I would do individual reviews, but I have to go to work. So a huge, heartfelt thank you to ewan's girl, tenshiamanda, Audreidi, Annon., Fudge, Athena Leigh and Kynstar. You all are wonderful for taking the time to say what you think.
)(
Something was pulling down on him. A leaden weight pressed against his consciousness.
Tired. He was tired. But no--that wasn't it, exactly. The heavy feeling wasn't from an overtaxing of limb or mind. It was a clean fog, without source or painful sensation. He laid in the dense gray, not moving, stretching his acutely honed senses through the numbing layers, resisting when the balm began to thicken around his probe. It was tempting to fall away into oblivion again, instead of taking the grueling steps uphill, with what little traction he could claim.
But he could not abide anything taking control over him. The ether haze was aiming to wear down his defenses, so that it could settle him in midnight once more. He could not allow himself to be returned to the doldrums. His awareness was his lifeguard, never abandoned, not even when he was forced into the temporary surrender of sleep. He was always tuned to his surroundings, searching for threats, trained to recognize and terminate enemies. Such was his existence-his purpose.
And so he began to comb through the mangled fibers of his memory, his recent memory, to explain why he was lost in this foreign, lethargic replica of his mind. It did not come easily or quickly. The veils were stubbornly fixed over his recollections, and he had to strip them away, layer by layer.
When it was done, he was fuddled a moment by the disorientation of what lay in his hands, the strips of yesterday, or maybe the day before that. Pain. He remembered pain, shooting through him and spreading along his body like lightening dissected by a tree. A blaster bolt. That explained his current state. Drugs. Yes. He was being fed drugs, continuously, he wagered, from the extent of his previous struggles. They were to blame for the nothingness he wallowed in. Perhaps the sweetest temptation he had been offered in a long while…
He jolted from the tangent, blinking his mind's eye rapidly to regain clarity. So he had been injured and was now incapacitated. There was a fire-hot flare of anger in reaction to that, but he didn't linger in the emotion. He took further steps backward, into the dimmed panorama of stolen memories. It was not a new experience for him. He had often attempted a reconciliation with blurred fragments of his past, but never had his retrieves been successful. After awhile, he let the curiosity fade.
This was different. It was a matter of survival, and the mission would not take him back years, but days. A simple enough task. He only had to reach a bit further, just before the bolt collided with him. What had happened? His hold on everything was oiled again, and his fingers were hopelessly slipping. Still, he clung to that question and dug through the rising pall.
What had happened to him? Who shot him? And why?
He became motionless within his thoughts, drawing in until he was perfectly centered, breath suspended, then flexed outward. The distant images sharpened, were given color and dimension.
Two. There had been two. Tall. Young and…not as young. But not old, either. Who were they? He strained to reveal more contour and detail to his vision, to take the shadow from the hidden faces. They were approaching him…slowly…each brandishing a…sword? Swords, not blasters.
He tried to stretch his mind around that and nearly dropped off into the drugged sea again.
It didn't make sense, yet, but that was the reality as he knew it. They had swords, and they were coming toward him.
The next handful of moments were smeared, reaching him as jumps and swerves, but nothing specific. One of them fell away, and he was…yes…he was defending himself against another…or was he the attacker? He couldn't be sure. Green and red meshed together. That was all he could see, bright and sizzling.
And then, the face was lit by the sparks.
The face…
He hurdled through the medicated, coiled clouds and his eyes snapped open.
)(
Qui-Gon felt his intestines twist and the air lock in his chest. He turned to his apprentice, but Bruck was unscathed by whatever it was that had afflicted his Master. The youth was talking to Senator Palpatine, but Qui-Gon's ears were inexplicably clogged, and he was insulated from the words.
In desperation, in frantic prayer that he was not alone in the sudden symptoms, he moved his eyes beyond the pair, to Amidala and Anakin. The girl was wearing her delicate, refined version of solemnity, eyes shining and mouth silent. Still, she appeared to have no knowledge of what was terrorizing the Master.
The boy. The boy was staring up at him, a purely blue gaze that imbedded itself in Qui-Gon's mind. Anakin was looking at his new companion as if there were some painful kinship between them, an affinity that separated them from the others.
But perhaps it was only the Master's imagination, a projection of his own feelings. Nevertheless, he ventured to speak to him, "Are you alright, Ani?" He whispered.
