Though Night Shall Fall

by Keelywolfe

Part 1: Prologue

The Fall

I want you to know that I tried. I tried, Master, I really did.

It would come to me, writhing along the edges of my consciousness, whispering seductively. Sometimes it would go and be gone for hours, sometimes only long enough for me to draw a breath and then it would be back, offering freedom, offering power...offering darkness. And I resisted it.

I resisted it because I knew you would come. I sat on an island of calm within my mind, waiting for you and ignoring the raucous whispering around me.

Because I knew you would come. I knew you would not leave me here in darkness. You would come. And that thought kept me sane, kept me still and calm, waiting, waiting for you.

Until the day I realized that maybe you wouldn't.

That maybe, just maybe, you would not come for me. And it was on that day that a thick worm of doubt was birthed into my heart, where it gnawed at me until I was consumed. And that day I answered those dark callings gratefully.

The young man twisted, moving into the final segment of the kata. He finished smoothly, with an easy grace and came to a stop in position, waiting for the command.

"Release."

He did, relaxing. He shook his long braid back before bowing low to his master, already grinning. The older man smiled back indulgently.

"Very well done this time, Anakin. You held your posture much better than last time." He arched an eyebrow at the boy. "However, you're still leaving yourself wide open on your turns."

The boy grimaced, "Shall I do it again, Master?"

He glanced at the chronometer. "No, I believe we have other matters to deal with today." A faint smile. "Perhaps a birthday?"

Anakin's whole being seemed to brighten at the reminder. He forcibly tamped down his excitement, waiting instead for his master to come to him.

Qui-Gon was already reaching into his pocket for the gift his Padawan was expecting. He held it in his hand a moment longer, feeling its comforting warmth, before he held it out to Anakin. The young man looked at it curiously.

"I gave this to Obi-Wan on his thirteenth birthday," Qui-Gon explained, "I think, perhaps, he would have liked for you to have it."

Anakin took the stone with a sense of awe. That Qui-Gon would give him something of Obi-Wan's, this was a precious gift indeed, full of more meaning than true power. He spared a glance upward at his master.

Qui-Gon was studying his apprentice, enjoying his delight and for just a moment his shining face was eclipsed by another one, just as young but far more nervous, anxious, trying not to seem eager, to not upset his new master.

A blink and the image was gone. Qui-Gon swallowed the rising lump in his throat, managed to smile again at Anakin, who was watching him shrewdly.

"Thank you, Master," the boy said softly, with understanding beyond his years, "I will treasure it always."

A nod and he turned and left the room before his emotions could overwhelm him. Anakin watched him go, stared at the exit for a long moment after his master had left, before looking at the smooth rock again. His hand clenched around it reflexively and he swore fiercely to himself that he would always treasure it, for the man who had given it to him and for the man to which it had once belonged.

Every rejection was like a tiny cut. Time and again a little blade of pain would bite into me and you were the one who held the knife. On Coruscant, a cut. On the ship to Bandomeer, a cut, on Bandomeer itself, a cut, a cut, a cut! Until I felt that I would bleed to death from a hundred tiny wounds.

The last cut on Coruscant, before the very Jedi Council that we both served and it was deep, that wound cut open my heart and I felt that I might well collapse in front of the Council in a puddle of my own blood.

And now this.

That was the final cut, when I realized you weren't coming. And then I had nothing left within me to bleed.

So instead, I listened. And I learned of Darkness.

Qui-Gon Jinn entered his quarters with an almost ridiculous sense of gratefulness. Today had been far more trying than he had anticipated and the only thing that he truly wanted to do was shower and sleep.

Instead, he walked over to the door off the main chamber, shedding his cloak as he went, and walked through it, out onto the small balcony. He settled himself in one of the chairs, taking the left one out of long habit and sat there to watch the sun set.

The sky was streaked with crimson, which was already being overtaken by deep petals of indigo and violet. He watched it in silence, drinking in the sheer beauty of it, trying to memorize every shift in color. Because of the person who was not there to do it himself.

It was a little better these days. Sometimes he could go for a whole minute without thinking of him, without something reminding him of what he'd had. And what he'd lost.

Four years. It had been four years since it had happened. Since he'd lost a piece of his soul that could never be regained.

They had just returned from Naboo, Qui-Gon barely recovered from his wounds and Obi-Wan still high on his accession into Knighthood. And they had been celebrating privately, with the intimacy of the closest of friends. Laughing, talking, sharing a bottle of wine. Qui-Gon was never sure later what it was that gave the young man his nerve, the warm companionship or the overindulgence of alcohol.

But somewhere in the midst of it all, Obi-Wan had kissed him. Urgently, with all the pent-up desire he'd been holding within, waiting for the last barriers of master and apprentice to fall away. And Qui-Gon had responded with desire of his own.

They'd spent the night making love, trying to make up for years of denial until they'd collapsed in exhaustion, sleeping wrapped in each other's arms. The next day Qui-Gon had awakened his former apprentice with kisses, made love to him a last time, urgently, before having to leave for his meeting with the Council. One last kiss, a last quick caress, a smile and he left Obi-Wan snuggled warmly in the blankets.

It had been the last time that Qui-Gon ever saw him.

In the midst of his debriefing with the Council he had been assaulted with a horrifying mixture of pain and fear, a pulse of agony that slammed through his shields and into his unguarded brain like a spear, and then...nothing. Total emptiness. And as he sank to the floor before the shocked Council members, blood already trickling from his nose and ears, he realized with a strange kind of detached bewilderment before he fell into his own darkness that he'd just felt the other half of his soul die.

He had been catatonic for nearly two weeks, completely oblivious to all stimuli, lost within himself. The healers hadn't dared to break through the mental walls he had risen, the damage of that on his overtaxed senses combined with what had already happened would have likely driven him insane.

When he finally opened his eyes in awareness, he had simply stood and left the infirmary, ignoring the startled protests of the healers and walked, unsteadily but determinedly, to the meditation gardens. He had nearly fallen to his knees, all his inborn grace torn away by overwhelming grief.

It had been Master Yoda himself who had found him there, who had waited until the silent tears built up into near shrieks as inner agony that could no longer be held within escaped him. Who had gently, silently, stroked Qui-Gon's hair, offering what little support he could. And who had, after Qui-Gon finally sat up and looked at him with a thousand questions in his red-rimmed eyes, told him what they knew.

Obi-Wan had simply vanished. No one had seen him leave, no one had even seen him since he and Qui-Gon had returned to Coruscant. He was simply gone, wiped away as if he had never existed. And now, he didn't, save for memories.

Qui-Gon sat a moment longer, watching the sun sink lower until the sky was engulfed in blues and purples. Watching, as he had whenever he possibly could, because a young man with bright eyes and a mischievous smile had loved to watch the sun set. He waited until the last streak of crimson faded from the skyline before he went back inside to an empty bed and an emptier heart.

And it was that night, the dreams started.

Time after time that darkness had whispered to me, offering me anything I wanted, a prize dangled before my eyes, like an apple. A brilliant shining apple that begged for teeth to break the smooth crimson surface. An apple full of poison.

It was like a story I'd heard as a child, a fairy tale, but I was no helpless victim, I knew the apple was poisoned, that under that healthy appearance the flesh was black and that its bitterness would fill me.

I took it anyway.

And I hated him almost as much as I hated you.

I tried, Master. I did try, for so long I tried so hard. But finally I couldn't...

So I took that apple. And I bit.

Part 2: In Darkness

Chapter 1: Dreamscape

He told me many things, Master. Things I refused to believe, things that I could not believe. That you thought me unworthy, that you had only bided your time with me out of an odd sense of duty and guilt. That the same sense of honor that had kept me with you induced you to give me a pity fuck before you sent me away, permanently.

But I believed in you. I loved you.

Why didn't you come?

He whispered his hatred of you into my reluctant ear, infusing me with darkness, with poison, and far too soon I hated you enough to kill you myself.

Soft lips were gently trailing down his neck, kissing their way lower and he turned his head to allow access. Lower still, to press against the base of his throat, lower, the flick of a tongue against his nipples.

He reached down to rest his hand on that head, to sift through that short hair, but pulled back with a frown at the feel of it, warm and wet. He opened his eyes and looked at his hand. Blood was dripping from it. The young man kneeling before him was drenched in it; ghastly streaks of it covered his naked body.

The kneeling man sat back, stared at the other man with familiar eyes.

'You deserted me.'

He jerked himself into a sitting position before he was even half- awake, almost strangling on a scream that was trying to escape from his throat. Qui-Gon sat there, long minutes ticking by as his eyes frantically searched the darkened room, finding nothing out of place, and he finally settled back on the bed. His sheets were damp with sweat and he grimaced at the clammy sensation.

A glance at the chronometer confirmed that it was over an hour until sunrise. He got up anyway, wrapping his chilled body in a robe. There would be no more sleep tonight, that much was certain.

Instead, he went to the small kitchen nook in his quarters and made a cup of tea that he forced himself to drink. The shivering subsided a fraction and he placed the cup on the counter with much steadier hands than the ones that had made the tea.

Keeping his mind carefully blank, Qui-Gon went back to the main room. He knelt on his meditation mat, absently noting, as he had a dozen times before, that the padding was wearing thin and should be replaced.

He closed his eyes, calming himself, and only then did he let himself consider the dream.

Most dreams were false half-shadows of memories and imaginings haphazardly thrown together to tell a kind of story. But some dreams held a grain of truth and could reveal things to those who knew how to seek it.

A slight shudder broke through his calm as he mentally went over the dream, sharpened his awareness of it, searching. Vague images swam in and out of his thoughts, flittering by teasingly but nothing concrete came to him. Nothing sane. Finally he pulled back and released it, let it fade back into a faint smear at the back of his mind.

Feeling vaguely nauseous at the remembered image, Qui-Gon shifted to lie on his back, closing his eyes and breathing deeply. He hadn't been able to tell anything from the dream, nothing but a sense of uneasiness, something disturbing.

Opening his eyes he saw the room was somewhat lighter. He glanced at the window; the sky was already streaked with various shades of pink, heralding the arrival of the sun.

A sigh and he pushed himself to his feet. Another long day ahead, of that he could be sure. He went back to his room to shower and dress. This would have to wait; he had an appointment this morning that he dared not miss.

Oh, Master, my true master, my only master...

Why didn't you come?

Waiting in the Chancellor's private office, Qui-Gon shifted uncomfortably in his chair, unusually restless this day. He had tucked that feeling of disturbance far back in his mind but it still lingered, hovering just out of sight.

The Chancellor entering the chamber brought him back into focus. The man smiled easily and apologized for keeping him waiting.

Qui-Gon returned the smile with a polite warmth that he didn't feel. It wasn't that he disliked Chancellor Palpatine, in fact he had a great deal of respect for the man. Palpatine understood the workings of the Senate well and when he decided things should be done, they were, without the pathetic bickering and squabbling that had been the rule rather than the exception during Valorum's tenure.

But still, there was something about the man, about the way he held himself back and apart from others, rarely revealing what he was truly thinking.

'And you would dislike the man for that?' he chided mentally. 'If I were honest I would admit that I have that tendency myself.'

The Chancellor settled himself in his own chair before he spoke again. "Thank you for coming on such short notice. I have a request for you, Master Jinn. The government of Bandomeer has requested a negotiator for a matter of some importance." He raised an eyebrow. "I understand that you have been there before?"

Bandomeer. It was so odd how a single word could turn the faint, ever- present ache within him into a blinding throb of pain. He actually had to close his eyes for a brief second to control his reaction.

"Yes, I have been to Bandomeer, Chancellor Palpatine," he finally said, "But it was some time ago, nearly..."

The Chancellor nodded briskly, "Yes, yes, I'm sure it was. However, you are one of the top negotiators that the Jedi Order has and the only one who has ever been to Bandomeer. I trust that you will have no difficulty with this mission?"

Qui-Gon heard the unasked questions. Was there a difficulty? Would he accept the mission? His mouth was painfully dry. His aching soul begged him to refuse, to make some excuse, any excuse, not to go on this mission.

But he knew the Chancellor was right. He was first and foremost a Jedi and that meant duty came before his personal preferences.

"I'm sure that I will be capable of handling it," he said firmly, not allowing any hint of his unease to show.

Palpatine beamed at him. "Excellent! I've arranged transport for you, just ask my assistant she can tell you what you need to know."

It was a shock when he showed me his true face. Out of all of those I had thought of as a perhaps Sith, he was not even on the list. But then, what better place for Darkness to hide than in plain view?

And he was Darkness. Never question that.

And he hid well.

His disturbed rest of the night before was catching up to him by the time Qui-Gon returned to his quarters.

He pushed back the exhaustion and forced his mind to focus. He had duties to see to before he and Anakin left for Bandomeer.

First, he downloaded onto his datapad all the information there was on the changes in Bandomeer over the past sixteen years.

He was still reading it when Anakin returned from his lessons. He gave the boy a nod of greeting before continuing his work. He absently noted that Anakin returned the nod with a smile, although he didn't speak so as not to disturb his master and instead went quietly about his duties.

Anakin ordered up a meal for the evening, tidying the main room and setting the small table as he waited for it to be sent up. After the food arrived, he went to stand near his master, waiting to be acknowledged.

Long minutes later Qui-Gon's eyes flicked upward to meet his. "Yes, Padawan?"

Anakin felt a brief surge of pride at that word, the first time Qui-Gon had called him that since it had become official yesterday. He hid his pleasure under an outward calm, although he knew his master would feel it anyway.

"Our evening meal is ready, Master."

Qui-Gon smiled then and Anakin returned it, relieved. Formality was proper but it still made him a bit uncomfortable.

His master rose and stretched, joints popping. "Well then, we'd best eat it while it's still hot."

