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

7. The Core of Being

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

Chapter Seven: The Core of Being

The glare of full morning flashed in Anakin's eyes, and he groggily ran his hand over them, turning onto his side with a muffled groan.

The forenoon ruled Naboo with a fluid, glowing grace, a still tranquility that carried over into the room…but was broken by the quietest of sobs.

Padme was wrapped tight in her robe. Her trembling hands gripped the neckline, and her hair fell in ratted tendrils down to her back.

She clenched her eyes shut, but the tears couldn't be stopped, and the warm streams of moisture pooled on her paled face.

And, no matter how hard she tried to push the images from her mind, they stayed, reminding her of the moment when her greatest pride, her deepest treasure…

Was destroyed.

No. She shivered, bringing her arms tauter, curling her ice-cold toes.

No, that wasn't the right way to describe it. At the time, it hadn't felt like that.

I love Anakin. I love him. That's why we---we--- Padme dropped her forehead to her fist, great pain wracking her chest as she cried, as she attempted to be quiet…so she wouldn't disturb Anakin.

Anakin, who slept on, with a faint smile on his lips, unaware (uncaring?) that the life she built, the morals she relied on…had been utterly torn apart.

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

Obi-Wan stirred, arms stretching, sightless eyes opened to bleary slits. The pillow beneath his head was firm, the sheets over his body light, draping in such a way that the outline of his form was softly displayed.

And a very pleasant aroma was wafting into the room. Warm and mouth-watering.

"Ready for breakfast?" A deep voice asked.

He smiled. "You cooked?"

Qui-Gon chuckled. "With one of the finest room services at my fingertips?" He sat the platter on the bed, and began setting slices of fruit and spiced sausage on two small, cream-colored plates.

Obi-Wan pulled himself to an upright position. "This is all really unnecessary, you know."

Qui-Gon placed the knife calmly onto a dish, and pulled the blankets from around Obi-Wan's waist, fingering bones that looked as though they were on the brink of protruding from that flawless skin. "When your ribcage doesn't poke out like that, then you can tell me it's unnecessary."

The Knight flushed.

"For now," Jinn continued, in a tone that one could describe as gruff, wise, or, even, comforting, "You'll eat like you used to."

An amused, curious half-giggle. "Really? How did I eat?"

The Master resumed cutting the juicy selections of muja and bangi, grinning widely. "Oh, like a starved Bantha at a buffet."

Obi-Wan laughed so hard he fell against an adjacent pillow, his shoulders shaking.

Qui-Gon remained silent, while the chortles building in his throat threatened to choke him.

The young man wiped a tear from his eye. "I think you were exaggerating. I remember quite a few banquets where I barely touched my food…and you were hurrying for seconds."

This time, Qui-Gon couldn't hold back the laughter. "What a selective memory you have, Obi-Wan. It's so strange that you seem to have forgotten Remiss 7…" His eyebrow cocked. "And the dessert tray."

Two splotches of pink, pale and perfectly charming, lined his cheeks. Again. "That's not fair. I was only seventeen."

"With the appetite of a full-grown Hutt." He handed him a glass of sweet Parallian pear juice.

Obi-Wan took a grateful drink that doused the itch in his throat, smiling around the rim.

Qui-Gon's eyes grew rueful and content. He reached out and brushed his fingers across a gleaming temple before finishing preparations of their meal, the knowledge that the small meeting between his apprentice and Senator Amidala at the café had apparently stretched into the morning hours weighing down on his airy, early day thoughts.

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

The nurse walked down the sleek, white hallway, her polished shoes clacking in familiar rhythm against the polished floor. The morning light was smothered by the overpowering artificial strips mounted to the ceiling.

The electric illumination wasn't clean, wasn't sterile.

Sometimes, she thought, it felt downright sickly, spilling like hot saffron onto sweaty patients.

She sighed, coming to her first stop in a long, tiring route. Forcing a smile, the small woman walked through the door…

And barely had time to gasp before she smacked onto that pristine, slick floor, unconscious.

Rhell Vininon, or at least the earthly form that had encased his disturbed spirit, was sprawled on the narrow hospital cot. A single blackened hole was singed into his forehead, with deep fringes of red streaking from the charred center.

His eyes, always hollow and glassy after his short imprisonment, were closed, as was his mouth.

Perhaps he was at peace now. The harsh malady that twisted his mind couldn't harm him anymore.

But the sour light radiated on his cooling face.

Yes, she had been right.

At the moment, it looked very sickly.

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

Anakin propped his head on his hand, arm cushioned by the pillows, a blanket covering his lower body. He watched Padme walk past him, and warmth stirred inside him.

"Where're you goin'?"

She flashed a tiny, insincere smile. "I'm, uh, just going to get a shower."

He sat up. "I could go with you."

Her eyes were wide, stinging from unshed tears, her fingers twined around the robe's tie. "No. No. We…We have to get going."

His disappointment was palpable, but he grinned. "Last night--."

Padme stopped dead, her gaze going still, glazed in a shaft of shadow. More images-the caress of bare skin, a lusting smile-assaulted her. And it was more a battle to stay on her feet now, than a battle to reach the bathroom.

"Was wonderful." Anakin finally finished. He swept the linens aside, and strolled over to her, a palm flattening to her back. "I thought I had known happiness…until then." He whispered, so close to her ear that his breath rustled her hair.

Padme fastened her eyes shut. We love each other.

"I'd never done that before…because there's no one else---"

She turned around suddenly, the lifeless strands of auburn twirling with the movement. The Senator put her hand, her steady, cold hand, over his mouth.

And he kissed it.

Padme fluttered her lashes, looking away a fraction of a second…into the near past….when things had been sane. When she locked eyes with him once more, the sadness was erased, and an intimacy was throbbing there. "I---"

She longed to blurt the truth. It had been too soon. She regretted every moment, to the bottom of her wounded heart.

But it was her choice.

Responsibility was another ethic she held high. She didn't want to lose another shred of that character. Her virtue was gone…

She was still Padme Amidala.

Her chin tilted up a little, and her smile was dazzling, though her eyes carried a distant, but present, gloom. "We have bonded, Ani. Our connection--it goes further than anything we have ever experienced."

He nodded. "I know."

"And, we can never forget what happened last night."

"I wouldn't want to."

She touched his cheek. "It was my intention, from the time of my childhood, to marry the man I would want to form this connection with. We won't have the chance to wed, Ani…

"But I'm yours. And you're mine."

He stroked the hair framing her face. "Forever."

She released a heavy sigh. "Forever."

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

It was seven years, two months, and six days since the deadly battles that gave Naboo back its precious freedom.

In some ways, the Room of a Thousand Fountains was similar to that heavenly planet. The natural, cleansed scents and soothing sounds.

Qui-Gon came here quite often. To reflect on missions, to balm a headache…or just to bask in the atmosphere.

Today, however, it seemed he was drawn to this sanctuary for another reason entirely.

The morose willow leaves hung limply over the fountain, shading the slumped figure. The Master's breath caught in his throat. Thus far, the silent Knight didn't sense him. He sat on the fountain's makeshift bench, letting the cool mist spray onto his neck.

Qui-Gon approached slowly, cautiously.

And spared a moment to lament. This was Obi-Wan, for Force's sake. Not a snarling Zerka tiger.

As he came nearer, he saw there were contusions that spread from his left cheek to his eyelid. Dark purples and blues. Fresh.

The soft cap of ginger was largely unchanged. The pair of sky-dappled eyes, though, were hard.

It hurt Qui-Gon to witness the shift between gentle beauty and brittleness.

"You're injured." He said quietly.

Obi-Wan inhaled smoothly. "It's just a bruise, Master Jinn."

Qui-Gon shook his head. "Severe bruises, Obi-Wan."

The man stiffened. "I would prefer Knight Kenobi." He informed the man, his accent frigid. He stood.

And Qui-Gon took him by the arms. "What happened?"

Obi-Wan didn't squirm. "I don't have to answer to YOU."

Acid dripped from the final word. Qui-Gon actually flinched. "No, but I worry. I would like to know."

Obi-Wan's eyes were unfocused, they appeared to be trained on two different objects that would leave anyone else's vision crossed. But the darkness was all he saw, the cold was all he felt. Even the warm hands that loosely held him couldn't thaw that. "I--fell down some stone stairs. It's nothing."

"I used to know every injury, every sickness you had."

Obi-Wan abruptly broke free. "I hurt more than you knew." He began to stalk away.

"Maybe." The Master admitted. "But you were never alone."

Obi-Wan kept walking.

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

Obi-Wan was slipping on his boot when he felt it.

It was incredibly powerful, surging through him. The same uneasiness rose that he carried throughout the last Naboo mission. At first it was intense and distracting. Slowly, it lowered to a sort of tingle in his mind. Less consuming, but still persistent.

A warning from the Force.

Obi-Wan frowned, chewing his bottom lip absently as he thought. Qui-Gon's impassioned words last night echoed in his head. It was true that Obi-Wan was touched by the Force, especially the facets of that supreme entity that dealt in foresight.

He heard it murmur in his ear before peril erupted.

The Knight sighed wearily and stood.

One thing's for sure---it never alerts me to pleasant occurrences.