The child was going pale, almost disappearing into the white expanse of the Naboo hospital. The planet was renowned for gorgeous, old world architecture and the incorporation of nature into every design. But for medical facilities, the standard palate-and smell-was intact. They were on the main floor, heading for the reception desk. Qui-Gon spared a moment in his discomfort to appreciate the odd quality of their group: two Jedi, a recently freed slave boy, a Senator and the Queen. They moved together under the fluorescent grid of lighting, artificial illumination that hovered lovingly around Padme and cast Anakin's hair more golden, while sucking out the small flushes from Palpatine's now colorless face. And for Bruck, harsh lights always seemed to burn the boy's scalp. Of course, that was merely Qui-Gon's thought, not based on any actual evidence.
He saw Anakin's little throat working to swallow. "Yeah, I…guess."
Qui-Gon motioned for the boy to walk beside him, and they traveled ahead of the rest, the man's large hand falling to eclipse the much smaller shoulder. "Are you noticing anything strange?"
Anakin shrugged, squinting in thought. "I dunno. It's…"
"It's what?"
"Weird." He slumped in defeat. "I'm not sure what it is, Master Qui-Gon. It's kinda like after a bad sandstorm. There's all this crud on your skin and you wash and wash, but there's still some there, a feeling of it." His cheeks were red and he ducked his head, "That's what it's like, I guess."
Qui-Gon smiled softly, almost laughing. "You're very perceptive, Ani."
The boy smiled at the comment, edging a little closer to the man. He folded his hands, fingers cold from the conditioned climate, and clamped down his nerves. "Master Qui-Gon?"
"Yes?"
His eyes were fixed unblinkingly on the valiant, maybe heroic face, "What do you think it's like?"
The Master paused in thought. Like being impaled by a knife already stained with your blood. But instead, "Same as you, I'd say."
Anakin's grin widened, though his eyes were hooded by the residue of what they were both sensing.
Qui-Gon ran his fingers through the silky hair, wishing this dark patch from his past did not have such an effect on the innocent child, while simultaneously wondering why Bruck, a schooled Jedi Padawan, was unhindered.
Far too soon, the space between them and the reception desk shrunk to a few steps, and the young woman stood from her datapad, obviously expecting them.
"Master Jinn?" Her violet eyes strayed to the Queen behind him, but she quickly composed. "You are here to evaluate…the patient occupying floor twelve?"
Qui-Gon nodded. "Yes. I was told he was--"
A buzz sounded from the desk's comm, and the receptionist excused herself to answer it.
Qui-Gon turned around and sunk to Anakin's eye level, bracing his shoulders. "I want you to stay here, Ani. Okay?"
A protest tingled at the boy's lips, but he smiled. "Okay."
"And this time, actually obey what I say." He pressed a thumb to Anakin's chin and sighed. "At least there are no starfighters lying around this time."
The remark gleaned amused smiles from everyone, relieving a fraction of the dread and uncertainty that hung stagnant in the atmosphere.
Short-lived, for then the woman ended her conversation, and gently called to Qui-Gon. "Master Jinn, I've just spoken with the leading physician on the case. He needs you now." She passed him a slim stack of emerald chips, "These are clearance cards. They will allow you all to gain entry to the floor. I advise you to be careful."
Qui-Gon asked if she would watch Anakin during the visit, to which she readily agreed and made space for the boy behind the desk. Anakin looked stricken to be parted from his friends, but quickly found entertainment in the swiveling of his chair and a candy stick plucked from a mug of sweets.
The Master was gratified to her, trusting his ward would be safe.
He could not say the same for the rest of them. Himself included.
He was striding to the lift, flanked by Amidala and Bruck, Palpatine a half-step behind them, but paused to look back at the receptionist. "If I may ask, why am I needed so badly, so suddenly?"
"Because," She replied, her voice chilled, "The patient is awake."
)(
Velis Marlwen stood at the side of the cot, a bent finger pressed at the space above his lip, the thin shadows of his spectacles streaking an extra set of sharp, angular brows up to his forehead. He was a decade older than the man restrained before him, perhaps more, if the weary marks on the pale face were not attributed to the passing of time. Both were black-haired, but Marlwen wore a neat beard.
He was never a haughty man, given to extreme conceit or overestimating his own abilities. But, Velis could admit, he was a very good doctor. The best on Naboo, it was rumored, a title which earned him another, as the personal physician of Senator Palpatine. He could diagnose an infinite number of diseases, treat most, and cure those that were curable. Recently, Velis had caught the attention of some well-known specialists, the finest Coruscant, and so the Universe, could boast.
