Please review! Whether you've read a multi-chapter story in one hit and leave a review at the end, or review at the end of each chapter, it's helpful to the writer not just in giving encouragement, but if you have a minute to leave a constructive review, it helps the writer to become better at what they do.

Alright, let's see what happens to poor, beleagured Obi-Wan. I'd like to point out, on a COMPLETELY UNRELATED note, that I do seem to have a habit of killing the poor Padawan off, and his situation isn't looking very good. And, let's face it, reviews are like lifeblood to keep a story going, and may even help swing the fate of a character... lol... I'm just saying …

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A/N: Thank you, thank you for the reviews and the general agreement of other authors that the ratio of reviews to number of hits a story receives is definitely depressing. Please make an author's day by leaving a comment about their work if you enjoyed it even a little – it goes a long way towards lifting an author's spirits and maybe even shaking the Muse's juju loose. :D

Also, I had originally rated this fic "R" for reasons that may already or are about to become obvious, but after seeing what classifies as "M"-rated material on this site and others I'm not sure that the rewrite is strong enough to warrant that rating. I have decided to leave it as "T" but if there is a valid objection to this, please let me know and the rating will be changed as necessary. Thank you!

Hopefully will not lose too many readers after this chap... well, not losing any readers would be preferable, but we'll see. *fingers crossed*

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TPM Tatooine Rewrite: Through Glass

By: Syntyche

chapter twenty-one: breaking down

They were slowly making their way through a small settlement, Delian shouting and swearing at a bedraggled cluster of Jawas that scurried in front of their landspeeder as it trundled through the busy street. Qui-Gon knew they were still a quarter day's trip from the moisture farm they had left earlier, and he worried as the suns dipped lower in the sky that they wouldn't make it before dusk and what then? Travel an unfamiliar, unsafe desert at night?

His muscles were tense, his wound paining him desperately, but it was nothing compared to the emptiness he'd encountered in the Force while searching for his missing Padawan. He should have been able to sense something if Obi-Wan was still alive, but no glimmer of his lost one sparkled in the darkness and his hope, one of his greatest assets, was slowly fading. He wondered even now that if they did make it back to the farm, would he find his Padawan when there was nothing to indicate that Obi-Wan even still lived? The image of Marjhan twisting Obi-Wan's shorn braid in her fingers burned across his mind, and he swore that if nothing else he would retrieve even that small reminder of Obi-Wan. It was the least he could do.

He wished he'd been able to tell Obi-Wan how proud he was of the young warrior who had slain the Sith when Qui-Gon himself had failed. There were still many, many things that needed to be said between them …

Stop thinking about him like he's gone. You don't know that, Qui-Gon ordered himself firmly. He'd been so eager, so ready to return to the moisture farm, but hours of fruitless searching in the Force for his Padawan had further grievously worn down his tired mind and body, and discouragement was slowly settling in.

Qui-Gon's comlink chirped, its tinny, innocuous sound grating across his hyper-tense nerves with the force of a hundred screaming Mynocks or one Jar Jar Binks. The Jedi Master's natural instinct was to ignore it, but he knew that in all probability it was a communication from the Jedi Council relayed through his ship's long-range com that he was required to answer. Perhaps it was news of Obi-Wan, or the Council may have reached a decision regarding the request Qui-Gon had submitted before he'd departed for Tatooine a second time: permission to have Anakin brought to Coruscant to be trained in the ways of the Force.

He motioned for Delian to pull over and she frowned at him in irritated impatience, nervously twisting a blonde curl between her fingers as she did as he requested, frustration vibrating in her every move and grating across even his small awareness of the Living Force.

Hesitantly Qui-Gon scaled back his access to the Force a little more, and Delian's agitated Signature faded from his mind.

"This is Qui-Gon Jinn," he answered into the comlink, trying to sound as calm as possible. His continued voluntary dampening of the Living Force was making it more difficult for him also to reign in his impatience, but he told himself as soon as this was over, as soon as he had Obi-Wan back, he would meditate, he would rest, he would heal, and all would be well.

