If any wonder, it is very true that Qui-Gon and Anakin are almost one-dimensional characters. So far. That will not change for a while, so fair warning - and no complaints, okay (wink).

Chapter 6. After the Ecstasy, the Agony

"Shh, Obi-Wan, shh." Mace's calm voice was a balm across his scorched soul. "Just breathe; that's good, in and out, slow breaths."

Trembling hands went to his head, and Obi-Wan nodded shakily. "Qui-Gon wasn't dead, but I didn't know that. I – I don't know that I thought, or felt anything except this incredible connection to the Force. I lived…I lived as never before; knew the Force, as never before – was humbled as never before, never again to be," he swallowed hard, "to be the same."

Beside him, he felt more than saw Mace shake his head, to tell him once more that no Jedi was the same once he made that leap of knowing. What he had gained, as those before him and those to come after him, he had now lost as they had and would not.

"I fell so fast from grace." He brushed the back of his hand across his eyes, wiping away a betraying tear. Hot, it was hot. Hot…like what was forever burned upon his soul.

Agony and ecstasy, only in his case the agony came after ecstasy just as failure came after success. For one sublime moment he had known the unknowable; he had touched the face of the infinite only to tumble from such transcendental heights of awareness when those senses were stripped away from him and the knowledge – stripped away as well.

Something had been building in him ever since Tatooine – jealousy and humiliation, he supposed, fuel for the dark side. On Naboo those feelings had tipped to hate and anger. He had been tempted to the dark, held it within his hand only to fall…and in the middle of the abyss he renounced those feelings; he had reached for the light without regard for his mortal life, seeking only the salvation of his soul…

…and he had escaped that yawning pit when the Force offered its hand in acceptance of his.

Yet the other pit, this of reality, still lay before me…he murmured.

At the pit's edge he stood panting; his opponent tumbling to some unknowable depth, already dead, cleft in two. His eyes, while tracing the Sith's fall, saw not at all, for his senses were fixed inward, immersed in what he had struggled so long to find. His connection to the Force was pure and strong, its power his to draw on whenever and however necessary.

Obi-Wan had found the inner strength and determination to make the final step on his path, when he let go of all that bound him and reached for the Force's will. He alone now stood, loosely clasping his master's lightsaber.

He was power, he was strength, he was life – and he was humbled, for the power, the strength, and the life was not his, only his to draw upon.

He had touched the Force often during the years of his training, but he had finally made the leap from touching it to feeling it, and without being told, he knew he had achieved what had so long eluded him. He knew now he hadn't been ready when Qui-Gon had proposed his taking the trials. He had found a new level of awareness and for a moment Obi-Wan just soaked it in, then his awareness expanded outwards to the man lying across the chamber.

Qui-Gon Jinn, his master and his mentor, his friend, dying while he stood embraced in the arms of the Force.

Guilt and sorrow washed over Obi-Wan again. He drew his knees to his chest and locked his arms around them, gazing inwards as Mace dropped a hand on his shoulder and squeezed, lending his strength until he was ready to resume.

"I was alive as never before and Master Qui-," he swallowed, "Everything had changed."

Obi-Wan Kenobi was alive, but the man he had spent nearly half of his life beside was dead, and he, the cast-aside padawan, now lived as a man who had been forced to take a life for the first time – he had gained much, but oh, he had lost so much more.

Qui-Gon Jinn was dead.

Obi-Wan hadn't been in time, physically or with this new connection to the Force. Success had come at the price of failure, and that meant success had not come at all. He had lost focus just as Qui-Gon had accused him of, and because of that, his master was dead.

His fault.

He knew, now.

Qui-Gon's dying gaze had accused him, scorned and vilified him. He had let his master down and his failure was complete. His master's last gesture to his padawan: repudiation and Obi-Wan knew the life he had known was all but over. All his hard work and innate skill had been – inadequate and insufficient. Qui-Gon's initial assessment of him had been correct all along and now all would know it.

Obi-Wan Kenobi had failed his training, failed to focus, and therefore failed to be at his master's side when fate beckoned.

A gurgle broke against his senses…a dying man's last breaths. Qui-Gon still lived!

All faded to inconsequence: his newfound awareness of the Force, his failure to be the Jedi he had trained to be, even the anger and despair. Past success or past failure, it didn't matter – nothing mattered except that Qui-Gon yet lived, and as long as he was alive, he was not dead.

Determination took the place of all Obi-Wan had let go. He would save the Jedi master's life. He would empty all that was his own life into him, to save him, if that were at all possible. He poured most of himself into the task, once he reached his master's side, cradled the man that had guided him to this moment.

And that determination had not wavered, despite the words, despite the wound incurred by his master's own hand.

