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

Chapter Eight: Dim as Embers

Someone holds me safe and warm

Horses prance through a silver storm

Figures dancing gracefully across my memory…

Far away, long ago

Glowing dim as an ember

Things my heart used to know

Things it yearns to remember… ---Lynn Ahrens

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

Berrel shivered, arms tight around his chest. When the officer asked him again, he only shook his head feverishly, his wet, dark hair whipping with the movement.

Jarqu sighed. "Damn it, you're not crazy! And you sure as hell were never meek before." He stared down at the criminal, contempt bare and burning in his brown eyes. "Tell me where this Lorb guy is!."

Berrel's cracked lips quivered. Then, he shook his head.

"Damn you!!" Jarqu thundered, smashing his fist against the steel desk, causing the other man to jump. "I don't buy this crap for a second!"

Berrel stared ahead. His gaze was glassy and hopelessly lost. "Leana." He rasped.

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

Qui-Gon nearly screamed himself, sitting up rim-rod straight, eyes searching Obi-Wan's face wildly. "Obi-Wan?" He grasped the pale arms. "Obi-Wan, what's wrong?"

The man was panting, head turning every which way. And he kept rubbing his eyes, over and over. "What? What's…going on?"

The voice held to its cultured accent, but sounded vaguely childish…thoroughly frightened.

Qui-Gon lifted one hand to smooth the riot of ginger spikes. "It's alright, Obi-Wan---"

He managed to swallow. "Wh-Who's Obi-One?"

Qui-Gon's hand dropped.

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

Anakin stumbled into the suite, swallowing the belch that was collecting in his throat. Morning shone brightly through the open window.

He grunted, clenching shut his red-stained eyes and closed the drapes with a Force-suggesting sweep of his hand.

The rooms were still and quiet.

Quiet.

He forced down another sour burp, the intensity causing his head to pound harder.

"Ugh." No sound…is good. Anakin walked, or hobbled, to the sofa, every line of his body suggesting he was a much older, stiffer man. He collapsed gratefully against the posh cushions.

Then he opened his eyes, moist and dazed, gazing into nothing.

"Well, it didn't work." He mumbled, sounding as if several balls of cotton were stuffed in his mouth. "Nothing e-e-ever works."

A wave of nausea ran through him, and the apprentice laid a palm flat on his muscled belly. "But I-I-I've got Padme…Yeah. I got her. Yeah." He smiled sloppily. "And she'll talk to me. Yeah, she won't care if I do bad things. She won't care at all. No. 'Cuz she's…." He trailed off, licking his lips, smacking them together in a totally unflattering fashion. "A-And who cares what Master thinks? Huh? Who cares what the old jerk thinks about anything? Right?"

He paused, almost like he was waiting for a response from the motionless room.

"Yeah, he's just an old jerk anyway, issssn't he? " Anakin laughed. "Thinks he's b-b-better than me? But I'm better than e-e-everyone. I know that. I know that."

And, even in his inebriated stupor, a darkness rippled through him. "I'm much much better than Ke-e-enobi, that's for sssure." His eyes began to droop, his lips going a little slack. "What'sss he gonna be good fer now?"

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

Qui-Gon braced the sweaty, ghostly white face with his hands. "YOU." He said fervently. "YOU are Obi-Wan."

Tears started in unfocused eyes. "I-I don't know w-w-what you're talking about."

Qui-Gon turned away for a split second, breath stolen from him. No. His body, his massive, powerful body…began to tremble. "It can't be." He whispered, and his voice was so small it was unrecognizable.

Obi-Wan tensed further, his teeth clamping together, the tears trickling silently down to kiss his lips.

The Master regained his composure, as much as possible, and met the tragically confused face again. "Do you remember anything? It doesn't matter what…" His eyes bore deeply into cerulean, searching for a twinkle of his dear Obi-Wan. "Do you remember anything?"

The younger man paused, forcing the quakes in him to still. His mind wasn't blank, not exactly, for he could recall how to string words together. He knew how to speak.

But, as he tore through the corridors of his aura, he realized that, beyond the simple processes instinctive to a human being, that was all he knew.

Misery coursing down his roughened cheeks, Obi-Wan shook his head. "N-N-No."

And then, Qui-Gon did something that he rarely did.

He broke down into sharp, tortured sobs, pulling this empty shell who resembled his Obi-Wan against him, grasping to someone who was no longer there.

Obi-One, as he supposed he was called, could do nothing in his weakened state but lay his weary, aching head against a huge shoulder and pray this was only a dream.

Hope it was nothing but a nightmare.

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

Padme rolled onto her side, resting her cheek against a thin palm, snuggled comfortably in the cool, silk sheets. She came to consciousness slowly, grasping to the fading void, the sweet release of sleep warm inside her.

But it couldn't linger forever. Grudgingly, her eyes opened , the lashes fluttering a few times before they focused.

There was a moment when she was simply there, without the events of the past days hovering sickly around her. When she was at peace.

Then, awareness crept into her mind, with sharp and biting claws…Thoughts bled from the wounds.

And two faces rose in her mental periphery. One strong, self-assured. Another lovely, but tainted by pain.

Oh, how she wanted to forget. Just for a little while.

Only until she could handle it. Now, at this early, blurred time, she couldn't.


Knowing all that was lost---to so many---how could she move forward without collapsing?

She sighed, glancing at the vacant pillow beside her, wondering why she hurt so badly, why her heart soaked up every horrible drop of agony, while happiness shriveled.

There was much to mourn. An innocent, courageous woman was dead, as was an equally wonderful man. They were gone.

Tears spiked in her eyes. Ileana.

Padme turned, burying her face in the nest of blankets, trying to control her drastic breaths.

Obi-Wan…What's happened to him?

It was as if her body was chiseled of ice as she lay thinking of the Knight. Cold and quiescent, the fear roiling in her belly.

What if Berrel---what if he succeeded? What---What…

She shot out of bed, sprinting to the comm unit, trembling beneath her flowing nightgown.

Nearly a minute passed before a voice responded. "Wha?"

Padme almost smiled. "A-A-Anakin?"

He could hear the sorrow and shakiness in her voice, realized she probably noticed the stuff quality of his. "Padme?" He cleared his throat. "Are you alright? "

"I-I'm fine." She croaked. "But Obi-Wan?"

Anakin rolled his scarlet-streaked eyes. "I have no idea. Master hasn't been back."

In her hysteria, she didn't recognize the careless tone. "I'm coming over there. Okay?"