He heard Qui-Gon enter, and smoothed the worry from his face. "Breakfast was excellent, Master. I've not had a meal so satisfying…" He grinned. "In a long while."

Fingers ruffled his clean, damp hair. "I'm glad you enjoyed it, Obi-Wan."

There was another silent moment, where they seemed to soak up this new happiness between them, and savor the blithe emotion.

Then Qui-Gon had to clear his throat. "I spoke with Anakin. We're meeting them downstairs in twenty minutes, then you and he will investigate possible exits of the underground base."

This time, Obi-Wan had to conceal his distaste. "Do you think the Senator is in much danger?"

Qui-Gon stroked his beard contemplatively. "It's alarming that I haven't sensed an attack yet. The farther we get in the case, the more information gathered. I'd think they'd want to, um, be 'rid of her' as soon as possible."

Obi-Wan nodded. "But Berrel is probably meticulous when it comes to protecting his profits. He'll need everything to go just as he plans, or he could easily be caught."

The Master smiled at him, pride shining in midnight blue eyes. "Exactly." He said softly, approvingly.

A tiny smile tugged at the Knight's lips in turn.

Qui-Gon stepped closer. "How are you feeling?"

Obi-Wan shrugged. "Fine. I am a little sick though---" A sly smirk stretched onto his face. "Of your hovering."

The two man broke into laughter, and the last stubborn walls erected between them seemed to crumble.

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

Anakin stood there, not sure whether he should move forward and embrace her…or run into the next room to wait it out.

Padme was stone beside the communicator, her hand against the machine, though the caller had long since hung up. Tears quivered in her chestnut eyes. "I can't believe…"

The apprentice took a hesitant step. "Padme, it's alright. He was…"

Her head lifted slowly. "He was what?" The lyrical voice sounded heavy and flat.

Anakin gave the smallest of shrugs. "He was sick, Padme. He was never going to recover. Maybe it's…better this way."

The anger radiated in her, her jaw tightened, but her body was motionless beneath the pale verdant dress. The Naboo Senator was paralyzed by her outrage. "How can you say that?"

At once, his cheeks were burning. The look on her porcelain face…it beat with horrible surprise and sorrow…faint disgust. He never wanted to see it again.

Particularly when he was the cause of it.

He rushed to her side, and encompassed her waist with lanky arms. "I was only trying to comfort you, Padme. I know he was a good man---"

She craned her elegant, long neck to gaze up at him-and silently despaired at the desperate hope in his dark eyes. "You don't know, Ani." Padme responded at last, shaking her head, moving from his hold, briskly wiping the tears from her cheeks.

The woman stopped at the huge, arched window, her slender fingers parting the maroon velvet drapes.

Anakin stared at her, and knew she wasn't watching the waking of Naboo's landscape. Her eyes were unseeing…blurred by her grief.

He wasn't going to pretend to understand. Rhell Vininon was crazy, at least during the time she knew him. And she didn't really know him anyway.

But Padme allowed things to touch her to the heart…

It was another beautiful thing about her.

At the same time, it was frustrating. Anakin didn't want to compete with her many, unnecessary, allegiances. They had made a pact last night…he didn't want to share.

He strode to the window, and placed his hands on the graceful slope of her shoulders.

Strangely, she didn't look at him for many, many minutes.

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

Berrel was positively beaming when Ileana sauntered into his office. He was sitting behind his mammoth desk, hands folded to his head, mouth stretched wide.

She cocked a finely plucked eyebrow. "That look can never mean anything good."

He laughed with more gusto than the tiny pun deserved. "Todays' gonna be damn profitable." Berrel motioned for her to come closer.

Hesitancy evident only in her heart, the woman complied, perching on the edge of the black chair, and resting arms around his neck.

Berrel breathed in her scent, eyes closing. "Mmmm. Tell me baby….have I told you lately how intoxicatingly sexy you are?"

"Yes." She purred. "But I never mind hearing it again."

His chuckle was rich with desire. He pulled her down to him, and kissed her slowly.

Ileana tried to remember when his intimate touches didn't revolt her, when his love was her reason for existing…and she also tried very hard not to lose her humble breakfast.

Then he drew a fraction back, looking deep into her citrus eyes. "If I didn't have you Leana…" He shook his head. "None of this would be worth the trouble."

Her stomach lurched. She hadn't been expecting that. "Really?"

Berrel raked his fingers lightly along her cheek. "Of course. My life is…I'm nothing, if you aren't there. Everything I do.. All the credits I earn…" He drifted to trace her jaw line. "It's all for you.

"All I want is to make you happy."

She gave a tight smile. Killing one of my dearest friends is not the way. "Thank you."

The burly man's eyes, that could be unyielding and wretched with evil, were soft and attentive. "I love you, Leana. And if this is how I can make you happy, I'll do it until the day I die."

Ileana had to wonder how long that would be.

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

In the main lobby of Theed Plaza, Master Qui-Gon Jinn and Knight Obi-Wan Kenobi sat on an ornate, undoubtedly expensive, bench, faces serene, eyes catching the gleam of overhead lights.

From the vantage of a passerby, they could be mistaken for a father and his son.

Qui-Gon shifted, regretting the disturbance he would cause to this perfect moment. But the need was rubbing his heart painfully raw. He had to know. "I don't think I've apologized properly."

Obi-Wan's head turned, though his eyes were still. "For what, Master?" He wondered softly.

The aging man smiled, another wave of sweet thankfulness drenching him. "You can't imagine how good if feels to hear that word again."

His one-time protégé grinned, a brilliance cascading down his face, stunning and pure. "It feels…indescribable just to say it again."

Qui-Gon squeezed his shoulder. "I'm sorry that I invaded your mind on the ship, Obi-Wan."

And the joy drained from Obi-Wan's expression, leaving a crease in his brow. He didn't reply for several seconds.

Dread was etched openly in the Master's countenance. His breath was tight in his chest.

"It's….alright…Master."

It sounded so stifled that Qui-Gon was moved to give the silky ginger locks a quick stroke. "Is it, Obi-Wan?"

The Knight was motionless.

Qui-Gon sighed. "I want you to tell me the truth. We can't start with another shadow between us. You shouldn't be compelled to hide from me."

Obi-Wan heaved out a breath, shaking his head. "I'm not hiding anything. It's alright. You've been in my mind plenty of times and-"

"I never glimpsed such dark thoughts in you before, Obi-Wan." He stared at the troubled man. "I want to know why you were thinking of those things. Of…that."

Obi-Wan didn't require a definition of 'that'. It was the phantom inside of him. A ghost that haunted him, filling him with intent too misted to be carried out, but present just the same. He knows I wanted to kill myself. "That's in the past. I don't want to---"

Qui-Gon took a trembling hand in his, entwining their fingers and pressing the warm tangle to his lips. "Force help me, it will stay in the past. You're not going anywhere, Obi-Wan. As long as I live, as long as I watch over you."

"It's in the past." Obi-Wan repeated unsteadily, battling the crash of hot tears in his eyes. "But I WILL tell you, one day. When I'm ready."

Qui-Gon smiled, returning his fingers to the thick spikes of hair, nearly overwhelmed by the affection he possessed for this child, this innocent sprite, masquerading as a man. "When you're ready. I'll be waiting."

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

The journey to the Plaza had been uncomfortable, the atmosphere pregnant with unspoken irritation. As Padme and Anakin passed through the grand gold doors, several pairs of eyes strayed to them.

Except, Anakin noticed, his Master's. They were adhered to Kenobi, though the Knight's lips were as inactive as the Senator's.

It was so quiet. Anakin hated the quiet.

And, as they came closer to the others, he felt rushed to end it. "I'll be thinking of you all day."

Padme looked at him. Her mouth quirked, in a slight expression that could pass for a smile. It was an empty effort, for she was consumed by her sorrow for Rhell, and the arrogance of Anakin's reaction to the man's death. It had more than a disappointment to discover his lack of compassion. It was another stinging blow to her heart. She glanced at Obi-Wan as they approached, drinking in his gentle demeanor.

She was forced to ponder why two men raised within the same walls, by the same man, could grow up to be so…different.

Qui-Gon stood and bowed. "Good morning, Milady. Anakin."

Padawan. Skywalker wanted to correct. "Good morning, Master."

The elder Jedi's eyes twinkled with early day, the weary dimness that always smothered their full beauty seemingly vanished. "We must begin the work immediately. Time grows short."

Padme's forehead crinkled. "You don't know, do you?"

Obi-Wan came to rise beside Qui-Gon, and the Master crossed his arms. "Know what?"

The woman swallowed, smoothing her dress to disguise the perspiration cold on her palms. "Rhell Vininon was found this morning." Her eyes fluttered shut a moment, and when they drifted to Qui-Gon again, they were huge, dark with sadness. "Someone…someone shot him in the night. He's dead."

Her voice wobbled, and Anakin touched her elbow, visibly worried.

She shot him a brisk glance. Anakin liked to think it was grateful.

Obi-Wan sighed heavily. "Then we probably have even less time than Master…Qui-Gon believed."

Qui-Gon nodded. "Yes. Anakin, you and Obi-Wan need to head to the locations indicated in the reports. Search the Force for any abnormalities you may sense. Darkness. Lingering pain."