He drew on the Force without mercy, drew on his own reserves, drew on everything he could summon and poured it all into the man who had all but ended his own life, giving the injured man the strength to wield the final weapon that he turned against his own padawan.

And the Force responded to his call.

Strength and power and light, a wave of pure power built to a pulse-pounding blinding crescendo of agony and ecstasy until it became too much for mind and body to bear and it slowly receded from his grasp with a final parting caress as if to say: Not ready are you, child of the Force, to handle this much power. Receded until it became only a memory, the echoes still ringing in his cells as liquid fire shriveled nerves and mental connections were torn asunder.

For the bond had been severed at his most vulnerable.

There was nothing of Obi-Wan left but pain. Pain, unbearable pain…his lips parted in harsh panting breaths… his hands flashed to his head….and the Jedi screamed without sound as he toppled into merciful darkness, sweet oblivion just as two Naboo guards sent in search of the Jedi arrived in time to see the younger Jedi crumple atop the other.

Bypassing the energy gates with an override, they rushed forward, boots slapping across the polished floor and skidded to their knees beside the two men, carefully disentangling them.

Obi-Wan only barely knew he was alive, on some level, when a hand touched his shoulder and rolled him onto his back, of a surprised face inches above his own, and a relieved: "Master Jedi, you are alive. Thank the Force."

He quickly decided that either nodding or shaking his head only made him feel worse, something he hadn't thought even possible. He blinked and tried to focus blurry eyes, recognized that it was a Naboo and struggled to his elbows. His hands instinctively went to his head and it was all he could to do to say yes, and wonder dully, why. Perhaps – perhaps the Force, too, repudiated him, did not want to be polluted by the likes of him.

Why else had it fled?

He couldn't touch it – it wasn't there – he had channeled everything into his master, and a whimper escaped. "Gone…" he whispered, and closed his eyes.

"No, he's still alive, he's not gone," a voice reassured him, mistaking his soft cry as concern for his fellow Jedi. "I've summoned medical help. You'll be okay, young Jedi. Just lie still. You've done your best; you've defeated that – creature, from what I can see."

The words cleared his head, as much as mere words could.

Was the Queen safe? The mission – the mission was important. Duty. When things are at their worst, that is when you must follow the Code. Yes. Duty. Had not Qui-Gon himself reminded him of that, drilled it into him?

He tried to sit up, and shook uncontrollably. He looked up at the guard, misery in every line of his being, and reached out with a shaking hand. "Help me up, please."

The guard shook his head and placed a gentle hand on the Jedi's chest. "No, stay down."

Fever-bright eyes stared back at him. "I have no choice," he panted. "Please, help me."

Softly worded, it was a plea the guard just could not ignore. Real need shone in those eyes, stronger than the pain, stronger than the grief. He reached down and a strong hand grasped the smaller one.

Up you go, then," he said, and steadied the young man when he seemed about to collapse. "Just take a deep breath, sir. It'll be okay."

Sad eyes turned to him. "No, it won't," Obi-Wan said, very concisely, and blinked several times trying to hide his dizziness and lack of equilibrium. When he finally opened his eyes, they were clear and determined, whatever pain he harbored mere shadows in their depths.

"I must get to the Queen. Please see that Master Jinn is taken care of," he said and disappeared without a backwards glance.

He wanted nothing more than to fall to the ground, curl up in a ball and weep with the pain in his mind, but nothing could stop a determined Jedi, so Obi-Wan forced himself forward, doing his best to ignore what he could not banish. Even one as unworthy as he could still carry out his duty to the best of his ability, and that duty was to assure the Queen's safety.

Each step sent quivers of agony up his nerves; each footfall thudded in his mind as much as on the marble floors.

Of shattered glass and scorch marks he took no heed. With lightsaber ready in one hand, he slipped down corridors, checked around corners before advancing, forced feet to ascend stairs until he heard voices, jubilant voices ahead.

In the Throne Room, for he remembered the holographic map of the Palace from the briefing, seemingly so long ago. He sagged with relief as he walked unsteadily forward and stood in the doorway, fingers fumbling to reattach his lightsaber to his belt.

The Queen was with her advisors – and young Anakin Skywalker, all rejoicing in Naboo's liberation and already making plans to empty the camps. The boy was being feted as a hero – the hero of Naboo, and no one even noticed the arrival of a lone Jedi, or eventually, that same Jedi's departure.

Partway down the long hall he stumbled and leaned against a wall, weary beyond belief and closed his eyes.

It was done.

The Queen was safe, mission achieved, duty done. He could collapse anytime now. He wavered on his feet, passed a hand over his eyes and pressed his face to the wall. Perhaps…perhaps he should just allow himself to slide to the floor and stay there.