He grinned, running fingers through mussed hair. "Okay--But is it safe? Maybe you should---"

"No. I'll just tell my driver. I--I'll be safe with him."

"Okay." His words were soft. "I love you."

Padme blinked. "See you soon, Ani." She answered.

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

Qui-Gon pulled back a fraction, his hands gripping Obi-Wan's arms. "It'll be alright." He soothed the pale man, the trembling of his words dashing any illusion of confidence in the statement. He smiled then, stroking one damp, smooth cheek. "Don't worry…"

Obi-One was comforted faintly by the tender touch. His mind was a bland landscape composed of a dark pallet, but this man, whomever he may be, was offering a scintilla of light. "I--I.." I'm scared. He gulped with a quiet click, moisture gleaming on fine, chiseled lips. "I want to know your name." Obi-One admitted weakly.

Qui-Gon nearly surrendered to his grief again. Those eyes, though they could never achieve true blankness, were shining with confused melancholy. In their cerulean depths, the Master found the innocence his former Padawan had harbored, that glowed brightly amid the wash of tears. You're there, my Obi-Wan. Somewhere… "I'm Qui-Gon Jinn." He supplied, combing fingers through the wet, ginger mane.

Obi-One nodded slightly. "Okay…Qui-Gon." The name came out a bit clumsily, even with the natural grace of a cultured inflection. He took a breath. "Why can't I see you?" A tense pause. "Or anything?"

Qui-Gon flinched. Telling his Padawan of his permanent handicap had been the worst moment of his life. He never entertained the awful notion he would be made to repeat it. "You were blinded, Obi-Wan. In a battle about ten years ago."

Another stiff nod. "A battle? Am I a soldier?"

"No."

Obi-One's brow furrowed. "Then what? Was there a war?"

Images of strife-torn Naboo flashed through his mind. "Yes. It only lasted a few days, but many died. You were--injured--protecting the Queen of the planet Naboo."

Uneasiness prickled down Obi-One's spine. So scared… "Am I a bodyguard?"

Qui-Gon gave a heavy, unhappy sigh. "No. Let me try to explain this. It may seem odd at first," He watched the young face raptly, "But you must trust that it's the truth."

Obi-One was suddenly cold. "O-Okay."

The Master spared a moment to touch his shoulder before delving into the detailed, and most likely disconcerting, litany. "You're a Jedi, Obi-Wan."

Obi-One scanned his mind quickly, hope tingling in his fingertips, but the strange word held no meaning for him.

"The Jedi are an Order. An elite I suppose you could say." He took a frail hand in his, rubbing the raised veins of the lean wrist. "Your blood, everyone's blood, contains something called medi-chlorians."

"Medi---chlorians?" Obi-One repeated.

Qui-Gon smiled. He was always a fast learner. Thorough--- His heart revolted against the bitter reminisces, and he refused to bring the thought any further. "Yes. They're tiny organisms that live within us. We are given power from them, and they in turn receive it."

"So it's a symbiotic relationship?" He ventured.

Qui-Gon actually grinned. "Yes. Exactly."

A flush colored Obi-One's cheeks.

"Every creature has their own number of medi-chlorians. Some have very few, and some have impressive amounts. Those who possess many, or are suspected to, are tested, and if the number is high enough, the Jedi take them to their Temple. This must be done when the creature is very young, during infancy, or not at all. It can be dangerous if they wait---" He paused, realizing with a sick roil of his stomach the circumstance of Anakin's recruit. He shook his head to clear it. "A high count of medi-chlorians allows the creature incredible, rare abilities provided through the Force."

"The Force?" Obi-One asked calmly, a bit irritated that all he offered to the conversation were questions.

"The Force." Qui-Gon confirmed. "It's the energy that unites every living thing. Those with high medi-chlorians can sense it well, and if they're taken in by the Jedi, learn to attune themselves to it. " Mild understanding, mixed with bewilderment, swirled rather beautifully in Obi-One's sightless eyes. "The Jedi grow to become warriors, but they're never soldiers. They offer protection to the weak, but they're not bodyguards." He chuckled lightly. "Well, not usually."

Obi-One gave a kind, close-mouthed smile.

"We are trained to defend justice and keep the peace. Children are schooled by a variety of teachers, until they turn thirteen, and a Jedi Master chooses them for their Padawan." He saw the expected crinkle of the round forehead. "Padawan is another word for apprentice."

Obi-One nodded.

"A Master teaches the Padawan until the child is prepared for the trials. If they pass those tests, they reach Knighthood, and the cycle continues." Then he laid his hands on the curve of young cheeks. "You were my Padawan, Obi-Wan."

"I was?" He whispered, almost reverently.

"You were." Qui-Gon stroked the golden skin with his coarse thumb. "For twelve years, you fought and mediated, laughed and cried at my side. You grew from an insecure child to a smart, strong teenager to an…astounding, compassionate, puissant man."

Tears were traveling down Obi-One's face, but he smiled through them. "I-I'm not your…Pa--Padawan anymore?"

"No."

"Why not?"

Qui-Gon swallowed, patting his head. "It was just time."

"Oh." The younger man said in a soft tone. Do I miss you?

The sorrow and surrealism had built to an unbearable height. Gently, his movements filled with sensitive care, Qui-Gon pushed Obi-One down to the bed.

Obi-One sunk against the pillow, his rebellious body weakening. "Qui-Gon?"

"Yes?"

He brought a hand up, and somehow, touched directly upon the man's face, as if he'd known instinctively where it was. He traced the features, feeling a broad nose and short beard. "Am I blind---permanently?"

Qui-Gon had to take a sharp breath. "Yes, Obi-Wan."

"Oh." Obi-One sniffed. "I figured--I mean, it's been ten years--I was just---"

A finger pressed to his lips. "It's alright." He tucked the sheets around his waist. "Now, rest." His fingers then ghosted across Obi-One's temple. "Your head must ache."

Obi-One nodded. Qui-Gon could see him slipping from consciousness, despite his efforts.

But Obi-One managed to speak. "Thank you…for helping me." He murmured.

A droplet fell to the handsome face, and Qui-Gon wiped it away. "I'll be here for you, Obi-Wan." He swore. "You won't have to deal with this alone."

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

On a planet far from Naboo, a man, swathed in shadow, was making similar plans.

Obi-Wan Kenobi would surely not be alone.

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

There was a polite tap at the door, and Qui-Gon looked over his shoulder, fingers twined with the sleeping young man.