The apprentice was sullen, and drearily dutiful. "Yes, Master."

Qui-Gon refused to see the faint visibility of a pout on the youth's face, and turned away. "Contact me when you have finished. The Senator and I will continue to discuss infiltration plans."

"Yes, Master. " Came the dulled answer.

Qui-Gon pressed his hand to Obi-Wan's shoulder before joining Padme.

Anakin watched her depart, and it was like the only candle in a pall, cruelly snuffed out.

Obi-Wan rubbed his finger to his temple. A headache is all I need.

They were dressed in street clothes, Obi-Wan wearing tan trousers and a deep blue, loose fitting, long-sleeved top. Anakin was clad in black leggings, with an equally dark, tighter shirt.

The Padawan despised blending into the crowd, being lost among the average, not being able to stand higher than the rest.

Obi-Wan missed the worn familiarity of his tunics, but understood the necessity of low-key attire. He couldn't very well sneak about the suspected drop-offs in Jedi uniform, a lightsaber hanging from his belt in clear view. "Let's get started." He said, in a voice that didn't quite conceal his underlying dread.

Anakin glared at him while they walked.

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

The fork clacked dully against the plate as Anakin speared another ripe slice of muja and popped the succulent morsel into his mouth. It was his absolute favorite; plump and sweet.

But the flavor was lost to him tonight. He glanced up at his Master, chewing with lackluster.

Qui-Gon was staring at the dish of fruit and meat, the silver utensil clutched absently in his hand. The apartment lights were dim.

Anakin thought that maybe it was to hide the red threads staining the whites of his Master's eyes.

This sometimes happened. Mostly, Qui-Gon was a wonderful teacher, vibrant and wise, affectionate and attentive. Unless the red invaded his eyes. Then he was like a pale shadow to his young apprentice.

Anakin swallowed, running his tongue along his lips to catch the dribble of juice.

Qui-Gon must have caught him, for the dismal man actually chuckled, shaking his head.

Anakin smiled meekly, afraid if he were to grin, it would cause his Master to retreat into the silence again.

"I guess it would be pointless to tell you to use your napkin."

The child giggled. "The juice is the best part."

"I'll just see about that." Qui-Gon countered enthusiastically, narrowing his gaze, and taking a huge bite of the brilliant yellow muja. While his jaw worked, Anakin watched with barely contained glee.

The Master gulped it down with a loud, wet click.

Anakin looked at him expectantly.

Giant shoulders shrugged. "I don't see what you're so excited about." A small stream of liquid snaked from his mouth, and he wiped it away with much chagrin.

Anakin was in hysterics, napkin twisted between his fingers as he laughed.

"Besides, it's awfully messy, Padawan."

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

Anakin's small mouth stretched into a yawn. He pulled off the rubber goggles and rubbed his eyes. He offered the fixed droid a pleased grin before trotting into the darkened hallway.

On Tatooine, the last moments before bed were special. Perhaps the best of the entire day.

His mother would chase him to his room and he would burrow under the covers, only to throw them back so she could tuck them in snugly around his chin.

Her face, roughed by harsh climate and harsher labor, would be liquid smooth in the gentle light. Her lips were touched by a soft smile. Her voice was soothing. Her voice was home.

And it was always the final thing he heard while he drifted to sleep.

It couldn't chase the nightmares away. Nothing could accomplish that, really. But it was a refuge for him. As much as he feared the hell of sleep, he loved saying goodnight.

Somehow, Qui-Gon had known the importance of that ritual. Not a day passed when it was sacrificed.

Anakin padded to his Master's doorway, a greeting word rising in his throat.

He stopped when the quiet, muffled noise reached his ears. The boy pressed against the wall, exceptional skills trained on listening.

It was sobbing. Weak, utterly tortured sobs. Coming from his Master.

Anakin's eyes went wide, and he played with his bottom lip nervously, nearly hopping in his anxiousness. The youth breathed in, finding his center, then blanketing a thin layer between he and his Master. Undetectable, but useful.

He stepped inside. Anakin was relieved to see the massive back turned from him. Scattered on the floor were the contents of that dreaded box. Kenobi's old tunic, the worn holo album.

Tears trembled on his lashes, and he batted them furiously. Anakin stormed to the corridor. He was so overcome with his anger that he fell to his knees, hands fisted.

With the sound of his Master's sorrowful cries raining down on him.

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

"Do you think they'll be alright?" Padme asked, studying the distinct, handsome face, realizing that it was, on some level, a timeless visage of nobility. This was roughly what she pictured in her mind as a child, fantasizing about faraway systems and the brave, courageous, almost mythical creatures known as Jedi.

Qui-Gon met her eyes. "Anakin and Obi-Wan haven't had much of a shared past. They were in the same Temple, but lightyears apart. Their personalities…clash, I think. It will be a vital lesson for them both."

"The assignment?"

He nodded. "That, and they'll have to survive--each other."

Padme smiled at him, but the words stirred worry inside her. She knew she loved them both. Differently, but deeply.

Just as Qui-Gon did.

If only Ani could understand that.

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

The trek to the first marked location was long and grievous. Obi-Wan was occupied by his own thoughts, and by making sure his steps were on course. It would be a disaster if he tripped or fell.

Not because of the embarrassment. But because it would fuel the fire he was certain had ignited long ago in Anakin Skywalker. Crackling flames that burned as hatred for the predecessor of his position

Obi-Wan honestly didn't mind that he was despised by the boy. He had encountered countless foes over his years. Fiends who sought to separate his head from his shoulders. Antagonists with far worse than even that in mind.

This was just another Jedi. The reputed Chosen One, maybe, but in the end, just another member of his Order.

He could glower and pout and loathe all he wanted. Ultimately, he was only hurting himself and his relationship with his Master.

Qui-Gon.

Obi-Wan's step faltered minutely. His chest began to ache.

What would Qui-Gon think if Anakin did something hasty, like lash out at me? He'd think he had failed. Again.

It was his Master's way, to accept all the blame when it belonged to another. To absorb every last scintilla of the pain.

The cursed name whispered in his thoughts, and Obi-Wan quelled a cold shudder. Xanatos.

No. That will never happen. Anakin may be conceited and jealous, but he could never possess that pure darkness.

Obi-Wan tightened his shields, then berated himself for being paranoid.

He's only an apprentice.

"Anakin."

The reply was loud and sharp. "What?"

The Knight sighed inwardly. "It's obvious that we aren't the best of friends--"

An acrid snort.

"Nevertheless, we have been placed in this situation, and must carry out the duty to the best of our abilities. We can't do that if we're bickering or---"

"I know how to be professional." Anakin kicked at a rock, sending it skittering down the path. "I'm not stupid."

Obi-Wan managed the smallest of smiles. "I know that. But you must promise to be civil and---"

"Why were you at Padme's the other night?"

The older man was taken aback. His brow furrowed. "What? What does that have to do---"

Anakin grabbed him by the shoulders and whipped him around. "Everything." He ground out in a rasp. "It has everything to do with this. I can't be civil, as you say, if I find out that you've been messing around with her."

Obi-Wan wanted very much to shove the violent brat, but instead maintained his tranquil expression, lines of his body betraying the irritation he felt. "You will remove your hands from me now, apprentice, and perhaps I will overlook the blatant disrespect to my person. Or, you could carry out what I'm sure you've dreamt of from the moment we were in the Council chamber, and answer to your Master afterwards." Despite their unfocused glaze, his cerulean eyes were cool. "Of course, in the case of the latter, I will be forced to defend myself."

For a moment, the second choice was a tantalizing one for Anakin, His fingers dug into Obi-Wan's skin and longed to draw blood. But the intensity of his emotion was beginning to overwhelm him. Heat was boiling beneath his not-so-calm surface and a dizziness was dawning in his head. Slowly, very reluctantly, he released the Knight.

And Obi-Wan caught him by the collar in a flash, pushing him hard against a nearby wall. Their faces were uncomfortably close…exactly as the ginger-capped man intended. "And, just so you know, Senator Amidala and I were merely discussing my last visit to Naboo. I suggest you learn to trust, young Padawan, before this suspicion destroys you."

Then he let go, smoothly resuming his gait.

Anakin rubbed his neck, face bright, simmering red.

"Do we have an understanding?" Obi-Wan asked.

"Yes." Skywalker watched him walk on, aware that his greatest enemy of all was beside him.

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

Lorb stopped dead in his tracks, squinting his eyes.

Two fellas looked to have been on the brink of a scrape, and he was always ready for a good fight.

One was tall and lanky, with a head of dark, sandy hair. The other was smaller, but something about him struck Lorb as…powerful. His face was round, with a cleft to his chin…

Lorb gasped. "Hell!" He wiped the smear of liquor from his lips and followed the pair.

This was his biggest deal yet with Berrel. Maybe if he made the delivery a little early, there'd be a sweetener for him.

His mouth twisted into a greedy, thoroughly disgusting grin.

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

"Well, how are we supposed to figure it out?" Anakin stood in the designated area, hands on his hips, eyes stormy and dark.