But he had work to do first.

"Qui-Gon, it's Mace."

The informality of the other Jedi's address immediately alerted Qui-Gon that this was a personal call, and even with his inhibited use of the more sensitive side of the Light, he was able to ascertain that the Council member was highly troubled.

"What is it, old friend?" he asked gently, sliding a look toward Delian Ani-Suru, sitting next to him in the landspeeder, fiddling with the steering grips and trying very hard to look innocent and completely uninterested in his conversation while somehow still urging him to hurry it the hell up.

His lips twitched. "Should this be a private conversation?" he asked politely, ignoring the offended look the fidgeting Corellian sent his way and focusing instead on trying to will the Council member to have concrete news about Obi-Wan's location.

"I think that would be best, Qui-Gon," Mace said gravely, and with a sigh, Qui-Gon slid from the landspeeder and moved a few paces away. Delian continued to frown and tapped her wrist chrono meaningfully, eager to be on their way. Qui-Gon nodded in agreement, but turned his back to the Corellian to concentrate on Mace's hushed tones.

"Go ahead," Qui-Gon prompted, wishing Mace would hurry; he blamed this on Delian's obvious eagerness to move, but he also knew in his heart he was anxious to find his lost apprentice. "I don't have much time, Mace."

"Make time," Windu said shortly, sounding small but forceful over the tiny speaker. Qui-Gon blinked but said nothing, waiting for the other man to continue, and after a moment, Mace did so. "What's going on, Qui-Gon? I can feel your agitation from Coruscant … you're fading from the Living Force, my friend, and you need to be cautious."

Qui-Gon easily shrugged off the Council member's concern. "Not at all; I'm merely tired, and still recovering, obviously – "

"That's not it. You're getting too emotional," Mace countered evenly. "You're losing your focus – "

"Is there a point to this call, Mace?" Qui-Gon interjected irritably, his testiness increasing further when he realized he was underscoring Windu's point by letting his frustration cloud his patience. He breathed slowly through nose, trying to encourage the Force bleed through him and soothe his frayed nerves. "We're very close to finding Obi-Wan, I was just about to follow another lead… "

"I'm afraid that will have to wait."

The Jedi Master wasn't certain he'd heard correctly. "I'm sorry?"

"Qui-Gon," Mace's voice was firm, low and unyielding though his old friend knew the frustration that was barely hidden by the Council Member. Instantly the tone of the conversation clicked from personal to professional. "We have other, more pressing issues to deal with right now." The Jedi's voice dropped to a murmur that Qui-Gon himself could barely hear. "We've lost track of Sifo-Dyas on Rylon. We need every available Jedi to start searching for him before something terrible happens."

The calm Qui-Gon had been seeking crunched and splintered at the Council member's words, grinding to shards that bit painfully into his chest. Master Sifo-Dyas, lost?

The significance of the correlation between the Sith's death on Tatooine and the subsequent disappearance of Sifo-Dyas was too evident to ignore, and Qui-Gon's strong fingers tightened on the tiny comlink as the implications tumbled over each other to reach the forefront of his mind:

A Sith had been slain here on Tatooine by Obi-Wan Kenobi.

Sifo-Dyas was missing.

And Sith lore proclaimed that there must always be two: an apprentice and a master.

The tightening in his chest increased until his still-healing wound pulsed in agony, the new skin stretching and straining, but Qui-Gon ignored it, his mind churning to make an agonized decision. Sifo-Dyas had once been a friend of his, a fellow Padawan many, many years ago. Was his old friend even now being pulled to the Dark Side?

Loyalty to his friend and the directives of his Order versus locating his Padawan warred deep within the Jedi Master. If Mace was correct, Qui-Gon was certainly the best and quickest choice to locate Master Sifo-Dyas, but …

"Every available Jedi would include Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon pointed out heatedly, trying to control his sudden, irrational anger at the Force for thrusting this appalling choice upon him. He was so near to finding Obi-Wan … wasn't he? Even though he couldn't sense the young man anywhere? His mind refused to accept the horrific possibility that Obi-Wan could be dead, but if not, why couldn't he find him?

