Chapter 12. Ties

The door to the ward hissed open, not for a single while disturbing the sterile white silence. If anyone slipped into this room by mistake or chance he could easily have though that the occupant of the bed was just sleeping or floating in meditative trance. But neither the absence of various wires and machines, nor the peacefulness of the golden-skinned face on the pillows could mislead Tur's sharp healer's glance. He felt it in the Force, a draining pool, water leaking painfully like tears, like blood, like the very life that was hanging by a thinning thread. He saw the dimmed gold of the skin, the almost imperceptible tenseness, the alarming shallowness of breath. And it hurt. It cut him into pieces like reborn history, this horrendous déjà-vu, right there, in front of him. It was her, it looked so much like her, it even felt the same, this helplessness, this looming threat, this despair resonating through the Force.

And yet it wasn't his Mayte. It was another life, a different presence, slowly sinking into oblivion. Tur crossed the ward, kneeling beside the bed. Would he succeed? He sighed. The will of the Force. But this time he would be able to avoid his mistake. He would return with Tahl or stay with her, completing circle, accomplishing what he should have done when Mayte had gone beyond the point of return.

And then he thought about the boy. A stranger to him – whatever happened during that short stay on the planet and later on the journey didn't really count – who went to bring him back. And never returned himself. The boy was still out there, even with their bond blocked Tur knew it. No, he couldn't go just yet. He had another task only he would be able to accomplish. The Council could organize a rescue but Obi-Wan would never be free with that black thread between him and Rhad.

Tur turned Tahl's hand palm up and connected their fingers, feeling stray electricity begin to pulse and flicker. He had only one option. He needed to return with her. The Force had work for him to complete.

As he was slowly sinking into his meditation, the Force began to hum around them, swirling in the room, so calm and so powerful. He was no longer seeking release from the past, nor atoning for his failure. Somebody was in need of his help, and Tur could give it. The scattered jigsaw pieces floated closer to him, drawn as if by a magnet by his presence. He reached out, filling the gaps, connecting the splinters, replacing the severed links by his own energy.

The Force sang, vibrating, rejoicing, and he stared in wonder at the light flowing from his hands, at a life emerging from the darkness. The fingertips were warm, each breath filling them with strength. Tur slumped on the bed, too weak to hold himself straight, his body trembling with exhaustion and excitement. He returned. Sith, they both returned. They won.

– What are you doing here? – a loud whisper, furious and menacing, broke through Tur's elated half-consciousness.

Tur staggered to his feet, pushing the meagre strength left in him to hold himself upright.

– Sorry… will never be enough… will it? This… too…

Qui-Gon stared in bewilderment as the ex-Jedi painstakingly slowly stood up to face him, startled by the utter devastation emanating from the depths of the olive-green eyes.

– Even this… not enough… – the man swayed dangerously, and Qui-Gon was barely quick enough to register the warning in the Force as Tur collapsed, his body going limp in the Jedi's arms that caught him as he fell.

Qui-Gon frantically looked around the room, locating the emergency button and pressing it. Having spoken to the healer on duty, he shifted the weight in his arms, as if trying to make the unconscious man more comfortable, and was stricken by the way his childhood friend had changed. The blond hair was tinged with platinum silver, lines of worry edging around the eyes, lips, on the forehead.

There were three of them, mates since crèche time. Mace, the serious one, level-headed and ambitious, the councillor long before his actual appointment. Himself, the rule-breaker for rule-breaking's sake. And Tur, the enigma, calm and collected on the outside, emotions raging within. Tur the compassionate one, the one to take away your worries, warm and gentle. He was strong, nobody doubted it all those years back, but to get through this… Qui-Gon berated his selfish outburst. He was… overwhelmed. Years had passed since the five friends became three, with Mayte one with the Force and Tur disappearing from their lives with her. Mace, and Tahl, and himself.

Qui-Gon sighed, looking at the pale face of the ex-Jedi, lined with sorrow and hurt, as if the years left their traces, documenting every day Tur lived on. Qui-Gon felt guilt settling heavily on his heart. He was there for Tahl. Not just him – Mace, the Council, everyone. But nobody was there for Tur. And instead of telling how much they had all missed him Qui-Gon accused him of things he knew Tur had no part in.