Obi-Wan was a meter away. His hair rippled in the slight wind. "Center your mind. If this is indeed a positive location, you'll sense it."

The space was deserted, the ground covered in a thin, dusty layer of dirt. It was nestled deep in an old business complex closed for renovations that would probably turn into a complete, costly makeover. Nothing had begun yet, and so their steps were loud in the hollowness.

"I don't see any catches or seams."

Obi-Wan traced his eyebrow thoughtfully. "It almost feels…"

"Muffled." Anakin finished.

"Yes." He sank to the floor and crossed his legs, laying his hands on his knees. "I'll have to concentrate more sharply on it."

Aren't you perfect. "Alright."

Anakin waited for the Knight's eyes to slip closed, and his breathing to slow to the measured rhythm of meditation. Then he dug his hands into his pockets, smiling, moving forward to the next point on the list.

He can find his own way there, if he's such a great Jedi. I don't need him to help me with anything anyway.

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

Lorb watched the apprentice's slick and conniving departure. His fingers drummed on the hilt of his weapon.

His life had never been as easy as some, but there were moments when everything just fell perfectly into place.

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

"..and Ileana could distract Berrel in some way. Invite him to dinner, maybe."

Padme's head rested on the heel of her hand. Her gaze was vacant, or so distant that it left a teary film over the chestnut irises.

Qui-Gon stopped talking, watching the young woman intently, noticing at once the pain swirling beneath her indifferent surface. "Milady?"

She snapped to attention, eyes flashing to him, a lovely blush highlighting her cheekbones. "Oh." She put a hand to her heart. "I'm so sorry. I've been a bit…preoccupied." Padme cleared her throat behind a fist. "Okay. We were talking about Ileana?"

Qui-Gon opened his mouth, but the agony written on her features stopped him. He inhaled. "Milady, if there's anything you wish to speak to me about, it would be in complete confidence."

For a split second, her guard lapsed, revealing a tender insecurity. Then she shook her head. "I'm fine, Qui-Gon." She smiled. "Please, let's get to work."

Qui-Gon returned the smile. "Of course." He tried to ignore the tears trickling down her cheeks. It was her business, even if it did involve his Padawan. If it's truly serious, Anakin will speak with me.

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

Obi-Wan sat in the grime, his face a study in serenity. He sensed a disturbance here, but it wasn't necessarily emanating from below. The aura of his surroundings was---off---now, as if the balance had been upset.

He held his lungs still, listening.

There was a tiny scrape. Like a boot touching to the rock-strewn ground. The owner of said boot couldn't be Anakin. Obi-Wan had to admit, the kid had an unmistakable Force presence, one that should be detectable.

And he couldn't ascertain any such connection, not even a wispy grasp of that uniting entity.

His heartbeat was unaltered, though his premonition of danger had skyrocketed. Anakin is gone and---

The thought was left hanging, as he wheeled around, leaping cleanly to his feet. His saber was ignited, the blue blade shooting out to deflect the dart.

Lorb ducked with a surprised 'oof'.

Obi-Wan held his weapon defensively in front of him, in classic Jedi stance. A strand of ginger fell into his eyes. "Who are you?" His cultured accent was thickened in the shout.

The plump man was about to hold up his hands, until he realized the untrained quality of luminous eyes. "A man who gets what he wants." Lorb spat, flinging another sedative-filled dart, which was effortlessly averted.

"And what would that be?"

Curling his thick lip, Lorb barreled forward.

Obi-Wan raised a hand, and the stout crook was thrown back, skidding against the wall.

"Answer me!"

Lorb panted. He felt the dribble of burgundy down his forehead and grimaced. "You." He held onto the stone for support as he scrambled to his feet. "I can see why now. Damn, how'd ya do that?"

Obi-Wan grunted. "Practice." He stalked closer, saber buzzing near his chest. "What do you want with me?"

A meaty fist hurdled at him, and the Knight caught the wide wrist between his slender, strong fingers. His lips were pursed. "Now, what do you want with me?!"

Lorb grit his yellowed teeth. "I don't want anything from you."

"Then who does?"

"I'm not at liberty to divulge---"

Obi-Wan's hand moved to clench (partially) around his neck. "Who?!"

"Someone who…" His voice started to gurgle, and the Jedi reluctantly loosened his grip. "Who has the power to kill Senator Amidala. At this very moment, if they want."

Obi-Wan's stomach twisted.

"And if you don't come with me, she'll be as dead as a friggin' doornail. Your Master and the other brat too."

The Knight flinched. His fingers clutched the hilt of his weapon. "And what if you don't get past here? What if I cut you down where you stand?"

Lorb uttered a caustic scoff. "I already alerted my boss. If I don't show up at a certain time, the plan goes into immediate action."

Obi-Wan paused, searching fervently for an alternative, the weight of precious mortality suddenly crushing his shoulders. In the end, there was nothing to be done. Any life was more important than his own. Especially that of Amidala, his beloved Master…even Anakin. He powered down his saber. "Fine."

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

Qui-Gon halted mid-sentence, fingers going to his temple.

Padme frowned. "What's wrong?"

He shook his head. "I---I don't know. It's so murky-" The Master rose from his chair. "I better contact Anakin."

The Senator sat alone at the table, hands folded so tautly they quivered. For a moment, she was allowed respite, and she didn't need to wipe away the misery running down her face.

I…hope he's alright. An icy roil overtook her belly, and she comprehended: Anakin Skywalker was ingrained in her soul now.

He was a part of her.

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

It took every fiber of control he possessed to keep Obi-Wan from breaking the hands that gripped his arms. Even worse, to endure the sound of his saber, rattling in his captor's jacket. They were walking down a maze of side streets, the Knight guessed. Unless this man was a complete idiot, he knew barren pathways were the only way to safely transport a…prisoner.

Obi-Wan swallowed. There was no memorizing the turns and steps here. He had no idea where he was, and had to rely on the rough guidance of his kidnapper. There were lifts and staircases, a tiring series of them, until the man halted abruptly.

Obi-Wan's nostrils were confronted a stale, dirt-laced stench.

A new voice floated up among the unrelieved black of his periphery.

"Lorb. I gotta say, I'm impressed."

Obi-Wan went cold. Lorb?

Lorb chuckled. "Yeah. I wasn't even trying or nothing. He walked right into it."

Berrel stopped a mere inch from Obi-Wan, surveying the Jedi. "You didn't have to work very hard at all, it seems." He raked his finger along the smooth, round jaw. "Not a scratch anywhere."

Obi-Wan bit down on the flesh of his inner lip.

"Uh-huh. Well, we came to an understanding." Lorb shook the taller man rudely. "Didn't we?"

Berrel waved his mechanical hand in dismissal. "Let him go. He can't go anywhere."

What does that mean? The bruising hands were removed, but Obi-Wan didn't spare a beat for relief. "Where am I? And what am I doing here?"

Berrel circled him, studying the sturdiness of muscles beneath the civilian garb. "You'll do very well." He commented, mostly to himself.

Obi-Wan fought the frustration welling in him. "WHAT am I doing here?"

"Save the anger, kid. You don't intimidate me." He plunged the needle into soft skin, and the Knight crumpled to the ground, unconscious. "Not at all."

It had been sudden, but not too fast for Obi-Wan to send a feeble pulse through the Force. He had scant time to hope before he succumbed to the heavy pull of drugs.

Qui-Gon.

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

The word had shot into his mind, and Qui-Gon ripped the commlink from his belt.

"Anakin. Padawan, answer me at once."

He could scarcely breathe. The fear, the raw, dizzying fear, was sending his body into shivers.

Padme rushed toward him. "Qui-Gon?"

But he could only shake his head at her. It felt like the entire Universe was falling apart at its seams.

Worse…As if the Force were crying out in agony.

Screaming in despair.

"Anakin!"

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

Anakin pulled out the compact communicator and held it to his mouth. "Master? What's going on?"

The voice that reverberated from the machine was jarringly uneven. "Ani, are you alright?"

The apprentice's hand actually fell to his stomach, where frosty coils of apprehension were tightening. His Master had never sounded so desperate. The pride of the older man had always prevented it. Qui-Gon was broadcasting open alarm. Anakin swallowed. "I'm fine…What's---"

"Where's Obi-Wan?"

He hesitated, and his shaky breath only served to further dismay the Master.

"Anakin, where is Knight Kenobi?"

Anakin sealed his eyes. "He's back at the first building."

The response to this was eerily calm…and frigid. "What? Where are you?"

"H-He was handling it and I just---"

"Anakin, where are you?!" Qui-Gon thundered.

The Padawan ignored the shock and dread seizing his heart. "I went ahead to the next spot."

Then there was a silence, during which Anakin felt a piece of his Master break away.

"Go back. As fast as you can. Keep alert." Qui-Gon ordered dully. "I'll be there soon."

"O-Okay, Master."

Anakin switched off the commlink. He stood, arms hanging at his sides, while he registered the fact that his Master no longer trusted him.

And, again, as it seemed to always be, Obi-Wan Kenobi was to blame.

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

Padme laid a hand on the Master's broad shoulder. Both were clammy and cold. "Qui-Gon?"

He was still, gazing out into the Naboo horizon. A beautiful planet, without question. One that held all the natural splendors, all the earthly glories one could ask for. A paradise, some would say.