Mazella Gale was an expert in memory loss. Her credentials were extensive and impressive, ranging from simple repression to full-blown amnesia. Her name was becoming synonymous with the grievous malady…because, Qui-Gon hoped, she was brilliant at discovering, and remedying, the cause. Gale was revered for her sharp intelligence and commiseration when it came to handling her patients.

The weary Master stood, smoothing his tunic as he moved. "Dr.Gale." He bowed respectfully.

It was a small, tremulous voice that answered. "Master Jinn, it's an honor."

Another reason Mazella Gale was so imposing was the fact she was barely twenty cycles old. And far from human.

Her hair, salmon streaked with a milky sort of gray, hung in crimped tendrils to her waist. Her skin was smooth saffron, with tiny, blue cosmetic jewels bordering the bottoms of eyes the color of violet rain. A large tattoo marked her high forehead, some strange design Qui-Gon couldn't quite place with an origin.

Her body was neither thick nor slim, covered in loose scrubs that completely hid any figure she may have. Hands of six fingers were decked in similar tattoos.

When she smiled, periwinkle lips stretched wide. "I had never hoped to meet a Jedi under these circumstances." She grasped his hand in hers, and he felt a comforting warmth radiate from the luminous physician. "But perhaps I can help." Striking eyes fell at last to Obi-One, and immediately a darkness engulfed the purple. "I'm sorry I couldn't be here sooner. I had to come from quite far."

Qui-Gon shook his head. "All that matters is that you're here."

She smiled before sitting on the edge of the sleepcouch beside her patient. Mazella studied the undeniably beautiful face as she spoke. "He has expressed no knowledge of his life whatsoever?"

Qui-Gon, too, stared down at his one-time apprentice's breathtaking visage. "None." He said quietly, not bothering to mask the despair.

She laid her palm against Obi-One's forehead. "How has he behaved since his initial awakening?"

"Wonderfully. Just wonderfully…" He dried an unbidden bead of moisture from the corner of his eye. "He's been afraid, of course. And terribly bewildered. But he's Obi-Wan.." Qui-Gon slumped his shoulders and sighed. "He's still Obi-Wan."

Mazella glanced up at the elder. "I know he is, sir." Understanding beat from her very soul. "And it will be my mission to free him."

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

Anakin sensed Padme's arrival before she ever entered the Plaza.

He smiled, heading to meet her. The apprentice passed an intricate, full-length mirror and paused, taking in his reflection with a satisfied smirk, thinking of the radiant politician…woman.

He wondered how often it happened in the Universe.

If it was miraculous that two people, people perfect both physically and mentally, gifted beyond reason, it seemed, would meet and fall in love--twice.

There was a timid tap at the door.

Anakin was very nearly surprised. He supposed he had lingered at the looking glass too long. "Coming." He called.

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

Mazella, Dr. Gale, had expected the young Jedi to waken under her probing ministrations. But Obi-One's face was a soft study in tranquility, his red-gold lashes resting against pale cheeks. He breathed in the even pattern of sleep.

She was no Jedi, possessing not even a scintilla of Force sensitivity, but Mazella could actually feel Kenobi's exhaustion.

Her heart began to ache for his horrifying ordeal. "He's a little feverish--"

"Is he ill?" Qui-Gon asked quickly, unable to grasp to any sort of patience while his friend lay pallid on the cot.

Mazella shook her head, moving delicate, pinkish strands as she did. "The…memory wipe, " She managed to force from her throat, hating the pain flashing across the Master's midnight blue eyes, "Basically drained him of his energy. He's beyond tired, and that would naturally affect his system." The physician reached forward, patting Qui-Gon's forearm for a brief, tender moment. "But the sleep should help greatly."

She stood, tucking a holo notepad under her arm. "Still, he should be fed liquids for a good twenty four hours, at least." Irritation misted on her pretty face. "I don't know why he hasn't already."

As the woman headed for the door, Qui-Gon could hear her grumble about the inadequacies of this blasted hospital, of most hospitals.

He couldn't help the small smile that tugged at him. Mazella Gale had projected an aura of genuine care and intelligence, never really daunted by Qui-Gon's title or stature. Her concern was her patient. Qui-Gon was sure it would have been the same unwavering focus with anyone, Jedi or peasant.

The Master rejoined Obi-One, settling at his bedside, sinking into a meditative state, his hand clutching to Obi-Wan's.

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

"Thank you." Padme murmured quietly, eyes flashing up to meet his before she bowed her head.

Anakin frowned, following her inside. She was dressed in plain gray slacks and a black, beaded top. Her hair hung in loose waves around her shoulders.

When she turned to look at him her face was made-up, but only half-heartedly, her lashes and lips pale.

Still so beautiful. He took a porcelain cheek in his hand. Force, I want you.

Maybe she felt the intense heat boiling at his surface, for the Senator took a step backward. "I don't really know why I came---it's just that---"

He claimed those lips with his own, kissing her deeply.

She indulged a moment, then pulled away and wiped at her mouth. "It's just that I can't feel…" Padme gazed into his dark eyes, searching unconsciously for a twinkle of light. "I can't feel anything beyond the pain. I feel.." She swallowed a sudden rising sob. "I feel like.."

Anakin shook his head, catching a delicate tear on his fingertip. "You don't have to feel the pain." He whispered huskily, encircling her waist. "You can feel…"

He kissed her hard. "…Ecstasy."

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

Mazella sat at her desk, in the makeshift office that was normally a storage room. Columns of steel boxes engulfed the tiny space, along with teetering stacks of holodisks.

She sighed.

The Jedi's face, young and sharply exquisite, plundered her thoughts, stealing her attention from anything else. Lying flat there on the bed, his skin near translucent, vulnerability evident in every quiver of his body.

And his friend, so graceful, so broken.

They were enough to shatter the strongest, the coldest of hearts.

Their connection was obvious.

She smiled, tears inexplicably welling in violet eyes.

They were the reason she chose to become a physician in the first place. To relieve their plight… Mazella would pray to each little god she could think of.

The young woman knew, as many did.

Somehow, Obi-Wan Kenobi was vital to Naboo…to the Universe.

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

Qui-Gon sat in the hard, unyielding infirmary chair. Shards of dark and light cut his face into a shadowy mosaic, set to luster by a pair of sapphire tinted eyes. His massive back was sloped in a line of misery mingled with weariness.

His hands, so large and achingly callused, cradled the tiny object as though any roughness would cause it to splinter and shatter.