Tur groaned, turning his head in his troubled oblivion, and Qui-Gon touched his forehead in an attempt to calm him, looking over his shoulder at the door. Where were those healers?

– It's I who am sorry, Lemmy, – he whispered the long-forgotten nickname. No answer came. After all, being sorry is never enough.

Tur was coming round, resurfacing from the deep waters of his trance-like sleep, to a headache gnawing at his temples. It reminded him of something. She –

He gasped, bolting up, his dim surroundings spinning wildly, but someone was holding his shoulders.

– No! Mayte! – he struggled desperately, surprised at the weakness in his limbs.

– Hold still, you're not fit to be up yet.

The voice was familiar, but how could it be… Unless… The fog in his mind and before his eyes slowly faded, and Tur realized he was in one of the healers' wards in the Temple. Halls of Healing. Tahl. She was…

– She's alive, – he said, more likely to persuade himself, but the sound that came was only a cracked whisper.

A straw brushed his lips.

– Here, you might want to drink this. And yes, she's alive. Thanks to you.

Tur sipped the blissfully cool liquid, centering himself and relaxing in realization, and raised his eyes to the person holding the glass.

– Q-qui?

– Hey, Lemmy, – Qui-Gon sighed, setting the empty glass on the table. – I suppose it's all my fault you look so surprised to see me.

– I'm never surprised, you know, – Tur smiled wryly.

– My fault to some extent as well.

– You think too much of yourself, – quipped Tur and the both laughed, as if nothing had passed and they were still fellow padawans.

– Now you look surprised, Qui, – said the ex-Jedi softly.

Qui-Gon swallowed heavily, shaking his head.

– No… But your forgiveness doesn't mean I could forgive myself.

– Don't. Please, Qui, – Tur's lips curled into a wry smile. – Fault on both sides, all that stuff.

– No, Lemmy, I… It's just… When I saw you there …. after all those years… we had no idea what became of you, what, how… Sith, we didn't even know you were alive… Guess I lost it… And later… when Tahl – but that's no explanation… – Qui-Gon buried his face in his hands, his speech hoarse and muffled. – I'm… Forgive me, Lemmy…

– It's alright, Qui… I know what I've done back then… I – just couldn't return… – Tur shifted on the bed, turning his face to the wall. – When I left, she was already doomed. She never told anyone except myself. There was a remainder of the darkness embedded in her Force presence. She was fading. I thought I could find something to save her… – he drew a deep shuddering breath, nearly shaking with the effort of preventing himself from falling apart. – It didn't work. I wasn't good enough. She was… g-gone…

Silence fell like stasis, a space without sound, air or time, interrupted only by Tur's heavy breathing and the rustle of the sheet squeezed by his fingers.

– I… I passed out for two days. The people we were staying with told me they didn't know what to do and contacted the Temple. But I couldn't go back… without her… no way back… – the words trickled slowly, Tur's voice almost mechanically detached, like an old broken cassette recorder.

Qui-Gon cleared his throat, trying to break the uncomfortable nothingness.

– You used the same thing this time?

– Thank the Force I was on time… This once… Is… is she awake yet?

– Sleeping. They say she'll come around in a matter of hours.

– Good.

And this single word, exhaled, nearly inaudible, was so warm, comforting and alive, full of tired bliss and relief, that for a moment neither spoke, overwhelmed by the simple joy of its meaning.

– She told me about you and Obi-Wan. Setting up an Order of your own? – an attempt at light-heartedness. Nice try, Qui. But it felt right, at least now.

– We rejects should stick together, – there was no bitterness colouring Tur's words, but they both winced at the unintentional truth of the expression.

– You aren't a reject, you should realise that, –Qui-Gon countered softly.

– What about Obi-Wan?

– His release wasn't sanctioned by the Council. They were just their usual blind and reluctant selves.

– I understand that. After all, I'm privileged to the full medical history, –Tur scoffed bitterly.

– If anyone's to blame it's me. I could have taken him as my padawan when he… asked me to. But I…

– I heard, – Tur sighed, turning to Qui-Gon, his stare desolate and unseeing. – Come to think of it, we're all a bunch of rusty droids rummaging in the mess of our past. I sound like Master Yoda, –

–When we should live in the moment.