"Are you okay?"

A hand, as gentle as the voice, settled on his shoulder. Both felt like a soothing balm. He straightened and turned around, bracing himself with one hand. The Queen stood before him, concerned eyes looking him over.

"Padawan Kenobi, are you okay? Is Master Jinn okay?"

He tried to nod and shake his head all at one time. It merely made his head pound. Bad idea, that.

"Master Jinn was being transported to the med center; he is – in very bad shape," he managed to force out through stiff lips; the Queen gasped. "Do you - have further need of Jedi assistance?"

"I think the Jedi is the one in need of assistance," the Queen said, her voice gentle and concerned. "Your face is bruising badly and you look like you can hardly stand." She reached a hand to his face and lightly fingered the forming bruise.

Obi-Wan flinched away from her touch; too wrapped up in shock and pain to appreciate any kindness on his behalf.

"Excuse me, milady, but if you don't need me…," he trailed off.

"Of course you may go to your master's side," she replied, not catching the sudden pained look that came over his face.

He nodded stiffly, made himself add, "Tell – tell Anakin…."

"I will break the news to him," the Queen instantly agreed. "From one hero's lips to another's ears. Have I thanked you, Obi-Wan Kenobi? You and Qui-Gon Jinn have both earned the respect and thanks of the Naboo."

It was almost too much to bear.

The Queen thanked him – words, all words, but words that stabbed deep - condemned by his master and commended by the Queen. He licked his lips, said hoarsely, "I killed him. The Sith. I have – never killed – before – I -." He pressed his lips together, managed to pull himself into a semblance of himself, and bowed, leaving his sentence unfinished.

"You did your duty, Obi-Wan."

He couldn't bear to hear her commendation turned to condemnation once she knew the truth.

"I did – what I did, if you'll excuse me, please."

He managed to stay upright, shoulders back and head tall even as he sagged inside, until he was out of sight, alone in a corridor where he leaned into the wall, trying for some semblance of control despite the pounding in his head. The nausea didn't hit until he was outside and he purged himself into an unlucky flower box.

When he was emptied of all that was inside him, his head still throbbed and he didn't feel at all better. Every cell in his body seemed alive, nerve ends raw and touched by needles.

Somehow, he made it to the medical center without drawing attention or comment, somehow he made it to Qui-Gon's room to await his return from surgery, and somehow, he managed to look like someone not devastated by his losses.

Qui-Gon may have renounced him, but he had not renounced Qui-Gon. He would be at his side until and unless sent away.

Eventually Qui-Gon was brought in from surgery, still smelling of bacta and still, oh-so-still. The man once vibrant with life seemed now an empty shell, fragile and easily lost. Obi-Wan stayed well out of the way, leaning against the wall until the healers left and he could finally seat himself at his master's side.

Biting his lip, he reached out to a big hand and lifted it within his. It was still much larger than his; that at least had not changed.

"Please live, Master." The healer had already assured him of that when he had asked if Obi-Wan needed medical attention – he had whispered no and shook his head - but he still felt the need to voice his plea. He carefully wrapped his fingers around the limp hand and leaned forward, resting on one elbow. The only reply was the steady sound of the monitors.

And so he sat for long hours, the dutiful padawan at his master's side, waiting for he knew not what, his mind a blank. Naboo was free, the Council had been notified – there was nothing at all he needed to do anymore.

So he would just wait.

When leaning forward grew uncomfortable, he leaned back into the chair, shifting awkwardly. Its hard edges knew where each bruise and contusion was. He sat for endless solitary hours; slumped in his seat with legs splayed out before him, moving only to the fresher and back.

Despite everything – the ruination of his life, his humiliation and shame – Obi-Wan still loved this man at whose bedside he sat, he who had raised him, taught him, and ultimately discarded him. Forgave him; hoped for his own forgiveness, and emptied his mind of all other thoughts.

His entire being was focused on Qui-Gon: graying chestnut hair lying loosely on the pillow, lids covering the eyes that had accused him of failing, chest slowly rising and falling in a steady rhythm.

"He'll live," the healers assured Obi-Wan each time they entered and left, thinking the news would please him.

He supposed it did, but he was too numb to think in terms of pleasure or of pain. Feeling – feeling hurt, and he was far too tired, and far too numb, to feel, to face pain.

"He didn't mean it," he mumbled more than once, eyes never leaving that face. "He - didn't….."

Yet within his heart, he knew better. Qui-Gon did blame him; Force, he even blamed himself. One kick that sent him tumbling, one kick that kept him from his master's side and one kick that would probably get him dismissed from the Order for incompetence if a recovered Qui-Gon had his way.

No matter that battle was uncertain, the unexpected the only thing one could expect. He hadn't moved fast enough to evade that kick and subsequent tumble.