But he knew the underlying strength of it. It belonged to his pada---his Obi-Wan. So the power was obvious, pumping beneath its smoothed surface, as it coursed through the Knight's veins.

Even now, Qui-Gon was sure.

Yet, the warmth was all but gone. The river rock, veined with scarlet when touched by Obi-Wan, was dead black…dead cold.

Gently, the Master took one of his companion's hands and pressed the aged treasure into the sweaty palm, then curled his fingers around it.

The younger man's eyelids fluttered, and he turned his head restlessly, tightening his grip on the stone and laying the fist on his chest. Against his heart.

Qui-Gon felt the stirring of the Force in him, marveled at the sheer capabilities he wielded, despite his terrible, debilitating situation. He closed his eyes for a moment to allow the sweet aura to flow freely around him…

And heard the much-beloved voice speak, though tainted by pain and exhaustion. "What--What's going on?"

Qui-Gon settled his hand on the curve of Obi-One's neck. "Shhh. It's alright."

Obi-One seemed to struggle to accept the calm words. His chest moved a bit faster than usual, his toes clenched. "I--I just don't know what's happening. I c-can't s-s-see.." To his supreme embarrassment, tears began to well and tremble in sightless eyes.

Qui-Gon gathered him to his chest without thought, tucking the ginger head beneath his chin. Maybe I'm making him uncomfortable. He worried faintly. He's only 'known' me for a few hours, really. In his mind, we're not nearly familiar enough.

The arms that gradually wrapped around his waist answered that question, and his concerns, in that respect, fled.

"I know it's hard." He murmured into his ear. "But you'll make it, Obi-Wan. You did it before, you did it beautifully before." Qui-Gon leaned back. "It just takes time."

Obi-One nodded slightly. He grasped a handful of dampening tunic. Somehow, he could sense the brilliance of the distant sun. He wished fervently that a trace of that heat could reach him. The tears ran copiously down his bristled cheeks. "W-Will you.." He began shyly, "Will you tell me something…about me?"

Qui-Gon smiled. "Of course, Obi-Wan. What would you like to know?"

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

Padme leaned into the kiss, as a great fire engulfed her body, and she framed his face tightly with her hands….she felt the pain of losing her virtue…of Rhell Vininon murdered as he lay asleep…of Obi-Wan, being robbed of his lovely, loving mind…

She began to tear at Anakin's tunic.

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

Obi-One shrugged weakly, a flush rising in his ivory-pale cheeks. Qui-Gon brushed his fingertips along the tear tracks. "Tell me something about us."

"Alright." The older man began scanning his memory, his mental touch caressing past days and nights, waiting for one that would glide like silk, that would wrap around this tortured soul and offer some sort of solace.

Then, he knew.

"You were about nineteen---"

Obi-One wondered briefly how old he was now.

"And we had been stranded on this desert world. The ship was destroyed…

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

A smoking wreck in the distance, that had clouded the bright, clear sky with black fumes.

The sun still managed to beat down miserable heat upon the planet's scarce inhabitants.

At the moment, Qui-Gon wouldn't have been surprised to learn he and his apprentice were the ONLY life forms walking the rough, unforgiving terrain. Since their crash, the pair had suffered the heat and discomfort of their injuries, hoping they would come across aid.

Two days later, and the horizon was an empty promise streaked in dismal browns and reds.

Their skin was shining with burn. Tunics, what was left of them anyway, clinging to their wet chests and backs.

The soiled garment held so snugly to Obi-Wan's frame that the smooth curve of his spine was visible.

At first, the Padawan had pulled at the heavy material. But, slowly, he was losing his awareness of the irritation. He journeyed at his Master's side as though he were mindless, cracked mouth opened minutely, breaths rattling.

Each inhale was torture for Qui-Gon to hear.

When dusk fell, and at last the sizzling demon overhead gave way to a gentler moon, they stopped.

"We'll rest here for tonight." Qui-Gon announced, looking around the sandy area grimly. "I suppose it's as good as any. This entire damned world looked the same."

Obi-Wan didn't respond with his usual sarcastic quip, or humoring snort of laughter. He shed his small pack and sunk to the ground. Concern flashed in Qui-Gon's watered gaze.

"Padawan, are you alright?"

A stale nod.

Qui-Gon sighed, settling down beside him.

The yellow-tinted light cast a glow on the rampant perspiration of Obi-Wan's face, deepened the dark smudges beneath his tired eyes.

Qui-Gon moved to smooth a dripping lock of hair behind Obi-Wan's ear. "O---"

"I've been saving this for you." The youth interrupted. He unhooked his canteen from his belt and held it out to his friend.

Qui-Gon just looked at it, then at the strange, half-smile Obi-Wan wore. "What? What is this?"

If he was blushing, the color was lost among the molten scarlet. Cerulean eyes glittered. "It's your birthday." He said hoarsely.

"Oh." The Master smiled, cupping the dimpled chin. "Thank you but…"

"NO." Obi-Wan frowned, and pushed container at him. "Take it. You need it a-and---it's your birthday."

Qui-Gon brought his arm around his apprentice's shoulders. "YOU need it, Padawan. And if you're in need, my duty is to see that it's fulfilled." There was a fond, yet rebuking, tingle to his voice. "Now, take this back. I'd rather have my Padawan alive than an extra canteen." He took a swig from his own reserve of water.

Obi-Wan reluctantly accepted the return. "Th-Then what can I…"

Abruptly, Qui-Gon took him into a warm, close embrace. "This. This is what you can give me, Obi-Wan.

"All I need is you, my sweet child."

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

When the last reminiscent word had fallen from Qui-Gon's lips, he looked down at the man bundled in his arms, waiting.

Obi-One's hands were clasped together. Tears spilled in an endless, unbidden stream. "That was…" His voice cracked. Embarrassed, he swallowed into a trembling silence.

Qui-Gon trailed his finger softly through red-gold hair. "That was, is, how amazing you are Obi-Wan. And there're countless more stories to be told."

Obi-One smiled. But, privately, he wasn't' sure he could handle them. They were remnants of his past, yes, and he sorely needed to know who he was. There was a puzzle that stretched across his blank mind. Each of this Qui-Gon man's tales were another piece…but it was like trying to assemble it without any idea how the picture was supposed to look.

Was he smart? Was he fast?

Had he been happy?

Was the landscape of this mysterious puzzle a study in melancholy?

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

"Mmmm…"

Padme opened her eyes slowly, as if gradual pace would allow this nightmare time to dissipate.

