan. The color was slowly, slowly erasing the wan quality of his skin, Qui-Gon could detect tiny shades of its usual gold beneath the pasty surface.

He had commented on the obvious improvement in Obi-Wan's health, but the Knight must not have heard, for he gave no response, no indication he had registered the Master's words.

When they had time alone, perhaps while they searched the suspicious areas of Theed, Qui-Gon would talk to him.

Padme's eyes swept over the architectural masterpieces that lined the mildly busy streets, and she smiled. "Sometimes I forget how wonderful it is."

She had said it in a private whisper, not intending for anyone to pick it up, but Anakin Skywalker's senses were keener than most, and he stepped an inch closer. "It is wonderful…" He waited until she was looking up at him. "I have never forgotten."

She turned her head from him fast. "The Investigation Center isn't far from here. I would have called for transportation, but I figured you all could use a small reminder of the main streets."

Qui-Gon smiled. "It is a pleasure to soak up Naboo's abundant charms, Senator."

They walked on.

Suddenly, Padme stopped, a huge grin spreading on her delicate face. "Master Kenobi!" She exclaimed, grabbing Obi-Wan's hand, practically dragging the confused Jedi with her.

A huge flower display was before them. Countless blooms of every shade imaginable were clustered together. Their saffron centers glistened.

She crouched down in front of the stunning scene, forgetting, or not caring, about the long flowing (expensive) dress she wore. Obi-Wan politely followed her down.

Padme leaned forward and expertly plucked a violet blossom. "This is Naboo's finest, Master Kenobi. A thousand queens have occupied the throne---and this is the flower that adorns the palace between every coronation." She held it near to his nose, and he breathed in the scent.

It was perfect and subtle, cloying and clean, Obi-Wan thought he had never smelled something quite as lovely. Yes, it must be Naboo's finest, for it was the culmination of all things Naboo: beauty, freshness, simple purity.

He smiled then, and Senator Amidala felt a warmth encompass her heart when she saw the pleasure in him.

Qui-Gon was stunned by it all. He stared down at the two, a new and stronger respect forming for this young politician.

Anakin curled his fingers, in and out, stricken. I want to make her smile like that. That well-built inner smugness surged. And not because I'm a charity case.

The gentle moment between Senator and Jedi ended, they rose, and the trek continued without another word about it.

There were no words, but there were many thoughts.

Qui-Gon peered over at his apprentice. A foggy emotion trickled through the boy's Force barriers.

Envy.

It was unusual for Anakin to hold jealousy towards anyone…unless that person happened to be Obi-Wan. It was a weakness the boy harbored from long ago. The reason for his disdain for the quiet, kind Knight.

He saw Obi-Wan as a threat, bluntly. Qui-Gon wished Anakin knew him as he truly was.

The Master knew it would save much pain.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Maul wheeled around when the black machine began beeping wildly.

Long strings of words flew onto the yellow screen, and his blood-washed eyes were sewn to the data.

It was a detailed account of the morning meal, and conversations, between the Jedi and the Senator. Every syllable, every minute movement.

He skimmed through the meaningless sections of the dialogue, which comprised nearly the entire exchange, but read carefully through a certain topic.

He could imagine the sickening Amidala, her beloved democracy draped over her like a stifling cloak, so self-satisfied with her meager discoveries in the case:

" Ileana has mentioned Berrel has a right-hand man. He sets up clients with Berrel, usually downtown, in the later hours. Berrel refers to him as 'Lorb'. Ileana isn't sure if that's his actual name, or a false title to protect the man. But apparently it's rather hard to make a deal with him; prices are spectacularly high, and Lorb has a problem with trust."

The Master, the man with a trembling spine, the man who left his apprentice to be scorched by the enemy's blade, spoke now: "This Lorb would be useful if we could somehow speak with him. I'm sure we could collect a sufficient amount of credits."

Amidala replied: "That is a good idea, Master Jinn. With Ileana's help, it wouldn't be too difficult to locate him."

Here, Obi-Wan Kenobi voiced his opinion, and the Sith apprentice felt familiar rage rise in him. His chest heaved, his heartbeats echoed in his ears: "Someone could pose as a potential client---"

A new vocal joined in, cutting off the Knight mid-sentence. Skywalker. Maul remembered the obnoxious and helplessly self-absorbed youth from his frequent visits to Master Sidious' office. "I could do it! I could pretend I was interested in having someone killed, and then maybe I could get inside!"

It was Kenobi who addressed the plans first. "And what if your cover was blown while inside? You would surely be killed---and the mission would be dead in the water."

Skywalker was quick to defend himself. "I would have my commlink."

Kenobi laughed. "They would check for such things"

"And I have my link with Master, of course. That can't be checked for, Knight Kenobi. It stands through ANYTHING."

Maul tried to imagine the hurt that must have twisted the Knight's features. At least Skywalker was good for something.

"Yes, but will that link keep you from being killed?"

Skywalker spoke in clipped, straightforward words. "What business is it of YOURS?"

The Master intervened. "Anakin, perhaps Knight Kenobi is right."

"Why? You don't trust me to complete the task successfully, Master?"

"Of course I do, Anakin….That's not the point."

"Oh, then what is the point?"

Senator Amidala changed the subject then, commenting on the exceptional meal.

Maul chuckled, in a hushed, throaty tone. These three were the supposed elite of the Jedi Order, and the woman was rumored to be one of the top politicians in decades.

So easily their guises fell away. Maul saw the tension between Master and apprentice, the hate for Kenobi burning in Skywalker. Something in the Senator burning for Skywalker, as was hinted at in various sections of the report.

But most importantly, Padme had unknowingly revealed some crucial information surrounding 'Lorb'.

He thought of Kenobi again, and this time he was not brimming with disdain. No, he was quite looking forward to hearing more from the Knight…in the very near future.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

When Padme and the Jedi reached the Center, the woman was shocked to see Ileana standing at the door.

"Ileana? What are you doing?" She rushed forward, holding her dress up with two fingers as she ran. "What's wrong?"

The porcelain skin was stained with cloudy tears. Her stained red lips trembled. "Oh, Senator. I couldn't believe it. I---" She scrubbed at her eyes. "Berrel---he is planning on killing you."

Padme's eyes narrowed in concentration. Rhell Vininon had spoken to her of such demonic plans, but to hear they had moved forward without him was jarring. She breathed in. "Ileana, you must calm down. Tell me what happened." She steadily ordered, hands on the woman's shaking shoulders.

Ileana's lashes fluttered, and she forced the streams of moisture to stop their warm descent. "He said he hated you. That you were ruining his plans, a--and,"

Shadow fell over Anakin's face then, he stalked toward them, teeth grinding painfully together.

There was much anger rolling off the Padawan, so that peals of it passed through his shielding. Qui-Gon felt the utter strength of it, and followed the boy without thought, worried that Anakin would set off to destroy whatever he could get his hands on. This rage was too potent, too blinding.

Obi-Wan had no link whatsoever to Skywalker, never touched his mind on any level, nor had any intention to, but he also sensed the ire, though it was fainter.

Ileana shoved strands of her hair furiously out of her face. "And he couldn't afford to let you continue with your investigation. He has trained someone, at least one of his hunters, to kill you."

Padme swallowed, taking an absent step from Ileana.

Anakin put a wide hand on her smooth back, in wordless comfort. "When?" His voice was sharp, and dark, and as near to menacing as Ileana had ever heard.

She reluctantly met his intense gaze. "Within the week. H-He wasn't sure exactly when." For some reason, Ileana had to look away from the Jedi apprentice, as if he wanted her to be shamed, as if it was in part her fault.

Qui-Gon's cool voice broke through the emotional, frenzied moment. "Then the investigation must go fast." He turned to his upset protégé. "Anakin, tonight you will find Lorb, and enlist Berrel' services."

Anakin gave a short nod. "Yes, Master."

Padme moved out of his lingering touch, and entered the Center.

Ileana exchanged a concerned glance with Qui-Gon, then joined the Senator, Anakin on her heels.

Obi-Wan stood in the walkway, motionless among the rustling leaves of a looming tree, and the soft shifting of grass beneath his feet. "I have a bad feeling about this."

Qui-Gon crossed his arms. His long, graying hair rippled in the breeze. "What? What is it?"

Obi-Wan snorted quietly, shaking his head. "I'm surprised you care, Master Jinn." He said, inflection as cold as steel. "After all, my premonitions meant nothing to you before."

He disappeared into the Center, leaving the Master to consider everything in this whirlwind mission, while the irritatingly tranquil wind blew.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

A glowing crescent illuminated the swirling, obsidian sky, and the musty, draped windows were lit dimly.

Qui-Gon glanced outside, listening to the restless shifts of holopads from the table beside him.

Padme concealed her yawn with a hand. "Perhaps Anakin should look for Lorb now." She suggested, slipping a report under her arm. "The night is short."

Anakin stared at her, a small smile crooked on his mouth. "I would be happy to begin the search, Padme."

Qui-Gon had given up trying to correct the too-casual address, and he sighed quietly, standing. "Yes, but you should heed Knight Kenobi's warnings."

Anakin bitterly swallowed his caustic retort, refusing to look in Kenobi's direction. Instead, his gaze remained enchanted on the graceful Senator. "Of course, Master." His tone was flat, and deadly obedient. "I will need the credits."

Before Qui-Gon could produce any, Padme had handed the apprentice a thick stack, held in a velvet pouch. "Here, Ani."

Anakin felt as their fingers brushed, and breathed in deeply, savoring the quick touch. "Thank you, Padme."