A land where his dear friend was lost. Blind and alone.

He sighed, turning from the bitter sight.

When Padme looked into his eyes, the midnight blue was eclipsed by shadow.

"It's too late." Qui-Gon whispered.

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

Berrel supervised the Jedi's imprisonment, then strolled back into his office, grinning.

Ileana smiled. "Why are you so happy?"

He kissed her cheek. "What would you like, Leana? What're you in the mood for? A few diamond bracelets, a new red speeder?"

Her lip quirked in curiosity. "Why?"

He laughed, throwing his head back.

Ileana touched his shoulders. "Baby, what's going on?"

Berrel peered down at her with his mouth stretched wide. "I've just 'procured' a new killer that's gonna set us up for life."

She giggled in an light, exasperated spurt. "Are you serious?"

"Mmmhmm."

The woman stood from her chair, moving toward him, a vision in vibrant blue, the drab scenery only enhancing her natural brilliance. Her lips were stained dark maroon and gleamed sensuously, his eyes moving to them. "Can I see him?"

Berrel shrugged, stroking her hair, the red reflecting on his metal hand. "I guess. Though I doubt he'll even notice ya." He pulled her into his arms. His grizzled face was shaded. "He'll be a little…busy."

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

Anakin pressed his hands over his temples, pacing back and forth, leaving imprints in the fine dirt.

He gazed up, lips quivering faintly. The sunlight was muted by various poles and rooftops, allowing meager illumination in the space.

Good. The glare just gets in my eyes.

He lowered himself to the ground and bowed his head. It felt better where there wasn't so much light, boring into everything, leaving nothing unexposed.

"Anakin!"

Quickly, he got to his feet, and wiped the powdery soil from his leggings.

Qui-Gon and Padme were hurrying towards him, the Senator nearly jogging, holding the end of her gown between her fingers.

He met them with a respectful bow.

When he rose, there was no denying the disappointment and brutal appraisal in Qui-Gon's eyes. "Master?" He ventured to speak.

Qui-Gon scanned the small area before answering. "You…didn't see anything?"

Anakin shook his head, his eyes lowered. He looks at me like I'm nothing.

The Master stood motionless for a moment, then sighed, turning away. "Obi-Wan." He lamented softly, a great ache passing through him.

Padme stared at the man, accustomed to the sting of tears. She felt Anakin's fingers on her elbow and regarded him solemnly.

"Do you think he's okay?"

The life seemed to have drained from the youth. "He'll be fine. Master's strong."

"No." She blinked, staring out at the stretch of miles before them. "Obi-Wan."

Anakin rubbed her arms. "Yeah. Yeah, he'll be okay."

She went slowly into his embrace, clutching him close.

Anakin nestled in the curve of her neck. He felt the warmth of her sadness spreading on his tunic, and Qui-Gon's intense sorrow bleeding through their bond.

Will Obi-Wan be okay? He thought mockingly, gritting his teeth.

I could care less.

"We have to infiltrate the place. Now." Qui-Gon announced, authority ringing in his husky tone.

Padme pulled away from Anakin, wiping her tears. "Now? But how do you know---"

"There's no other explanation. Naboo is a peaceful planet, and Obi-Wan is the strongest Jedi I have ever seen. It took something incredibly powerful to take him down." He struggled against the words. "It h-has to be Berrel." Qui-Gon glanced at Anakin blandly before pivoting to Padme. "Contact Ileana. Tell her we're going in now."

"Are you sure that's safe?"

Qui-Gon shuddered a breath. "If we wait, he could lose everything." I could lose everything.

Padme squeezed his hand. "Alright. Whatever it takes, we'll get him out of there."

"Let's go."

Anakin hastened alongside them, but flicked his eyes back to take in the dark space once more. For some reason, he felt…at home there.

Ahead was uncertainty, danger, reprimands and that blinding sunshine.

And there was Padme.

He would go forward. For her.

But he would carry his real emotion hidden inside. Anakin wouldn't forget this day, or the horrible disdain he sensed in his Master, for an apprentice he probably didn't love anymore.

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

The first thing he noticed upon awakening was that the musty, stale air blew coldly on his bare chest.

Obi-Wan rubbed at his face, linking the grogginess and heavy limbs to the unknown substance pumped into his system.

He lay on the stone floor, head flat against the unyielding surface, and throbbing with pain. Confusion fogged his mind, clouding his senses, leaving the Knight grappling for remembrance.

He surely had been properly dressed. In his tunic---no, not today. He had worn a different material. Silky and loose.

Obi-Wan labored to reach a sitting position, propping himself on his palms and outstretched fingers. His surroundings were dripping with dark. The evil just seemed to ooze.

There were other feelings, as well. Fear, bewilderment… suffering.

They tore at his heart, and Obi-Wan had to wince at it all.

His hair hung limply around his face. His eyes were streaked with red and glazed in pain. Despite this, he pulled himself to an uncomfortable uprightness, allowing his back to curve a bit to dodge the ache. His leggings were smudged with dirt and billowed in the frosty breeze.

Obi-Wan crossed his arms over his chest, breaths coming in wobbly spurts.

A door opened, and he turned toward the sound, body rigid, ready for defense.

Berrel walked in, arm dangling languidly off Ileana's shoulder. He saw the Jedi's pitiful state, his desperate grasp onto pride, and couldn't help his laughter. "If I'da known how easy it'd be to crack one of you guys, I'da started years ago. Had me a whole legion of Jedi fighters."

Obi-Wan's upper lip curled. "What you would have is a disembodied head." He dropped his arms and took a step forward. "And I haven't cracked."

Then he had to school his focus directly into the Force, as a strong familiarity swept through him. Something dawned gradually in cerulean and emerald kissed eyes. He moved his head a bit in the direction of Berrel's distinctly female companion.

"Here he is, Leana."

Of course. I had forgotten--

"The guy who's gonna make me-us-richer than any royalty."

Ileana's eyes were wide as the Naboo moon, and glowed with horrible shock. She glanced up at Berrel to be certain he was unaware of her surprise, then spoke, in her rich, seducing voice. "He's great, baby."

Obi-Wan swallowed, wishing that this woman had some talent, even a tiny touch, of the Force within her. He needed to talk to Ileana Zimn---now.

But it seemed someone else was in the mood for conversation.

"Ya hear that, kid?" Berrel slipped away from his lover, striding in a radius around Obi-Wan, always in the midst of disgusting evaluation. "You're a regular freakin' gold mine."

Obi-Wan's eyebrow raised, a habit gained during his adulthood, when he wasn't required to maintain the nearly expressionless obedient demeanor of a student. "How so?"

The man sniggered. "Well, I've been thinking that over. At first, we were just supposda get rid of you. A clean hit."

A chilly tingle collected in Obi-Wan's chest, but he refused to acknowledge it.

"Then I saw your picture, and I immediately spotted potential. I knew you could do great things for us---after a little persuasion."

The younger man answered peacefully, with an underlying intelligence that was undeniable. "Potential for what?"

Berrel smiled. "Oh, come on kid! You've been investigating our set-up here for how long, and you haven't the vaguest idea why we would want you?"

Obi-Wan's lips fell to a strict, thin line. Rage and anxiety needled him. "You can forget it. I'd rather die."

"Brave words from such a helpless fool." He chuckled. "But neither of those are options for you, kid."

Hands clamped onto his arms.

"You have two choices. You can join us willingly---" Berrel pressed course fingers on either side of Obi-Wan's head. "Or I can have everything taken from you. I can trash your whole life, kid, until that's all you are."

Ileana watched the Jedi, standing before this man, his handsome face placid, though his entire world was on the verge of tumbling down around his ears. She shook her head, closing her eyes.

"An empty shell, who'll kill at my bidding, and not for a single credit." He released him and backed away, shrugging. "At least the other way, you'll get decent pay."

It didn't take a heartbeat before Obi-Wan delivered his response. "Never." He spat.

And a great anger scorched in Berrel. He punched Obi-Wan with such brute force, the Knight was thrown against the wall, his head colliding with the crumbling stone. Already a purplish tint marred the smooth, sweaty cheek.

Ileana gasped. "Berrel! What'd you do?!" Without thinking, she rushed to the injured Jedi, resting the bruised head in her lap.

"Get away from him!" He snarled.

She trembled from the rumbling in his throat, settling Obi-Wan gently on the ground and resuming her place at the man's side.

"That snot is gonna get what's coming to him." He cracked his flesh knuckle. "I'm gonna wipe his mind myself.

"Right now."

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

Qui-Gon was speaking with the leader of the military team, his hands clamped loosely to his hips, a desolation-and barely contained frenzy- heavy in his blue eyes. The Center was packed with men in street garb, only Master Jinn holding to his Jedi uniform, and actually blended into the earth tones most of the soldiers chose.

Anakin, Padme noticed, was the one who stood out, like a black rose blooming in a bed of white, his dark, tight tunic showcasing muscle and leanness. She realized suddenly she had been staring, for he was looking at her with a mixture of perplexity and smug pleasure.

Her cheeks flushed, enhancing the pink cosmetic added some hours before.