Anakin's grin widened, "Yes, Master!"

They ate in silence. Anakin waited with tenuous patience for Qui-Gon to tell him what was going on. He knew from past experience that asking would only gain him a lecture. Patience had its reward when Qui-Gon finally spoke.

"You'll need to pack for a mission tonight, Padawan. We leave in the morning."

"Yes, Master." He waited, pins and needles sharpening until Qui-Gon continued.

"We are going on a diplomatic mission to Bandomeer. I'm afraid I don't know all the details yet, so make sure that you are prepared for anything."

"Yes, Master." Somewhat resigned this time and Qui-Gon had to hide a smile. Anakin, he knew, found diplomatic missions to be extremely boring. This mission would do the boy good, he decided.

After the meal was finished, he helped Anakin clean up so the boy would have time to pack before going to bed. When Anakin saw his master going towards the balcony door, he quietly withdrew to his room, to allow his master to go through what had become something of a nightly ritual in peace.

When the crimson streaks of the sky faded to violet and the sun finally sank below the horizon, Qui-Gon went to his own room. He packed the few belongings that he might need in short order. His earlier exhaustion reasserted itself with a vengeance and this time he gave into it, skipping his nightly meditation in favor of some much-needed rest.

I've heard that if a human spends an extended time in total darkness they will go blind. That their eyes will cease to function.

There were times, as I sat in the cold darkness that was my prison, that I prayed to gods that I didn't quite believe in that it was true.

Someone was crying.

He could hear it, not far away. A child by the sound, weeping as if their heart would break. And for some reason he knew he had to find that child but he was trapped behind a wall of brambles.

He fought his way through them, ignoring the pain as thorns bit into his flesh, scratching bloody gouges. He pressed on, following those anguished sobs unerringly.

Finally, he broke through and saw the child, a boy, surely no older than twelve. Sitting curled up on the ground, crying. He was so strangely familiar and he went to the child, thinking only of offering comfort.

He touched the boy's shoulder and the child raised his head to face him. He found himself staring into empty, bloody sockets, crimson streaks running down the boy's cheeks like tears.

'Why didn't you want me?' the boy whispered, reaching out to him with bloody hands.

He fell away from the boy, scrambling backwards but the child kept coming, closer and closer and he shrieked as those stained and gory hands cupped his face. Screaming and screaming...

Screaming and his padawan was shaking him violently, crying his name over and over.

Qui-Gon captured Anakin in a fierce embrace, his mind still caught up in the horror of the dream. He took more comfort than he thought possible in the small, warm body hugging him tightly, offering wordless caring and concern.

He came back to himself enough to feel a tiny wince of pain through their training bond and realized he was holding Anakin tight enough to leave bruises. Anakin didn't complain but he eased his clutching hold, felt a twinge of guilt as Anakin took a deep breath into half-starved lungs.

"What happened?" Anakin asked. His face was pressed against Qui-Gon's chest, muffling his words.

Qui-Gon's desperate gasps for air were easing and he pulled himself further into awareness, casting aside the haze of sleep.

"It...it was just a dream, Ani. Just a very bad dream."

The boy tilted his head up and peered at Qui-Gon owlishly. "It must have been an awfully bad dream," he said doubtfully.

"It was." Gods, yes, it was. Qui-Gon rested his cheek against Anakin's head. His Padawan's presence was like an anchor to reality and slowly the terror of the dream was loosening its clutches on his psyche. They stayed that way, clinging to each other, until their muscles began to protest from being motionless for so long.

Anakin pushed back, stretching. He looked up at his master seriously. "Would you like me to stay?" he asked earnestly, "I stay with you when I have a bad dream and I feel a lot better."

It seemed ridiculous, that such a young Padawan would have to coddle his master but at that moment Qui-Gon was more than ready to accept the role reversal. The horror within him was just barely out of sight, lurking under the surface and waiting for an opportunity to surge upward again.

So he wordlessly pulled Anakin close again and laid back. His Padawan curled up at his side, snuggling his head on Qui-Gon's shoulder and Qui-Gon, who not fifteen minutes earlier would have sworn he would be wide-awake for the rest of his natural born life, felt sleepiness tug at him.

Wrapped in Anakin's concern and caring, Qui-Gon drifted back into sleep's embrace.

He didn't dream.

He chose me because he thought it would be fitting for the one who had killed his first apprentice to take his place.

Think what you will of -him-, my false master, my despoiler. Evil, yes, a being eaten away by Darkness, yes.

But you have to appreciate his sense of irony.

Chapter 2: Innocents Lost

When I was finally returned to the world of sunlight and time, I found out that I had been locked away for nearly three standard years.

Three years.

For three years, I lived in that stinking hellhole, three years of my entire world being made up of nothing but darkness and cold.

And more than him, more than even you, I hated myself.

It only took him, after all, a little less than three years to break a Jedi.

The trip to Bandomeer was a great deal less eventful than the last one Qui-Gon had taken. Barring attacks from pirates, it only took two days to reach Bandomeer from Coruscant.

Qui-Gon spent much of those two days meditating, trying to find some kind of reason in the dreams that were tormenting him of late. Trying and failing. Anakin had taken to staying with him at night. His Padawan's presence seemed to be a kind of ward against the dreams, for reasons that Qui-Gon could not fathom.

Once, in the night, Anakin had left briefly to use the facilities and when he had returned his master was already caught in the throes of yet another nightmare. He hadn't had to wake his master this time, just settled next to him and the older man had calmed, drifting back to a more peaceful sleep.

He'd told his master the next day what had happened. Qui-Gon had listened intently and was silent long after Anakin finished speaking.

"The Force is trying to tell me something, Anakin, and at the moment I am unsure what it might be," he frowned slightly, thinking, "For now, let's just deal with this as best we can and when we return to Coruscant I will speak with Master Yoda." He smiled then, faintly, "Between the three of us we should be able to figure something out."

Anakin had smiled then as well, and they set aside the issue of the dreams in favor of their mission.

The ship arrived and landed on Bandomeer without incident and when Qui- Gon and Anakin left the ship, they found someone waiting for them. A woman that Qui-Gon recognized.

"Clat'Ha." Qui-Gon smiled at her warmly as she came up to them and clasped his hands. She had changed little in the past years, older, true, but this was still the fiery woman who had refused to back down from any injustice.

"It is good to see you, Master Qui-Gon," she replied, returning the smile. She glanced down at Anakin. "And who is this?"

He gestured Anakin forward. "This is Anakin Skywalker, my Padawan learner."

"My lady," Anakin said, bowing.

Clat'Ha raised her eyebrows, looking at the boy appraisingly. "Well, I can certainly see where he gets his manners from!" She smiled, "It's a pleasure to meet you, Anakin." She returned her attention to Qui-Gon. "And how is Obi-Wan doing these days?"

A shadow fell across the faces of both Jedi and, for a moment, Qui-Gon couldn't even speak. He should have expected it, he knew, but somehow he never did.

"Clat'Ha," he murmured, with some difficulty, "Obi-Wan...died a few years ago."

He'd heard that same question asked perhaps a hundred different ways and it was never any easier to answer. Always, he had to force the words past a suddenly constricting throat as he desperately tried to hide the sharp stab of an all-too-familiar pain from a wound that would never heal. It was a phantom echo of what he'd felt when their bond had been severed, like the throbbing one feels in a lost limb.

Clat'Ha's eyes went wide and a hand flew up to cover her mouth. She recovered a bit a moment later, enough to whisper, "I'm so sorry, I didn't know."

"It's all right, how could you?" Drop it, Qui-Gon pleaded silently, just let it go, don't make me speak of it.

Instead, she took his hand and said solemnly, "I know the two of you were very close. I understand how you must feel."

No, he thought distantly, no, you don't, you couldn't possibly. But she was trying and that would have to be enough.

Another hand lightly touched his elbow and Qui-Gon started, glancing down to see Anakin looking at him with some concern. He took a deep breath and carefully let the pain go.

This entire trip was pulling his emotions far too close to the surface. The faint, familiar pain was becoming a throbbing ache.

Qui-Gon pushed it aside, almost desperately. Time and enough to deal with this later, he would -not- let it interfere with his mission. He managed to give both Clat'Ha and Anakin a wan smile. "Well! Clat'Ha, why don't you tell us why we're here?

She did let it go this time, sensing his reluctance to discuss it further. She frowned at his words. "You don't know? We needed a representative of the Republic to witness the renewal of the Arconan Harvest Corporation's contract with the Bandomeer government. Actually, I was surprised to hear you were coming for such a trivial thing."

Qui-Gon raised his eyebrows in surprise. Trivial, indeed. Anyone could have come to witness the signing of a contract, especially one with no foreseen difficulties. The position of the AHC with the Bandomeer government had been stable for years. The contract was only a formality.

"I was told that you needed a negotiator for a matter of some importance. Perhaps it was a miscommunication of some sort," he mused aloud.

"Probably," Clat'Ha agreed, nodding. Then she smiled again. "Well, whatever the reason, I'm glad to see you again."

Clat'Ha gestured for them to follow and the Jedi fell in step next to her. "The signing isn't until tomorrow," she continued, "And I know the two of you must be tired from your trip, so I'll show you to your rooms."

I still don't know how he got me out of the Temple and now I never will. Not that it truly matters.

All I know is that I awoke to the darkness and walls of stone that were to be my home for a very long time.

The sunset on Bandomeer was particularly breathtaking this day. Qui-Gon watched it closely, committing every change and shift in color to memory.

Obi-Wan would have loved to see it, he knew, a binary sun system had always been his favorite, the double suns achieving colors that their singular cousins could only hint at. Obi-Wan.

This past week he had thought of little else but Obi-Wan. Everything had come back to him, reopening a wound inside of Qui-Gon. Except the wound hadn't been closed. It was still there, raw and bleeding inside him.

Obi-Wan had taught him something once, on this very planet before Qui- Gon had taken him as Padawan. He'd taught Qui-Gon that you couldn't hold on to the pain forever. That after a time the only thing that happened was you hurt yourself further. He had taught Qui-Gon how to let go of Xanatos. And now Qui-Gon was going to use that advice again.

It was time he let Obi-Wan go, past time. The wound was festering; his recent dreams proved that truth. Obi-Wan was dead and he was alive, it was time he started to live again.

He watched for one final time, before he went back inside to his borrowed rooms, back to the Padawan who needed him here and not lost in the past. He watched the suns sink below the horizon in a spectacular kaleidoscope of violets and crimsons as he remembered a son, a friend, and the last lover he would ever know. And he finally let himself say goodbye.

Three years, although I wouldn't know it at the time. Three years I spent with the darkness and the Darkness, one or the other swallowing every sense I had.

I don't know how long I waited for you, how long the fruit dangled before my eyes before I finally plucked it free.

However long it was, it wasn't long enough.

The night was cool, a breeze flowing in from the opened windows and Anakin started awake, lifting his head sleepily. Blinking, he sat up, he'd heard something, something not far...

Help me.

There, a soft sigh of words, as if the wind was speaking to him. Was someone nearby hurt, perhaps? The Force trying to tell him something? He certainly felt something from the Force, something not quite right.

Help me.

This time he was sure he had heard it. He started to get out of bed, cast a guilty look at the man sleeping next to him. Master Qui-Gon was sleeping peacefully for the first time in several days and Anakin was reluctant to wake him for what might be nothing. But what if it was important?

Help me. Please, help me.

That did it. He slid out of the bed, moving quietly so as not to wake his master. He'd just check it out, he told himself. If it was something important he could always come back and wake his master and if it wasn't, then no one would be the wiser.

He eased the outer door open, left it slightly ajar and crept outside. The path to their rooms led through the gardens and he wandered through them, listening.

Nothing.

He sighed mentally. Oh well, at least he hadn't woken his master over this bit of nonsense. He'd just turned to return to their room when he felt something cool touch his neck. And then an electric current bit into him, every muscle in his body tightened and shrieked in pain.

Anakin tried to scream, would have screamed but there was something else, the Force as he'd never felt it swarmed around him like stinging n'let beetles. It surrounded him, gagging him and all his screams fell inward. The sickening, crawling sensation of something diseased scrabbling over him, strangled away his breath and he collapsed, silently, to the ground.

A dark figure moved from the shadows. He stepped over the boy, not sparing him a glance as he walked through the gardens, back to the open door of Anakin and Qui-Gon's room. The dark figure entered the room, making his way unerringly to the bedroom, to the prone man on the bed.

He regarded the sleeping man silently, noting the silvered hair, the lines of the face that were already tightening, twitching slightly as if he dreamed. A gloved hand came out, hovered over the sleeping Jedi. It didn't touch, made its way instead slowly down that long body, then back up stopping just above Qui-Gon's throat. The hand clenched into a fist, leather creaking slightly and he abruptly turned and left, leaving the door open as he walked swiftly back to the unconscious boy. He scooped him up, hefting the boy onto his shoulder and disappeared back into the night.

It was dark. He was wrapped in a shroud of purest black, could see nothing but darkness.

He couldn't see, but he knew. He knew that the walls and floor were cold stone without a crack to allow in any glimmer of light. And he knew that there was someone else here in the darkness, curled up on the floor, naked and shivering.

The other person rocked back and forth, banging his head against the wall and moaning, a low, eerie thread of sound. The moans shifted, blended into something more like laughter and he rocked faster, harder and the laughter in turn shifted to words.

"Let me out. Let me out, let me out, let me out." A soft continuous chant, slowly growing louder until he was shrieking, lunging awkwardly from his crouched position to claw at the stone walls with his bare hands, scraping already raw and aching fingers bloody yet again.

And he couldn't

"Let me out! Let me..."

see,

"out! Let me out, letmeout..."

but he knew.

"Let me out! Please, I'll do anything, just let me out, LET ME OUT!!!"