Padme looked at him a moment longer, then turned her attention to Obi-Wan. "Master Kenobi, if it is agreeable, I would like to speak with you."

Obi-Wan stood. "Certainly, Milady." His accent was light and cultured, in soft contrast to Anakin's brashness.

"No, not now. I must speak of something in private. A pressing matter that I've delayed too long."

"Oh." Obi-Wan gave a short tip of his head. "Certainly."

"Good." Padme grinned, visibly pleased.

Qui-Gon was mildly started, sure that she would have offered any invitation to his apprentice above Obi-Wan, but was relieved. Anakin was not in need of such distractions, for the Senator was always a magnetic force, attracting the Padawan in an instant. Obi-Wan was better suited to handle meetings with her, would stay focused.

He is a good Jedi. Qui-Gon mused, with the slightest stirring of pride.

Anakin clutched the bundle of credits. Without a parting word, he stormed out of the Center.

Padme noticed the cold undertone of his exit, and felt her heart ache.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Obi-Wan allowed the Senator to lead him inside her home. He was pleasantly welcomed by a mixture of aromas: fresh flowers, sweet cleanliness, and vanilla. Cool air circulated, and the warmth of some sort of lighting above heated his chilly body.

"Please, sit." Padme said, resting on a stylish, curved sofa.

For a second, neither said anything, the woman with her hands folded in her lap, he propping his elbows on his knees.

"Master Kenobi…I don't know if this is appropriate, but I must tell you something." Padme finally purged, her striking face pinched, stomach taut with nerves.

Obi-Wan only smiled. "Whatever you wish to tell me, I wish to hear, Milady."

She breathed out a bit, releasing her hair from the clasps. It spilled onto her shoulders. "Thank you for your support…On Naboo, all those years ago---" Padme faltered, looking down, pursing her lips. "I was very young to be Queen. I was woefully optimistic." She smiled ruefully. "I was but a child. Not worthy of governing an entire planet."

"You did an excellent job, Milady. Your people loved you very much."

Though it was meant as a comfort, the comment left tears gleaming on her cheeks. "Yes. But what of the people who---who never survived the war? There had to have been a way to save them, Obi-Wan. A way to have avoided it all." She dropped her head into her hands.

Obi-Wan listened to her rough sobs, and her stabbing pain began to jab into him as well. He laid his hand on her shoulder. For some reason, the worn image of the Sith fell into the periphery of his mind's eye. "It is horrible to say, Milady, but for the greater good, there are always casualties. It is needless torture to think you could have prevented them. I have spent years witnessing the deaths of innocents. Women, children--"

Padme flinched.

"But for every life that was stolen, so many were saved. The Federation was going to attack, no matter what you did. You could have retreated to a safer place to wait it out---but you didn't. You faced the bastards, and you protected your planet. Do not writhe in wrongful guilt, Padme."

Padme gazed up at him, and saw his eyes, glittering deadly in the half-light. They were beautiful eyes. He didn't judge her, didn't condemn or ignore her concerns. He acknowledged that her hurt was real, just as she knew his was. "When I was shot, when I was laying there bleeding, I watched men fall. And I---I felt their deaths to the core of me…and I-I wanted to die. I wanted to leave my body, and leave my home." She wiped the moisture from her face." It was nothing but a bloody battleground. I wanted to leave it all. Just so I wouldn't have to feel anymore."

Obi-Wan nodded, tears silently coursing down his face.

"I figured that if those valiant men were dying, why should I live? Why---" She broke down then, crying hoarsely, clutching handfuls of her curled hair.

The Knight pulled her gently against his chest, and laid his head atop hers. "Because you are needed still, to protect those who lived on. Somewhere, good is needed, Padme." His voice was quiet and low. "Is it needed everywhere. There is darkness all around us, closing in, and light is all that can conquer it."

Padme smiled through her tears, reaching up to touch a droplet gathering on his lashes. "Perhaps there is a purpose for everything, Obi-Wan. You see beyond everything that seeks to confuse and disorient. You see the truth, while others let shrouds cover their eyes." She gripped his hand. "You see."

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Qui-Gon ran his callused finger along the smooth surface, stained green and filled three-quarters of the way with a richly red wine.

Anakin was tracking Lorb, Obi-Wan was talking with the Senator.

He was alone.

The feeling left him cold and hollow inside. He sighed wearily, taking a large swallow.

For a long time, he had enjoyed the solitary state. Strove with every fiber of his stubborn being to be left by himself.

He realized that he could never truly be alone, of course. There were shadows and echoes, Xanatos' icy laughter slicing through his thoughts, Yoda's countless warnings repeating in his head, reminding him that the fault would always belong to him.

Light and contentment were carried in a pair of painfully innocent, cerulean eyes. There were some who spoke of Obi-Wan Kenobi like he was a curse: clumsy, angry, awkward. But soon enough Qui-Gon discovered the comments were rooted in jealousy. For Obi-Wan was as near to perfect as anything could ever hope to be. But there was something amiss in those eyes, a need hidden in brightness, a yearning that beat in ocean-painted eyes.

Qui-Gon, in his usual pig-headed manner, refused to fulfill the meager wish of the devoted, worthy boy. For too long, he held Obi-Wan beyond arm's length, ever-critical and never affectionate.

Because the loneliness comforted him, the cold soothed his wounded soul. The heat of youthful passion pumped in Obi-Wan Kenobi. Too much warmth could leave you burned.

Qui-Gon couldn't afford to be scathed. He wouldn't survive another scorch after Xanatos.

And Obi-Wan suffered the ignorance, loving him despite it all.

Then, the Master couldn't push him away anymore. Their spirits melded, and they found a connection that surpassed the loneliness.

Now, without that bond, his heart was torn. Obi-Wan held the bits, ripped them with his parting words that day at the Healers.

Anakin was losing his focus, was spending wild nights stealing money from the less fortunate, shunning girls who lived on the fringes of poverty.

He was showing shades too dark for a Jedi.

Qui-Gon almost desired the remote existence of his past. Then he would not hurt this badly, would not grab for the sin-laden bottle, and seek solace in its numbing contents.

He stood, trudging stiffly to his room.

Somewhere, not far away, a familiar enemy was plotting, while the sky shifted black and gray, the moon spreading forlorn yellow across Naboo.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Lorb walked along the crumbling, empty street, slowing to take a swig of rather expensive brandy.

A hand clamped down on his bulky shoulder, and Lorb wheeled around.

The figure that stood before him was awash with darkness, a cowl disguising his appearance. All that was visible was a pair of lips, parted slightly. His voice was hushed, and dripped with acid.

"I hear you work for Berrel."

Lorb backed up, the liquor glistening on his mouth. He was a stout man, with receding brown hair that wilted on his wide, round head. From his appearance, one would never guess he was significantly wealthy. "Where you hear that?"

The ominous lips curled. "Let's just say I'm a very attentive listener. I've come from very far to speak with you, Mr. Lorb. Perhaps come to some sort of…arrangement?"

Lorb snorted, thick fingers drumming on the neck of his bottle. "What makes you think I would want to? For star's sake, I can't even see your friggin' face."

A soft, unsettling laugh. "I have been trained well to conceal such things if the need arose. Trained very well."

The haughtiness disappeared from Lorb's face. His bushy eyebrow cocked. "Trained? How you mean?"

"I'm a member of a very…elite…association. Recently, however, I have been doubting my staying power. You see, I fear I may be usurped."

Lorb swallowed a burp. "So? What's that got to do with me? Or Barris?"

Another cold chuckle. "Everything. With your help, I could be rid of this problem. Cleanly, effectively." His tone dropped. "I would love to do it myself, but there is too much risk involved. I want to keep in good stead with my Master. He is a very---determined---man. I would not want to disappoint him."

There was bald honesty in the figure's words, and Lorb motioned with his head to a nearby alley.

They entered the darker space. The plump man narrowed his eyes, trying to make out the elusive face.

"So what you're saying, mister, is that you want somebody knocked."

Lorb thought he saw the man stiffen.

"Yes." He rasped.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

The sound of tranquil chimes filled the apartment, and Padme frowned, pulling her silken robe around her barely clothed body. Obi-Wan had been escorted to the hotel an hour ago. She was in the process of preparing for bed.

Any arrival had to be checked by the guards, which lessened her anxiety while increasing her curiosity. She opened the heavy wooden door.

"Ani? What are you doing here?"

Anakin jerked a smile, bowing. His eyes raked quickly over her less-than-professional attire. "I'm come to return your credits, Padme." He gave her the intricate pouch of money. "I couldn't find Lorb."

There was disappointment in his voice. Padme smiled, touching his forearm. "That's alright, Ani. He's a devious little man. Probably getting drunk, or making a private deal. Did you want to come in for a moment?"

Anakin grinned, following her inside.

Padme tucked the satchel into a golden, carved box, closed the lid, then joined the apprentice on the couch.

Anakin looked around. "This place is just beautiful, Padme."

She flushed. "Why thank you, Ani. It's one of my favorite hobbies."

His gaze fell on her, and a feeling of completion, as well as desire, consumed him. "Why did you want to talk to Knight Kenobi, if I may ask? Something about the investigation?"

Her eyes were unwavering, she leaned against her hand, smiling faintly. Curls lay as a perfect frame around her face. "No."

"Oh." A shaft of jealousy went through him.

Padme caught the brief flash of envy. "I was talking to Obi-Wan about what happened on Naboo ten years ago."