But the hot, pulsing hand on her side was very real.

"I love you baby…" Anakin murmured into the nest of auburn curls, a tiny, dreamy smile playing across his lips.

She sighed behind her closed mouth. Again. Despair tightened in her chest. I did it again.

Fingers stroked her cheek, and Padme was supremely grateful her building tears had stayed a sparkle in disenchanted eyes.

They were laying side by side, curves meeting, a thin cream sheet draped over their bare bodies.

His arm locked around her, he lay his head in the hollow of her throat. "I want you to say it."

Padme turned a fraction, lashes touching to his skin. "Say what, Ani?" She asked quietly.

He littered kisses on her jaw line.

She uttered a small sound that might have been the result of pleasure.

Anakin drew back, and the glow of day warmed his tanned face, though the dark hints remained. "Say that you love me, Padme. I've said it to you so many times.." He smiled at her. "I just want you to say it…" A spice-laden kiss to her chin, so close to the bloom of her lips. "Once."

Padme gazed at the man, drinking in his sandy hair and muscular body, trying not to remember…anything, save for this moment. This instance, chaste and simple and maybe beautiful. He loves me.

The thought stirred something in her heart, so that she laid her hand against the rapid beat of his, feeling his life against her. "I love you, Anakin." She said at last.

And, even for just this second, Padme meant it.

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

Mace entered the Gardens at a brisk, fluid pace, his deep brown robe whipping behind his strong body. His black eyes were pools of distress, skin was tinted in the rarest flush of crimson, though barely visible from beneath the mantles of smooth mahogany.

It was difficult to concentrate. The Force swirled dangerously in his mind and in his veins.

The calm had fled him all at once.

So the seemingly tranquil figure perched on an ancient bench actually caused an irritated clench of his thick hands.

Master Yoda was not oblivious to the action. His thin, ivy-hued lips quirked. "Impressive, your shielding is not, today, Master Windu."

Mace quelled the strange urge to glare at the head Council Member. Instead, he sat heavily beside him, resting a body that was inexplicably exhausted. He regarded Yoda with a troubled gaze. "I received the transmission from Naboo."

"Hmmm." The small head nodded.

Taking a breath, he brought his hands to form a steeple. "Do you know?" He inquired huskily.

Yoda lifted sleepy citrus eyes to him. "Know on some level, all who have even have a whisper of a touch to the Force." He shut those self-same eyes briefly, overcome with the pain. "The wicked wheels…turn, they do.

"The Sith ."

Mace watched shadow descend on the withered green face and shivered. "What?" He gasped, forgetting to be shamed at his lack of knowledge. "You believe the Sith to be involved?" His voice was hushed, careful of those that may overhear.

A short, long-suffering huff. "Believe I must, in what I sense here." He placed a clawed hand to his chest. "The darkness, it eclipses the meager light which remains.

"All that is good, all that is pure…

"Swallowed up into the maelstrom, it is."

Mace swallowed, taking a moment before he dare ask. "What will this do to Qui-Gon, Master?"

The alien gave an unexpected chuckle. "Like a flower, is that man's heart. The sun, Kenobi's light is. If shade himself, Qui-Gon must, then he cannot prevent the wilt."

"And Skywalker."

But Yoda had no response to that.

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

Qui-Gon cupped the back of the soft head, whispering endearments, trying to calm the restless worry in him.

Obi-One rested his cheek in the curve where the stalwart neck met broad shoulder. His body felt frailmore so as he lay cradled by the massive man. "I-I'm sorry, I sh-shouldn't l-l-lose control. I'm not an in-infant."

"You're always so hard on yourself." The Master said, rubbing small, soothing circles into the tense muscles of his back.

Obi-One reached up to trace the dignified face again, trying to memorize the layout as it touched his fingertips. He moved from the lined forehead to brow, eyes to nose…

He heard a barely audible hiss when his hand came to that feature. He lifted his fingers. "D-Did I hurt you?"

Qui-Gon smiled, stroking the rounded lines of the other's face. "No. No." He fought the image of his former apprentice's fist hurdling at him . "It's just a little bruising. And it was my fault."

Obi-One nodded, resuming his innocent probe, following the curve of thin lips, of slightly squared, bearded chin… "There's so much I don't know…" He blushed again unknowingly, feeling grievously repetitive. "I just…" He sighed against a new gloss of tears. "Did we have fun, Qui---Qui-Gon?"

"Oh.." He chuckled lightly. "Did we have fun?

"It would be terribly difficult not to, what with the prankster of the entire Jedi Temple under your wing."

Obi-One was close to grinning. "What?"

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

"WHERE is he, Qui-Gon?"

The Master was taken aback by the annoyed fury in Mace Windu's dark eyes. They walked beside the railing, glancing occasionally at the level below. "I have no idea, Master Windu." He regarded the Council Member calmly. "After all, Obi-Wan IS a teenage male. He values his privacy…

"And I'd probably rather not know what he's doing."

A thin black eyebrow raised. "Probably."

A few steps in less than companionable silence.

Mace sighed in frustration. "You must be able to locate his approximate location through your mental connection, Qui-Gon. I'm starting to believe---"

"Believe what, Master Windu?" Qui-Gon wondered, stopping, crossing his arms over his muscular chest, imposing his considerable height just a bit. "Are you implying that I'm COVERING for my apprentice?"

The bare-headed man snorted. " Well, it wouldn't be the first time."

"Obi-Wan is a wonderful apprentice and a well-behaved child. It grieves me to know you would suspect him of anything…sinister."

Mace laughed. "Hardly 'sinister', Qui-Gon. Just---Just not what conduct one would expect from a Jedi Padawan. Especially a Padawan with Obi-Wan's abilities."

"I assure you, my friend. My apprentice is about as innocent as you can find a boy these days."

A shriek sliced through the Temple. A rattling sound of glee and surprised fright.

A youthful voice…with the slightest hint of a cultured accent.

The Masters leaned over the steel bars in unison.

There was the subject of their conversation, sprinting across the huge room…

Qui-Gon could see, with squinted eyes, a long streak smeared on Obi-Wan's cheek.

Pink.

The same neon color drenching Adi Gallia's once-obsidian locks and dribbling down her tan forehead. Her tranquil bearing had been abandoned for a wild, vengeful look as she chased Qui-Gon's terrified apprentice.

Jedi scattered into little crowds to watch them. Initiates giggling behind chubby fingers. Masters doing the same, though a tad subdued.