He knew.

Qui-Gon fell from the bed in his efforts to escape, skittered across the floor and smacked into the wall before awareness finally took hold of him. Breathing heavily, he looked at the room frantically, calming only when he saw pale walls and light from the several moons streaming in through the window.

His deep gasps for breath eased and he let his head rest against the wall as reality slowly reasserted itself. He had been several days without a true nightmare and now this. Something was not right with this. He'd thought it was his preoccupation with Obi-Wan lately that had been causing the dreams, that's why having Anakin stay with him helped, it forced him to focus on the now...Anakin.

The boy was nowhere in the room. He didn't have to stand to feel that, didn't have to move at all. He could feel nothing from his Padawan through the Force, not a trace, not a whisper. All he felt was the wind blowing in gently through the window, tousling his hair, and the faint warmth from the just rising suns.

Three years. He could have waited longer, there was no rush for him. I was the perfect apprentice, already trained in the ways of fighting.

All he had to teach me was the ways of the Dark. And I learned those lessons eagerly.

I'm sorry, Master. I am sorry. But I had already bitten that apple. And the higher you are, the further you have to fall.

Chapter 3: A Lamentation for the Sun

I still remember the first time I saw the sun again after so much darkness, felt again the light and warmth that I had been denied for so long.

I tried to escape from it.

I had been cold for so long that I flinched away from the heat of the sun. It seemed to burn through my skin like acid and I struggled to escape from it, crawling weakly, pathetically, on my elbows because my ruined hands couldn't support me.

I fled from the light of the sun on my knees while the mocking sounds of laughter came from behind as he watched me cower.

His first thought as he woke was that he was cold. Anakin opened his eyes and looked around blearily at his unfamiliar surroundings. Out of habit he mentally reached out to his master, searching for his comforting presence.

A sharp stab of agony pierced his already aching head and he rolled over onto his side, gagging.

"I wouldn't do that again if I were you."

Anakin jerked his head up, looking in the direction of the voice and the strange, shrill giggle that followed the words, but his eyes were watering from the pain and he couldn't see clearly. Without thought he tried to reach up and wipe away the tears but his hands refused to obey. He saw a dark figure move to kneel before him. A hand lightly touched his neck and he realized that there was some kind of collar around it.

"Ingenious, isn't it? It was made especially for Force-sensitive slaves. Of course, I made a few adjustments." The hand trailed to the back of Anakin's neck, just barely touching. "If you try to use the Force, it sends a pulse of electricity right to the pain centers of your brain."

The voice was almost obscenely cheerful and Anakin looked up at the man crouched before him, trying to focus.

"Who are you?" he rasped out, his throat was dry and tight. It came to him then that the reason he couldn't use his hands was because they were being held together with binders.

Silence, then a much harder voice, "Well. How appropriate. Forgotten so quickly, am I?" A sigh, then the gleeful tone returned, "Oh, well, it doesn't matter much anyway, does it, Chosen One?"

There was something about that voice, something...Anakin rubbed his face against his shoulder, trying to clear his eyes and the man leaned back just as he looked up, his face abruptly outlined in the dim light.

"Obi-Wan?" The disbelieving words fell from Anakin's lips before he could stop them. This wasn't possible, everyone knew that Obi-Wan had died. His mind whirled, searching for an excuse, a reason.

Obi-Wan smiled brightly, "See there! You do remember me, I knew you would!" He reached out and tapped a stunned Anakin's nose with a gloved finger before twining his hand into Anakin's cropped hair and jerking him upright roughly, ignoring Anakin's cry of pain.

"Quite the proper little Padawan, aren't you?" Obi-Wan observed, studying Anakin critically, "I'm sure your Master is quite proud of you."

He released Anakin's hair and leaned back on his heels. Anakin fell backwards and leaned against the wall behind him, too stunned to even speak.

"I wonder if he'll bend you over and fuck you too?" Obi-Wan mused absently, as if speaking to himself.

Anakin gaped at him, his horror and sense of unreality increasing by the second and he finally found his voice. "Master Qui-Gon would never...!"

"Oh, but he would," Obi-Wan cut in. "He did." A little smile played on his lips. "I wouldn't worry though. You're a bit young yet, I should think. Although," he put a finger under Anakin's chin, tilting his head up. "You do have a very sweet mouth." The boy jerked away, eyes wide and terrified, and Obi-Wan laughed.

"Don't worry, Chosen One." Anakin flinched at the mocking words. "I'm not going to hurt you. I won't even touch you, have no fears of that."

"Then why am I here? What are you going to do with me? Why are you doing this?" Faint hysteria and he was on the edge of tears now, this couldn't be real, his mind insisted. When he imagined Obi-Wan Kenobi, it was as a hero, the destroyer of the Sith, savior of Master Jinn. This...thing, this creature who was watching him with fever-bright eyes could have stepped breathing from his worst nightmares.

The thing that looked like Obi-Wan smiled again and the sight sent a chill to trickle icily down Anakin's spine.

"Why my dear little Anakin, I'm not going to do anything to you. You're only bait. As for why I'm doing this." The smile fled then and if it had made Anakin feel cold the expression on Obi-Wan's face now turned his blood to ice. "I'm doing it for the simplest of reasons. I want to see Qui-Gon Jinn die."

He laughed, watching me shrink into the darkest corner of the room, then he walked over to crouch next to me. I didn't move, actually crawled closer to him, using his body to block the sun.

He touched me, ran his hands over skin that had been bare for so long that it had forgotten the feel of clothing.

I was hardly aware of the intimacy of the touch increasing. I simply lay there in the shadow of his body and let him do as he wished.

His touch was cold.

On the floor of his provided room, Qui-Gon Jinn knelt, deeply immersed in the Force, searching. The contract signing had immediately put on hold when it had been discovered that Anakin was missing.

Extending his senses further still, pushing tendrils of Force outward, Qui-Gon was perfectly still, as he had been for hours, noticing but not acknowledging the occasional person who peeked into the room to check on him.

Anakin was still here, still on Bandomeer, that much he knew. He could feel the brilliant touch of him dimly through the Force. But it was shrouded, wrapped up in a suffocating blanket of darkness.

He had felt darkness before; there wasn't a Jedi who hadn't. The stained, corrupt touch of the greedy, the cruel, those beings who cared not who the hurt as long as they got what they wanted.

But this darkness was something beyond. It left a sour taste in the back of his mouth, made his sinuses sting and his eyes water. And yet, this was a darkness that he had felt before. Twice before, to be exact.

And it led him back to Obi-Wan.

After the...incident, Qui-Gon had searched for months for some clue, some answer as to how, why, the man who had been the center of his life had been taken from him. Searching, torn between duty and the desperate need to know what had happened. There had been very little to go on, not even trace had been left to tell him where to start.

He had gone anyway, searching. Checking every past enemy that he could think of, his own, Obi-Wan's, even enemies of the Jedi. Nothing. Not a fragment, not a whisper.

Months later he had finally surrendered. Obi-Wan was gone and there was nothing that could change that. He'd learned to deal with it as best he could, because there was no other choice.

He had checked every possibility, every enemy, all of them, but one. The one that he had known to be true from the start but had denied it because it had been the one enemy that he couldn't fight, couldn't -find-.

Now that enemy had Anakin. But this time was different because Anakin was still alive. And he would not surrender. Not this time.

He was not going to lose another.

Eyes still closed, Qui-Gon got to his feet and walked out the door, silently following that tiny echo.

He took everything from me, everything I'd ever had, everything I ever was.

And he took away ever bit of light I had ever possessed, when he took you away, and turned everything I had felt for you to Darkness.

Anakin shivered, pulling his knees up to his chest. He was only wearing his sleep clothes, his feet were bare and wherever they were was not warm, not at all.

It looked like an old mining shaft. He recognized a few old, rusty bits of equipment. It looked like there had been a partial cave-in, there were piles of rock and debris scattered about.

Obi-Wan was a few feet away, pacing back and forth and muttering almost inaudibly, outlined in an eerie green glow from the small portable lights that were set out. Anakin couldn't watch him. There was something about him now that made him feel almost nauseous.

He still didn't really believe it. This couldn't be the Obi-Wan he remembered. The man for whom his Master had grieved, for so hard and so long that the Council had briefly been fearful for his sanity. It just wasn't possible.

He shivered again, pulling his knees closer still to try and hold in what little warmth he could. Obi-Wan abruptly stopped pacing and gave him a narrow glance before striding towards him

Anakin shrank away but all Obi-Wan did was silently strip off the long black cloak he was wearing and brusquely drape it over Anakin's shoulders.

"Thank you," Anakin said without thinking. Obi-Wan said nothing, simply resumed his pacing.

Anakin snuggled into the still warm folds of the cloth, watching the older man this time. He didn't understand this; the slight bit of concern was a direct contrast to his earlier treatment.

"Won't you get cold?" he asked timidly. Obi-Wan stopped again and stared at the young Padawan until Anakin began to regret opening his mouth. Then Obi-Wan laughed. Not the peculiar, shrill giggle from before, but something harder, bitter, that made Anakin shiver again in spite of the cloak's warmth.

"No, 'Chosen one', I won't get cold." There was a strange bleakness to the words, almost sanity. "I'm quite used to it."

He moved to lean against the cave wall, gloved fingers twisting together. He couldn't seem to hold still, constantly fidgeting as if he was on edge. Anakin watched that, wondered about it. Afraid to face Qui-Gon, perhaps? He did know one thing, he couldn't just sit here and wait for his master to come. Qui-Gon was a fantastic swordsman, perhaps the best in the order but he had trained Obi-Wan. And Obi-Wan had killed the Sith where Qui-Gon had failed. Anakin took a deep breath, hoping he wasn't about to make a horrible mistake.

"Why do you want to kill Master Qui-Gon? He loves you."

Obi-Wan's head snapped towards Anakin and the waves of darkened anger coming off of him were almost palatable.

"Does he?" The words were deceptively soft, almost idle, belying the rage Anakin knew he felt. "Does he really?" He took a step closer, moving to stand right at Anakin's feet.

"Tell me then, why didn't he COME FOR ME!" The last words were a scream, couched with a kind of anguish that Anakin had never before felt from anyone. Before Anakin could even speak Obi-Wan moved in a blur, lifting him up by his throat and pinning him against the wall.

"He loves me?" Almost breathed in Anakin's ear, as the boy struggled. "I'm sure that's what he wanted everyone to believe, wanted me to believe. But he never really wanted me. He thought he could fool me, but I learned, oh how I learned!" he spat, breaths coming in angry gasps. He grinned then, suddenly, a grotesque parody of cheerfulness. "And then you came along, Chosen One," The hand around Anakin's throat tightened and he wheezed, trying to suck in even a tiny amount of air as Obi-Wan giggled shrilly, "And then he got rid of me."

He released him, and Anakin dropped back down to the floor, coughing, rasping air in through his bruised throat. Obi-Wan stalked away, pacing, muttering again, too low for Anakin to hear.

Obi-Wan ran a gloved hand over his face. Qui-Gon didn't love him, no, it had all been a lie to soothe his conscience. And he was going to pay for that lie, oh, he was going to pay! Because he had lied, hadn't he? That hand moved upward, tangling in his hair painfully. Of course he'd lied, it didn't matter what that little bratling had said. Qui-Gon had told him nothing but lies and then had deserted him in favor of someone better. Hadn't he?

He moved past the young boy still gasping on the ground, moved just down far enough so the boy couldn't see him and sank to the ground, curling up in a ball. This had all made sense a moment ago, before that little shit had started to talk. Maybe the boy was in on it too, maybe it was his fault...no, no, no it was Qui-Gon, all of it, all him. All, all, all, he chanted, turning it into a song as his agitation sank away and was replaced with anticipation. He could feel -him- now, coming. Soon.

Anakin pushed himself back upright with his bound hands, struggling to wrap the cloak around him again. In spite of the aching in his throat, he felt a sharp stab of empathy for the man now out of sight. This was Obi-Wan, he believed it now, but something was wrong. He was sick somehow, infested with that strange crawling darkness.

He shifted further, burrowing in the robe. He cast a furtive glance in the direction Obi-Wan had disappeared in, before reaching, tentatively, for the Force.

The pain surged back but he had expected it and he gritted his teeth, pushing it aside as he had been taught, reaching further. The Force stirred weakly in his grasp and he clung to it, manipulating the gossamer thread and aiming it towards the binders.

His head was already throbbing with pain, but he couldn't stop now, he had to free himself. It may be that this man was Obi-Wan but he also intended to murder his Master and that Anakin could not allow.

You never really understood what you meant to me, did you? You were my everything, my center, my sun. My world revolved around you.

And then I wasn't enough and you took another.

I lost my light when you rejected me and I was so cold, so very, very cold.

And you never came.

Chapter 4: Dreams Into Waking

I will never forget how it felt to stand in the Council Chambers and hear you declare Anakin Skywalker as your Padawan. There I stood, hardly a meter away from you, forgotten in the moment that it took for someone to close a door. Years we had been together and all of them, worthless.

I wanted to hate Anakin, but I couldn't blame him. He was a boy and he was just as susceptible to your whims as I was. The dark one, my jailor, my savior, may have made me hate you but it was you who gave me up.

Even before the yawning mouth of the old Home Planet mine appeared before him, Qui-Gon knew where the vague pull of Anakin's mind was leading him.

It was like a waking dream and he shivered despite the thick Jedi robes he was wearing, awash with a sickening sense of déjà vu. Qui-Gon half- expecting to see Xanatos appear riding on a speeder bike, as if he had accidentally stepped back in time.

He forced his attention back to the moment with difficulty. His mind felt as if it was being torn into a dozen directions, a churning whirlpool mixing Anakin, Obi-Wan and that darkness but it was a distraction he could ill-afford, not now, not with his Padawan's life at risk. And perhaps more than his life.