What a surprise. He has to get sympathy no matter what. Everyone has to feel sorry for 'Poor Obi-Wan'.

"I was experiencing intense grief, and he gave me some wonderful advice." Those deep eyes twinkled. "He has adjusted so well. I could sense his strength."

Anakin smiled at her while his stomach turned. Then he took her hand. "Why were you grieving?"

Her eyes darted away. "For the lives lost during that battle. I was feeling responsible."

The Jedi's hold on the delicate hand tightened. "That's ridiculous, Padme. Do you realize how many lives you saved?" As if anyone's life was as important as yours.

Padme nodded, scrubbing at unbidden tears. "That's what Obi-Wan told me." She sniffled. "Still, their deaths haunt me. But I know I will carry them with me. Their sacrifices aren't forgotten. I work to improve their home, in their memory." She laughed emptily. "I know it must sound cheesy, and awful, but I think now that's why I was saved from death that day."

Anakin leaned forward. "It doesn't sound awful, Padme. It sounds…perfect." Then, he pressed his mouth to hers.

This time, Padme didn't pull away.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Qui-Gon moved to the window, rubbing the bridge of his nose, eyes closed.

This date had always held special significance. It was the day when he would wake early, and fix a large, extravagant breakfast. The ceiling was crowded with multi-colored balloons. Bits of bright paper littered the floor. And a single, wrapped present was sat in the middle of the table.

He would sneak into his room, shake his bare shoulder, smiling madly.

The Padawan would grumble and turn to his other side, burrowing under the covers.

Until he realized just what day it was. Then he was a flash, a streak from the bedroom to the kitchen.

Qui-Gon would load the plates down with food. They scarfed the delectable dishes down, without regard to their usual politeness during meals.

Then they moved to the main room, where candles cast gentle amber light, and together, they meditated for hours.

Lastly, when the sun finally rested beneath the horizon, Obi-Wan opened his birthday present.

Qui-Gon would watch the innocent delight brighten the aquamarine eyes, would gladly enfold the thankful apprentice in his fatherly embrace.

Today was Obi-Wan's birthday.

He hoped, somewhere in this huge Temple, his former Padawan, his eternal son, was happy.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Obi-Wan moved from the door to his quarters listlessly, fingers curled around his robe.

He flopped onto his sleepcouch, in a careless way that strangely maintained his regular grace, and peeled off his tunic layers.

The cool air caressed his sweaty, golden skin, easing the ill heat within him.

Then, he stretched out on the lavishly dressed bed, while he himself was clad in only loose, tan leggings.

He tucked his arms under his head, and released a long, suffering sigh.

He had been more than glad to help lessen the Senator's grief. Her burden was heavy, and Obi-Wan knew such a compassionate soul did not deserve to bear the weight.

But her sad admittance had taken him back to a bitter, painful place. A time cursed with whispers of betrayal and an agony that festered in his heart.

She spoke of that day, with a voice that held the same sorrowful intone he heard in his thoughts, an identical bleeding of sheer despondency. It was a relief to hear that maybe he wasn't alone in this after all.

An odd, half-depressed, half-consoled smile touched his lips. Obi-Wan slipped to sleep, ginger hair spreading soft, limp spikes on the pillow, a hand laying on the bare, smooth stomach, with the knowledge that he had gained a true, understanding friend.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Lorb stopped at Theed Plaza, and craned his thick neck to look up at the looming giant of a building. It gleamed beautifully against the midnight light.

Or, he mused with a sly smirk, Maybe the promise of money shining out at me.

He patted the large lump of credits in his pocket. Tomorrow.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Padme's hand clasped to Anakin's jaw line tenderly as she kissed him.

His masculine, faintly oceanic, cologne filled her senses, as did the feel of his rough tunic, the contrasting softness of his mouth.

She paused to smile, running her fingers through his thick, sandy hair, gazing at his face.

Anakin grinned. "What?" He asked quietly.

Padme shook her head, moving curls. Her eyes were contemplative. "I-I'm not supposed to be doing this. You're not supposed to be doing this, Ani."

Anakin traced his finger down her arm, staring at her. "The Force has beckoned me."

Padme giggled, black lashes brushing against her milky skin. "It has not!"

The apprentice shrugged. "Well, something is beckoning me."

He kissed her again.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Mejant sat the cake on the table, taking a step back to marvel quickly at her handiwork.

Obi-Wan inhaled. A grin spread on his face. "It smells wonderful, Love. I'm drooling."

She tittered, moving to stand behind him. She placed her thin hands on his shoulders and brushed her round chin against the ginger bristles of his hair. "Really?"

Obi-Wan locked their fingers loosely. "Really." He said softly, harmonious voice laced with affection. "I've never had such a great cake like this."

Mejant dropped her head to his shoulder. "Never?"

Dark clouds passed over the vacant orbs. Obi-Wan cleared his throat, returning his face to its excited expression. "Never like this."

The young woman pecked his cheek, her long, raven hair spilling to her waist. "You deserve it, Obi. And so much more."

Obi-Wan smiled, swallowing down the tight sobs rising in his throat, and wrapped her in his arms.

Mejant frowned. "Obi? Are you alright?" She tilted her head. "I know it must be--difficult---"

He pressed his finger against her lips before running his hand down her forehead, caressing her cheeks.

Mejant held her breath.

Obi-Wan blinked, and while his eyes were closed for the briefest of moments, a damp film seemed to have formed over them. They twinkled with melancholy in the muted light. "I'm fine, Mejant. I have you. What else do I need?"

It was meant to be rhetorical, she knew, but as they ate, the true answer gnawed at her, as it must be gnawing at him.

"Happy birthday." She murmured.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Qui-Gon didn't bother to pull the drapes back, letting the room wallow in murky gray. Threads of fresh sunlight streaked across the walls, and made an abbreviated stay on the unshaven face as he walked to the kitchen unit.

Siron-7 was still deactivated in a corner, segmented body bent, willowy tube-arms dangling.

He smirked, shaking his head.

The liquor had collected warmly in his belly last night, and left him drowsy and blissfully numb. A bed had never felt quite so soft, a pillow so cushioned, as when he laid upon them afterwards.

He slept, deeply and without waking, dreamless.

The unconscious hours were not exactly energizing, for there was a foggy ache hovering around his head, but it was a relief to escape.

Qui-Gon took a tentative sip of the steaming tea, sucking on his lip when the heat slightly burned.

Habitually, he sent a probe through the Force, throughout the apartment.

He sensed Obi-Wan's heavily buried aura, knew he was resting. Nothing came from Anakin's room, and the Master's forehead crinkled.

Anakin never came back?

There was no danger in the apprentice's small mission, since Qui-Gon never felt a scintilla of fear nor cry for help through their bond. Not at all.

He set the expensive cup down, hurrying to his own quarters. The man yanked his belt from the pile of clothes on the floor.

He held the commlink to his mouth.

"Anakin, where are you? Padawan!"

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Shafts of warmth shone into the room, and Anakin released a muffled moan, rubbing at his face.

His long, gangly body was curled tightly in on itself. A velour pillow was pressed against his cheek. He saw the small, dark bloom of drool on the material, and flushed, turning it over.

Padme was laying against the opposite couch arm. She was buried deep within the comfort of her silken, white robe, slender legs tucked, crystalline face tranquil.

Anakin carefully sat up, readjusting his wrinkled tunics. In the soft glow of morning, Padme was bathed in a rare, angelic light that trembled delicately, her lashes casting odd shadow beneath her closed eyes.

That strong love pulsed in him, and Anakin could not help but brush his fingertips lightly across her curled, auburn locks.

She jerked up, hands clutching at the sofa, squinting at the sudden brightness.

Anakin only smiled at her. "Sleep well?" He stretched.

Padme pulled her robe tighter around, hiding the crimson nightgown beneath. "I shouldn't have done that."

He frowned. "Done what? We fell asleep, Padme. It was completely innocent."

Padme shook her head, playing with her lip nervously.

For a moment, the Jedi was surprised to see such a funny habit displayed by one so dignified, and, well, political. She hardly looked her twenty four years, but it was endearing, as everything about Padme Amidala was. "What's wrong?"

She stood abruptly, moving to sit on the lofty chair far across from him. "What's wrong Ani is that your Master is going to…get the…wrong idea…about what happened here."

"Oh." Anakin looked away, thinking. Then he gazed openly at her again. "I'll just explain it to him." He shrugged. "Besides, I'm an adult. You're an adult. What business is it of his?"

A buzz pierced through the excited conversation, and the apprentice flipped on his communicator.

"Master?"

The eloquent voice reverberated from the machine. "Anakin, where have you been?" He was on the edge of sharp reprimand.

"I couldn't find Lorb, Master. I came to return Padme her credits, and we started talking about the investigation. We must've dozed off."

Padme sat straighter, touching her roiling stomach. She was amazed at the ease and flair Anakin had as he lied. Not one word was spoken about the mission the night before, yet, from the virtuous tint to his voice, it sounded like pure truth.

Qui-Gon paused. "So…you found no trace of Lorb?"

Anakin relaxed a fraction, smiling complacently. "None at all."

"Oh.----Well, you and the Senator can meet us at the Center, in say, an hour?"

"Of course, Master."

"That's fine."

The voice cut off, and Anakin slid the commlink back in his belt.

Padme was shaking her head. "How do you do it, Ani?"

Anakin grinned.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Qui-Gon stood, fists on his hips, a distant, glassy film coating his sapphire eyes. He believed his Padawan when the boy said it had been a sinless mistake, but still, there was an aloofness to him, an unneeded, tiny waver in an otherwise confident inflection.