He smiled at her shy, irresistible reaction. "I love you." Anakin announced, again, quietly.

Padme brushed her hand down his thickly rippled arm. "Do you think it's true, what Qui-Gon said…" Then she recalled that Ani hadn't been there, and shook her head to clear it, thinking in passing that she should have been more aware of his presence---or lack thereof. "He said it was too late."

Anakin captured a perfect auburn tendril between the pads of his fingers, watching the curl drop, to rest among the other soft spirals. "I'll let you in on a secret, if you promise not to tell anyone."

Her deep brown eyes were adhered to his, glittering, almost intrigued by the mystery in this man. "What?"

A small laugh resounded in his chest. "My Master, his predictions and feelings, aren't always right."

Padme frowned. "He looked so…"

"Sure?" Anakin finished. "Most of the time, he is. He's the greatest Jedi who's ever lived---so far." He added. "But no one's perfect. We'd feel it if Kenobi was dead…"

She bristled slightly at his rough choice of words, lip twitching.

"And he's not. We'll find him, Padme." In a daring surge of carelessness, he wrapped his arms around her waist. "My Master wouldn't allow Kenobi to be lost."

And Qui-Gon, who had flitted his ever-attentive eyes over to check on the apprentice and young Senator, saw this open intimacy between them. He couldn't be stern, or angry, or anything. A fire had extinguished in him, the moment he learned Anakin had left a fellow Jedi in potential danger, a flame that had endured through many long, difficult years.

Qui-Gon didn't want it to be gone…but he had no time to keep vigil over it now.

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

The pain was beating in his head, and a guttural moan emitted from Obi-Wan, his hand touching gingerly to the sticky spot of blood drying on his temple.

He hissed at the sting, pulling back.

The cold had seeped through his flesh, down into his lungs, and each intake of air was a harsh, bruising struggle. The violent moments hovered in his consciousness. Absorbing the blow of a solid fist, hearing the protesting cry from Ileana, the cracking knock into the wall. Her fingers, lotion-softened and smelling faintly of vanilla, running carefully along his contused cheek.

Again, he was completely mindful she was devoid of the Force, in any gifted sense, but her tender kindness, her tremulous courage, had been enough comfort for Obi-Wan, as he drifted from that new, smothering agony that left his head feeling like a crushed-in stone.

He remembered very little from his days of sight, even though they greatly outnumbered the days without, but he knew hers had to be a face of infinite beauty. At the very least, one of great gentleness. The type that Mejant possessed. Not of bland attractiveness. Distinct, and exquisite because of what resided inside, that flowed to the exterior. Others had not seen in Mejant what Obi-Wan did.

Which is why he felt endlessly lucky to have her.

And, partly, why he needed to escape this wretched, death-soaked place.

He missed her sharply now, as he reflected on the wonder of her spirit, more giving, and forgiving, glorious, than anyone he had ever encountered. She was the core of his heart, because she kept it beating.

Even at this instant. This terrifying, discouraging instant. He sighed, and it sounded more like a gasp.

Rusty metal restraints shackled him to the wall, while cold chains forced his ankles to twist around each other.

He had put his hand to his head.

He found that, after desperate, furious tries, that it would go no further than that.

A fear had been prickling up his spine ever since his capture. It came to full, ugly bloom, raising bumps on his skin and numbing his mouth.

He had endured this torture, once before.

On Phindar, those many, many years ago. Freshly a teenager, grasping onto his river stone as he grasped to a short lifetime of memories. Shutting out the pain. Facing the demon that was the memory wipe machine, and emerging victorious.

Then, afterwards, he had dreamed of that time. Dreams where he wandered the streets alone, eyes hollow and soul empty.

Nightmares that he would rip from screaming. Obi-Wan would lay stiff in his bed, just shrieking, until his Master's arms offered him unconditional solace, even in the wee, tired hours. Qui-Gon Jinn would rest his apprentice's head on his massive shoulder, and cradle it in a hand that engulfed the back of the small scull, stroking his damp hair as the terror slowly dissipated, and the disturbing shadows in the dark room fled.

But Qui-Gon wasn't here. Nor was the luminous river stone, warm with the presence of the Force.

All there was was this space. Large or cramped, he didn't quite know.

He did know that it was cold here. And no such thing as the Force existed in its aged walls.

Steps came.

Well, I'm not alone.

And a cruel baritone shattered the silence. "You're about the stupidest son of a wench I've ever met, kid." Berrel said snidely, crouching beside the constrained Jedi and cupping the dimpled chin. "You don't get any money, you don't get nothing. And for what?"

He shook Obi-Wan's face in show of his frustration.

Obi-Wan attempted to wriggle from the clamping fingers. His lips were squished, and his words were muffled, but audible. "I…am…Jedi."

"Yeah." Berrel gave a whooping laugh. "For the next few seconds anyway. " He twisted the chin, eliciting a suppressed groan, then stood.

Obi-Wan closed his eyes, knowing it wasn't worth the meager energy it required to keep the lids open. "I don't understand what you hope to accomplish."

Berrel snorted, slipping a syringe from his pocket. "Then you are stupid."

Obi-Wan smiled with morbid humor. "I suppose I am, because it won't matter what methods you create to enlist me in your sick army, I won't submit."

"How very gallant of you." He drawled. "But you fail to comprehend. After this, THERE WILL BE NO 'you'. Just a drone ready to be molded." Fingers combed roughly through his hair. "Sculpted into whatever I choose for you to be."

Obi-Wan gulped down the bile thickening in his throat. "I'll still have a thought process. I'll know the difference between right and wrong, you demented---"

Berrel slapped him hard, whipping his head to the side with a loud snap.

"Maybe you will know the difference. But will you care?"

Then he jabbed the needle into the flesh of Obi-Wan's thigh, undeterred by the hands pulling at him, hands infuriatingly out of reach.

There was a fleeting moment of lucidity, when a few half-thoughts skidded over his mind.

Then oblivion.

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

Frosty cream coated his tongue, the coolness and smooth texture almost as good as the purely chocolate taste…Bant's eyes were wide and hungry, staring at the towering, wobbling three scoops….He smiled, the dessert spread over his lips, and handed the cone to her….

And the ball was thrown back to him. He couldn't see it, not with the stifling blindfold, but he sensed it hurdling towards him, felt the gush of air, the lingering scraps of his instructor's essence printed upon the round toy. He held out a palm, and it stopped, halted perfectly by his Force-compulsion. As he removed the cloth, he heard Master Gallia remark she had never witnessed an eight year old with such innate reflexes…

With such mild care, the healer lifted him from the glass-scattered ground, his voice shushing him, urging him to forget Bruck's taunts, and focus on healing his injury. He had never hurt so badly…

Than this moment, watching the man walk away from him, his long, gray-streaked man spread down his back. He wanted to despair, wanted to run after him, convince him to come back…

But he couldn't go back. He stood at the ship's ramp, lightsaber gripped by his trembling fingers, a resolve so strong within him that he was helpless to fight it. He witnessed the dismay and sadness flood midnight-painted eyes and he…

Couldn't bear the guilt grinding down this valiant man's soul, standing at Tahl's memorial. He leaned forward, and hugged his Master to him, barely able to breathe…

Under the pressure of the debris. His chest was pinned by pounds of ash and bits of brick, the dust swarming around his face so that tears made clean tracks down his cheeks…

Wiped away by Qui-Gon's hand. He sat huddled beside him in the cavern, insect bits welting his face and neck, without even a watery balm to relieve his discomfort…

Of being tickled. His feet curled against the onslaught of tingling, caused by feather-light Force brushes, and he giggled uncontrollably, until…

Mejant pressed her lips, full and crimson, against his. He was lifted to a place of ecstasy as he simply sat in her presence, as he held her hand…

He could not keep from crying out when the blade slashed across his eyes, and when he knew that there was no hope for…

Anakin, tearing away the last remnants of his life there, etching his own marks, hanging his own dreams in a room where Obi-Wan had once convinced Qui-Gon Jinn to actually play a holo-game, and laughed when, after four hours, he was still glued to the bright screen, laughed…

Even when inside, he wanted to disappear, grinning at Garen when the ache in his heart was so complete he could have sunk to his knees…

Thanking the Force that he had her, that he had something…

Wonderful…A wonderful lightness overtook him, being reunited with the man he had given his life, his spirit to, and feeling the weight of resentment lifted…

Each memory was lifted. Taken.

The machine worked steadily, stealing every moment of Obi-Wan Kenobi's life, reducing his former existence to nothing but a memory itself, for those who had known him…but might never get the chance to know him again.

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

Qui-Gon marched amid the crowd of troops, barely conscious of his surroundings, or even the Senator, whose eyes wandered constantly to him.

The sun was blistering today, a blazing, molten star that left the creatures dwelling on the land scorching. The glare narrowed his gaze, where tears had already moistened.

He was not crying. Not yet. It was the sheer severity of the disturbance. The laceration ran long and deep in the Force.

Qui-Gon knew, beyond any doubt, that every Jedi's mind was bleeding. If only a few, small drops, they were all mourning.