He walked cautiously through the mine entrance. It had been shut down for years, all the precious minerals stripped away but even if the Force hadn't told him, he could see that someone had been there recently. The tunnels had been cleared out slightly and here and there were small portable lights.

He walked through the eerily silent tunnel, his boots crunching on the gravel the only sound. This was right; he could feel Anakin's Force signature getting stronger as well as that darkness. It set the fine hairs on the back of his neck prickling. At the end of the tunnel was a lift, operational.

Qui-Gon stepped into it and without a moment's hesitation pressed level six.

He closed his eyes, breathing deeply as the lift carried him downward. All of the past was coming back to haunt him at once, mistakes he'd made with two of his Padawans. He couldn't afford another one

He stepped out of the lift, delicately touching the Force outside of it for an ambush before continuing. Qui-Gon hadn't walked but two steps when he heard it.

"I was beginning to think you weren't going to come. Again."

He didn't turn, not at first. Qui-Gon went completely still as all control over his limbs left him. His initial thought was that the Council had been right, that his refusal to stop grieving had finally torn away his sanity and he was now hallucinating the one voice that he wanted most to hear.

He knew, knew that if he turned around there would be no one there, just empty darkness and the ludicrous spark of hope that had flared within him would be extinguished as quickly as it had been ignited.

But he had to turn, eventually. He needed to prove, even in his absolute certainty, that no one was there, certainly no one with that voice.

He was wrong.

Qui-Gon closed his eyes and just stood, all his energy expended just to keep upright. His heart racing, pounding as if it were trying to beat its way out of his chest as he was assaulted with equal parts of love, disbelief and despair.

He couldn't see this, could not possibly believe what his eyes had told him. It was a cruel joke that his strained mind was playing on him, a dream. In a moment he would open his eyes and that image would dissolve into a blood-soaked phantasm and he would wake up again screaming, his sheets damp with sweat and tears.

But when he opened his eyes that figure was still standing there, a nearby lamp casting his face in light as he watched Qui-Gon with an expression of amusement.

His hair was much longer, pulled back into a haphazard ponytail at the nape of his neck and even in the dim light Qui-Gon could see it was threaded thickly with silver, more so even than his own. His face was lined as no human of only twenty and nine years should be, lines that spoke of endured harshness and pain. Dressed completely in black, from a dark tunic down to knee boots.

But he was alive.

"Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon said hoarsely, barely above a whisper as if afraid to speak too loud, lest he wake himself and this vision be proved false.

The younger man smiled fleetingly. "Why, Master, you do remember me! I would have guessed that you had banished me from your mind the very moment I left your sight."

The nearly caustic bitterness in those mocking words shocked Qui-Gon back into reality and his heart throbbed anew as he realized in one horrifying moment that the vortex of darkness that had been suffocating him since this had begun was centered around the man before him.

It was his eyes. Those were not the eyes of the Obi-Wan he had known. There was very little sanity in those gray eyes but there was a great deal of hatred. It seemed to bruise the very air around him. Qui-Gon's heart screamed in denial and he knew. His first instinct had been correct, this man was not his love. This was a dark reflection of the young man who had stood in this same mine nearly two decades before.

It was pure reflex that saved him from the first blow, raising his saber against the red blur of Obi-Wan's was as natural to him as breathing. It took the second blow to jar him from the blankness of shock enough to realize that Obi-Wan was attacking him.

In another instant of clarity he realized something else, even as he automatically defended himself from the coming attack. Qui-Gon realized that he couldn't do this, that even if by some miracle of the Force he managed to defeat Obi-Wan, he couldn't kill him, not even to save his own life, no matter what the young man had become. And he also knew without a doubt that this was a battle that only one of them would survive, if that.

He accepted that, accepted his death with an ease that astonished him. But he couldn't do it just yet; there was something that must be done first.

Switching tactics in mid-blow, Qui-Gon pushed Obi-Wan backwards, hard, augmenting his own strength with the Force. Obi-Wan slid backwards and off the edge of the walkway, down into a smaller shaft. It certainly wouldn't stop him, but it bought Qui-Gon the precious seconds he needed.

You were my center and then I found myself cut free and I fell for what seemed like an eternity into darkness.

"Qui-Gon..." A strange, disembodied voice called out only a short distance away and Qui-Gon gritted his teeth, holding himself outside of the Force and as undetectable as he could possibly be. He was crouched low behind one of the many rock piles scattered about, moving slowly and steadily towards his Padawan.

"Come out! You aren't playing the game right!" Petulant tone and Qui- Gon moved quickly while Obi-Wan spoke, using his voice to mask any sounds of movement. The only thing he could concentrate on now was Anakin.

"Did you really think I wouldn't know, Master?" Taunting and Qui-Gon couldn't hold back a wince even as he moved closer to where he'd last felt Anakin's presence. His tight shields made it so that Obi-Wan couldn't find him but it also impaired his ability to find Anakin. Wouldn't know what, Qui-Gon wondered. As deranged as Obi-Wan obviously was at this moment there was no telling what he was speaking of but his next words where beyond anything Qui-Gon could have expected.

"Tell me, were you just waiting for your little 'chosen one' to come before you discarded me or was that just a convenient way to get rid of me?" Shrill laughter and Qui-Gon, in his shock, missed the opportunity to move closer to Anakin. "How very...tedious...it must have been for you, the great Qui-Gon Jinn to be stuck training me because of a errant moment of guilt."

All mocking was gone from those softly spoken words and at that moment he sounded so much like the Obi-Wan that Qui-Gon remembered that his eyes burned with tears, that his Obi-Wan could believe that. Still, he moved forward and Anakin came just into his line of vision, wrapped in black cloth, his eyes tightly closed in his pinched face.

It occurred to Qui-Gon that he hadn't heard Obi-Wan speak in far too long a time in the same instant his ears registered the sharp hum, just a moment too late, and then he felt the searing heat of a lightsaber only inches from his neck.

Obi-wan clicked his tongue in disappointment. "Now, now, Master, you're trying to cheat. You get the prize after you win, not before." And to Qui-Gon's utter shock, instead of parted his head from his neck with one neat stroke, Obi-Wan stepped back and moved into an attack stance, saying softly, "Let us finish this then."

He cast a last glance at Anakin before again igniting his saber. Sometimes there were no choices.

It was a mistake, all of it a mistake. So many lies, all my memories were conflicting. Lies, truths, memories but I no longer knew whom they belonged to or what they meant.

I only knew you. Hated you for reasons I no longer understood.

Anakin watched helplessly as Obi-Wan pushed his master back yet again. It was becoming obvious who was going to win this fight and really it had been obvious before Qui-Gon had set foot in the mine.

Desperately, Anakin focused every shred of energy he still had left towards the binders on his wrists.

Raising his lightsaber to deflect the blows that were being hammered down on him, drowning in the black pall of rage that surrounded him, Qui-Gon Jinn was exhausted and almost ready to simply surrender. He had been doomed from the start of this and it was only the bright glow of Anakin, only meters away, that kept him fighting. He could not afford to lose, could not fail Anakin.

It was only moments later that he discovered that he didn't really have a choice. One hard downward swing, a sharp kick and he was knocked to the ground, his lightsaber rolling out of reach as he lay flat on his back, Obi-Wan standing triumphantly above him.

"Not good enough for you, Master. But I was good enough to beat you," Obi-Wan gasped out, panting from exertion. "Goodnight, my Master." He raised the saber over his head.

"I've missed you, Padawan." The words came without thought. They fell from Qui-Gon's lips by their own will. Their eyes caught for an instant, an eternity and Qui-Gon watched as Obi-Wan's eyes cleared, lucidity replacing rage and he hesitated, lightsaber poised for a killing blow. Then anger surged again, dimming the brief vision of the young man he had known. The saber started its descent.

And stopped. It hovered uncertainly for a moment and again anger was wiped away to be replaced by...shock? Obi-Wan's lips parted, as if to speak, but all the emerged was a thin ribbon of crimson, to trail down his chin. His lightsaber clattered to the ground, extinguished, and Obi-Wan followed it, crumpling to the floor.

Behind him, hands dripping red, was a pale faced Anakin. Obi-Wan curled into himself, bending just enough for Qui-Gon to see the long, sharp piece of twisted metal that Anakin had stabbed into Obi-Wan's back. Blood was already pooling on the floor underneath the man as he tried desperately to breathe.

No, no, no, not again, no please no. Qui-Gon crawled over to the dying man, not even noticing the sharp rocks that dug through the thin fabric of his pants. He jerked the impromptu weapon from Obi- Wan's flesh, dragging a hoarse scream from him, barely more than a loud breath. Qui-Gon pulled his former Padawan into his arms, felt the warm blood gushing from the wound seeping into his pants but he didn't care. He would not let this happen, he would -not-.

Even as he pressed his hands to Obi-Wan's face, searching for his mind to start healing, Obi-Wan tried weakly to shake them off.

No, he mouthed, lacking the breath for speech and Qui-Gon didn't need to hear it aloud to know what Obi-Wan said next.

Let me die.

His eyes were shimmering with tears of pain but they were lucid, even as they flickered shut.

"No!" Qui-Gon shouted, hardly aware that he had done so as he reached for the Force and surged into Obi-Wan's mind. The younger man tried to fight him off, tried to raise his shields but he was sluggish and in pain and Qui-Gon shoved aside his protests easily. It only took him a bare second to find it, the ragged bleeding edge of their severed bond, the raw mental wound that matched his own.

Obi-Wan screamed, mentally and physically as Qui-Gon captured that edge. With no time for gentleness, he wove his way into Obi-Wan's unwilling psyche. Dimly, in the shadow world of the physical he felt small, wet hands slide over his own and the energy surge double, tripled, burning white-hot through him.

He felt the strands of their bond wind together again even as a last desperate wave of ugliness flowed over him. Qui-Gon endured it, held it away from Anakin as best he could while he was wrapped in a web of a thousand insects stinging him at once. He pushed back against it, drowned it in the abundance of their light and he felt a sudden sense of rightness as their link snapped together tightly.

A flood of mental images came to him. Qui-Gon relived everything that Obi-Wan had endured the past few years, all the pain of Obi-wan waiting, all his desperate belief turning to despair when he realized he was waiting in vain and he felt Obi-Wan's sudden awareness of his own memories, a mixture of disbelief and rage and confusion.

Just before the drain of energy overtook him and he sank into unconsciousness, his senses aching with Obi-Wan's pain as well as his own, he heard the man in his arms take a breath.

Why didn't you let me die?

Chapter 5: The Sun Also Rises

I have many regrets, my Master, I cannot imagine that there are any sentient beings that do not. I regret things from my childhood, foolishness that I was too young to avoid. I regret things from a dozen missions that I had with you, that if perhaps I had done one thing differently or better so much would have changed. I regret that I waited so long to kiss you for the first time and if I had known before how you would have reacted, nothing could have stopped me.

And I regret that I didn't touch you, that first and last time.

His eyes were open, somehow he knew that but all he saw was a grayish blur. He tried to squint and discovered that he could. He blinked several times and slowly the world swam into focus.

A white wall. That was what he had been looking at. Except it was at a strange angle, not quite right somehow.

Oh. He was lying down. That explained it. Gingerly, he tried to move. He could, so he sat up and found that he had been covered in blankets. He was noticing other things now, a small machine at his side with various wires poking out here and there, some of which he discovered were attached to his arm. That seemed important somehow but he didn't know why.

A sound and the wall opened, no, that was a door and someone rushed into the room and started to poke at him with a strange instrument. He didn't think to pull away, just watched as the other prodded at him.

"Master Qui-Gon? How are you feeling?" The person, (she?) asked, speaking very slowly and that irritated him for some reason. He understood her perfectly well and he was going to tell her so when he realized that he didn't know how.

She must have sensed his mental distress because she spoke again, soothingly. "It's all right, you're going to be fine. You've gone through something very traumatic. Rest will help."

She pressed gently on his shoulders, trying to make him lie back but he resisted. This wasn't right, he tried to say, something was missing something was -wrong- but the only noises that left his throat were unintelligible grunts, low guttural sounds of frustration.

He felt a flash of annoyance and realized it had come from her. "All right then, be stubborn!" And she pressed a button on the machine. Immediately he felt horribly tired and he had lain back on the mattress before he'd even thought about it. The last thing he felt was her pulling the blankets over him again and then he sank into a comforting void of sleep.

The next time he woke he was much improved, if a bit disoriented. And then he'd had to prove that he did know his own name, the names of the Council members as well as the answers to few other inane questions that he answered with gritted teeth as he struggled with annoyance. But the healers must have been satisfied with his answers because they allowed him to remain awake and left him in the room, alone.

His solitude was short-lived. Bare minutes later Master Yoda and Master Windu walked into his room and closed the door firmly behind them.

"Where is Obi-Wan?" Qui-Gon asked before the door had even clicked shut. The healers had refused to answer his questions and had even warned him that if he became too agitated they would put him back to sleep. That had shut him up quickly. But now in front of these two, whose faces were far too grave, too solemn he was finished waiting. Four years was long enough.

It was Windu who finally broke the silence. "Qui-Gon, the Council feels that it may be better for you not to see him for a time. You both have been through so much..." Qui-Gon cut him off rudely, he was in no mood for words games.

"I need to see him, Mace. Where is he?"

"Not the Padawan you remember, Qui-Gon," Yoda pointed out, but the words were gently said. "Much has happened, much has changed."

Qui-Gon glared at both of them and they both looked back, utterly serene and calm. He nodded suddenly and an almost undetectable bit of tension left the room, only to surge back when Qui-Gon promptly tore the medical wires from his arm.