Naboo was ushering in the new day with a luscious beauty, and the Master found he had briefly wondered if it was painted with the mellow tone of watercolor. The windows shared a view of mild strokes and vibrant swirls. It was the haven of a cruel and unforgiving Universe---he wanted to protect it.

There were so many alliances that he pledged to, so many he felt obligated to guard from danger.

He scrubbed at his chin wearily.

Obi-Wan shuffled into the room, the soft edges of dawn touching him lovingly. But his face held fast to that pale ghost, and his eyes were encased in thick, black rings.

Qui-Gon watched him approach, and something in his chest contracted. Obi-Wan was battered, that much he had known long before. Now, his scars looked deeper, the fresher ones etched raggedly in his flesh.

There were a lot of them.

So many…

He narrowed his gaze.

Too many. There weren't that many. This doesn't make---

Qui-Gon blinked, and the ugly marks were gone, the pallor of the Knight healthier.

The man shook his head, blinking rapidly, confused by the remarkable, impossible, staggering recovery.

And realized they had never really been there to begin with.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Padme clipped on the diamond teardrop earring, gazing vapidly at her reflection, eyes unfocused, looking to the recent past with the irritating clarity of hindsight.

On any other night, she wouldn't have let him in, would have accepted the credits, but then politely closed the door, with a modest smile.

That had not happened. She allowed Anakin entrance, dried tears stinging her, and painful memories grating in her mind.

Obi-Wan had comforted her, with his fluid, soft, understanding… thankless…manner, giving without taking, smiling with his entire spirit, with all that was clean and compassionate in him.

Not expecting anything in return.

But Anakin had not pressed her for anything, either, Padme had to remind herself, as she smoothed her gray lace gown that rippled at her ankles. Her pristine shoes glittered as the identical jewels dangling from her ears.

Her hair was curled and hung free, save for two wavy strands that met at the base of her skull, attached by a breathtaking barrette.

It was, maybe, her favorite piece out of her vast wardrobe.

She wasn't quite sure why she was compelled to wear it, to apply her makeup with unusually meticulous care, rouging her cheeks to create an exaggerated blush, and deeply staining her lips crimson. Smoky shadows were cast over her eyes, and spread carefully on the lids.

And then, decked out completely, she would join Ani, in his plain brown Jedi garb.

It was an unfair scrutiny, for appearance mattered naught, when two hearts beneath beat in what could be melodious unison.

Perhaps, if everything else, the trappings of offices, the inhibitions, were ripped away, they could hear it, and know for sure.

Then, maybe she could silence her own restlessness.

Anakin was a good man. A Jedi, for stars' sake, a guardian of the entire galaxy. The very description of a hero.

He had spoken of love; she had thought of it.

But did either of them actually feel it?

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Anakin smiled when the door opened, and Padme immerged, beautifully dressed, with her face immaculate. He wanted her, in every way, at that moment.

But for now, he could only take her arm, and dream of a possible future.

"You look…amazing." He said breathlessly.

Padme flushed, eyelashes falling to stroke her cheeks. "Ani."

They strolled along the street, not bothering to call for transport, all the protection the Senator needed provided by the attentive Jedi.

The sun washed her skin, and Anakin couldn't believe how often he was entranced by her. "How are you, Padme?" His tone was quiet, and the woman knew what he was referring to.

She looked up at him. "I am better, Ani. The pain is still there, as I know it always will be, but you and Obi-Wan have made it…bearable. You showed me a side I never would have seen."

Anakin's free hand tensed. Obi-Wan? What could he have done? I stayed the whole damn night with her…what could he have done?! "I care for you, Padme. I never want you to be in pain."

Padme gripped his arm a bit tighter. "And I care about you too, Ani. You've been a great friend to me, from the time we met."

Anakin chuckled, and it was a light, smoother sound. "I remember seeing you, and thinking I would marry you. A nine year old, wanting to marry a Queen."

The Senator smiled ruefully. "You were so cute, with your smudged face and long, sandy hair. So brave, even as a tiny boy."

Anakin sealed his eyes, the sound of her voice flowing through his mind, the same sweet vocals that called to him on Tatooine, that had calmed the darkness in him ever since. "I said you were an angel." He murmured.

Padme giggled. "Yes, I remember. It's the nicest thing I think anyone has ever said to me, Ani. Because you were innocent, you were just a child. A child's words are the purest, most beautiful, the most truthful you can ever hear."

He smirked at her, then looked away, studying an ornate fountain as they walked.

Padme's gaze remained on him, troubled and clouded with faint worry. He is not a child anymore. Her fingers drummed slowly on his arm. And he can't always speak the truth.

Then his striking eyes were on her again. "I love you, you know." He said quietly.

She hesitated, then smiled, lips shining. "I know."

"It scares me to think that someone would want to hurt you, Padme. And it makes me angry. So angry. You're wonderful. Why would anyone want to destroy that?"

Her belly fluttered, and she swallowed, that fear stirring in her. "I…I don't know. Politicians have many enemies, Ani. We're targets." She shook her head, and spoke in a hushed, desolate tone. "Always targets."

Anakin slipped his arm from hers, and draped it securely around her small shoulders. "Master Qui-Gon tells me not to trust them. Politicians. He says they have hidden agendas, that they're self-interests outweigh their want for the greater good." He paused before grunting, looking at her intently. "I don't believe him, Padme. Because you're perfect, and you're a politician." His focus journeyed to the sky. But a strange murkiness stained his eyes, the sunlight not touching them, leaving the blue nearly black. "He's not always right. My Master's wrong…a lot…I've noticed."

Padme watched him tenderly. "He's only trying to protect you. There are politicians with those vices, Ani. I've known many of them. And I'm sure he's known more than I have."

Anakin shrugged. "Well, the ones I know have all been great."

Padme cocked an eyebrow. "Who have you known well?"

"You, of course. And Chancellor Palpatine."

"You know the Chancellor?"

He nodded. "He's nothing like Master says. He encourages me, he tells me what I need to hear."

Padme wondered silently what Anakin needed to hear. And why Palpatine could tell him.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Qui-Gon cleared his throat, glancing at Obi-Wan discreetly.

He felt a bit silly, remembering that he could stare directly at him, and the Knight would be unaware. Sometimes, he expected Obi-Wan to make one of his dry, funny, deliciously offhand remarks, a wild grin lighting his face, waiting for what he always waited for.

For Qui-Gon to laugh in turn, to approve, to give the joke worth.

And the Master would chuckle. Often harder than he wanted, only so he could watch the delight dance in cerulean eyes.

Now, there was no dance, not even a somber waltz. Listless movements without music.

Silence pressing in on him. He couldn't stand the stark quiet, an atmosphere devoid of that much-beloved voice. He had gone so long without hearing it. Qui-Gon craved the sound.

"Anakin had no success last night." On a mission level, I should say. He thought uncomfortably. "Which means Lorb could have very well been meeting his next client."

Obi-Wan just nodded, his brow collecting to form that familiar crease.

"He returned the credits to Senator Amidala, and spent the night discussing the investigation with her. I hope that helps us gain some ground today."

Again, a non-committal nod, expression unchanged.

Qui-Gon sighed, glancing around arbitrarily, trying to recall the time when he had been at ease with Obi-Wan, when they could speak of any topic. When Obi-Wan would actually respond.

Obi-Wan tugged his cloak closer around him and coughed lightly. "It seems to me that Senator Amidala would require more protection. Especially after both Ileana and Mr. Vininon spoke of assassination plans."

"Anakin is prepared for such attacks. It is unlikely that they would try something in the daytime, in a public place, while she is in Jedi company, Obi-Wan."

Obi-Wan paused a moment, thinking it over. "Yes, but a sniper wouldn't have much of a problem. One clean, direct hit---"

"Anakin would sense that." He countered crisply.

"He is a young apprentice, Master Jinn. And not immune to mistakes."

Qui-Gon felt a mild anger thrum in his fingers. "I am well aware that apprentices are not immune to mistakes."

If he thought that skewering observation would silence the Knight, he was wrong. Obi-Wan didn't seem to even register the comment. "Yet you are very trusting in yours, when he has a Senator's life in his hands."

The fire suddenly extinguished in the Master. He smiled, fine wrinkles streaking from the corners of his eyes. "Always ready for a good argument, aren't you?"

But the younger man didn't follow the placid transition. "Always ready to change the subject when the argument isn't going your way, aren't you?"

This hit the mark squarely, and Qui-Gon didn't speak for many minutes. He searched for any satisfaction in Obi-Wan, a weak feeling through the Force, and found nothing. If this had been a game to see who could come out on top, who could show their supremacy, Obi-Wan didn't know they were playing.

And Qui-Gon knew this. It was not in the man's nature to aim to hurt, or prove any superiority over anyone else. Obi-Wan was simply of too kind a temperament.

He talked softly then. "The o-other night, you talked to me. Really talked to me."

Obi-Wan stiffened, head moving a bit away from Qui-Gon's voice. "I---was very ill. I would have talked to anyone."

"Maybe." He swallowed, digging his hands into his pockets. "But, I thought it was, I mean it felt like… a start."

Obi-Wan's eyes almost looked to be unharmed, as they seemed to pierce the Master's gaze. "A start to what?"

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

He had promised himself he would not be afraid.

There had been countless exercises drilled into every initiate. Blindfolds wrapped around their eyes, the lights switched off.