Qui-Gon thought of Anakin, turning to study the youth. If he too was suffering the dark uproar, he gave no outward indication. His posture was confident, as usual, his shoulders squared and a small smirk tugging at his lips. The Master wondered if his protégé knew of the pain he caused in his wounded heart. If that smug expression disguised an inner turmoil.

At least a shred of guilt?

The sunlight illuminated the sandy, close-cropped mane, and the ends almost seemed to burn. Then, sensing the attention focused on him, Anakin looked at his Master. There was a shaft of black that somehow fell diagonally across his face. "I am sorry."

Qui-Gon smiled, the strange mist in his eyes, and squeezed the boy's arm. "I know you are, Anakin. I---know."

Anakin scanned his leonine features, searching for a falter in their affection. Gradually, he smiled back. "Thanks."

The tall Jedi peered into the horizon as he spoke. "When we get in there, things have to be done very quickly. I must find Obi-Wan." He huffed. "He is wasting away with each moment. I--I feel it." He turned hesitantly to his Padawan. "Do you feel anything?"

Anakin nodded. "The Force feels…mixed up, I guess. Like something is tampering with it."

Qui-Gon's countenance was hard with weariness and fright. "Like the light is being drained away." Panic shot through him in a flash. "Faster!" He shouted.

Their pace increased, but it wasn't enough. Qui-Gon sprinted ahead of them, barreling toward the underground camp, dampness cooling on his unshaven cheeks.

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

Ileana opened the compact mirror, and caught a brief look at her reflection. Mascara clouded her tears and clung in unsavory clumps to the fine, dark hairs. Sapphire eye shadow was darkened to blackish smudge. She cursed under her breath, sweeping the pad of her finger to smooth out the make-up, and remove the excess.

Her eyes were hopelessly melancholy. Thin red streaks stained them, and the lashes were now so brittle they looked nearly segmented.

But her lipstick remained miraculously immaculate.

She just had to be sure that Berrel was focused on her smile. So she needed to steer her thoughts from the Jedi, drive the sight of him completely from her mind. Or else she would simply break down.

"I'm feeling damn good, babe." Strong hands ran down the arch of her small shoulders. "Damn good."

Ileana wheeled around, long, scarlet hair brushing her waist. "You should. Everything's really coming together."

Her voice had been tired and morose, even as she strove to inject its harmonious, adoring notes. Berrel cocked a dark eyebrow. "Don't you feel good?"

She smiled and moved her heard eagerly in agreement. "Of course." A resplendent grin spread across her face. "We're rich, aren't we?"

He opened his mouth to reply, when one of the men came rushing up to him, glassy eyes round with worry. "There's someone here."

Berrel regarded him coolly, obviously irritated by the interruption. "Could you be a little more specific, ya think?"

The man just blinked at him.

Berrel sighed. "Who is it?!" He barked, causing Ileana to jump.

There was a low-key buzzing noise that approached, and all three pivoted to find the source.

Qui-Gon Jinn stood in the compound's gray, crumbling opening, lightsaber brilliant blue in the dismal atmosphere, face grim. "Me." He said, very calmly.

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

The sensors attached to his temples crackled and the machine beeped.

Obi-Wan's back arched as another wave of pain assaulted him. The chains only allowed him to recoil so far before snapping him against the wall again.

He couldn't battle this demon, not while the drug coursed through his body, and detached his mind.

For maybe the first time in his life, he was powerless.

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

Berrel snickered. "You?" He strode nonchalantly forward. "Sorry, pops, but you look about as old as my grandfather."

The snide remark didn't change Qui-Gon's smooth, determined visage. "Appearances can be deceiving."

The man chortled. "Yeah. I suppose. For instance," He removed the blaster from his coat pocket, swinging it with familiarity. "Some might not think I look like a killer." Berrel's mouth curled into a feral smile. "But I am."

Qui-Gon gave a single nod. "So you are."

There was the din of something akin to a stampede, only slower, more organized. Berrel spared a moment to push Ileana behind him, weapon aimed directly at the Jedi's chest, gleaming rusty and brown.

In less than a minute, men had filled the space. Men with chiseled faces and thick, muscled bodies, who moved swiftly and silently.

There were other men, Berrel's personal bounty hunters, programmed with painstaking detail, sprawled on the grimy ground, like droids deactivated and disarmed, resting vacant minds.

None were seriously injured. But in the span of a heartbeat, his army was gone.

And there were dozens of blasters, trained on him, threatening to end this dream he had created for himself and Ileana. Wanting to destroy what wasn't theirs.

"Just surrender, Berrel." Qui-Gon advised quietly.

Berrel's upper lip trembled. His eyes traveled the huge mass of soldiers in wild search…and among those, he saw one feminine face, porcelain and beautiful, staring back at him with haunted chestnut eyes. He grinned at Padme Amidala. "Nice to finally meet you in person, oh wise and powerful Senator."

Padme stepped forward, Anakin at her elbow, his saber held defensively in front of them.

Her chin titled upward. "End this now, Berrel." She urged, rancor edging in her tone, staring at this man who had killed Rhell Vininon…and so many others, who might go unknown.

"Listen to that high and mighty voice." Berrel teased. "You think you're still Queen?"

Padme just stood there, gaze moving marginally to the side, to take in Ileana. She felt anxiety needle through her for her brave friend.

"All you politicians are the same. Greedy and blind."

Anakin nearly growled. "And what are you?"

Berrel looked at him without the slightest twinge of fear. "A businessman."

The apprehension was leaving Qui-Gon light-headed. "Enough. This has to end. Now. Either surrender--or be taken down."

The dark, bearded man laughed. "Well then…" He pressed down on the trigger, shooting a bright ball of deadly energy toward the Jedi Master.

Qui-Gon deflected the bolt, and it came hurdling at Berrel.

Ileana cried out. Before she understood fully what she was doing, the woman was shoving him out of the bolt's path, while providing an unintentional target.

Her scream echoed throughout the compound, followed closely by Padme's.

The whole was smoking in her chest. She looked down at it, confused. "Wh---"

Berrel gasped. He scrambled to Ileana and pulled her into his arms, smoothing hair away from her sweaty , pale face.

"Leana." He panted. "What the hell did you---"

"Shhh…" She closed her eyes, patting his arm weakly. "It's alright. I…"

Padme broke free of Anakin and ran to her side, enclosing a shaky hand in her fingers, looking miserably down at Ileana. "No." She rasped.

Ileana opened her eyes to droopy slits, and all the pain and beauty of her seemed to beat in them. She looked to Berrel, then to Padme. When she spoke, her voice rattled with blood. "For him. " Ileana whispered, gripping the Senator's hand frailly. "Remember, f--friend…" Her focus rolled to the man, who was choking on the sobs building in his chest. "I-It was for him…because of…him…"

Then, the emerald eyes, that carried the light of a million shining stars, shut. Ileana Zimn was gone.

Padme shook her head, tears pouring down her cheeks. "N-No."

Anakin crouched behind her and gently tipped the Senator against his chest. Padme fell boneless against him.

Berrel studied the face, forever motionless, everlastingly stunning…and he settled her on the ground, shedding his coat to conceal her lifeless body.

Then he turned, rage cold and dangerous in his eyes. "You!" He barked, pointing at Qui-Gon. "You killed her!" Tears soaked into his short beard and gleamed in the muted incandescence of the compound.

Qui-Gon could barely stand erect now, as the shocks of turmoil in the Force tortured him. "I have no blaster." It was all he could say.

Berrel wiped his arm across his bleary eyes. "Shut up! You've taken my whole life, Jedi!" He inhaled bitterly. "Everything."

The Master powered down his saber and stepped toward him. "How many lives have you taken, Berrel? All these men have lost their lives as they knew them."

This, for some reason, caused a sparkle in the man's grim countenance. "And one more."

Dread bit into Qui-Gon, dawning darkly on his face. "What?"

Berrel laughed, and it was not the laugh of a sane man. He sunk down at his dead lover's side, laughing.

Qui-Gon shot Anakin a look and the apprentice nodded, motioning for the soldiers to arrest him.

And the Jedi dashed down the shriveled corridors, while the maniacal giggles reverberated off the walls.

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

The anguish was so deep and overpowering that Qui-Gon was led straight to the room. The door was composed of dense cement, with a mess of bolts and chains locking it securely, if crudely.

One brisk, downward strike, and all the shackles were sliced through, clattering to the ground in a puddle of melting silver.

He nearly staggered against another swell of pain in the Force. Tears trickled freely as the Master shoved open the gargantuan door, ignoring the ache in his shoulder and the weakness of his knees.

But when he saw what lay inside the insidious room, he suddenly could no longer hold his weight.

Qui-Gon dropped beside Obi-Wan, ripping the metal clamps away with a desperate, angry cry.

Obi-Wan was limp in his hold, body draping over the brawny arm, head dangling over the side.

"Obi-Wan." The older man gasped, touching his fingers delicately onto the reddened temples. "Obi?"

The Knight was unresponsive. His mouth hung open; white, only slightly imperfect teeth peeking out. His skin was flushed a rosy pallor. Sweat snaked down his hair-plastered forehead.

Qui-Gon spread his hand out to support Obi-Wan's head, alarmed at the heat that met his palm. "Obi-Wan?" He called, more insistently, rich voice carrying into the hallway and echoing in the tiny room. He carefully shook the still form. "Obi-Wan, answer me!"