"What are you doing!" Mace demanded, his calm disappearing into flustered shock. Yoda said nothing but his ears lowered, expressing his silent annoyance. Ignoring them both, Qui-Gon shoved the blankets aside and managed to get into a sitting position. Dark spots wavered before his eyes as he was assaulted by equal parts of dizziness and nausea. He'd been kept unconscious for some time apparently. He fought the queasiness back, breathing deeply until it eased and only then did he look at the other Jedi.

"I'm going to see Obi-Wan," he explained matter-of-factly. "And if you won't take me then I will go to him myself."

"Qui-Gon, you are in no condition...."

"I can feel him!" Qui-Gon finally snapped out. "I can feel that he is nearby and hurt but nothing else. And I don't give a damn what you or the rest of the Council thinks is best, I am going to see him!" The last near shout drained him for a moment but he still managed to struggle into a sitting position at the side of the bed. He started and nearly fell off the bed at the loud crack of Yoda's walking stick being rapped against the floor.

"Persistent, you are." Irritably, but also with a touch of resignation, as if he had expected it. "See Obi-Wan, you will." Yoda nodded at Mace, who, with a faint smile, walked over and simply picked Qui-Gon up, cradling the man in his arms, never mind that Qui-Gon was several inches taller and a few kilos heavier.

He didn't have to carry Qui-Gon far. Down one corridor, past a door, two doors and at the third he turned and went inside. The room was dark, a marked contrast to the brightly lit hallways of the infirmary and Qui-Gon blinked rapidly, struggling to make his eyes adjust. He could just see the outline of the bed, hear the soft hum of machinery.

Mace settled Qui-Gon into the chair next to the bed, plucking a blanket from a nearby stack and wrapped Qui-Gon in it before the other man even realized that he was cold. All his attention was on the young man in the bed, swathed in blankets. His face, the only part of him visible, was ashen, his parted lips nearly as colorless as his face.

"What happened," Qui-Gon whispered hoarsely, his eyes never leaving his former Padawan.

Yoda studied him closely. "What memories have you?"

Qui-Gon opened his mouth to answer and hesitated, glancing at the other masters who were waiting expectantly before saying uncertainly, "I was on Bandomeer with Anakin..." and he cut off abruptly, flooded with guilty concern. "Anakin, where is he? I didn't even..."

"Fine, he is," Yoda interrupted, impatiently gesturing for Qui-Gon to go on.

Qui-Gon nodded, relieved. Of course he had known Anakin was alive, they did have a bond but his newly awakened bond with Obi-Wan had him completely ensnarled at the moment.

"Bandomeer," he repeated, speaking slowly. "And Anakin was kidnapped and the...the mine and Obi-Wan. I..." He closed his eyes tightly, trying to picture it in his mind but reaching for the memories seemed to push them further from his grasp. "I'm sorry," he said finally, reluctantly. "It's...blurred somehow. I can't quite grasp it."

He felt a ripple of disappointment come from both masters before it was quickly hidden and he glanced at them curiously, silent questions in his eyes.

It was Mace who finally broke the silence, his tone low and weary as he spoke. "When you arrived back on Coruscant, Anakin told us everything. He said that there was a battle between you and Obi-Wan." Qui-Gon winced at those words. Yes, he did remember that now, vaguely, like he had watched it from afar. It seemed as insubstantial as a dream, a mere cobweb of memory to be brushed aside.

"He told us that afterward you both healed him," Mace continued, his eyes flicking briefly at the still figure on the bed. "The stress of the healing made you both lose consciousness and when Anakin awoke he used the distress beacon on your belt to summon assistance. The Bandomeer healers contacted us and did what they could but when they realized that your injuries were more mental than physical they sent you all back here." Mace sighed and rubbed his temples as if his head pained him. "You've been here for just over a week."

"Reestablished your bond with Obi-Wan, you have?" Yoda asked abruptly, sharply. Qui-Gon blinked at him, still trying to assimilate this information. He had been unconscious for a week? More than that, he realized, for however long he had been on Bandomeer as well as the trip to Coruscant. Yoda repeated the question and Qui-Gon glanced back at Obi-Wan, his bondmate who had tried to kill him.

"Yes," he said softly, finally. There was no denying it, whatever had happened weeks ago or years ago he could never deny Obi-Wan, never. He looked back at Yoda and Mace, eyes going from face to face and his confusion growing as both council member's expressions became strangely grim.

"And what feel you from him?" No sharpness now, it had been replaced by a sense of urgency.

Again Qui-Gon looked from the silent figure on the bed to the other Masters and back before he answered, honestly, "I can feel that he is here but very little else. He's so completely closed off that I can't read anything from him." It was true but he felt slightly uncomfortable speaking of it, feeling as if he needed to protect Obi-Wan somehow.

Yoda and Mace wilted visibly at his words; their shields actually wavered enough for Qui-Gon to feel their disappointment. "And you remember nothing from your linking with him?" Mace asked heavily.

"No, nothing specific...what is this all about?" His own tone was sharp now, his hackles rising. At this particular moment he could care less that these two were the highest members of the Council. Obi-Wan had been through enough, more than anyone should ever have to go through, Qui-Gon remembered at least that much. And he would be damned as a Sith himself before he would sit by and allow anyone to hurt Obi-Wan again, Council member or no.

Immediately a wave of reassurance/warmth/calm washed over him. "No, Qui-Gon it isn't like that," Mace said urgently, strengthening the sentiment of their feelings with words. "It isn't Obi-Wan that we are concerned about in this, just his knowledge."

"Knows who the dark Master is, he does," Yoda added gently and Qui-Gon recoiled at the reminder.

He looked at Obi-Wan again, his pallor made worse by the whiteness of the bed linens, his chest slowly rising and lowering with each breath his only movement. "He isn't going to wake up, is he?" Qui-Gon whispered hoarsely. His words were nearly a sob and Qui-Gon felt as if he were choking on his own sorrow. Lost and then found, only to be lost again and he felt as if something within him had again died. He wondered dully how much of his soul he could lose before the Force finally took him back.

A gentle hand on his knee startled him and Qui-Gon looked down to see Master Yoda looking at him gravely. "Know that, we do not," the diminutive master said softly, squeezing Qui-Gon's knee again. "Injuries are not like yours, closed himself off deliberately he has." A hesitation then very gently, "Afraid he is."

Kindly said but the words gave Qui-Gon no comfort. Deliberately closing your mind off, whether consciously or otherwise was far worse than just an involuntary reaction. There was no treatment but time, healers couldn't reach past such shields for fear of damaging the mind behind them. He'd saved Obi-Wan's life, nearly at the expense of his own but he had been unable to save the young man's mind.

It had all been for nothing.

No, not for nothing, he corrected himself fiercely. There was a chance, however slim, that Obi-Wan would awaken and Qui-Gon was going to live for that chance. A chance was better than what he had had for the past four years.

A last gentle pat on his knee and Master Yoda turned with Master Windu and left, quietly closing the door behind them. For long moments the room was quiet and still, broken only by the soft beeping of machinery.

Qui-Gon reached out and carefully tucked the blankets away from Obi- Wan's face so that he could see it better. The lines of it were relaxed somewhat in slumber but not completely, he still looked older than he was. Or perhaps it was just older than Qui-Gon remembered him, it had been four years.

Four years. Qui-Gon only had the vaguest shadowed memories of what Obi- Wan had been through, a surety that there had been pain and fear and nearly insanity. And he did recall his last dream on Bandomeer. Vividly. The sound of Obi-Wan's screaming echoed through his head again at the memory and Qui-Gon shuddered, curling slightly into himself as he forced the thought away.

Had the dreams been a warning through the Force of this? Or had Obi-Wan somehow made them manifest? Qui-Gon didn't know but he had a feeling that he had seen the last of them. He hoped.

"Obi-Wan," he said softly, not expecting a response and not receiving one. He swallowed thickly and leaned forward to lightly touch Obi-Wan's face, slowly tracing those faint lines. His fingers stroked down the bristled, unshaved cheek to the long hair that was spread across the pillows, and Qui-Gon fingered the strands of gray that streaked through the dark gold.

He pulled back a bit, looking further down and one of Obi-Wan's hands was resting on top of the blankets. Qui-Gon abandoned the soft hair in favor of that hand, took it in his own. Turning it over, he studied the callused palm as carefully as if he had been a gypsy fortuneteller. The hands were familiar to Qui-Gon, long slender fingers that were as adept at handling a lightsaber as they had been, for just one night in Qui- Gon's memory, at giving pleasure. But now that hand was a mass of scars, pale and silvery in the dim light and Qui-Gon closed his eyes against them, remembering how Obi-Wan had gotten those scars.

"Obi-Wan," he said again, his voice hoarser with growing pain. "Obi- Wan, if I had had even the slightest idea of what had happened, just a hint, I would have come. Never doubt that, Obi-Wan. I would have come, I would have..." His words were little more than an agonized whispers that were falling upon deaf ears but he continued anyway, his eyes never leaving the Obi-Wan's unfamiliar but much loved face.

"I'm sorry, love. I'm so, so, sorry. I thought you were dead. I -felt- you die. I swear I would have come, I would have, if I had only known..." He choked on the words, tears coming now in spite of himself. He wiped away the wet streaks impatiently.

"Never again," Qui-Gon whispered fiercely, clutching Obi-Wan's hand in his own. "I will -never- let you go again, do you hear me? Never. I swear it."

Qui-Gon sat there the entire night, watching the man he had never thought to see again sleep, peacefully and completely oblivious to his master's quiet vow.

You would not remember that first almost-touch, Master. On Bandomeer, before I took Anakin away I saw you. I hated you then, burned with it, tasted it like bitter poison in the back of my throat. But I had to see you.

The sound of the door clicking open woke him the next morning and Qui- Gon tensed, looked towards it warily and he prepared for another argument with the healers. He knew damn well enough that he couldn't stay here forever but it had been four years. They could allow him a few days.

Instead of a nurse, however, he saw one blue eye and part of a blond head peering through the crack of the opened door. Qui-Gon smiled, relieved and nearly happy for the first time since he'd woken in the infirmary.

"Padawan," he said, allowing Anakin to hear his relief and he opened his arms. Anakin flew into them without the slightest hesitation, allowed Qui-Gon to pull him into his lap and hug him tightly.

They said nothing, allowing their bond to speak of their relief and affection for them, before Anakin pulled back a little, giving his master a happy smile before turning a much graver look towards the other man lying silent and still on the bed.

"He really is Obi-Wan, isn't he, Master." It was a statement rather than a question but Qui-Gon nodded anyway, not trusting his voice at this moment.

Anakin was quiet for a moment, considering that, before asking, "Is he better now? He was...I'm not sure. Sick somehow?"

Qui-Gon swallowed, hard. "I'm not sure, Padawan. I hope so," he replied, his words husky and his throat tight. He closed his eyes again, trying to hold back the burn of tears just a little longer. He had cried more since Obi-Wan had...been taken than he had the entirety of his life before that. For the past four years the tears had always been there, held back only by his will and waiting for any moment of weakness to break through. And there was no guarantee that now Obi-Wan was back that this would change.

They were both quiet for some time, each lost in their own thoughts as Anakin settled onto his Master's lap and watched Obi-Wan breath. Long minutes had passed when a thought suddenly hit Qui-Gon.

Keeping his excitement from his voice, he asked softly, "Padawan, you helped me heal Obi-Wan, didn't you?" Anakin nodded and he continued carefully, "Did you pick up any images or feelings from that?"

Anakin gave him an apologetic look. "No, just a lot of..."he gestured vaguely, shrugging. "Heat? Power? Something like that. Nothing clear. Master Yoda already asked me."

Well, it had been worth a try. He should have known that Yoda would have already thought of it. Qui-Gon rubbed his eyes tiredly and stretched as well as he could with Anakin still sitting on his lap. All his muscles immediately protested. His limbs were cramped and tight from spending the night in a chair, no matter how comfortable it was.

Stifling a yawn, he hugged Anakin again, still feeling twinges of guilt for not asking after the boy sooner. "And who has been caring for you while I've been in here?" he asked, poking a finger into Anakin's ribs and holding on as the boy laughed and tried to squirm away.

"Master Yoda. He said that if he could handle you as a Padawan he shouldn't have any trouble with me." He raised mischievous eyes to Qui- Gon's, lips curling as he tried and failed to contain his smile. Qui- Gon raised an eyebrow in surprise, pretending to be insulted.

"I deny everything that Master Yoda says. I was a perfectly good Padawan. I..." He stopped when Anakin gasped suddenly, his face slack with shock. Qui-Gon followed his stunned gaze back to Obi-Wan and his own shock tore through him, followed quickly but a surge of desperate hope.

Obi-Wan's eyes were open. He didn't move or speak but his eyes were open, clear bluish-gray, focused on the ceiling. Carefully, with trembling hands Qui-Gon set Anakin to the floor and stood, leaning over the bed.

"Obi-Wan?" he asked, softly. No response. It only took a moment for Qui-Gon to see that Obi-Wan wasn't looking at him but beyond him. He waved a hand in front of Obi-Wan's eyes. Nothing.

All his wildly rising hope left him in a painful rush and Qui-Gon sat back in the chair heavily. Anakin moved to stand at his elbow and hesitantly reached out to touch Qui-Gon's hand and the master grasped it blindly, gratefully. Taking a deep breath, Qui-Gon released the despair that was trying to form. This was a start at least, he told himself firmly, and certainly better than nothing at all.

The Padawan and Master stayed a while longer and when Qui-Gon finally drifted back to sleep, the weariness from his own convalescence catching up to him, Anakin carefully extracted his hand. Picking up blanket that had been discarded on the floor, he tucked it carefully around the older man before stealing from the room.