"Qui-Gon, there is no time. You are the closest Jedi to Rylon – you must track down Sifo-Dyas. It could be days before anyone else could get there." Mace paused, and his voice was grave when he resumed speaking. "I will make this an order if I have to."

Qui-Gon sighed, misery constricting his every breath. "That won't be necessary," he answered stiffly, making quickly what he prayed was the right decision, agonizing in his heart that he could be wrong.

Mace took the small victory Qui-Gon had relinquished, and even threw his old friend a bone as a reward for his somewhat unexpected compliance. "Excellent. The Council has agreed that you may bring Anakin Skywalker to Coruscant to be tested. With the possibility of a Sith threat, we need to keep anyone with any Force abilities accounted for."

"Except Obi-Wan?" Qui-Gon interjected bitterly with a sigh, but he cut off any related comment from himself or the Council member by adding, "I will need to return to Mos Espa briefly for the boy, Anakin; he will accompany me to Rylon, and my vessel is anchored in the outskirts there."

"See that no harm comes to the child and make haste to Rylon," Mace instructed. A short pause, then: "I'm sorry about Obi-Wan."

Qui-Gon shook his head, though the Council member couldn't see it. "I will find him, Mace."

The Jedi snapped off the comlink; the instant he lowered the small device from his lips Delian waved frantically from the landspeeder, practically bouncing in her seat as she waited eagerly for his return.

"Come on," she urged, already revving the engine, her eyes bright with excitement at the renewed hunt. "Let's go!"

Force, give me strength, Qui-Gon murmured, though he didn't expect or wait for an answer. "I need you to take me back to Mos Espa," he requested stiffly. "I've been given another assignment."

Delian stared at him in confusion, eyes narrowing. "You're kidding, right?" she scoffed, shaking her head as she supplied what she was certain the Jedi's answer must be. Of course he wasn't serious. "Quit joking around and get your ass in the speeder, we've got to go!"

"Delian," Qui-Gon said sternly, trying to impart as much conviction as he could into his voice. "I'm serious. I need to return to Mos Espa to retrieve Anakin, and I will be back as soon as I'm able to continue searching for Obi-Wan." His tone softened, and sadness flickered in his eyes. "Obi-Wan is strong, he'll be all right. I have no choice." As he spoke Qui-Gon watched a shield slam down over the Corellian's visage, and something dangerously close to hatred burned in her auburn eyes.

"I can't believe you would abandon him now, when we're so close! What if he's in trouble? What kind of Master are you?" she protested angrily.

"Obi-Wan is well-trained in the Force," Qui-Gon murmured, hoping he sounded calm because he certainly wasn't feeling it. "He is a strong warrior – " if he's even still alive, that betraying voice whispered – "and he would make the same decision were he in my place."

"I doubt that!" Delian shot back spitefully. "The reason he ended up in this mess was because he left the Games to save Anakin! What do you have to do that's more important than finding Obi-Wan?" she challenged, gaze burning into him.

"I have to do the same as Obi-Wan would do," Qui-Gon reiterated softly, the pounding in his head so loud now he could barely focus on the Corellian. Everything hurt, every thought in his mind cried that this was wrong, that he needed to find Obi-Wan. "It is our duty to defend the helpless," he struggled to add calmly. "That's what Obi-Wan did by going back for Anakin."

Delian shook her head. "Well, I hope Obi-Wan understands," she spat, angry tears glittering in her eyes as her voice wavered. "I'm still going after him, Master Jinn," the pilot snapped. "Find your own way back!"

OOOOOOOOOO

Obi-Wan Kenobi sat listlessly on the chilled permacrete floor in "his" room, the one the Lady had designated specifically for his punishments where he could dwell in his misery and agony without anyone but Marjhan or her overseers ever hearing him, or knowing he was there.