Qui-Gon fought the persistent pull of a smirk. He watched the youth dash, graceful even in this silly hunt, trying to swallow his own laughter.

Then Obi-Wan caught sight of his Master. "HEY YOU JERK!" He screamed. "YOU TOLD ME SHE WOULDN'T FIGURE IT OUT!!!!"

Mace wheeled around. "As you were saying, Master Qui-Gon?"

Qui-Gon cleared his throat. "If you'll recall, I never said he WAS innocent."

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

Gentle, harmonious laughter floated through the sterile hospital room.

Qui-Gon watched the young man flop onto an adjacent pillow, scarcely able to breathe through the giggles.

I think I could listen to him forever.

And be content.

Obi-One's cheeks were a bright pink shade. Tears, of sweet humor, fell, and both men welcomed them, grateful after the long rain of the Knight's sorrow.

"I c-can't believe I did…that!" He exclaimed, then sobered abruptly, his smile weakening. How would I know what I'm like?

Qui-Gon somehow sensed his sadness, locking an arm around his shoulders and pulling him closer. "And that's downright tame compared to some of the pranks you pulled. What did they call them around the Temple?" His remembrance twinkled in midnight eyes. "Ah, yes. A 'Kenobi Classic'."

Obi-One gave a soft laugh. "I was terrible. Did that…" Damn, I can't even think of her name, when he just finished the story. "Did that woman ever catch me?"

Qui-Gon chuckled. "Not quite. You were a fast one. She followed you around the whole place, I swear. Weaving around spires, leaping off stairs…

"Unfortunately, you ran smack into Master Yoda. You knocked him right off his feet. He was so irritated he held you, with a little help from the Force, until Master Adi could get you."

Obi-One ignored the confusion rising in him. The Force was an intricate system, apparently. And he was too tired to figure any more of it out now. "What'd she do to me?"

A deep, rich rumble rose from Qui-Gon's chest. "Let's just say purple isn't your best hair color."

Obi-One laughed, but inside, he ached. What does purple look like? He sighed. Or pink?

"It's okay." The Master whispered, his voice a warm, cloying gust against Obi-One's ear. "I know it hurts."

The man rested his head. Pain needled his soul. But you don't. How could anyone know? I've lost everything.…

He held to Jinn tighter as he realized this was the single remnant of his past that he could touch upon…

And not feel the frost of indifference.

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

They sat on the sofa, leaning against each other.

Padme sipped at her tea, the steam rising to billow around her nose, and she smiled, allowing the heat to fill her body.

Anakin took less dainty swallows of his drink. Something unfamiliar to the Senator, but almost certainly alcoholic, from the sour smell of it.

He licked the ruby red droplets from his lips before she noticed. "We have to do something, Padme. We can't leave things like this. "

She looked up, her moist mouth glistening…enticing. "What can we do, Ani?" She wondered in a hopeless monotone. The morning sun reflected in dark brown eyes. "We are bound by…our separate lives, our responsibility---"

The apprentice slammed their mugs aside haphazardly and took her arms in his hands. "Don't we have a responsibility to fate? Gods, Padme." He breathed. "We love each other.

"How can we ignore that?"

She stared at him, seemingly unaffected by his passion, by the crackling desire in his ever-intense gaze. "I don't know." Padme admitted at last, slumping against the couch, out of his near embrace. She slipped her arms around her middle. "But we have to.

"And we will."

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

Jarqu stalked through the long corridor, ignoring the sneers and curses and some despicable cat calls. He stopped at the final cell, a giant hulk of man among the dust and saffron light flickering from faulty glow rods.

"Nice to see ya, Berrel." He drawled, sarcasm dripping from his masculine voice.

The prisoner raised his head, eyes peeking out from behind dirty tendrils of hair. "Go to hell." He rasped, and dropped his cheek to press against his hairy forearm.

Berrel was huddled in the corner, uncomfortable on the thin cot, back scraped by the rough wall.

Jarqu didn't smirk, though he had the urge. Instead, he unlocked the barred door and entered, standing a short distance away. "Your insanity wore off then?"

A quiet, wet inhale. "She always made me crazy." He murmured.

Jarqu saw the grim gleam of tears in the man's unkempt beard. He shook his head. "You screwed her over."

The observation cut Berrel; he visibly flinched at the pain. "I made mistakes…maybe." He glared at Jarqu. "But I NEVER wanted her to die for me."

The officer hid his satisfaction with Berrel's changed views. He nodded. "I know ya didn't. And yeah, you made some mistakes." Jarqu crouched down, they were roughly at the same level now.

"But you've got a chance here to right at least one of those wrongs."

Berrel didn't respond.

Jarqu took that to mean he was listening.

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

Mazella stepped into the room, hugging her clipboard loosely to her chest.

Qui-Gon glanced up, saw the young physician, dressed in calming pastels, and smiled softly at her. "Hello." He said.

She moved to stand at the bedside. "Hello, Master Jinn."

Their voices were gentle whispers, so as not to wake the patient, pressed against Qui-Gon, exhaustion still heavy in him.

Mazella pulled up a chair. "I've spent some time going over the specific circumstances of your friend's memory wipe. The type of instrument used, how long he endured the procedure…" She paused when she saw the pain flashing in the Jedi Master's eyes.

Qui-Gon had looked away from her, leonine face stricken, a large hand stroking his past apprentice's hair.

She laid a warm hand on his arm. Her face was framed by pale pink and gray locks, lending a tenderness already present in the understanding glint of her violet gaze. "I've handled many cases like this, sir. Each one is heartbreaking.

"But if we're going to save his memories, if we're going to help him at all, we need to accept the harsher truths."

The aged man hesitated, fingers stopping in the ginger mane. Then he offered her a genuine smile…though it was bittersweet. "You're a very wise woman, Miss Gale."

She just laughed, an unsurprisingly buoyant harmony. "And you're a very dedicated friend, sir." Mazella activated the holopad in which she recorded information on Kenobi's situation. "Now, the official police report says…"

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

Black.

Everywhere.

And cold.

Frost chapping his cheeks, a chilled sweat beading on his skin.

He tried to run, but phantom arms captured him in their grasp. Willowy fingers wrapped around him. He felt the bones poke against his soft flesh and cried out, a shiver running strong through his weakened body.

"Help!" He screamed with every shred of power he possessed.

But it came out a meager croak.

Withered pads of the fingers pressed to his forehead. He struggled against this…creature, kicking out, throwing his fists, hoping to collide with a face, tears streaming freely.