He glanced back in a last time before closing the door. Obi-Wan's eyes were still open, still looking up at the ceiling although Anakin doubted that he saw anything. It was Obi-Wan Kenobi, someone who was very important to Qui-Gon.

Qui-Gon, who looked far too pale and thin sleeping in a too-small chair next to Obi-Wan's bed and suddenly Anakin wanted very much to help Obi- Wan because it would make Qui-Gon happy. His master was the best Jedi there was, strong, wise a good teacher as well as a good friend but he was so rarely happy and Anakin wished very much to change that. To repay Qui-Gon for everything that he had done to help a lonely slave become something much more.

Turning to go back to Master Yoda's quarters, which he was sharing until Qui-Gon was better, Anakin made a silent promise that if there was -anything- he could do, anything at all, to help Obi-Wan he would do it, if only so his master could smile.

On Bandomeer, it had been four years since I had last seen you and you were asleep, dreaming of what, my only true Master? Happier times one would hope.

I should have killed you then, let my bitter hatred flow and end it all in a gush of hot blood, your blood instead of mine which I had bled for years.

I regret not touching you then because that would have ended it. I didn't touch you for fear that if I did I wouldn't be able to stop myself. My hands would have wrapped around your neck and I would have strangled the life from you and that would have been far too easy. I wanted you to see your death in my eyes after I stood over you in triumph. Or at least that was what I told myself, then.

Now I wonder.

The sun had set nearly an hour before and it was only the dim artificial lights of Coruscant's night that cast shadows along the wall. Qui-Gon was watching them, the occasional flicker as he sat on the edge of his bed, waiting.

A moment later in started, the faint twitching, soft, almost imperceptible whimpers that would escalate in a moment if he let them. Instead, he reached out and soothed the figure lying on his bed, stroking the fine, soft hair with one hand as he calmed the younger man back into a restful sleep.

The shivering eased and Obi-Wan sighed very softly, burrowing deeper into the blankets as he slept on. Qui-Gon watched him, waiting quietly for the next tremor.

Three weeks it had been since Qui-Gon had awoken in the infirmary on Coruscant. So much and yet so little had changed. Obi-Wan was still lost in his own mind, wandering around in a world that only he could see.

He had spent one week in the infirmary, staring at nothing, oblivious to the Healers probes, to Qui-Gon's presence. He simply stared straight ahead, seeing nothing. Or had seemed to, until the day he vanished from the infirmary.

Qui-Gon smiled faintly at the memory, still gently stroking Obi-Wan's hair, the silky filaments clinging statically to his fingers. That had thrown the whole temple into an uproar. A maybe Sith who had very nearly killed one of their own roaming around loose in the temple.

A manhunt had quickly ensued but the moment Qui-Gon had learned that Obi-Wan was missing he found the other man easily, following the thread of their link to a secluded corner of the meditation gardens where he had found Obi-Wan, on his knees and stripped to the waist, his face tilted upward as he basked in the warmth of the sunlight.

He had allowed Qui-Gon to lead him back to the infirmary, completely docile and the healers had quickly settled him back into his room. Only to have him vanish again an hour later. Nothing could keep him in his room, locks were useless and time and time again he could be seen walking like a silent wraith through the temple hallways towards the gardens, where he would strip out of his shoes and shirt and kneel, eyes closed and his face turned towards the sun.

He would stay until the sun went down and then he would stand and dress. He never acknowledged anyone or even seemed to notice they existed, only aware enough, it seemed, to avoid walking into them.

That first day half the Council was watching him. Qui-Gon was watching as well and when he dressed and left the gardens they had all followed him. Not to the infirmary, but to his old quarters, Qui-Gon's quarters that he now shared with Anakin, where he laid down on Qui-Gon's bed and promptly fell asleep.

Obi-Wan stirred again, this time one hand reaching out blindly and Qui- Gon captured it gently, pressing a kiss against callused fingers. And then there was this. That first night he had had every intention of allowing Obi-Wan to sleep alone in his bed. If Obi-Wan wanted to sleep in his old Master's bed, whether consciously or unconsciously, then he could. But Obi-Wan hadn't been asleep an hour before the tremors had started, the soft whimpering cries and eventually the screams. He had calmed only when Qui-Gon had touched him, soothed him.

In the past weeks Obi-Wan had settled to the point where it usually only took Qui-Gon an hour to calm him into a deeper sleep. And then Qui-Gon stayed, holding him through the night and protecting him from whatever it was the tormented him.

The hand slipped from Qui-Gon grasp and slid down his chest, settling at his thigh and there it rested, warm pressure that he could feel through the thin fabric of his pants. He took a deep breath and relaxed himself, pushing away his natural reaction to the intimate touch even as he closed his eyes and relished it. It had been so long, so very long and sleeping with Obi-Wan in his arms, the younger man often practically right on top of him, was making it difficult. Not that he would ever take advantage of Obi-Wan in the state he was in.

No, he thought, carefully moving that hand to a safer location. Obi-Wan had suffered enough. Now was time for healing. If only Obi-Wan would allow it.

The Council had reluctantly agreed to release Obi-Wan into his former master's care instead of using more secure methods to hold him in the infirmary. Qui-Gon smiled again at that, but this smile was laced with a faint bitterness. Their decision had had little to do with either his own or Obi-Wan's well being but instead it had been for Obi-Wan's knowledge. If there was a chance that Obi-Wan could come back to himself so that the Jedi might know who the Master Sith was then they meant to take it.

But Obi-Wan seemed to have reached something of a plateau. He would rise at dawn, would eat food that was provided from him, dress himself and walk to the gardens where he stayed until the sun set and then return to his quarters, eating sometimes, sometimes not and he would sleep. And he would dream.

The tremors began again, the soft wordless cries and again Qui-Gon soothed them away, offering comfort and protection, offering peace and Obi-Wan seemed to latch onto that, settling again and completely unaware that the hopes of the entirety of the Jedi council, as well as those of one man, lay in him.

Anakin was getting frustrated. It had been weeks since he made his silent promise to help Obi-Wan and so far he hadn't been able to do much of anything. If the healers couldn't help Obi-Wan, then what did he expect that he could do?

He had been meditating on it last night when a thought had come to him. It wasn't a great plan, by far, but it was better than sitting around doing nothing.

And now he was in the gardens, determined to carry this out. Obi-Wan was in his usual spot, kneeling in a patch of sunlight and Anakin was hovering on the edge of the clearing nervously.

It wasn't that he was afraid of Obi-Wan, not really, even after what had happened. That strange ugliness that had been in Obi-Wan in the mines was gone now. Of course, so was any other sense around Obi-Wan, so who really knew?

And Obi-Wan had been staying with Anakin and his master for a few weeks now. He wasn't exactly great company but Anakin had gotten used to their silent roommate and certainly his being there seemed to please Master Qui-Gon and that was enough for Anakin.

No, he was nervous because his plan might not work and then he'd be right back where he started and fresh out of ideas.

Anakin took a deep breath and steadied himself. The very least he could do was try. Master Yoda said there was no try only do but he didn't think that applied to this case. In this all he could do was try. The rest was up to Obi-Wan.

He walked carefully over to Obi-Wan and nearly jumped out of his skin when the man's eyes opened, regarding him silently. That was new. Obi- Wan didn't usually pay attention to anyone. New hope surged within him. Please, please let this work.

Pushing his nervousness aside, he stepped closer until he was right in front of Obi-Wan. The man didn't move, just looked up at Anakin with that familiar blankness. Anakin shifted, kneeling in front of him.

"I...I brought you something," he blurted out. No response but he hadn't actually expected Obi-Wan to just suddenly decide to talk to him. Quickly, he reached into his pocket and pulled something out, his fingers closed over a small object. He held his hand right under Obi- Wan's eyes and opened it, so that the man couldn't help but see the smooth, dark river stone in his palm.

"Master Qui-Gon said it was yours," Anakin said, shrugging awkwardly, "I thought you might like to have it back."

Obi-Wan was looking at the stone with wide eyes and Anakin held his breath as Obi-Wan hesitantly reached up and took it. He waited a moment, watching Obi-Wan silently inspect the rock and then he sighed and got to his feet, turning to leave. Well, it was worth a shot, he thought glumly.

"Thank you."

Whirling at the sound of those hoarsely spoken words, Anakin gaped at Obi-Wan openly, his mouth gaping open. Obi-Wan didn't speak again, just looked up at the boy with wide, guileless eyes.

Recovering, he closed his mouth with a click and managed to stammer out, "You're welcome."

They held gazes for a moment longer and then Obi-Wan returned his attention to the stone. Anakin backed away from him, eyes still on the lower head until he nearly tripped over an exposed root. He caught his balance and then nearly ran from the gardens to find his master.

The second time I didn't touch you, because...because I couldn't. I wanted to, I needed to, but I...

I couldn't.

Slowing from his near run, Qui-Gon skidded to a rather undignified halt outside the entrance to the gardens. He had practically flown to the gardens after a very excited Anakin had told him that Obi-Wan had spoken to him but now he was strangely hesitant to go inside. So many times his hopes had been crushed, he wasn't sure he could bear to feel it again. A little piece of him died with every fall and he wasn't sure how much more his faith could withstand.

Steeling himself, Qui-Gon walked inside, forcing a calm that he didn't feel. Obi-Wan wasn't difficult to find; he always secluded himself in a hardly used corner of the gardens, through tangles of greenery and into a brilliant patch of sunlight. And this time of day the gardens were nearly empty. Initiates were all in their classes, masters and knights were fulfilling their duties. Only a few stragglers were in the gardens, far enough away from where Qui-Gon was that they were only a dim pulse in the Force.

Pushing his way through the clinging branches, Qui-Gon finally made it through and caught his breath at the sight of Obi-Wan.

He was sitting cross-legged and barefoot, his boots tossed carelessly aside. Eyes closed, head tilted back as he sat there and basked in the warmth of the sun.

The light had tinted his hair gold, the silver streaks lost in the brightness of sunlight as the long strands hung loosely around his face. Rest and proper food had softened the lines of his face and the sight of him sitting there made Qui-Gon ache deeply with a confusing mixture of pain and love. This was the Obi-Wan that he remembered, the faintest hint of a mischievous smile curving the younger man's lips as he bathed in the golden light. The long-severed connection between them throbbed headily with life and Qui-Gon could have stood there for hours and simply watched him, more beautiful in this moment than anything he had ever seen or ever dreamed to see again.

Then Obi-Wan opened his eyes and the spell was broken. He turned and looked at Qui-Gon, his head tilted questioningly.

It took a moment for Qui-Gon to find his voice. "Hello, Obi-Wan," he said finally, emotion threatening to choke him. Obi-Wan had looked at him, really looked at him and seen him.

Obi-Wan looked at him a moment longer, blinking, before he nodded slightly and again closed his eyes, tipping his head back again for the embrace of the sunlight.

Long minutes ticked by and Obi-Wan did not move again, only remained sitting as he had before, just as beautiful but disappointment stole the wonder of his pose from Qui-Gon. The older man closed his own eyes for a moment, struggling with the shaft of pain. He saw me, he did see me, Qui-Gon whispered in his mind, consoling his shattered hope with the thin balm of his faith. He had waited for so long with no hope at all, he could survive longer with the shreds that he still possessed.

He open his eyes and looked at Obi-Wan again, vainly trying to recapture the peace he had felt when he'd first seen the younger man, before he finally turned away from the sight and the silence.

"The sunlight feels wonderful."

It took a moment for those softly spoken words to penetrate but the moment they did Qui-Gon's head jerked back around fast enough for his neck to protest the abuse. Obi-Wan was smiling at him, leaning back on his hands to let the sun touch as much of him as possible. He stretched and sighed under Qui-Gon astonished gaze like some great feline.

"It seems like a very long time since I felt this warm," the younger man confessed softly, his eyes still resting on Qui-Gon's. He shifted forward again, his hands hanging loosely in his lap as he watched Qui- Gon edge forward into the small clearing.

"Does it?" Qui-Gon said faintly, his thoughts in a whirl. This much anticipated moment had finally arrived and he had no idea whatsoever of what he should do. Cautiously, he took another step forward. He could not make the mistake of believing that this was -his- Obi-Wan, no matter how much his heart cried for him to do just that.

Obi-Wan nodded again, his eyes dropping down to his hands that were still resting in his lap. With one finger, he traced the silver scars on his other hand; there were literally dozens of them, ragged intersecting lines crisscrossed over once smooth flesh. The young man studied them, seemingly fascinated before again raising his eyes to Qui-Gon's.

"Master, what has happened? I...I try to remember but it all seems so confusing, I..." he shook his head in frustration.

Exhaling a breath that he hadn't even been aware that he was holding, Qui-Gon let some of his tension bleed away. Master. With one word Obi- Wan had managed to dispel much of his fear that the battle in the mine had not been finished and that the moment Obi-Wan returned to himself it would begin again. Only this time one of them would be cut down, or both for if Obi-Wan had managed to kill him there was no doubt that the other Jedi would not have allowed him to live.

Carefully, Qui-Gon moved closer to the younger man, half-afraid that Obi-Wan would bolt away from him like a skittish rabbit. But Obi-Wan simply watched him approach, his eyes never leaving his former master as Qui-Gon sank down to crouch in front of him.

He was close enough now to see the lines embedded in Obi-Wan's face, lines caused by whatever trauma it was that neither of them truly seemed to remember. Qui-Gon's hand had drifted upward as if to trace those creases and he caught himself, tucking his hands in his sleeves. Clear gray eyes regarded him calmly, waiting for him to speak.

"Obi-Wan," he said, softly, "What do you remember? Anything? Anything at all?" Those eyes flicked away and Qui-Gon took a deep breath, releasing his frustration. The sooner they knew who the Sith was, the sooner this would be over and then perhaps...Qui-Gon cut off that thought ruthlessly. Obi-Wan had committed no true crime, as far as Qui-Gon was concerned and he was free to do as he wished.