And yet, here he was, perplexed and downright frustrated by the miraculous emergence of someone he had expected to remain comatose for at least three days longer.
The man, name supplied for Marlwen as Kenobi, was far from fully cognizant, but the eyes had burst to life a few minutes before, shot through with thread-like veins. Machines shrieked their surprise, and Velis could sympathize, gasping a robust curse when he witnessed for himself the abrupt waking. The security officials stationed outside the door had instantly encircled the bed, weapons pointed at Kenobi.
It had been Marlwen's duty to sate them and send them outside once more, slightly disturbed that one seriously weakened man could command such fear and hostility. He held no fondness toward Kenobi, but his oath as a healer overrode emotion and his personal inclinations. Velis would protect the health of this man, despite the obvious danger he posed.
Kenobi had battled the cocktail served him, barreling into consciousness, but it was a temporary victory. Very quickly, the enemy of Naboo, the attempted murderer of its beloved Queen, was brought down from wild awareness to a groggy, heavy-lidded condition.
Velis was a short span away from Kenobi, but he wasn't sure the man knew he was there. His pupils were fixed on the bland wall in front of him, his chest moving with shallow, fast breaths.
He had been informed of the confrontation between Kenobi and the Jedi, the staggering extent of his skills. But Velis had seen nothing of that. He only knew Kenobi was awake and less than confrontational.
And so, after great deliberation, Velis chanced words. "You're not supposed to be awake, you know."
Kenobi blinked, but his eyes would not open more. "I'm not supposed to be here at all."
It was said without inflection. Velis thought that the monitors, when screaming their reaction, showed more feeling. Still, he preferred an absence of it to vehemence…or violence. "I'd say that was your decision, wasn't it?" A gusty thing to tell him, but he didn't feel even a tingle of trepidation.
A smile crooked the corner of Kenobi's mouth. "I could kill you this very moment, if I wanted to."
The soft words seeped as venom into Velis, yet he mirrored the wry smile with his own. "I could have done the same to you, if I had wanted to." He reached out to adjust the clear tubes snaking from the man's nose, then rested his palm against the clammy forehead. "But here you are."
"Indeed. And will I be permitted to walk out of 'here', I wonder?"
"Oh," Velis' laugh rumbled, "I think you already know the answer to that." The humor drained from his face, "The Queen will hardly allow you to waltz offplanet, when yesterday you were hunting her down."
The dour smile clung to Kenobi, glinting in his scarlet-washed eyes. "Who says I was hunting down the Queen?"
Velis Marlwen frowned, arms over chest. "What do you--"
The door slid open and Velis' dark eyes met with the startling blue of an imposing figure, stirring comparisons of royalty in stature and expression. Which wasn't too far off, since on Coruscant and numerous other worlds, the Jedi were regarded with a respectful awe usually reserved for the crowned.
The Jedi Master stood in the doorframe, a guard at each shoulder.
"Qui-Gon Jinn?" Velis asked, to be sure.
The piercing gaze misted over for a second, pulled toward the restrained Kenobi involuntarily, then crystallized again. "Yes. I…" He blinked, "The Queen, Senator Palpatine and my apprentice are waiting outside. I was uncertain if they would be safe."
The physician glanced at his patient and shrugged. "Well, I'm in one piece." He motioned with a nod toward a far corner of the room, and Qui-Gon followed him. Velis' voice was so low a whisper would have been stronger. "But that might have something to do with his current physical limitations."
Qui-Gon nodded gravely, gray shadow shading his leonine face, "Has he said anything?"
"We engaged in some charming small talk."
The irony was lost on the Master. "Is he alright?"
"He'll live." Velis trailed his finger along the side of his glasses, "But certain aspects of his recovery, so far, have concerned me. I've been on this case since he was brought in from the hangar. I've monitored him for about twenty hours straight, and during that time, he's been asleep." The man shook his head, "But it hasn't been a smooth sleep. The combination of medications and salves should have left him in black, beyond that of exhaustion. He was never that far down. I watched him, in several instances, almost convulsing in the restraints. You'd have thought he was being tortured."
A flinch, but the Master immediately reprieved. Remember what he is. Or, even better, what he ISN'T. "An adverse reaction to the drugs?"