Lips touched to his eyelids. He was paralyzed by the creature's hold, entranced by the sheer malevolent energy.

He went limp, and was carried further into the dark void, a voice scraping against his ear.

"You're finally mine, my apprentice."

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

Obi-One screamed.

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

"How?!" Anakin asked incredulously. "How can we deny ourselves of this?"

Padme wanted to leap from her seat and pace the floor, be farther from him, so that his natural heat wouldn't blaze this near to her skin…but she was deeply tired, too wearied to even rise. "Of what Ani? This physical relationship?"

He captured her hands. "It's more than that. You know it."

"From the moment you landed on Naboo, all you've cared about is coercing me into kissing you, luring me into your arms---"

Anakin's grip was suddenly tensed. "Wait a damn minute." He ground out. "I never forced you into anything. If you truly didn't want this, you only had to say so." He looked away. "I would never hurt you, Padme."

Cool tears coursed from her eyes. She felt light-headed. "I know." Padme said quietly. "I-I've.." She wiped at her damp face. "I've overreacted.

"Everything that's happened between us was mutual."

Anakin nodded, sullen. "DID you want it?" He asked.

She stroked the smooth, hairless curve around his ear. "Yes." Her gaze flickered to the ground. "I did."

He finally returned his focus to her face. "Do you now?"

Padme was motionless. He could see the battle raging inside her. He saw the woman he loved hesitate.

"Yes, Ani." She replied.

Anakin moved to kiss her, then thought better of it. He took her hand again, relief and pain misted in his eyes.

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

"Obi-Wan!" Qui-Gon held the thrashing form taut in his arms, stilling his head with a gently pressed palm.

Mazella was calling for nurses and retrieving a hypospray simultaneously. Her purple-stained eyes were wide with concern.

Kenobi fought the constraining touch. Tears rolled down his cheeks, wild fear trembling in his limbs and lips. "Nooooo!" He shrieked raggedly.

Without their mental connection, Qui-Gon could only guess the young man was still caught up in his hellish dream, further distressed by the hands pulling at him, darkness a smothering void. His heart began to ache fiercely. "Obi-Wan!" He coaxed in a calmed tone, mildly urging him to wake.

The body continued to twitch and kick.

"Obi-Wan…" He persisted.

"No…" Came the bleary, lost reply.

Qui-Gon gazed down at the alarmed face, the suffering stretched in frantic lines where it was once smooth. Hair fell on the closed eyelids. The edges gleamed gold, and the Master leaned down to brush placating kisses there.

When his mouth met waxen skin, Obi-One yelled louder, arms flailing.

Staff dressed in unrelieved whites and creams stood behind Mazella, waiting for her to give an order.

The woman, suddenly projecting the guileless light of a girl, a frightened girl, held up a hand.

"Wait." She said, sounding dazed. She watched as the Jedi laid his fingertips on her patient's temples. Concentration was evident in his narrowed eyes, the teeth clamping on the inside of his mouth.

A moment later, Obi-One relaxed, boneless.

There were murmurs floating up at her back. Mazella didn't hear them. She stared openly at the pair, focus traveling from the sleeping Kenobi to his friend.

"This is wonderful." She remarked to herself, and hurried to document the incident in her notes.

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

Jarqu coughed into his hand, then spoke. "I've been talking to some people. Judges, lawyers, other officers. I'm getting really irritated about this Lorb moron."

Berrel just looked at him, brow seemingly heavy, nearly touching to the top of his eyes.

Keep it sweet. He could go along with it. "And I KNOW you were in constant contact with the parasite." He studied the other man keenly. "Weren't ya?"

Berrel shrugged. "An acquaintance, I guess."

"Yeah." Jarqu gave a barking laugh. "Do me a favor, guy. Cut the shit."

The prisoner took a nonchalant scoot backward. "Yeah, fine. I knew 'im."

"Alright. So you know where he lives then?"

Another shrug.

Jarqu felt his jaw tremble. Heat flamed inside. "You better start cooperating, you useless piece of---" He stopped, swallowing. His voice was quieter. "I'm trying to help you here."

There was a spark of hope in the grizzled face, but doubt in the dark eyes. "Help me?"

The officer moved to sit on the cot. "Yeah. I need to get Lorb off the streets bad. From all he's done, he's a danger to Naboo."

Berrel wiped his nose as his mind worked. "So how will getting' him help me?"

"Thought you were supposd'a be clever." Jarqu remarked with a roll of his eyes. "You tell us where he's at, where we can find him, and there could be a reduction to your jail time."

Now Berrel was the one finding humor in the conversation. "What, only two life sentences?"

"Ah, you know it's not gonna be that much." Should be, you disgusting--- "But should Lorb get off while you're rotting behind bars?"

Berrel blinked, grim realization overcoming him. "Hey…You're right. That loser's gonna get away with everything, and I gotta…." His teeth grit. He looked over at Jarq. "Deal."

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

When things were settled, and the last nurse had reluctantly left the Jedi's room, Qui-Gon glanced at the alien physician, who was typing furiously.

"Doctor?"

Mazella threw her head up and smiled with gentleness. "Master Jedi, I think I have good news."

Qui-Gon's initial reaction was to bound to her, grasp her by her willowy arms and demand to know how his former Padawan could be helped. The hours of uncertainty were grinding his heart to dust; he was choking on the agony. So many terrible questions loomed. What could this slight girl have discovered from Obi-Wan's frightened outburst?

A split second later he regretted the rash thoughts, remaining in his seat. There is no passion… "What is it?"

The yellow light from the miniature screen cast a strange glow on her small face. "How did you calm Patient Kenobi so that he was able to return to sleep after such a violent episode?" She looked at him intently.

"I used a Force suggestion. It's a very mild push towards rest. It can be employed by the Jedi to use on basically any lifeform."

Mazella's shoulder's slumped slightly. "So you don't need any special connection with the person?" She asked.

Qui-Gon shook his head, then paused. "But I did have a close bond with Obi-Wan. When I was his teacher, we were able to exchange words and emotion through the Force, through our minds."

She nodded, bright eyes reflective and keenly narrowed. "You had familiarity with his mind, then?"

"I was very much familiar with it, yes." His heart fluttered with tense hope.

"Would you still be able to enter his mind, in the current state it's in?" Her thin hands clenched and unclenched anxiously.