Sightless, Obi-Wan had been forced to deflect blaster bolts, sometimes even living, breathing assailants.

And he fared well. When the cloth was removed from his face, the young Kenobi, huffing and sweating, would see the disarmed droids, know he had succeeded.

Know that the blindfold would always come off.

It had taken considerable time to adjust to this new existence. Not just his impairment, though that had been harsh and difficult. He had to listen closely, be in constant sync with the Force's varying levels, sensitive to the slightest movement. Brand the layout of rooms in his mind.

But filling the gaping hole in his soul…that was the most brutal challenge. It was when he was completely alone that he realized the utter dependence he possessed for Qui-Gon Jinn. The small things that were gone. Like the evening tea after an exhausting spar, or spurts of spiced cologne in the air. The rooms devoid of life, thick with a tense stillness.

Obi-Wan was startled by these discoveries. How could a man who would abandon his apprentice in the climax of terrible battle leave such sadness…remorse…in his departure? Obi-Wan had convinced himself everything had been an elaborate lie. The apparent love was counterfeit, the bond was phony, the dear friendship was nothing but a forced connection Qui-Gon was pushed unwillingly into.

That the Sith attack came at the cusp of the Master's annoyance with his unworthy apprentice. He couldn't take the incompetence anymore, and fled before he could witness Obi-Wan fail…again.

He ran to Skywalker, the Chosen One.

And his supposed sorrow for Obi-Wan's handicap was a half-hearted attempt to leave things settled rather nicely before moving on.

Qui-Gon Jinn had moved on.

Obi-Wan swallowed the lump in his throat, and breathed in the scent of engine and fuel.

He was leaving. On his first official mission since Naboo. An assignment, albeit simple, that would mark the beginning of his career as a Knight.

Solo. Alone. Solitary.

It was what he wanted. He was the one who severed the last, fraying ties to his former Master.

He who refused both Mejant and Bant's insistences that they accompany him to the hangar.

"I'm perfectly fine going by myself." He had said.

He was fine, was walking to the ramp, was solid…

"Leaving today as well?"

Obi-Wan bit his lip to silence a curse, reminded himself he was not afraid, could not be touched. "Good observation, Master Jinn."

Qui-Gon bristled at the formal title, but remained cool, a hand on Anakin's small shoulder. "I hear this is to be your first mission." He remarked.

"Yes. I'm looking forward to it."

"Anakin is to embark on his first mission. To Mabari 2."

Obi-Wan felt a coldness rush through his chest, and an ice covered those barren eyes. Mabari 2, where he had watched his Master receive an honorary medal, only to have the award be draped around his neck an hour later, in their quarters, Qui-Gon telling him that Obi-Wan was who truly earned it…. "Well, I hope it is memorable for him." As it was for me. Make your new memories, Qui-Gon, let them replace the old.

I intend to.

Anakin grinned. "I hope it's wizard."

Qui-Gon chuckled. "Wizard. That's a word you don't hear too often on Coruscant."

Obi-Wan straightened. "I have to leave now." He walked briskly up the ramp, shedding his careful gait, and disappeared inside the sealed ship.

He sank onto the slick floor, pinning his knees to his chest, suddenly exhausted.

I will not be afraid. I am Jedi. I am not afraid.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

The day was spent in nearly constant silence, permeated only by a few self-directed murmurs or a quick question, followed by quiet answer.

There were stacks of notes taken. The day was, as Padme called it, 'for collecting'.

And, hours later, the three Jedi and Senator had collected their fill. They memorized streets, names, descriptions, hours when the kidnappings peaked, and bits of Ileana's reports.

Anakin pushed a data pad away, rubbing his eyes. "I don't understand why we had to spend an entire day looking over this stuff…again."

Qui-Gon was opening his mouth to wearily respond when Padme, who was sitting so close to the Padawan that their elbows lightly touched, spoke. "It seems tiresome, Ani, but unless we're very, very well-informed, we could reach dead ends at crucial moments. Do you know what I mean?"

His brow began to furrow, but as he gazed at her, his frustration dissipated. "I'm sorry, Padme. I just can't stand…not taking action."

She smiled. "It is irritating, knowing that those men are suffering. But if we do this right, we can stop it."

Qui-Gon stood, relieving muscles cramped from many hours of sitting. "The Senator is right, Anakin. Tomorrow, the investigation will greatly intensify. We needed this day to prepare." He hid a yawn behind a massive hand. "And we need tonight to rest."

Padme stretched her arms. "That's for sure."

Obi-Wan was beneath a lamp that spilled warm amber light on his face, leaving his features fluid and gentle. "What is the plan for tomorrow, Milady?"

Like you'll be much help. Anakin mused snidely. Like you're ever much help.

She held a few of the data pads against her chest, regarding the Knight with fond eyes. "I would like two of you to investigate the area surrounding the prison, dressed in regular street clothes, look for any weaknesses in their security on that level."

She turned to Qui-Gon. "I want to infiltrate it soon. But I would like to have your input, of course, on how exactly it should be done. Perhaps we could discuss it tomorrow?"

The Master nodded. "We can while Anakin and Obi-Wan search the area." He waited for the negative response in the Force, certain there would be sour attitude, but the flow was largely unchanged. He smiled inwardly. Anakin is improving. Maybe my talks with him have helped.

Anakin sighed. He was irked that tomorrow's arrangements separated him from Padme, but it surely wouldn't take long for him to complete the task.

And, he always had her in his thoughts.

Qui-Gon was probably glad of the teaming. He, in his deluded affection of the useless Kenobi, would see it as an opportunity for the two to learn more about one another.

Anakin knew enough about Obi-Wan. He wasn't sure he could tolerate more.

Padme drew Obi-Wan beside her, speaking quietly to him.

The apprentice raised guarded eyes to watch them. But the sooner he can be away from my Padme, the better.

Qui-Gon's back ached, and he longed for respite. This entire mission was wearying. For some reason, he wished it would end.

The dark swirls in the Force were disconcerting, to say the least.

He would speak to Obi-Wan about it later, he resolved.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Berrel studied the holo again, one dark brow raised. Lorb shifted his weight from one foot to the other. His beefy hands braced his hips.

After what seemed like an eternity, Berrel handed the impatient man the tattered photo, then leaned back in his slick leather chair. "He's about the best candidate for this as I could hope." Shadow leeched the light from his rough face. "Which makes me wonder. Why would you want to kill him?"

Lorb shrugged. "That's what the guy wanted. To have 'im knocked. He had the money to back it up, too. Showed it to me right there."

Berrel thought for a moment, dangerous intelligence stirring in his eyes. A smile curved his lips. "So he wants this guy out of the picture?"

"Yeah-huh."

He grabbed the holo. "Well, how would he know the difference between killing and…relocating?"

Lorb quirked his thick lips. "Wouldn't, I guess."

Berrel tapped his fingers together idly. "I've got some pretty profitable killers here, I'll tell ya, Lorb. But this guy's got the potential to earn me…" His eyes widened, and he threw his hands forward with a laugh. "A helluva lot."

"You?"

Berrel chuckled. "Don't worry, buddy. You'll have your cut. Just as soon as you bring him here…relatively unharmed." He leaned closer, elbows resting on the desk, and spoke in a conspiratorial tone. "I don't want any time wasted. Tell them what needs to be done. No dallying, alright?"

Lorb nodded. "I'm supposda get 'im tonight."

"No, no, no. Not tonight."

"Why?"

He snapped the round head with two strong fingers. "Because, you already have plans. What, did you forget?"

There was searching evident in his eyes, as Lorb tried to recall his latest task. He avoided the other man's intense gaze. "Oh, yeah, that guy. Why don't ya just have one of the zombies do it?"

Berrel ran his tongue along his teeth. "The 'zombies' aren't needed for that. This is just a quick hit. I mean…the guy's as good as dead anyway. You remember him. That Vininon bastard that ran off?"

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

When the four reached Theed Plaza, Qui-Gon was anxious to settle in the comfort of his bed. But, as his eyes shifted between the Senator and his apprentice, he realized their intentions were far different for the night.

Obi-Wan, on the other hand, looked painfully weary. Deep lines of exhaustion were carved into his visage. The weak, yet lingering, illness was a mist over his paling skin. He was recovering, that was certain, but healing took time.

The Master had the sudden urge to allow that long-suffering, valiant body respite, to close unfocused eyes, and let the divine spirit within be cradled in the soft arms of the Force, to carry him away. If only for a few hours.

Anakin was wired, a bright smile on his immature face, flickers of lightning seeming to flash in dark blue eyes, adhered to the luminous Amidala.

Padme glanced at the hotel café, then back to the others. "Would anyone like to join me for a drink, or late meal? I'm a bit too anxious to sleep now."

Anakin immediately accepted the invitation, not even throwing a quick look at his Master to assure it would be permitted.

Qui-Gon blew a tired sigh, shaking his head politely. "Thank you, Senator, but I must retire for the evening."

Obi-Wan immerged from his almost catatonic stupor and gave a similar response.

Padme appeared genuinely disappointed. "Well, your absence will surely be missed, my friends." She smiled, and grasped their hands for a heartbeat.

Qui-Gon watched the pair walk toward the elaborately lit café. He noticed Obi-Wan starting to the lift, and took long, graceful steps to catch up.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

"Master?"

The man's brilliant eyes were glazed, staring at something engaging, but totally invisible to the young apprentice. An expression- it could have been a smile, just as easily a grimace- twisted those regal, leonine features. When the ship rumbled to life, Anakin gripped his seat with stubby fingers, before pride caused those same fingers to come together on his lap.