The face, just as lovely and innocent, stayed frighteningly lax.

Qui-Gon cursed, lifting him and cradling him against his shoulder. He pressed his cheek to Obi-Wan's. "It'll be okay." He promised fiercely. He kissed the hot flesh, covered in a sheen of sickly perspiration. "It'll be okay."

It was a mantra, repeated over and over, as Qui-Gon made his way to the main area of the compound, stepping over the men, tucking the half-naked Obi-Wan into the comforting shelter of his robe.

Padme and Anakin looked up when the Master approached.

The Senator released a short, surprised sound, moving in a fast, fluid way to the two Jedi. She reached out hesitantly to stroke the damp, stringy ginger hair, sniffling.

Anakin came to the group much slower, seemingly without any need for haste. He stood alongside Padme.

Qui-Gon lifted his eyes to his apprentice, and Anakin thought he had never seen such a poignant display of agony. It pierced his heart, because, he realized, he really did love his Master. Almost to the extent he loved Padme. They were the two who mattered in his life.

And their attention was rapt on Kenobi. At that moment, Anakin knew that there was no convincing them that Obi-Wan was anything less than what they believed.

He couldn't share their misguided sentiments---but he could hide his own feelings, if it meant growing closer to those he cared about.

So Anakin Skywalker joined in their woe, and placed a single finger on Obi-Wan Kenobi's cheek.

Only to recoil, as a bright light burned in his mind, surpassing any brilliance he might have experienced in his Jedi career…in his life. It was too much, and it didn't feel right.

Something was definitely wrong with the Knight now. But whatever it was, it hadn't changed the pure Force that illuminated his essence.

Anakin frowned, shutting his eyes against the unconscious man, and thought, dreamed, of a life without his irritating influence.

He did not quite yet know how close he was to that morbid fantasy.

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

"I look forward to meeting with you again, gentlemen." Palpatine said, smoothing his voice into the good-natured lilt while maintaining its cultured tinge, and stood from the high-backed leather chair.

His robes of office were regal and decadent. A family could eat a year with the credits spent for this useless rag. He observed with an oily curve of his lip, swiping a wrinkled hand down the length of the velvet purple material. But if some must starve so that others can enjoy the finer things…so be it.

He almost laughed aloud, but realized, in present company, it would be frowned upon.

Still, Palpatine couldn't resist a small, hushed chuckle. His thoughts had been buoyant lately, and why wouldn't they be? The plans, the fruit of his life's work, had begun to ripen.

For now, he would leave Kenobi to the Jedi, allow him time to adjust. Let them fill his precious head with their lies. The wan politician strode down the sleek corridor, giving tight, polite nods and smiles with sealed lips to those who met him in passing. It sometimes sickened him to think of how insignificant all these creatures were, scurrying about the Universe, as purposeful as a clinging glob of slime.

They would hold to their world for a bit, accomplish their petty little goals, if they even had the ambition to do set any, then die, without notice.

It was the way things were. Unless, of course, you were Obi-Wan Kenobi.

A tingle rushed up Palpatine at the thought of the young Knight. The Chancellor often found it excruciating to try and function among these common slugs, when he could be in the presence of Kenobi, the elite of the Order…the Chosen One of man---and any other---kind.

Just to touch that mind, that mind surging with raw, beautiful power…

Palpatine smiled wider. Soon, my apprentice. Through the Force, he felt the general hysteria overcoming the ethereal entity, knew without question the only man who could cause such a maelstrom of complete misery and confusion. The man that, when was troubled, could send the united energy of an entire galaxy into upset.

I will teach you everything you need to know.

And you will be mine… The Emperor heaved a sigh through his nostrils. At last.

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

Qui-Gon glanced out the window, seeing Naboo awash with the temperate colors of nightfall. A few hours had gone by since the ambush on the despicable compound.

Anakin was assisting the soldiers in explaining the incident with planet authorities. Padme, who was white and fragile as bleached silk, had stayed with Ileana, a hand resting on her slain friend's cooling forehead, until the body was taken away.

The Master had cajoled her into returning to her residence for the evening. Her eyes were red, the skin surrounding them pink and puffy. But, for one so stunning, even grief could not taint her loveliness, as she rose gracefully from the crime scene and nodded, before walking numbly to a waiting transport.

Berrel was swept away by several policemen. His hoarse ramblings were largely ignored.

And Obi-Wan. Sweet, earnest, remarkable Obi-Wan, lay in the thin hospital bed, neural sensors taped to his traumatized forehead, and tubes hooked to his arms, sending liquids intravenously to his dehydrated system.

Qui-Gon laid his palm against the ashen face. "How many times must we endure this scene, Padawan?" He asked softly, brushing back the damp, dirty strands of red-gold hair.

The sweat glistened on Obi-Wan's skin. Weary black blotted the space beneath his lusterless eyelashes.

Qui-Gon swallowed, adjusting the blanket around the slim waist nervously. He remembered peeping into the boy's room late at night, to be sure he was sleeping, and discover the scamp had kicked the blankets into a mound at his feet. The amused Master would step closer to see the young body shivering.

The tiny, dreamy smile that touched his mouth was reason enough to settle the covers atop him again.

Now, under the sour glow of artificial lighting, Obi-Wan didn't look strong enough to give the linens a single nudge.

The physician, a bookish older man with a gleaming, bald head, assured Qui-Gon that the unconscious state was merely fulfilling a need for rest. Obi-Wan's ordeal had to be exhausting, but the sleep, while deep and lingering, was nowhere near catatonic.

There was a limited amount of brain activity, the doctor admitted, but that was also to be expected.

Qui-Gon ghosted his fingers across the slumbering Knight's forehead. I wonder if you dream, my Obi-Wan. He took a shuddering breath, unheeding of the tears sliding from his tired eyes. I wonder…if you have anything to dream of anymore.

Obi-Wan moaned, a crease forming between his brows.

Qui-Gon felt his heart contract painfully. He stroked the handsome, ashen face. "Shh…It's alright. I'm right here."

But Obi-Wan was not assuaged by the soft murmurs. He stirred weakly, broken, incomprehensible words falling from his mouth.

Qui-Gon moved to sit on the bed, and gathered the distressed man in his arms, rocking gently.

Then, like a child soothed from the grip of nightmare, Obi-Wan relaxed in his former Master's embrace, burying his head in the frayed robe, as the pain drifted, at last, from him.

And he felt nothing at all.

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

Padme stood at her bedroom's entrance, an elegant, slim hand gripping the doorframe. She stared at the darkened chamber, eyes itching from the constant flow of tears.

Now, looking at the bed, the moisture dried in them.

She moved toward it, a lofty mattress adorned in rich fabrics and bordered by classical sconces.

The coverlet was smooth, without the slightest crease or indentation. Nothing to hint at what had happened there the night before.

Padme leaned against the cherry wood bed post, her head resting lightly upon the stylized grooves. Her gown was loose, and lent the air of a graceful spirit, walking the worlds in shadow…or an angel, dwelling the moons of Iego, stardust sprinkled about her.

She smiled, remembering the boy, much an angel himself, who had declared her to be one of the fabled, winged women. He had been so innocent then, an aura as pure as driven snow.

Padme smiled ruefully, giving up her battle against the warm tracks of tears. There HAD to be traces of that child in Anakin. He was a good man. After all, he was a Jedi.

She looked at the bed again. Maybe it wasn't the place where her virtue was shattered.

Maybe it was the place where her truest love was discovered.

Padme sunk down into its comfort, curling the heavy blankets around her.

She slept.

Her dreams were tainted with the vision of Ileana as she shoved Berrel from the blaster's path…the flash of shock and regret in those citrus eyes.

Then, the feeble message, whispered through numbing lips: Remember friend, it was for him… because of him.

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

"That's all we'll need for now." The chief said, scribbling something on his notepad.

Anakin eyed the unusual object with a raised brow. "A little old-fashioned, isn't it?"

The dark-featured man shrugged. "I trust myself more than some machine, kid. If those idiots out there don't watch it, one day the machines'll rule us."

The Jedi smiled respectfully, but his eyes danced with mocking humor. "Yeah."

The chief rubbed his wrinkled face. "Well, I'm feelin' a little parched after all that." He looked up at the towering boy. "Wanna join me in a round or two at the pub down the street?"

Anakin nearly snorted. "Thanks, but I drink alone." Definitely not with a lowly slob like you. He stalked out of the station.

The man shook his head. "If that's a Jedi, I'd rather have machines." He muttered, and would spend the remaining sliver of the night lamenting a Universe in rapid decay.

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

The morning came, draping the planet in its customary splendors, casting a golden warmth to all it touched.

He felt that heat spilling onto his cheek and whimpered, burrowing deeper into the soft support around him.

But then something in his mind snapped, like a sudden awareness. His eyes shot open.

He was confronted with a thick, uninterrupted veil of black.

He breathed heavier, the foggy remnants of his thoughts swirling.

…where…what…who…who…oh…

He went cold and still as stone.

Who am I?

And, because his desperate attempts to answer these questions were in vain, he did what was natural.

He screamed.