Obi-Wan Kenobi was the reason his master nearly died.

Force he was tired. If Qui-Gon would just wake, he could sleep - relegate the nightmare to the realm of wakefulness and find oblivion. But Qui-Gon didn't wake and so he stayed awake, rubbing his face as if that alone would wipe away the fatigue.

He dropped his head into his hands to weep – and found he already was.

He scrubbed his hands over his eyes, but the tears continued to fall. "Shouldn't… shouldn't," he whispered, especially when he heard footsteps approaching. "Jedi don't cry -."

"Even Jedi cry," a familiar voice informed him. Obi-Wan blinked furiously and raised his head. Master Yoda stood in front of him, wise eyes fixed on the padawan. "Tears, release too this can be. Your master, how is he?"

"Alive," he whispered, swallowing a sob. "He is alive, no thanks to me and my master no longer."

"Why say you this?" Little shocked the diminutive Jedi master, but Yoda was shocked and dismayed.

"I was separated from him during battle, I – lost focus," Obi-Wan said dully. "My error, my fault. Qui-Gon saw my failure and has repudiated me, rightfully so."

The little Jedi grunted and patted the padawan's knee. "Regret he will those words, young one. Knows better he does. In pain, dying, who knows what the mind sees and twisted the words come out. Of Obi-Wan Kenobi, Qui-Gon Jinn did not speak those words, for proud of you he is. Alive, as well, because of you we have been told."

"No, Master," Obi-Wan denied, as politely as possible. "He cast me off, once he spoke those words. I am a padawan without a master."

"Oh, dear Force," Mace said softly, standing behind Yoda.

Obi-Wan just closed his eyes, hardly noticing or caring what they thought. Let them exchange shocked looks, let them leave the room to confer – he heard Yoda's soft grunt, the one that indicated one was to follow – let them do whatever it was Jedi masters did in such a situation as this.

He had been only half-aware of their presence anyway and thus would barely notice their absence. Obi-Wan cared only that he was present, for his presence meant he still lived. It barely registered on him when young Anakin barreled into the room, followed by a soft cry of pain on seeing Qui-Gon asleep and heavily drugged.

"Why didn't you protect him?" he cried shrilly, turning to Obi-Wan with a look of utter contempt. "You weren't good enough, were you?"

"I'm sorry?" Obi-Wan looked up in utter confusion, having barely heard more than the voice. The boy, yes, it was the boy whom Qui-Gon had chosen over his padawan.

It was one of the things clear in his mind: Qui-Gon's hands on the boy's shoulders, the ringing declaration that he would take Anakin as his padawan. He had thought he had known utter humiliation at that time, until Qui-Gon had pushed him away by pushing him towards the trials, his endorsement of his padawan's readiness casual, plucked from the air: capable.

Was this how Qui-Gon had truly seen him? Merely adequate, barely capable, easily pushed aside for one he truly desired when his heart's desire appeared? A child of prophecy over one of flesh and blood?

This boy in front of him – Anakin – had smirked inside, rejoiced in another's pain. He had felt it, there in the Council chamber. He had felt it, there inside the ship. Dark, primitive gloating…malicious but without true evil, for evil did not exist in the young, only the seed of evil to come. True evil grew over time.

What was the boy spouting now?

His hand moved to his head, rubbed it, but the pain had not lessened. Was the boy now telling him he wished Obi-Wan had died in the battle? No, no, he was sure he wasn't hearing correctly. Force, how his head hurt.

He leaned forward and rested his aching head upon crossed arms.

"Get away from him," a shrill voice demanded; a small hand yanked at his arm, trying to dislodge him from Qui-Gon's side. "You should have died there. I would have saved him, but you couldn't. I knew I was better than you. He knew I was better than you. I would have saved him -."

"Quiet young one," a voice thundered.

Yoda bounded into the room with as stern an expression as had ever been seen on that placid face. Seeing that Mace, behind him, was crossing to Obi-Wan to catch the wilting young man, Yoda turned his attention back to the boy who futilely struggled to escape the hand on his shoulder.

"Saved Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan did. Channeled the Force into him and kept him from dying. Speak not of things you do not know." He broke off at a sibilant hiss from Mace.

"Yoda, Obi-Wan is injured." Mace was pressing a palm to Obi-Wan's forehead. "Stay with me, Obi-Wan. Why haven't you sought treatment?"

Confused, semi-lucid eyes stared up into Mace's. Obi-Wan blinked, and struggled upright.

"I'm okay." He flushed at his lack of courtesy. "Master, I'm just tired. I'll be okay," and he collapsed bonelessly into Mace's arms with a low moan.

Triumphant spite shone from Anakin's eyes.