Memories flickered relentlessly across his vision and he docilely allowed it – there wasn't much he could do about them, considering the drugs Marjhan had flooded his system with left him without even the energy to lift his head from his chest, nor could he move to ease the strain on his arms still bound high above him.

Moreover, there was the small matter of the gaping hole in his thigh where Marjhan had cruelly dug his slave transmitter out with a vibroshiv.

He also thought, despairingly, that even if he'd had the energy to move, the images that were currently assaulting his mind would have robbed him of that ability. The sheer cruelty of experiencing at once all of the memories that had been blocked by the slave trader's suppressors was driving him into the ground with a force that Marjhan's drugs or punishments couldn't even begin to replicate.

Obi-Wan supposed wryly that he may yet unintentionally escape this horror by bleeding to death on the floor, alone and forgotten; a fitting end for the young man who would never be a Jedi… who didn't deserve to be a Jedi.

Distressed blue-grey eyes drifted across the floor, reflecting, remembering, reliving numbing joy, infinite sadness, and stinging failure that reminded him how he'd been led to this point, how he'd been driven to his knees, how he'd never again be free of the taint Marjhan had left on his body and his soul, if he even lived long enough to remember.

He had been sold, used, beaten, burned, starved, and worse.

He had failed the queen and Anakin. Anakin had died because he wasn't fast enough to save him, hadn't seen but should have known somehow that the boy would try to attack the Sith warrior.

He had failed his Master horribly; Anakin, the queen, her crew and handmaidens, Watto: all dead because he had failed. Marjhan had said Qui-Gon came for him, but as more memories overwhelmed him, a single, striking pain broke through, driving into his chest and he remembered, vividly, the image of a glowing red blade sliding through his belly, blazing fiery agony into every nerve, screaming, screaming, begging for the anguish to end … and he knew there was no possibility Qui-Gon could have survived that …

A sick thought occurred to Obi-Wan, that Marjhan even now was toying with him, manipulating him into choosing her over death for companions that were already dead, had possibly died months ago. But how would she have known about Qui-Gon and Delian? And would they really have come all this way just to leave him here to die?

It was a confusing jumble of thoughts and memories, and Obi-Wan hurt so very much, and he was so very tired. The first of his unwanted tears slid across his dirty cheek, cutting a silvery trail through the days-old grime encrusted there, and Obi-Wan searched through his grief for something, anything to latch onto, surprised suddenly when he encountered a small, warm tendril of Light buried deep within him. He'd been without the Force for so long he'd almost forgotten what it was like to have its warmth intertwined with his being, but here it was, waiting, calling, reminding him where he belonged …

Obi-Wan focused hard on the threads that were just within his reach; he was crying harder now as he fought the restrictive bands lashed across his mind and soul but he ignored his sadness, searching only for more of the Light.

Finally, after fighting through several layers of suppressors, he felt the gentle touch of the Force, bleeding through the cracks in his unwanted defenses, caressing and nurturing his wounded spirit as It calmed his tears and soothed his mind. Obi-Wan concentrated rigidly on the tiny Force threads, nearly sobbing again, this time in joy, at its forgotten beauty and the peace it brought him.

He was so lost in his elated thoughts that he never heard the heavy door grate across the sand-scattered permacrete flooring as it swung open…

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"Damn it!" Delian swore contemptuously. "Who the hell does he think he is anyway? Damn high and mighty Jedi!" She wasn't sure if she was referring to Qui-Gon Jinn or Obi-Wan Kenobi, but as she continued on – alone – toward the moisture farm far on the outskirts of this town, she certainly knew who her anger was directed at …

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Less than halfway back to Mos Espa in his rented speeder, Qui-Gon Jinn had a moment of clarity.

What the hell am I doing?

Without a further thought of the Council, Sifo-Dyas, or even young Anakin Skywalker, Qui-Gon angled the speeder back toward a certain sprawling moisture farm …

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... he was so lost in his elated thoughts that he never heard the heavy door grate across the sand-scattered permacrete flooring as it swung open, but the voice that slithered through his nightmares and haunted his waking moments could not be missed.