He sat, perfectly still, save his legs that swung in show of his impatience. "Master Qui-Gon?"

Qui-Gon was gazing off into the bland cityscape.

Anakin wondered if the Master could even see the towering buildings or zooming cloud cars.

He bit down on his lip, a habit grown on Tatooine, one that could simply not be shed, even after his Master's insistence that such an act gave the impression of immaturity. Well at least I answer someone when they talk to me! "Master, are you okay?"

Finally, thankfully, the man turned to the much smaller boy. But that vacuous gloss was spread thickly over his eyes. "I'm just fine, Ani."

Anakin felt compelled to drop his own eyes to the floor. "Good."

A long moment passed before the Master spoke. "Are you okay?"

Relief illuminated his small face. "Yeah. I'm so excited I can hardly stand it!"

A chuckle was muffled by Qui-Gon's closed mouth.

Anakin studied his booted feet, then gathered enough courage to look at his Master directly. "How come Knight Kenobi acts so…mean to you?"

The man swallowed his surprise, actually struggling to retain his solemn demeanor. "Why would you say that?"

Anakin's eyes, for all their charm and innocence, were intense, painted in the strange color of twilight. "Just the way he is around you, Master. Like he can't stand to be near you."

A callused hand drifted to Qui-Gon's chest, as his heart reacted to the blunt words. He touched Anakin's shoulder briefly. "He probably can't stand to be around me, Ani. I understand. I've done things…that hurt him."

Anakin shook his head feverishly. "No, Master. He's the one that hurts you. He's the bad one."

Qui-Gon gathered a steadying breath. "Ani, don't say that."

"But it's true. I heard some initiates--at another table-- talking about him. They said he ran away from the Jedi right after he started as your Padawan. He left you, Master. And now, he thinks he can act mean to you?"

The older Jedi was a bit disconcerted by the anger he heard broiling in the voice. "He was a child then. He came back, and I forgave him. It hurt him for a long time, but we both recovered from that."

Anakin leaned against the seat, crossing his arms, looking more like a pouting adolescent than a student of the Jedi Order. "He's still bad. I don't like him. He makes you…so…" He raised huge eyes, rimmed with worry, to Qui-Gon. "Sad."

Qui-Gon wrapped his arm around Anakin. "If I'm sad, Ani, its only because I know he is. That's the only reason I would ever hurt."

Anakin laid his head on the sturdy chest. "You're my Master." He murmured. "I won't make you sad." And you can forget all about him.

Qui-Gon pressed a light kiss into sandy spikes. "I hope not."

No matter the happiness this new student gave him, nothing could completely chase the lost shadow from the Master's soul. It was his duty to teach this boy, to raise his Padawan to be a Jedi.

The greatest of them all, the legend boasted.

His duty, then, was to shield Anakin from pain.

He should not have to feel mine.

It was then that Qui-Gon Jinn vowed to keep any further contact with Obi-Wan (though he was sure the Knight wouldn't be willing to have any contact anyway) a secret from his young apprentice.

Because he could not banish the presence of Obi-Wan Kenobi from his mind.

It would destroy him.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Qui-Gon threw his hand out, using the Force to separate the lift doors before they could close Obi-Wan in.

Obi-Wan sighed, though his stoic demeanor never wavered, hands folded beneath billowing cloak sleeves. He heard the Master step inside, and a few moments later, the doors sealing.

Immediately, an anxious silence swallowed up the claustrophobic space.

Qui-Gon glanced at his former apprentice. He was standing straight, the deep brown robe spilling to the floor worn with a peculiar, original grace unfitting such coarse and dull attire. His hair gleamed soft from the artificial light above, and framed his face in red-gold splendor.

Qui-Gon had often found, in their times together, that he was struck dumb by Obi-Wan's beauty, the kind that attracted lingering looks and wider smiles, as well as that which radiated from his being. The lovely spirit, untainted, that could be warding off a fierce enemy one moment, and cradling a frightened child the next.

The Master knew he had nothing to do with the remarkableness of this man. It was all Obi-Wan. It was who he was. Someone who could fill an entire life, if that person was willing to accept.

And the older man had to wonder if he had been aware this entire time. If so, why would he deject that fragile, but somehow powerful, soul? Why had he fled at the climax of danger? Why did he leave his dear Padawan to die?

There was no answer. He had searched the deepest caverns of his mind, but nothing could offer sufficient response to save him from these horrible musings.

Obi-Wan coughed dryly into his hand, raising Qui-Gon from his thoughts.

He cleared his throat, refusing to believe the action was a result of nerves. "Are you feeling better today?"

"Yes."

The clipped reply was automatic. Qui-Gon battled the frustration climbing in him. "Have you slept well?"

His countenance was sculpted of stone. "Yes."

He expected the quiet to return, but Obi-Wan shifted slightly, turning his head toward Qui-Gon. "I remembered something today. I haven't thought of it in so long, I must have repressed it. But now its so clear in my head---I can't think of anything else."

Qui-Gon stared raptly at him, too intrigued to register the surprise of actual sentences being spoken to him. "What is it?"

Obi-Wan hesitated, and if felt like his lungs would burst. He took a breath. "I---Before the battle of Naboo---"

He was cut off the cheerful ping of the lift, as the doors slid open.

They walked into the hall, and Qui-Gon was silent, inviting, needing Obi-Wan to continue.

And he did. "I had this dream. But it wasn't like a dream. You know, where things are nonsensical and blurred."

Qui-Gon began to nod, then caught himself. "Yes."

"It was as if I were experiencing the dream, and it was real. There was no waking, because I thought I was conscious. It was the Sith---the same fight…only you didn't leave…and you…" The last word was cracked. "Died."

Qui-Gon was still silent.

Obi-Wan took another breath. "I was so scared after that. But I didn't think there was a way to escape the battle. If I explained it to you, it wouldn't have stopped you that day. So when the Sith attacked us, I tried my best, my very best, with everything in me, to protect you." He paused, teeth clenching. "Then you left, and I thought---I thought it was because you had the same premonition, as we shared sometimes in the past. And when I was…injured…I lay there, and I believed it was some sort of exchange. You were saved---and I had to be punished in exchange for your spared life."

They were inside the hotel room by now, and Qui-Gon hadn't bothered to switch on the lights. Obi-Wan was illuminated by the moon glow, and the tears quivering in dead eyes sparkled.

Qui-Gon laid his hand on Obi-Wan's back.

Obi-Wan shuddered, a single bead falling from his lashes, spreading a stream down his cheek. "I need to know…if you had that dream."

Qui-Gon touched the gentle cleft of his chin. "No." He whispered. "I never did."

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Padme took a short sip from her tea, flavor heightened by drops of syrupy fruit, her eyes trained on the Jedi Padawan from the delicate shroud of long, curled lashes.

Anakin's hand engulfed his glass, reminding the Senator faintly of his Master, with those thick fingers and massive palms. She imagined her companion growing in that fashion. Tall, and nobly built, with squared shoulders and a well-muscled body.

She chided herself---half-heartedly---for the inappropriate thought, and was compelled to stir up distracting conversation. "Tell me something about your life, Ani."

He actually appeared to blush, and an innocence long since shed returned as a glitter in his attentive gaze. "Okay." He laughed in an embarrassed rush. "What do you wanna know?"

She smiled, and shrugged, the remnants of her beverage gleaming on her lips. "I don't know. Just something."

Padme Amidala was full of surprises, and Anakin was completely knowledgeable of that, leaving him grinning with wild fondness at her. "Well, once I scorched my Master's beard when we were sparring. The hair was so burnt it had to be shaved. And every time we went through the Temple halls, he got about ten comments about how much younger he looked."

She tittered around the rim of her drink.

Anakin chuckled. "He got so fed up, he told me he wasn't going to leave the apartment until his beard was totally restored."

Padme covered her mouth with a hand, eyes dancing with laughter. "He was that upset?"

Anakin nodded. "I tried to convince him it was a compliment, but he said he wanted to be taken seriously, and facial hair lent a…what did he call it? Um, a 'majestic' quality to him."

Padme was supremely glad her flask was empty. It would not sit well with her supporters if word spread she sprayed a mouthful of tea across the stately hotel café. "Oh…stars! He really said that?"

"Oh yeah." Anakin cocked his eyebrows to animate. "And then made me swear I would never tell anyone what he said."

She laughed again, and the cloying sound drifted up like gusts of willow wisps. "He sounds a lot funnier than he acts."

Anakin's face softened. "Yeah." He smiled. "If you're lucky enough to know him-really know him---you'd never be able to forget him. You wouldn't want to."

Padme laid her hand on his arm. "I hope I get to see that side of him."

His reflective, loving mood changed with the remark. The humor had fled him, he stared at her with masked hurt beating underneath. "These days, that side is rare. He's been…occupied."

Padme frowned. "Why? What could be more important to him than you?"

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Obi-Wan's breath caught sharply. "Oh." He managed to say with a husky, but not overly shocked, tone.

Qui-Gon held onto the slumping shoulders loosely, finding he could not bring himself to grasp onto this man with any vigor, for fear the paled Knight would break.

For a few seconds, the only sound was Obi-Wan's breathing. Then, he lifted his head, and stepped out of the feather-light contact. The weariness was heavy around him. "I'm going to lay down."

It was a blunt and disappointing reaction, as though these revelations had not stirred any of the dormant emotions in his heart.

Qui-Gon wanted something, anything. A smile, or tear, even another smash in the nose.