– Should we? – Tur sat up, leaning his head against the wall. – The Council wouldn't allow the mission. They want to know more about "the identity of the kidnapper". Sith, they care more about getting rid of the guy than saving Obi-Wan!

– We'll find a way.

– Yeah… we will.

Somehow Tur doubted that.

The borrowed comlink felt slick and cold in his hand. Any other time Tur would have laughed at his tension: all he had to do was press the kriffing button, just like that, this tiny little glistening thing. The comm. frequency was still black on his pale skin.

He never thought it would be so difficult. Sith, he wasn't even calling for his own sake, it was to rescue Obi-Wan. And yet…

There was too much between Lu and himself, so much it made the air grow thick and clammy. And that was without any effort on his part. Force, what was the matter with him? They were adults, and each of them understood where they stood perfectly well. No illusions, nothing foolish, nothing rash. That much he knew. There would always be Mayte. His own feelings on the matter were crystal clear.

Or were they?

Tur sat on his bed, scarcely stopping himself from flinging the little piece of junk to the floor and smashing it to pieces. It wasn't anger, more likely utter frustration. No danger of succumbing to the Dark Side…

He couldn't call her, but not because of anything she felt about him. It also wasn't as if she would be no help to him. No. She was a tough one, and her skill with a blaster would certainly amaze their enemies. But he couldn't drag her along with himself, right into the danger's den. He couldn't ask that of her. He owed her that much.

Tur's fists clenched, the flesh of the palms warming the icy fingertips. If the Council didn't want to send a mission, they still had no authority over him. He would do what he had to, whatever that involved.

The road to the Temple hangar, thankfully, did not lead through the popular areas, and with luck he wasn't going to bump into anyone who might stop him, and even if he did, he hoped to somehow make it up in the air, and then… the sky was his, free and open, the way to Eo'ra-A under his feet. Tur was walking at a regular pace, hiding his wariness, although every nerve ending of his body was alert, burning, sensitive to the slightest movement in the air.

The doors of the hangar were already discernible in the muted lighting, and he was holding his breath, watching every step that was bringing him closer to his goal.

– Tur? Hey! Where're you going?

– Lemmy!

Now was not the time for pleasantries, and although Tur was sure his friends meant well, something needed to be sacrificed. His choice was already made. He broke into a run, rushing between the opening doors as soon as the narrow gap appeared. He had to make it. They couldn't stop him now.

– Tur, wait! – a deep voice, different from the earlier two. He had to be quick.

A spacecraft stood close to the platform, close, even closer now to Tur. He had to make it, he was reaching for the handle, opening the door…

It didn't budge. The signals on the spacecrafts were blinking, their blocks activated. There was no escape.

– Tur, you cannot do this, the –

– Are you going to talk to me about your Council? Maybe you would tell me how it was so blind and just left a boy with that guy? Oh, he's so dangerous you don't want to risk a mission? Why did you not stop him when you had plenty of time?

– Lemmy, that's enough!

– You said we'll find a way to save Obi-Wan, Qui? Then let me do the talking!

– Tur, they are reviewing your request, they realize it's urgent –

– Urgent? He may be already gone! Does anyone of you know how it is when you aren't quick enough? Does any –

– Tur?

Tur sank to his knees, shaking uncontrollably as his body slid to the permacrete floor, writhing and gasping for air. Qui-Gon ran to his side, struggling to hold him still.

– What have you done to yourself this time, – murmured Mace, sitting on his heels beside him and reaching out with the Force to scan his friend's body for signs of injury. Suddenly the convulsions ceased, and green eyes flew open, clear, serious and desperate.

– W-we must save him. I saw him. He won't last much longer, – Tur gripped Mace's tunic, breathing erratically, pleading, imploring.

– A vision?

– It was our bond. Something happened, and it opened. He tried to spare me his pain, but apparently couldn't. He's fading. I know it. I felt it. We can't wait. Please.

For a moment Mace was silent, his face betraying the signs of some inner battle going on.

– Get inside, – he stood up, gesturing at the spacecraft. – I'll alert the others. We're going now.