"What brings you such joy, my pet, apart from an evening spent in my presence?"

Obi-Wan Kenobi's eyes snapped open in horror, his tenuous hold on the Force sliding out of his frantically grasping mind.

"M-my Lady," he stammered automatically, murmuring obediently the words he had been trained to say through many long, painful lessons. Marjhan stooped before him, taking his chin in one hand and eyeing him speculatively. He dimly recognized the predatory gleam in her eyes and his mind revolted, immediately understanding why she had come; his body involuntarily scrabbled backward as much as his bindings and the wall behind him would allow.

His sudden movement knocked Marjhan off balance, sending her into the dirt and sand on the floor with a surprised shriek but she recovered easily, rolling quickly to her feet while glaring at the young man on the floor.

"Damn you!" she spat. Lust and hatred warred in her eyes, twisting her cold features into a demonic caricature of the beautiful woman he'd first laid eyes upon months ago; he saw the retaliatory slap aimed for his face and jerked to the side, enraging the furious woman even further. Vehemently she dug her long fingernails into his bony shoulders, slamming the weakened Jedi against the stone wall again and again as she sank all her weight on the gouge in his thigh she herself had left there earlier while removing his transmitter chip.

Obi-Wan screamed raggedly, his raspy, little-used voice only managing a hoarse cry that barely forced its way from his throat. Instincts ingrained in him over the last several weeks took over, and the newly-rediscovered whisper of the Force faltered as the barely-remembered Jedi in him fell and the terrified young man reemerged, deserted and broken, wanting only to escape the pain.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry… sorry," he whispered pleadingly, over and over, trying to huddle in on himself and away from the nearness of her. Bleeding welts had reopened across his tanned, shredded back and red fire lazily seeped into his tunic, leaving garish stains on the pale material. "I'm so sorry, Lady, sorry…"

"Damn right you are!" she snapped, shifting her weight on his leg, pressing down until he cried again hoarsely, heaving against his bindings. His left wrist, slicked with bright blood from scraping against the rough ropes, slipped free as he struggled and he used this hand to bat her aside feebly. She caught his arm easily and moved again until she was straddling his hips, pinning the moaning Jedi against the wall.

Marjhan made the mistake, then, of looking at her prize, and felt some of her anger drain away.

"So, so beautiful," she murmured, her ire fading as easily as it had arisen as she raked her fingernails across his battered face and against the short hair above his right ear. "I miss this," she whispered to him, "it was so distinctive, my little one, like a leash for my own little pet." Her gaze shifted, greedily predatory again, and Obi-Wan's stomach lurched at the unbridled hunger in her gaze. He tried to tell himself he had made this choice, he had chosen this to save two people who may not even be alive to appreciate his selflessness, but Force, this was so wrong, so wrong, and if there was anything that could save him from Marjhan, could it please deliver him swiftly from this unrelenting torment …

"My own pet…" Marjhan repeated delightedly, huskily, pleased with the way his terror made his striking eyes so wide. She lowered her mouth to his shaking lips, silencing the pitiful pleading and stammering apologies still spilling from them, ignoring the way he shuddered under her and delightedly enjoying the unique taste of him.

He had been strong once, and proud, but she had worked hard and was almost ready to enjoy her reward. He would need a reminder later never to lash out at her, but for now she would take from him enough to satisfy her until he came to her willingly tonight when there would be a far better and more deserving setting, far more regal accoutrements as befitted her pleasures, and her young slave would be cleaned and prepared.

For now, though, she ignored the dirt, ignored his pained gasps; completely disregarded his sobbing, shuddering breaths and instead buried her fingers in his thick copper hair, taking what she wanted, what she deserved.

Obi-Wan was screaming silently; crying, begging, for the Force, for Marjhan's drugs, for death. Anything that would dull the fire in his mind and body.

Before his capacity for coherent thought dissolved into nothingness, there was one last message for the one who had left him here to die, whether the Jedi Master still lived or not:

I hate you.

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