"Master." A barely audible whisper. Obi-Wan was studying the hem of his tunic as if the answers of the universe were woven into the fabric but a moment later he looked up again at Qui-Gon. He wet his lips and then said, quietly, "I remember this."

The feel of warm lips pressing against his own was such a shock that Qui-Gon lost his balance and fell backwards. A warm, living weight followed him down, pressing him back into the soft grass. Their lips had separated during the fall and Qui-Gon barely managed to gasp in a breath before they returned, urgently, almost brutally kissing him. Qui-Gon's hands fell on Obi-Wan's shoulders, intending to push him away. And then finding that he couldn't.

The taste of Obi-Wan on his lips was as intoxicating as Ulian brandy, a heady draught tasted only once before and then far too briefly. He found himself responding to the warm pressure, hesitantly parting his lips and allowing the wet velvet of Obi-Wan's tongue to stroke inside.

Rolling over, Qui-Gon twisted and pinned Obi-Wan beneath him, exploring the nearly forgotten sweetness of Obi-Wan's lips. Oh, this was wrong, he thought hazily. He should be going to the Council, reporting the change in Obi-Wan condition but his intentions slipped through his fingers like grains of sand. Closing his eyes, Qui-Gon let himself truly feel, for the first time in over four years. The sun hot against the small of his back as Obi-Wan tugged his tunic up, the pliant warmth of Obi-Wan beneath him.

No, not wrong, he decided suddenly. Nothing that was wrong could feel like this. Nothing.

It was like a dream, a memory that I was never quite sure had really happened. Lying there in the warmth of sun and skin, warmth that I had nearly forgotten existed during my imprisonment.

It was completely new and at the same time as familiar to me as drawing a breath. I learned and relearned the taste of your skin, your sweat, the satin feel of your hair against my stomach and then lower, drifting across my thighs as you took me in your mouth, like you had years ago. A lifetime ago. Things that I had begun to believe I had only imagined were coming true.

You took me there, in the sunlight. I could see the glow of it behind my closed eyes as you moved inside me as you had once before. The sun touching every part of me before your hands did, warming me.

And even though later I knew that I should never have touched you, never fouled your skin with the taint of my darkness, this was a moment that I could not regret, ever, no matter the pain it caused me later.

I could never regret the moment where I learned to love you again.

It was coldness that awoke him, pulling him from his peaceful dreams and the warm embrace of his master. Blinking, Obi-Wan lifted his head and looked around the room. Somehow, in the midst of barely remembered but eagerly embraced passion they had managed to get back to Qui-Gon's rooms. Faint warmth traced Obi-Wan's veins again as he remembered tumbling backwards onto the mattress and pulling Qui-Gon with him, refusing to let him go for even an instant.

But the seeping coldness stole that warmth from him and Obi-Wan frowned, shifting to sit on the edge of the bed. The more he tried to push it away, the more it seeped in, like trying to hold water in your bare hands. It oozed around the blocks in his mind to itch infuriatingly at the back of his head, lingering there until he had no choice but to search it out or go mad.

Carefully, Obi-Wan extracted himself from Qui-Gon's clinging hands, soothing sleepy murmurs of protest and sliding into his robe. He gave one last brush of his hand over Qui-Gon's forehead, gently pressing him into a deeper sleep before he walked quietly into the common room and settled into a meditative posture on the floor.

The past few weeks had been so odd to him. He had been able to see and hear but it was as if a thick cushion had been wrapped around him, preventing him from reaching out as well as stopping the world from coming in. He knew now that it had been his shields surrounding him but at the time it had been little more than a jumble of confusion. When he had finally had the comprehension to allow movement his first thoughts had been for sunlight, his senses pleading with him to bathe in the warm glow of natural light and so he had, without thought or reason.

Now he sought a reason, for this ever-present coldness, for everything. It was not only the past weeks that felt odd, Obi-Wan thought ruefully, it was everything. Something had happened, that much he knew and now he was going to figure out what.

Breathing deeply, he slipped into a meditative trance with the ease of long practice, tracing down the taut threads of his mind, searching for that coldness. It throbbed in his brain, a pulsating mass of -something- that itched and burned. He frowned and pushed harder, dropping his shields further even as he belatedly thought that perhaps he should have woken Qui-Gon before he tried something like this...

White-hot pain lanced through him and Obi-Wan lurched forward on his knees, gagging painfully even as that infuriating itching swamped him. It surrounded him, buffeting him, -burning- him and he would have screamed if he had not been so utterly possessed by it. Memory gushed back into him in a wild, shrieking kaleidoscope of images that were flashed through him too quickly for him to grasp.

No! He howled silently, no, no, it isn't true, it isn't it can't be true...and that itching, that cold, that -darkness- thrust at him again, brutally, spearing through his vulnerable shields and Obi-Wan convulsed, writhing, feeling the coldness of the floor seeping through his clothes as the coldness of his master seeped into his mind, pushing past broken shields into him, violating him in a way that now seemed far too familiar.

A moment later his pain faded and Obi-Wan shifted gingerly to his knees again, his skin clammy with sweat. He barely felt it, it was nothing to him, as far from him now as any sense of warmth that he had ever felt. He lowered his head, seeking a trance again but this time he did not need to search for the coldness. It was inside him, as it had always been. With a sense of utter weariness, Obi-Wan opened himself up again and allowed the Darkness inside.

He dressed swiftly, carefully shielding his presence from Qui-Gon's sleeping mind. The older man didn't even stir, still resting under Obi- Wan's earlier tender ministrations and for that Obi-Wan was grateful. In his present state he could never push the Jedi into sleep again and he found himself strangely reluctant to kill the old man.

He finished dressing himself, grimacing at the feel of Jedi robes against his skin and was turning to leave when he felt something heavy and warm in the pocket of his inner tunic. Frowning, he reached for it and knew what it was the instant his fingers touched the smooth surface.

The stone. The river stone that Qui-Gon had given him on his thirteenth birthday. A gift from Master to Padawan. He closed his eyes and simply felt the stone for a long moment, felt the warmth and texture of it against the palm of his hand.

Then he pulled it free, not looking at it as he silently walked over to the low table that was near Qui-Gon's bed. He set the small stone on it, with all the gentle, pained care of woman abandoning her child on the doorstep of a stranger's home. And just as he was turning away, something caught his eyes.

He stared at it, mutely, a pulse of warmth cutting blade sharp through him. Four years since he had seen it, four years or longer and it looked just as he remembered. Constructed with his own hands, sitting in a small, carved stand right next to Qui-Gon's, was his lightsaber.

His other lightsaber was lost to him, buried in the depths of a mine on Bandomeer. A silent cry rose within him, pleading with him and he obeyed it without thought, snatching the lightsaber and securing it quickly within the folds of his robe.

Qui-Gon shifted in his sleep and sighed. Obi-Wan froze, precious seconds sliding by as he waited for Qui-Gon to slip again into deeper sleep.

Enough, he had wasted enough time and his master was waiting for him. Still, when he would have turned away a persistent tug of the agonizing warmth buried deeply within pulled him back to Qui-Gon's bedside. Hesitantly, he reached out with one hand, letting it hover over Qui- Gon's face, close enough to feel the heat of his skin. Moist breath hit his palm once. Again. His hand began to tremble, fingers only centimeters from Qui-Gon's skin.

Then he pulled away and turned, not looking back as he walked out the door and shut it silently behind him.

That time I didn't touch you because I knew I was no longer worthy of the touch.

I was dirty, soiled and stained with Darkness and I would not let that touch you, not you. Not ever. Darkness would never possess you as it had me and if I had to kill you to keep you safe from it, I would.

Chapter 6: The Darkest Hour

When I was in my prison my only escape was to dream, to let my mind be elsewhere. In the beginning, they were dreams of you, memories of pleasant times and beautiful places of light and life. Memories of making love with you.

As his poison seeped into me, so did it invade my dreams. Still dreams of you but these were blood soaked visions of your death by my hand.

Fear is the path to the dark side, you taught me that.

I fear my dreams.

Stinking muck clinging to his boots and faint mist swirling about his ankles, Qui-Gon silently followed the cloaked figure of his former padawan through the lower levels of Coruscant. People who lived up in the skyline tended to forget about the lower levels, perhaps willfully. Coruscant had simply been built overtop without regard to those who lived here, cutting them off from more than the most meager touch of the sun. It was the lower dregs of society that lived down here; the ones that the Republic tried to pretend did not exist in their social order. The users who walked around in a chemical-induced fog in an effort to hide from the wreck that was their lives

A large rodent ran across Qui-Gon's boot and he ignored it, concentrating all of his energy on disguising his presence from the young man he was following.

Slipping out of the temple had been almost absurdly easy. The temple was no prison and wrapped in the Force as he had been, others simply had not seen Obi-Wan as he had departed. It had only been Qui-Gon's newly reformed link with his love that had allowed him to see the young man and he even as it sickened him, he had to sourly admire Obi-Wan's ability to manipulate the Force, even if it was in darkness. His only mistake was that he had forgotten his newly remade bond with his former master and Qui-Gon was following the shimmering lines of that bond like a beacon.

Skirting around a humanoid who was snoring drunkenly in the pathway, Qui-Gon continued on, keeping Obi-Wan just in his sight. They had been walking for close to three hours now and Obi-Wan showed no sign of slowing.

Breathing shallowly, nearly suffocating from the stench surrounding him, Qui-Gon walked on and distracted himself with thoughts of Coruscant, the center of the galaxy, the jewel of the Republic. And underneath the shining surface beauty was this, this filth, this darkness. Like the Republic tended to be, politics often more important than people.

Like Obi-Wan.

Qui-Gon closed his eyes briefly, shielding his pain at the thought from the Force but neither could he deny its truth. Beneath the beauty that was Obi-Wan, beneath warm smiles and pale eyes was darkness, deep within, eating away at the young man's soul.

And Qui-Gon wondered with bitter amusement what that made him, that he loved Obi-Wan regardless.

But even as he still following his troubled lover, Qui-Gon also knew that Obi-Wan's loss of the light was no more his fault than this slum was the fault of the planet Coruscant. They had both been molded, shaped into what they were by forces that they could not control. And Qui-Gon silently vowed that he would not leave Obi-Wan in the hands of another again, no matter the consequences.

The younger man had hesitated, wavering at a crossroad before he finally seemed to gain his bearings, crossing and ducking into a ramshackle building. Qui-Gon followed cautiously, stepping over the wreckage of the door silently as he tried not to allow his former padawan from his sight.

The building was darkened and smelled of mold and dust, and there was something he couldn't place, a warning rushing to him through the Force, something...

He realized his mistake only a moment too late, the large door sliding from its panel behind him, closing him in an instant before he could have made it through the opening; an illusion of a ruined building and a trap. Obi-Wan hadn't forgotten their bond after all.

Qui-Gon closed his eyes, leaning against the cool metal of the door, feeling nothing more than tired. He couldn't even spare enough emotion to be shocked, not now, not here, ensnared by Obi-Wan even while the scent of their lovemaking hours before still clung to Qui-Gon's skin. He had long ago realized his own death. Had known since the moment he had seen Obi-Wan was alive. Qui-Gon had known it and now he would accept it, as a Jedi.

Standing straight, Qui-Gon turned around to embrace his fate.

Is this a dream? I feel so cold, like I so often do in my dreams and I can feel you. And him, I can feel him so close and so cold, so very cold.

Something is wrong here; I can feel it deep inside me, in places where I am terrified to look because I don't want to see my own blackened soul. But something is wrong, very wrong and so, so cold.

Why didn't I touch you that last time? I regret that. I regret it with every part of my being that I didn't take just one touch, tainted or no.

Perhaps it would have kept me warm.

His eyes adjusted to the dimness of the room and Qui-Gon stepped a bit further inside, studying his surroundings. Much like he'd expected, the building was obviously long since abandoned and thickly layered in dust, glass littering the floor from the broken skylights above that allowed dim lights from the city outside to flicker in. Somehow, Qui- Gon had always thought that the place that would be his grave would be somewhat...nobler perhaps? He smiled just a little at his own fanciful thoughts. His world was crumbling around him but he could still be concerned with appearances.

Well, he had always said that he'd prefer to die in battle and what battle was more noble for a Jedi than the one against the Sith? And then Qui-Gon saw the man that he had hunted through the city only to find that instead of predator, he was the prey.

Obi-Wan was kneeling in the center of the room, his hood down and his head lowered. He hardly seemed to be breathing and for just a moment Qui-Gon allowed himself to drink in the sight of him, still wearing Jedi robes, his hair loose and falling forward over his face.

What will happen to you, my Obi-Wan, Qui-Gon wondered silently. Would Obi-Wan stand soon and strike down his former master, as he had tried to do before? And would Obi-Wan go to the Sith, the one who had shaped him and what would they do to the galaxy? For just an instant, Qui-Gon had a flash of destruction of the likes he couldn't even imagine, putting his bloody dreams of late to shame. He could see the Jedi falling by Obi-Wan's hand and there was nothing but blood, rivers of blood as the galaxy fell into the darkness as Obi-Wan had before them.

Then it was gone, only the low rumble of city noises breaking the silence. Obi-Wan hadn't moved a centimeter, only knelt there with his head bowed. So they were waiting then. A chill prickled its way across Qui-Gon's nerves as it occurred to him for the first time that it was quite possible that death could be the least of his concerns.

Standing here, surrounded by visions of a world in shambles and waiting for a being that carried more dark energy than he dared imagine, Qui-Gon felt utterly helpless in a way that he hadn't for over four years.