Not this tired acceptance.

Obi-Wan trudged stiffly into his room, without the caution or necessary precision of the blind.

The aging man stood, dumbly and stalled, before moving to the kitchen area.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

For once, Anakin's eyes dropped from the radiant Senator, and apparently became enthralled with the melting ice in his glass.

Padme laid her hand against his cheek, causing him to elevate his gaze, if reluctantly. "Ani, answer me."

Anakin swallowed. The heat of her fingers warmed him, and he smiled. "It's nothing, Padme. Just forget about it."

She shook her head. "Ani, it's me. You can tell me the truth, and I won't judge you." Padme leaned forward, and brushed a light kiss on his cheek where her hand had been. "I care about you. And I only want to help."

Anakin's eyes were bright with joy. She kissed me. All at once, the twilight in his mind was snuffed out, as her endearment filled him. "Okay. I think my Master cares more about---someone else."

Padme laced her fingers, and rested her chin upon them. "Who?" She asked very softly.

He released a heavy breath. "Obi-Wan."

"And why do you think that?"

Anakin swallowed. "Because…Ever since I came to the Temple, whenever someone mentioned Obi-Wan, or Master saw him, he was…" His face was carved in grim remembrance. "Distracted."

To his surprise, Padme just smiled. Her voice was lyrical, gentle. "Of course he would be, Ani. Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan were friends for years. Master and apprentice. They were everything to each other…At least, that's what I understand about the relationship Jedi teacher and student have.

"The way their partnership ended---was harsh. Obi-Wan," And there was no mistaking the affection that name carried for her, "Was in pain. I don't know if he blamed Qui-Gon, but it still destroyed their connection. That doesn't mean it destroyed Qui-Gon's love for him."

Anakin's jaw set, and he had to look away as she went on.

"When two people lose touch, they can continue to hold feelings for each other." She tenderly placed her hand on his arm. "I didn't see you for ten years, Ani. But I thought of you."

He smiled. "Really?"

She nodded. "What does Qui-Gon mean to you?"

"He's…like my father."

Padme's eyes glinted knowingly. "And you're like his son. So, how do you think Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan felt?"

He didn't answer.

"The same way. Obi-Wan never had a family. Qui-Gon became the center of his world. You can't expect that to just disappear.

"But he still loves you. He is a wonderful man, and I'm sure his heart has enough room."

Anakin put his arm around her. "Thank you, Padme. You're just…perfect." His eyes bore into hers, intense and lusty. "I love you."

Padme slipped out of his touch. "We should go now. It's getting late."

He straightened, hoping the heat he felt in his face wasn't a blush.

They paid the check, and began to walk, slowly, to the door.

Anakin made it one step outside before Padme's smooth arms wrapped around his neck, and her lips, ripe and luscious, pressed against his.

He brought his arms around her waist, and knew at once that this was the center of his world.

They stood on the sidewalk, intertwined, the night's wind rustling through their hair, and drawing them closer.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Obi-Wan was stretched out on his sleepcouch, cold hands laying limply folded on his stomach.

The exhaustion swarmed around him, but he remained awake, his mind taking charge of his overworked, helplessly weary body.

And that was the reason he felt tears cooling on his lashes.

The only reason.

He had said what needed to be said, received answers to satisfy what was simply curiosity.

Only curiosity.

His question, that burning question, had been extinguished. He should feel relieved.

Obi-Wan wiped listlessly at his eyes. His chest should not ache this deeply, down to his core. To his heart.

There was a knock on his door. Not timid, exactly, but a small sound, barely obtrusive. Obi-Wan's skin raised as gooseflesh, and his tiny gasp seemed to echo in his ears.

In a half-trance, he walked toward the sound, unaware of the feverish beat beneath his bare chest. He raised a faintly shaky hand, and the door slid open.

Qui-Gon looked at him, a golden figure amid the room's darkness. But there were things drained from Obi-Wan, things taken that left him ragged. A strand of ginger dangled slightly over moist, incredibly beautiful, crystal eyes. His mouth, always pursed determinedly in Qui-Gon's memories, quivered.

"I brought you some tea."

Obi-Wan had already inhaled the herbal scent of triali leaf. He didn't move. "Thank you." He said in a slight tone.

The quiet, still moment seemed to extend into hours. It was maybe the longest of Qui-Gon's life.

Then, Obi-Wan stepped forward, until he was scarcely an inch from the towering man.

And he dropped his head to his one-time Master's chest, sealing his eyes, copious tears streaming to caress his face.

The porcelain cup was dropped. Rich brown liquid splashed in the air, before splattering onto the carpet.

Qui-Gon brought his arms around Obi-Wan, gathering the frail frame into an embrace. He buried his face in the thick, silken hair. His hold was tight, as if this were some passing dream that could be stolen from him.

Obi-Wan felt the strength, the security, the warmth of the man he had worshipped for the majority of his life, and grasped onto him, breathless.

"Master."

His cheek was pressed to the curve of Qui-Gon's neck, and his tears dripped onto that worn, familiar skin.

The Force consumed them both at that moment, as the reunion of a dying friendship made it sing with glory.

Obi-Wan began to calm, enough to speak. "I would have done it." He whispered.

Qui-Gon pulled him a fraction back, framing the resplendent face with large, capable hands. "Done what?" He murmured, in the quiet volume reserved for this night.

"I…would have died for you."

In Qui-Gon's eyes beat the relief and rapture, in his tears streamed the dying pain. "But you are too precious. Too needed."

Obi-Wan smiled, nearly disbelieving that the bitterness was not rising in him at all. And the next second, his knees were giving way, and he was dropping to the floor.

Qui-Gon caught him easily, lifting the weakened Knight into his arms. He carried him into the shadow-laden bedroom. The Master sat on the sleepcouch edge, but instead of resting Obi-Wan on the mattress, continued to hold him, rocking very mildly.

As Obi-Wan drifted, Qui-Gon realized that he, too, was needed. That when he fled that battle, he abandoned someone who was still, in his vulnerable soul, a child.

And the last of the guilt was purged of him, as he sat, sobbing silently, hugging Obi-Wan to him, as the younger man's forgiveness finally seeped into their weary spirits.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Deep creases formed in a gray, spotted forehead. He swirled his blood red wine, darkened by the gloomy goblet, stained black, then dipped his head back, allowing the contents to slide past his lips.

Sidious sat the empty glass aside. His eyes, nestled in flaccid, drooping sockets, were as sharp and malevolent as they had been in his younger years.

Eyes that, he liked to believe, were similar to another pair, that shifted between emerald and cerulean, that were illuminated even in a thick pall.

Eyes that were closed now, the Sith knew.

His strength in the Force was beyond what any of the fools in that Temple would dream of possessing. He could sense Kenobi, across the lightyears.

The Darkness clung to Sidious, and laced his mind with tendrils of venomous foresight.

Obi-Wan Kenobi was happy.

Luckily, that would not stand.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Padme's fingers raked lightly along the length of Anakin's neck, her smile steadfast even as she kissed him.

Anakin tangled his hands in her spirally, chestnut mane. "I love you…so much." He said in a gush of breath.

Again, Padme did not reply to the confession.

And, while they clutched to a passion as fiery as the stars scattered across the night sky, neither knew if she could, truthfully, return his feelings.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Qui-Gon was staring down at Obi-Wan's relaxed face, at the wilt of copper brushing against the cool forehead, the dampness of his skin gleaming in the wash of yellow illumination.

When a set of eyes slowly opened, he found he still waited to see that stunning aquamarine focused on him. But the pupils were lax, defunct among the brilliant color, below the thin sheen of moisture.

The pang went to his heart, as he knew it always would, despite any repentance accepted by that generous spirit. "Awake so early? Not really your style, is it?" He teased very softly.

Confusion hazed the sleepy Knight; his brow creased and his hand went to Qui-Gon's face instinctively.

Qui-Gon placed the probing fingers against his lips. "It's alright. It's me."

There was a broken inhale as Obi-Wan stretched, his memory returning at the laggard speed grogginess causes, and he laid against Qui-Gon's chest, exhausted from the meager effort. "Master…"

He was on the brink of adding 'Jinn' to the title, but found he liked the sound of the shortened version far better.

"I---fell asleep."

Embarrassment tinged his hoarse voice.

Qui-Gon smiled. "You were tired."

"But…we had things that needed to be said…" He shook his head. "And I just…"

A coarse, but comforting, hand touched his cheek, where stubble was beginning to spread. "The things that needed to be said---can still be said, Obi-Wan."

The young man paused, only the small click of a swallow permeating the silence, as he thought. His accent was both thick and dulcet, simply lovely, even when threatened by darker undertones. "What--What do you want to say?"

Now Qui-Gon hesitated. His gaze traveled to the window while he considered all that welled in him. Many years had gone wordless between them, and this bridge, built so suddenly, connecting those painful gaps, could break with one wrong step.

They would both fall.

Again.

If---Qui-Gon let it happen.

With utter caution, he spoke. "I want to tell you how much I've missed you, Obi-Wan. I've bore the whole in my soul too long. I need you to restore me."

Obi-Wan hugged Qui-Gon then, burying his face in warm tunic. The hand, forever searching in place of barren sight, roamed the leonine features before settling in the soft beard.

The Master had voiced the Knight's feelings, and Obi-Wan silently rejoiced, his eyes squeezed shut, tears sliding free. He, too, wanted to be whole again. Qui-Gon could fill that aching void inside. "I need you." He rasped, and oh, how wonderful it was to hear it aloud. It rained down on him, soothing him, saving him. "I need you."