"No, I checked."
"I see…" Qui-Gon blew out a breath, wiping at his eyes with a spent smile, "I'm sorry. This is all beyond surreal to me."
Velis squeezed his shoulder. "I understand. I thought you should be here. If he's going to say anything of importance to anyone, I thought it would be someone he was at least acquainted with."
"I'll do what I can, Doctor. Thank you."
Velis gave a tight-lipped nod, then headed for the door. "The guards are right outside if you need assistance." He told Qui-Gon--though he meant it more for Kenobi, as an unobtrusive warning.
Qui-Gon remained under the thin canopy of shadow, back turned from the other presence in the room.
"Beyond surreal? Hm. Nice description."
The voice was matured and bereft of warmth. Qui-Gon's heart seemed to shrivel in his chest, an aching pit, as he remembered the innocence Obi-Wan had always carried, to the day on Melida/Daan when their path was divided. Where had that boy gone? Who or what had killed the child, and replaced him with this…this unfeeling creature?
The Master sighed and turned, still unprepared for the jolt through his system when he came faced with the tainted sight of Obi-Wan Kenobi. For whole minutes, he was silent, traveling the length of the body, the endless stretch of memory. The two would not join in his mind. How could this be Obi-Wan?
"He's coming, isn't he?"
Qui-Gon grasped for focus. "Who?"
The pasty fingertips curled and uncurled. "The troll. He's on his way--almost here, I'd say."
The Master was seized by an acrid streak of fury. He wanted something to break through the steel over those eyes. Hells, he would settle for a quiver. "He loved you. Even after you left. Despite what you say, Yoda has mourned you ever since."
His effort failed miserably. Kenobi was unchanged by the remarks. "Would you speak to someone of their past life, Master Jinn, and expect them to remember? Or care?"
Qui-Gon snorted. "Are you dead, Obi-Wan? If so, you've dressed the corpse up rather nicely."
The words hit their mark, and for the first time, the conscious patient erupted in his restraints, pulling and jerking against them. "Don't call me that." He hissed. "Or you WILL regret it."
The sallow hospital lights enhanced the bruised crescents under the former Jedi's ashy eyes, but it did not lend him a shred of vulnerability. Even chained and intoxicated, this man who had been Obi-Wan Kenobi was lethal.
"You're not in the position to make threats. Not when one word from me could send a dozen palace guards in here, totally willing and able to shoot more than your shoulder."
His cold response was met with stinging laughter. "As if you're in much of a position to threaten me. If you kill me, you'll never figure out what I'm doing here."
Qui-Gon studied the face, undeniably handsome and reminiscent of those features, though younger, eternally etched into his memory. Rebellious of his good sense, his fingers shivered with the temptation to touch that face. But he couldn't, for fear it was an exquisitely designed hologram that would shimmer and wink out if he did.
Obi-Wan was right. He needed to know what was going on, if this had been an independent ambush, or if it could be traced back to a specific source. And, more than that, Qui-Gon needed to know why Obi-Wan, sweet tempered and compassionate to a fault, had let himself mutate into a fiend who would initiate such savagery, would stand on the side of carnage.
Qui-Gon's vision blurred on his brief apprentice, as he traipsed into darker thought, his eye transfixed by the bands locked around Obi-Wan's wrists. Could it be that this had been his true nature? Was the Code a glossy shackle Obi-Wan bore, until he could stand it no more and unleashed himself, in all sinister glory? Had his years among the Jedi been a walking nightmare for Obi-Wan, a place he returned in sleep that caused the paroxysms?
Were the few soft memories of the boy that Qui-Gon had privately held in his heart just as curdled as the rest? The glowing core within the child…was that a screen that disguised the darkness beneath?
"What are you doing here?" Qui-Gon wondered, in a monotone husk of a voice.
Obi-Wan shrugged weakly, a flush starting in his waxen skin. "Same as you."
"I find that difficult to believe."
The younger man smiled, and it was a mockery of the smile Qui-Gon recalled, a total antithesis. "Of course you do." He murmured. "But we're each here because we have been led here."
Qui-Gon took a step forward. "And who leads you, Obi-Wan?"
The eyelids slipped close, and for all his apparent power, Obi-Wan had to strive to open them again. "I didn't recognize you at first, Master Jinn. You seemed…" The consciousness was rapidly retreating from him, and a peculiar smile floated over him, "Very small."
)(