It was an interminable time later when he finally felt it, an awareness skittering across his consciousness, like insects scuttling from a beam of light. Qui-Gon hadn't moved from in front of the door, had, in fact, sat down in front of it and passed the time looking at Obi-Wan and mentally replaying the hours before this, in his quarters. Remembered how Obi-Wan lips had tasted, remembered the soft gasps of pleasure that had escaped him as Qui-Gon had touched him, his strangled pleas when Qui-Gon had finally taken him.

Chances were quite good that one way or another he'd never have the opportunity to think on this again and he rather take that memory of Obi-Wan into eternity with him than this one; the once proud Knight that he had known, the man he loved on his knees, waiting for the one who he called master.

The creak of hinges was loud in the silence of the room, coming from the dark area far off to the other side. The faint sound of footsteps and then a figure appeared from across the room, walking towards where Obi-Wan knelt.

No. Not possible. It can't be, cannot be. Wild thoughts as recognition came and dawning awareness. His own senses had always tried to warn him that something was amiss but never would he have guessed this, never...

"So good of you to join us, Master Qui-Gon," Chancellor Palpatine said, as he walked across the floor, his shoes making hardly a sound on the floor. But for his words he all but ignored the Jedi master. Instead his eyes were on Obi-Wan, who had not moved, was in fact still kneeling, head down and staring at nothing at all.

Palpatine stopped in front of Obi-Wan, reaching down to lightly run his fingers through the young man's tousled hair and Qui-Gon's stomach clenched to see it. Forcibly, he controlled his emotions, even as they shrieked at him that this...this -creature- had no right to be touching Obi-Wan, to foul Qui-Gon's former padawan with even his presence.

Instead, he remained silent, locking his feelings behind a wall in his mind. Silent and still, watching with detached interest as the Sith, and he knew that this was the Sith, there was no doubt of that, watching the Sith touch his lover.

"You seem startled to see me. Recognition comes to you a bit late," Palpatine said softly, stroking his thumb across the smoothness Obi- Wan's cheek. "As it will for all of your kind, I'm afraid."

He straightened then, his eyes meeting Qui-Gon's for the first time, making the Jedi master wonder how he could possibly have not seen this. It was in the man's eyes, an impossible depth, a coldness that made Qui-Gon shiver just to see it. Never before had he thought to see pure evil made into flesh. And this was the creature who had kept Obi-Wan for all that time.

Oh, my Padawan...I would have come. I swear I would have come had I known.

"It's pathetic to see that you are just like your brethren, Master Jinn." Palpatine continued, his long fingers still lingering on Obi- Wan's face. "Short-sighted, all of you. Perhaps if you looked more to the future your kind would be stronger. It's been a thousand years, Jedi, and more than that but we have had the patience to wait because -we- have known to look to the future." He gave a mocking sigh of pity, shaking his head. "But you are like them, the Jedi. Fools all of them. Weak." Palpatine smiled thinly. "And now you are going to pay for your failings. My apprentice will see to that."

"He isn't yours," Qui-Gon said, dimly pleased with the calm in his voice. Silence be damned, he was going to die regardless. "The only person that Obi-Wan belongs to is himself." The young man in question didn't even stir at his words, only stared vacantly at the space before him.

The Sith's eyes glittered dangerously. "And assuming that is your greatest mistake, Jedi."

He made a slow circle around Obi-Wan, stopping to stand in front of the young man. "It is my feet he is kneeling at, Master Jinn, my command that he obeys. And very obedient he is." Threading his fingers through Obi-Wan's hair, he tilted the young man's head upward. "And very beautiful, isn't he? My other apprentice had his charms but this one..." His fingers tightened painfully into Obi-Wan's hair until pale eyes rose to meet Palpatine's. A quick glance at Qui-Gon and then he said, "I do hope you enjoyed your little reunion with him."

Dropping his hand to Obi-Wan's chin, Palpatine tilted the young man's head just a tiny bit more before his hand clenched into a fist and he backhanded Obi-Wan viciously, knocking him to the floor.

Qui-Gon took an involuntary step forward but Obi-Wan was already scrambling to his knees again. Palpatine smiled again, this time looking at Qui-Gon.

"You see? Obedient." His voice hardened a fraction, a sharp edge to the already icy tones. "That was for failing on Bandomeer. It was to be his final test, the last action that would finally bind him to me and he failed. If he hadn't brought you with him now, I'm afraid I would have had to kill him and it would have been a shame to waste such a pretty apprentice."

One hand again drifted to Obi-Wan's hair, petting idly and Obi-Wan remained perfectly still, seeming oblivious to the thin ribbon of blood trailing down his chin.

Qui-Gon let his attention fade from the sight before him. He was prepared to handle death but this, this he could no longer bear to see. Letting himself go inward, he thought instead of before, of his beautiful Obi-Wan, his, times of caring for his padawans, for both Obi-Wan and Anakin. Anakin, and there was a regret. He would not live to see Anakin reach Knighthood. And he did love the boy, could never love him like Obi-Wan but it was love nonetheless. And Anakin would be well cared for; at the beginning of the boy's apprenticeship Qui-Gon had asked Yoda to stand for him, if something were to happen. Yoda would train the boy well, and...

Anakin.

Stiffening in shock, Qui-Gon felt a sleepy rush of awareness go through his training bond with Anakin as the boy awoke, feeling Qui-Gon's distress and reaching instinctively for his master. A rush of insight and Qui-Gon reached for him desperately, struggling to link their minds as closely as possible, grasping the threads that bound them. Too far away to speak directly but Anakin was strong and perhaps a mental picture...die he might, but the Jedi -would- know the face of the Sith.

Dimly, Qui-Gon heard a howl of rage from Palpatine and then he was swamped in a choking cloak of Darkness, trying to smother the binding that was already thinning in his grasp. It became a battle of wills, Qui-Gon clinging grimly to his message, struggling to push it through the stinging wall that Palpatine was fighting to keep in place. He could taste copper and vaguely realized that his nose was bleeding from the strain. And even in the dim light he could see a dark jewel of blood winding its way down Palpatine's chin as he bit his lip.

The Sith spoke then, although Qui-Gon couldn't hear it through the buzzing in his ears he knew what the man said. A mere two words.

"Kill him."

Obi-Wan stood and turned towards him, his lightsaber blazing to life and Qui-Gon recoiled to see it, almost losing his grasp on the bond. Bathed in familiar blue light was Obi-Wan's face but not his Obi-Wan. Dark, blank eyes stared back at him and this time the salt Qui-Gon tasted was not from blood.

I didn't want to hurt you. All my anger had left me and all I felt was empty and a great sense of weariness. I wanted to beg you not to look at me, to not see me like this.

And I wanted for it to be over. I didn't want this but I didn't know how to stop.

It was a mockery of a battle, Qui-Gon struggling under the weight of the Darkness blanketing him, still trying to reach Anakin. His own lightsaber seemed too heavy to lift and he fought feebly, should have been long since dead.

Yet Obi-Wan wasn't toying with him as he had before. Eyes strangely blank and completely silent, he was fighting almost like a machine, all the grace and power that he had always carried seemed gone from him. Watching him like this was an obscenity almost worse than the darkness. He was fighting as one already dead.

The anger of the previous battle, the rage, had vanished and been replaced by apathy and it was almost a relief to Qui-Gon to finally fall, to have Obi-Wan standing over him with his lit saber as their eyes met and Qui-Gon waited to die.

The sound of clapping startled them both, and they jerked to look at Palpatine, who stood not far away, applauding his student with grim satisfaction.

"Well done, my Apprentice. Now, kill him," Palpatine said, walking close to them and smiling down at the fallen Jedi. "Kill him. Let the first blood you spill before me be from the one who betrayed you."

For the first time since entering this building, Obi-Wan spoke, his eyes never leaving Qui-Gon's as he whispered, softly, "As you wish."

The blow came as a shock, worse than Qui-Gon had expected. Especially to Palpatine, as Obi-Wan whirled, a blur of movement that severed the Sith in half, as Obi-Wan had done to the other Sith apprentice years earlier. Palpatine collapsed in a spray of blood, shock frozen on his already cooling face.

Obi-Wan didn't even pause to watch Palpatine fall, dousing his saber and turning back to face Qui-Gon. Falling to his knees before his former master, his eyes filled with immeasurable sorrow. Long moments passed in silence before Obi-Wan finally spoke, barely above a whisper.

"I'm sorry."

Before Qui-Gon could speak, he pressed the unlit end of his saber against his chest.

"I'm sorry," Obi-Wan repeated, teeth chattering slightly as he began to tremble. "I didn't want to do this but I don't have a choice."

Words froze in his chest as Qui-Gon looked into the wild eyes of his lover. "Padawan, don't," he said softly, reaching out to the younger man but stopping quickly when he clenched his lightsaber convulsively. "Don't do this, you don't have to do this."

"Yes, I do." He laughed then, his voice edged with hysteria. "It's perfect, don't you see the irony of it. My lightsaber will have killed all the Sith."

"Don't call yourself that!" Qui-Gon nearly shouted, rising to his own knees. Obi-Wan skittered back, nearly falling over Palpatine's body but he caught himself, eyes still on Qui-Gon. Qui-Gon's hands lifted again of their own will, reaching out to Obi-Wan.

"Padawan, please. I can't lose you again. Please," his voice cracked and Qui-Gon swallowed hard, struggling for calm that was eluding him. He couldn't do this again, not again. "Don't call yourself that," he repeated, softly. "You aren't like he was, Obi-Wan. This isn't you."

Obi-Wan grew still at his words, his tremors fading and for a moment Qui-Gon thought he had reached him. That he'd managed to find his Obi- Wan in that sea of blackness. And then Obi-Wan lifted his eyes to Qui- Gon's, strange emotions reflected in those pale depths.

"No, you're wrong," Obi-Wan said calmly. "I am this. It doesn't matter what I wanted or what I intended, it's still true. I am of the Sith." The last word was bitter, spat from his mouth as if it were poisoned. He lowered his head again and his shoulders began to shake and it took Qui-Gon a moment to realize that he was laughing.

"Yes, I am a Sith," he said, still smiling as his eyes again rose to meet Qui-Gon's. "And I am a Jedi."

It was as if time froze, caught in the moment between now and the instant before lightspeed. A flicker of movement, pale eyes that still held Qui-Gon's widening in the shock of pain and a flare of blue light that bloomed in the darkness. A faint jerk of his body as his lightsaber entered it but Obi-Wan's hands never faltered. Until the moment passed and the lightsaber fell from his slack fingers, the power cutting off automatically and the harmless looking cylinder of metal rolled away across the floor.
Looking into Obi-Wan's face, Qui-Gon saw him as he had been, as he should have been. And this man was Obi-Wan; grief stricken at what must be done, but still determined to do it, a man of honor, of decency. A protector. A Jedi.

Obi-Wan started to crumple to the floor and found himself in Qui-Gon's arms before he could even touch the tiles. Qui-Gon was speaking, lips moving but Obi-Wan heard nothing, raised one hand to Qui-Gon's mouth, silencing him. He couldn't speak, breathing was too difficult so instead told Qui-Gon with his eyes, shook his head when Qui-Gon would have tried to heal him.

Tugging feebly, Obi-Wan pulled the older man's head down, just enough to press a kiss against his master's lips. He tasted of blood, of salt but when he raised his head all Obi-Wan saw was his eyes and the light of love within them.

Obi-Wan smiled then and in that smile Qui-Gon saw the boy he had cared for, the friend he had respected and the man that he had loved.

And then, in the arms of the love of his life, with the first rays of morning light creeping in through the broken skylights to weave abstract patterns on the cold floor, the man who had once been a boy with no greater wish or hope than to be a Jedi Knight, closed his eyes and died.

Part 3: Epilogue

Horizons

It was cold on the balcony of his quarters, and Qui-Gon pulled his cloak tighter around himself as he watched the sun slip downward in the skyline in its bright swirl of color.

The small figure huddled at his feet looked up at his movement, eyes questioning. Qui-Gon gave Anakin a faint smile, gesturing that he should go inside and the boy did, pausing to lay a hand on the older man's shoulder before leaving him.

He watched in silence, as he had before, only now it was different. Now he knew why he had never found peace before in this ritual, because the Force had known the truth. And while he wouldn't call what he gained from this peace, there was at least certainty. It was over this time, truly over.

Closing his eyes, Qui-Gon could pretend for the briefest of moments that he felt a warmth along his back, remembered a young man with laughing eyes pressing against him, hugging him to keep him warm as they watched the sun set. And then it was gone.

He opened his eyes, studying the horizon and remembered, dozens of other times and hundreds of other sunsets. There was no death, there was only the Force and part of him knew that, the part of him that was the Force, call it soul, call it lifeforce, whatever you will. That part of him knew.

But the part of him that was only flesh and blood sat in silence and watched the crimson sky darken to streaks of purple and indigo. And that part of him wept for the one who was not there to see it.

It was for the best, don't you see? I never could have let go of the darkness, not totally. It would have consumed me, trickled through my veins, poisoned me, until the blackness took over. It was already too late for me, my love, and I couldn't go on living in shadows.

Not even for you.

I was the last of the Sith, my heart. And innocence, once lost, can never be regained.

I'm so very sorry but it had to be done. I was trapped there, still trapped inside a prison, one made of flesh and bone not stone walls, but a prison nonetheless. But now, I am free. I'm free and the darkness can't get to me, I'm here bathing in the warmth the light that is so nearby, safe and free.

I don't enter it yet though, I can't. I'm waiting here, standing behind you and waiting, as I should have waited before and this time nothing will draw me away, nothing.

So, please don't cry. I will be here with you, always, waiting for you until the time that we will never be apart again.

I'm here. Don't cry, my love.

Please don't cry.

-finis-

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