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

"I want you." Anakin whispered between kisses.

Padme closed her eyes, as his lips traveled her jaw line, her hands on his waist. "No." She gasped, breaking free of him, stepping back. She clutched her head and began to pace a small diameter.

Anakin was panting, aware now that they were never alone here. People walked between them, and it was like an eclipse. He would see her beautiful light, only to have it hidden by a man's broad shoulder, or the tip of a woman's kerchief.

When the flow of pedestrians ebbed, and Padme's face was in clear view again, it was streaked with tears. Her arms were crossed over her chest, her back hunched.

Anakin reached out to her, but she shook her head, strands of curl falling in her eyes.

"We can't do…that."

Bewilderment mingled with yearning in his gaze. "Why not?

She snapped her head up, eyes wide and threaded with red. "Because Ani! It's wrong!"

He caught her slim wrist, and refused to relinquish the hold, forcing her to remain close. "Why, Padme? Why is it wrong? I LOVE you." He whispered ardently. "I've never done…" The apprentice stumbled over the coming words, and shook his head, deciding to phrase it more appealingly. "I've been waiting for you."

Padme wiped the mascara-clouded drip from her eyes. "It doesn't matter, Ani. It---doesn't matter."

"Why?"

She exhaled shakily, regarding him with a pained, miserable expression. "Because it doesn't! Because I'm one thing and you're another. What use would it be? I'll stay---and you'll…" Her voice cracked. "Leave. So why would I sacrifice something so precious?"

His determination never wavered, he never let the raw longing be exposed. "Why does it have to be a sacrifice? Don't you want this?"

She just looked at him, chest heaving, while she tore through her mind, fervently explored her heart, to find the honest answer.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

A quiet had settled into the room. Not stifling or uncomfortable. Just a pleasant silence, relieving after the exhausting spill of words and emotion.

Obi-Wan's cheek was cushioned by a pillow, one arm spread out, while the other clung to Qui-Gon's sleeve with all but slack fingers.

When the Master spoke, it was done so reluctantly, for the hush had been, in a way, quite soothing. "I missed you more with each passing day. I would wonder what you were doing; wonder if you were happy."

Obi-Wan smiled, and it was a weary, blissful look that transformed his face, a face softened by the muted glow bleeding through the drapes, a glow that trickled down his smooth, bare back. "I wasn't."

Qui-Gon sighed. "I had hoped you would discover peace."

"I have."

"Have you? There are---other things, things I can't ignore, that I've pledged to, Obi-Wan."

And Obi-Wan knew, as he had always known. Qui-Gon was referring to that final betrayal before their dissolution. He knew, because the pain jabbed him. It was a sharp, distinct hurt. Nothing else could cause it. Anakin. "I don't need your whole life to be centered around me, Master." He murmured.

Qui-Gon's eyes were reflective, as they journeyed the blackened room. His life was full, teeming with responsibility and obligation, sparring and teaching… Then why does it…sometimes feel so…empty?

"And what have you centered your life upon, while we have been…apart?" The graying Jedi asked.

Dread surged in Obi-Wan, as he remembered endless, lonely nights, adrift from his friends, suffering the tears. Wanting to hate Qui-Gon for what happened, but never achieving the harsh, resent-driven goal. "I think my life just---just stopped. The moment, in t-the healer's ward." He had striven to be serene, and was instantly betrayed by the wobble of his voice. "I was in the dark."

Qui-Gon swallowed, with incredible difficulty. "Was it very hard for you, Obi-Wan?"

The underlying guilt, tenuous in its grip on the Master, scraped against Obi-Wan's ears. He didn't want to hear anymore, didn't want to know how much agony had been experienced in that grievous decade. "Yes." He whispered. Better not to lie. "Very."

Qui-Gon began to massage the muscles of his back. While the gentle ministrations eased his strain, Obi-Wan thought of being enclosed in Mejant's arms, reduced to a weeping mess, after a particularly trying session with the main healer. "I was afraid. All the time, afraid. That I would never learn to function again. That the entire Universe was closed off to me.

"That I would forget places…faces." He released a shuddering breath, pausing to savor the loosened tension.

He must have been lost in the daze, because Qui-Gon gave him a tiny, barely perceptible shake.

There was concern written in every facet of his Force presence. Obi-Wan spared a moment to smile to himself. "I would lay in bed, running through faces. And, gradually, they started to blur a bit. A smudge, then a smear. I can hardly recall---

"Except, I know Mejant's nose is round, and so small that I still can't resist kissing it."

Qui-Gon chuckled soundlessly.

"And yours has a little…um…"

The Master feigned an indignant huff. "Go ahead, you can say it."

A good-natured blush, laced with undeniable charm, colored Obi-Wan's cheeks. "Dent. On the bridge."

"It gives me character." Qui-Gon rubbed the base of his neck. "Why do you remember noses so well?"

There was a half-attempt to shrug. "Their shapes are obvious, usually. And the color isn't important, like with eyes."

He was somber, a hand curling against his chest. "Colors are the worst."

There seemed to be no response to that. Qui-Gon went on offering solace in his healing touch, and in his undivided attention.

"When I was finally 'adjusted', the Council would give me these terrible missions that better suited a courier. I would shake a hand, deliver a document, maybe attend a stuffy dinner, then come back. After awhile, I wondered why."

Qui-Gon tilted his head. "Why what?"

Obi-Wan closed his eyes. "Why I came back."

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Padme twined her fingers together, and stared up at Anakin, eyelids lowered. "You make me feel…"

The words fell away, and Anakin stepped forward, bracing her arms. "I love you Padme. You make me feel wonderful, powerful…"

"Stop." She urged between grit teeth. "I can't…There's too much in the way…and we're so different…"

Anakin moved his hands to her cheeks. "But we're not. Inside, we both feel it, Padme. Pulsing in us. You feel it. I know you do."

And Padme found she could not deny the intensity that coursed through her when they touched, the rush of kissing him. "But is that love, Anakin? Or just plain human attraction?"

He grinned. "I like to think it's a little of both."

She sighed at the fiery hope in his eyes. "One should outweigh the other, Anakin. Love is why we live, lust is why we hurt." The Senator squeezed his fingers. "I don't want to be hurt."

At once, he was tender, stroking her palms as he reassured her. "You won't be. Come on, Padme, you know deep down this is right."

"How do you know it's right?"

"Because, I sense it in the Force." He smiled. "It's destiny."

And then, in a strange unison, they just began walking, away from the Theed Plaza, toward what the Jedi apprentice believed was inevitable.

Toward what could, actually, be their fate.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

"They were only trying to protect you." Qui-Gon said, in a voice that was as near to meek as he could ever muster.

Obi-Wan snorted softly. "Yeah. A trained Jedi Knight, living among the elite, but totally useless to his Order. Confined by my oath…"

"Confined?"

A single tear glistened on the rim of his eye. "Yes."

And Qui-Gon turned from him, head sinking into his hands. For some reason, Tahl's face, her delicate, beautiful face, warm with flecks of honey, flashed into his mind's periphery. Her ruby lips contorting to a frown, as she tackled the added obstacles her disability created, all the while refusing aid.

The melancholy glimmer in her sightless, green and gold striped gaze when she would feel the sting of pity…of being less important…less needed.

She had to know she was wanted.

Now, Obi-Wan's handsome, achingly innocent visage was dimming from that same cruel emotion. For one so undeniably of the light, it was heartbreaking to see the dark encroach him. "You're an asset to the Jedi, Obi-Wan."

A humorless chuckle. "How's that?"

Qui-Gon stroked his shoulders. "With everything you do. You are loved by the Force, Obi-Wan. Not just touched. LOVED. Because you are full of compassion, because you can't tolerate injustice. It loves you, Obi-Wan." He gently pulled him onto his back, so he could brush his fingers across the young man's cheeks, striped with tears. "Without you, the Jedi would have to survive a devastating loss.

"And I probably wouldn't survive at all."

Obi-Wan sat up, in a slick movement that told of his natural grace, and embraced his former Master. His breaths were quick and shallow, working to choke anymore sobs before they could escape. "I love you." He gasped.

"I've always loved you, Obi-Wan." Qui-Gon smiled, ignoring the rivers chasing down his own cheeks. "And it's my fault that you didn't always know."

Obi-Wan wanted to console him, say that he had always known.

But it would be a false confession. In the years of his apprenticeship, there were moments of sharp, piercing doubt, moments he thought he would be impaled by it. And after Naboo---he was positive their relationship was cold, with one-sided affection, and secret hatred.

But he could never have hated me…

There it was again. The shadow of uncertainty. The fog that thickened in their bond after Melida/Dann…Tahl. "Did you ever blame me, Master?"

Qui-Gon looked down at him. "For what?"

"For…For the things before Naboo…that kept us apart?"

A beat passed before the Master comprehended. "You were a child, Obi-Wan. A child with the same characteristics of any child. You may have made hasty decisions, but they were all rooted in purity. I wouldn't be much of a Jedi-or a man-if I ever blamed you."

Obi-Wan sniffed, his voice weak and unsteady. "You are the best man I have ever known. You…are what I want to be."

Qui-Gon ran a strand of ginger, the tip red as flame, through his fingers. "Why would you want to take steps backward?"

And, after a few minutes, his tunic was damp with tears, even when the Knight cradled in his arms fell into a deep, content sleep.

Outside, the sun was waking, the first golden rays giving birth to a fresh day.

A day that would leave so many in tears.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~