Qui-Gon blinked. 'I--I never entertained the notion---I mean I assumed it wouldn't--" He swallowed, turning to the slumbering form huddled on the bed. He watched the subtle inhales and exhales, the way a strand of ginger lay tracing the outline of a smooth cheek. He reached out to touch, his heart swelled with love. "It could work." The Master murmured.

His coarse, large fingers actually trembled.

He looked up at Mazella. "It could work."

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

Nearly an hour passed, with Qui-Gon preparing himself through meditation and the young doctor setting up an i.v. station in case he delved too deeply to emerge quickly.

Mazella's hands were uncharacteristically cold when she laid them on the Master's broad shoulders. Her full lips quivered in rhythm with her excited heart. "Has this ever been attempted by Jedi in the past?"

Qui-Gon swallowed. Hard. "Perhaps, but if so, it's not widely known in the Order. Jedi have withstood the wiping machines. Obi-Wan did…once before." His voice had grown quiet and husky. "But the second time…he wasn't able to fight…He was.." Qui-Gon sighed, wiping the budding tears from his eyes. Damn. I'm a grown man. "Helpless."

Mazella nodded, moving to press silver disks to her patient's cool forehead, then attached them to thin, black cords that led to a monitor. The peculiar instruments clung to the Knight's flesh, and Qui-Gon was instantly concerned.

Mazella sensed the worry lancing through the man's heart and eyes. "These will track his brain activity. If I find your entrance into his mind has caused him too much distress, to the point of any danger whatsoever, I will be forced to halt the process."

Qui-Gon almost smiled. "How do you plan to accomplish that?"

She shrugged. "General stimulants. Used on you, to rouse you from the trance state."

"That may not work." He informed her. "If I WAS to sink too far into his psyche, general stimulants would be useless. You could slap me until my face was permanently red, and it might not make a bit of difference. "

The physician huffed, favoring him with a tired, kind smile. "You Jedi have to make everything difficult, don't ya?" She half-joked.

She sounded quite young then, and Qui-Gon forced himself to remain trusting in her abilities. He did have faith in Mazella Gale. And that was an emotion he rarely gave so soon. "It's in the job description." He quipped dryly, then chuckled to himself, overcome with bittersweet memory. Something Obi-Wan would say.

Mazella laughed, adjusting the dials and recording the primary readout of Kenobi's brain function. She studied it for a moment. "Everything looks relatively normal. The patterns are usual for sleep." The woman handed him the sheet of sharply high lines, dipping to form a roughly straight line, then rising to create a series of jags.

Qui-Gon looked up at her, something akin to contentment, or at least satisfaction, in his eyes. "He's dreaming?"

She nodded. Let's pray they're pleasant dreams. "It's best to start before he enters the more crucial hours of rest, when it is far more arduous to wake him."

Qui-Gon gazed at Obi-Wan, fingers brushing across his head.

He felt ice on his own brow, and saw Mazella was attaching the little probes to him as well.

Fear collected in his chest, tingling. Oh Force, let this work… He gripped Obi-Wan's limp hand. It has to work..

For him.

He CAN'T be lost.

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

He had a body once. Of course he had, he could remember well enough. He had piercing blue eyes and long legs, graying hair that fell over his shoulder blades…

But here, he was only mind, detached from that mortal shell. He was of the Force, submerged in its beauty, the awesome wonder that was contained in this foreign, but oh so intimate, soul.

Qui-Gon took a moment to despair, again, as he realized the violent detachment of their once-connected auras. Now it was as if the Force, their own unique sharing of it, had been ripped, and the gaping black had swallowed his Obi-Wan.

Perhaps, if he called to him, instinct would overtake the fear and loss of recognition.

Maybe, at the core of this sweet, tortured man, he was preserved.

So, as he had done countless times, whether in the midst of blood-soaked battle, a stale conference or troubled sleep, Qui-Gon reached out mentally to him.

It could not really be expressed in words, for this level of existence was above them, emotion ruling where not a mouth opened, when voices were useless.

The resting Kenobi couldn't deflect the ethereal message. It was instantly absorbed, traveling the darkened paths of a once-bright mind.

Qui-Gon fervently hoped he could light, even dimly, that precious place, so that Obi-Wan could see the thousand yesterdays stolen from him.

It was the barest of communication, but somehow, the most intense and heightened form. He could truly sense the other, and it was a tiny relief that he could.

Suddenly, Obi-Wan reacted with alarm, stirred from his deep slumber.

Qui-Gon sent a soothing pulse laced with his natural signature, so that the young spirit could identify him.

The adopted blandness of Obi-Wan's mind wasn't as prevalent here, at this soft, basic plane, and gentle streams of his lovely heart were intermixed with his fright and grogginess.

Joy erupted within the Force at this small victory, as it did within Jinn. Obi-Wan could have pulled himself from here at once, tumble them both out, as he had done on the transport to Naboo--

A lifetime ago, it felt.

Then, there had been pain and resentment. Now, the pain remained, though twisted to something far different…but Obi-Wan trusted him.

And, in that knowledge, Qui-Gon Jinn found hope.

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

For maybe the first time since meeting her in Watto's cramped junkyard, Anakin didn't have much of an urge to pull Padme to him, and just ravish her with kisses.

His eyes fell to her mouth, barely parted lips moist and ruby. Well… But the biological churning inside was suddenly overwhelmed by the delay of her response. She had said she loved him.

And that was what he wanted to hear, after all. Who in their right mind would see such a flawless goddess, then despair that she had spared a heartbeat before admitting her affections?

Padme loved him.

She was looking at him now, eyelids concealing a portion of glistening chestnut, a melancholy half-smile on her face.

He knew already that he did want to touch her again.

He also knew that she didn't want him to.

A sigh ripped from Anakin, heavy and something near desolate. "Padme, I…"

His words drifted away in the maelstrom of his heart, set to spinning by the lovely spirals of her hair, the curl of thick lashes. Padme Amidala was indeed perfect.

Didn't the Chosen One deserve the best?

Master wouldn't appreciate such thoughts. He acknowledged faintly. Then…

The presence of his mentor, always there in some form, was barely a flicker.

He couldn't sense if Qui-Gon was in danger, or just shielding incredibly well but…

Why would he need to shield like this from ME?

Anakin's heart leapt into his throat. He stared at Padme, wide-eyed. "We have to go to my Master. Right now."

Fear rose in her gaze. "Why? What is it?"

He shook his head. "I don't know. But I can't…I can't feel him, Padme. There's something wrong."

She put a thin hand to his cheek. "Okay." The Senator soothed calmly. "Let's go."

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